shielded the emperor. Each mage was chosen as a child and raised to understand his or her role as a guardian of the throne. How could an enemy arise from the Tower?
Eyul hid his confusion from the hermit. “Then Govnan will be killed.”
The hermit hesitated only a moment then gave the answer that Eyul had travelled so far to hear. “What it means for the pattern to take an emperor is that a new emperor must be found. Kill or cure—but cure quickly; once the pattern has him he will be dead or gone, beyond your help either way. With Govnan removed there is hope for Beyon. His blood is fierce blood, difficult to write upon.” The hermit stood and walked towards the door flap. “Your camels will be ready in a sand’s turning. Feel free to go and find your friend.”
Eyul sat a while in his tent, rotating the teacup in its saucer. Could it be true that Govnan was involved with the pattern-curse? Would Amalya ever believe such a thing?
There were things going on here that he did not understand, but he knew from working with Tuvaini that it wasn’t good to show too much thinking. He wouldn’t put Amalya’s freedom in jeopardy by lingering here. He placed the cup upside down on the saucer and fastened his belt around his waist. He found the bandage that had covered his eyes and wrapped it around his head just twice, blocking the worst of the light but leaving him able to see his path.
Outside, the vague forms of pilgrims rose from the bright sand and the sound of soft voices and different accents filled the air. On his previous visit there had been blond-haired folk from the north, Cerani, Islanders like Amalya, and even men from the west, their hair neither black nor blond, though he couldn’t see such detail today. He didn’t linger, but hurried up the stone path and entered the first narrow opening he found.
Darkness swallowed him. He unwrapped his bandages and listened to the cave. Far ahead, low voices murmurred in reverent tones. He took a tentative step and kicked something hard and light. It rolled a short distance before hitting the wall, and he stopped again. The objects in the cave, dark against black, gained shape. He turned in a slow circle, trying to get his bearings.
He had kicked an old jug, the kind made for oil or honey, but its round belly had long since broken open, losing its contents. Long ago someone had placed it beneath a painting on the rock wall, together with other now-mouldering objects. He leaned in towards the painting and made out a woman, outlined in red and brown, with both hands held up to the sky. She looked rather like Mirra, and he remembered the hermit’s words: what had become of these ancient worshippers? He picked up the old jug and replaced it beneath the goddess. Do not take from the gods what is theirs.
He heard a shuffling on his left and twisted towards the sound, one hand at the ready by his sheath.
Eyul smelled fire, and Island herbs. Amalya, clothed in white, from her robes to the bandages around her arm, cut out from the darkness like a star. He willed his feet to stillness. “How… how is your arm?” he asked, rooting his shoes into the rock.
“Better.” Amalya turned to the painting. “The hermit makes a great deal of these.”
“I respect the gods,” said Eyul, “but it doesn’t do to think overmuch about them.” Tuvaini’s words. “Why does he frighten you so?”
She swallowed. “Do you think he believes in them?” She looked sideways at him, more at his shoes than his face.
“If anything, this shows that Mirra has ruled these lands for more than an age.”
She touched the painting, drew her fingers across the figure’s bare breasts. “I thought this was Pomegra, mother of the wise.”
“As I said, it is not prudent to think too much about them.”
“It makes you uneasy.” She turned towards him, and he remembered holding her up on the camel, and the feel of her hair against his chin. “It makes me uneasy, too.”
“The gods should make anyone uneasy.” The cave came alive with orange light as the sunset spilled its color over the cliff face.
Amalya drew closer. “I didn’t mean the gods. I meant choosing. You’re a man who follows orders, but now that you’ve had a choice—” She grabbed his left hand, and for a moment he couldn’t move