wished to play the lord over the rest of the world and so separated themselves, only realising too late what they had done. Neither you nor Torve has any such desire. You know only too well what it is like to be lorded over.”
“The power is in the thrones then?” Torve said.
“It is,” said the Undying Man. “Those who sit in those seats are forever changed: the longer the sojourn, the greater the change.”
Cylene gave a little squeak. “I don’t want to be a god!”
Lenares thought a moment. “You won’t be,” she said, certain of her words even though she could see no numerical evidence to support her claim. “Mahudia, the woman who guarded your connection to the void, has gone to be part of the weaving keeping the hole in the world closed. I suspect she was able to leave because once you sat on the throne, you no longer needed a magical conduit to keep you alive.”
“Oh,” Cylene said. “Will I be immortal?”
“No,” said the Undying Man. “That curse is for others to bear.”
Others? Plural? Lenares stored the question away in her head.
“That’s a relief,” Cylene said, and smiled at the big man sitting next to her.
“All the Most High has done, Lenares and Torve, is shape the circumstances to bring you to this choice. What you do next is up to you.”
She turned and looked into Torve’s eyes, to find a question there and, behind the question, desire. A vision of the open desert, of a people lost and abandoned, bred like cattle, a people who could benefit from having a god on their side.
Cylene broke into their shared thoughts. “I was thinking,” she said, her face a prim mask. “You might want to consider some of the… er… advantages of godhood. In the area of equipment, that is.”
It took a moment for Lenares to solve this puzzle; then she felt her neck redden. Torve’s grip on her hand strengthened, telling its own story.
“Who will occupy the third throne?” she asked, staring at the Undying Man.
“Ah, well, the Most High wonders if you would, ah, consider taking on an apprentice. Someone who has much to unlearn, but who has promised to do his best to—eventually—fulfil his calling.”
“But, but you are evil,” Lenares cried. “The Most High can’t let you on one of the thrones!”
The Undying Man pulled at his collar. “The Most High anticipated this objection,” he said. “He wishes to remind you that the people he is inviting to occupy the other two thrones are good. And he will, he says, give all three keys to the House of the Gods into your hands, Lenares. His offer of the thrones is not conditional on you taking the apprentice. And even if you accept him, you may end his apprenticeship at any time.
“I ought to add that I am by no means a reformed character,” the Undying Man said. “I do not go back on anything I have said or done. Or perhaps only a very little. This offer is the Most High’s way of neutralising me. He thinks I don’t know this, but he is wrong. But he believes that between the three of us we will provide exactly the balance that the House of the Gods requires.”
“How can we take on an apprentice?” Torve said. “Especially one such as you? We need to serve an apprenticeship ourselves.”
“Ah. As to that, he has organised a tutor for you. Her identity is a secret, but he assures me she is someone with great experience in the art of leadership. She knows all about self-sacrifice in the service of others. There is no one more qualified, he says.”
Lenares had run out of questions.
“Can you make up your mind, please?” Sauxa drawled. “The food’s getting cold.”
General laughter followed.
Torve nodded to her, his eyes alight. Your decision, he seemed to be saying.
She smiled. “Tell the Most High that Torve and I will make a home together in the House of the Gods,” she said.
EPILOGUE
THE BANNERS HAVE BEEN raised, the flags ripple and crack in the breeze and the Summer Flame has been lit. Revellers from the Fisher Coast and all of Old Roudhos pour out of the taverns and down the wide streets towards the Summer Palace, where the (hopefully brief) ceremony is to take place. Adults and children alike know that this is an event like no other in their city’s proud history: the elevation of a new Duke of Roudhos is momentous enough on its own, but to