congealing wine. He snorted, neither in humour nor disgust, then turned to look back out over the balustrade, at the Fama Palace, dun and inscrutable upon its hill.
“When Achamian returned,” he drawled, “I had assumed you were dead.” He leaned forward, glanced back at the wraith once again. “Even more,” he said, raising a finger, “I had hoped you dead.” He returned his gaze to the walls and buildings encrusting the opposite heights.
“What happens, Eli?”
He tried his best not to laugh. “Can’t you see? The Padirajah is dead. The Holy War prepares to march on Shimeh. We prepare to march on Shimeh … Our foot lies upon the neck of our enemy.”
“I’ve spoken to Sarothenes,” Iyokus said, unimpressed, “and to Inrûmmi …”
A mawkish sigh. “Then you know.”
“I confess, I find it difficult to believe.”
“Believe it. The Consult exists . All this time, laughing at the Mandati, and it was we who were the mumming fools.”
A long, accusatory silence. Iyokus had always told him he should heed their claims more seriously. It seemed plain enough … now. Everything they knew about the Psûkhe suggested it was a blunt instrument, far too cumbersome to fashion something like these … demons.
Chepheramunni! Sarcellus!
In his soul’s eye he saw the Scylvendi, bloodied and magnificent, hoisting the faceless head for all to see. How the mobs had roared.
“And Prince Kellhus?” Iyokus asked.
“Is a prophet,” Eleäzaras said softly. He had watched him— he had seen —after they had cut the man down from the Circumfix … Eleäzaras had watched him reach into his chest and pull out his fucking heart!
Some kind of trick … it had to be!
“Eli,” Iyokus said, “surely this—”
“I spoke to him myself,” the Grandmaster interrupted, “and at quite some length … He’s a true prophet of the God, Iyokus … And you and I … well, we’re quite damned.” He looked at his Master of Spies, his face screwed into an expression of pained hilarity. “Another little joke we seem to have found ourselves on the wrong side of …”
“Please,” the man exclaimed. “How could you—”
“Oh, I know. He sees things … things only the God could see.” He swung at one of the earthenware decanters, caught it, shook it in the air to listen for the telltale slosh of wine. Empty. “He showed me,” he said, casting it against the wall, where it shattered. He smiled at Iyokus, letting the weight of his bottom lip draw his mouth open. “He showed me who I am . You know all those little thoughts, all those half-glimpsed things that scurry like vermin through your soul? He catches them, Iyokus. He catches them and holds them squealing in the air. Then he names them, and tells you what they mean.” He turned away once more. “He sees the secrets .”
“What secrets? What are you saying, Eli?”
“Oh, you’ve no need to worry. He cares nothing whether you fuck little boys or press broomsticks up your ass. It’s the secrets you keep from yourself, Iyokus. Those are his interest. He sees …” A pang gripped his throat so violently he had to look at Iyokus and laugh. He felt tears spill hot across his cheeks. His voice cracked. “He sees what breaks your heart.”
You have doomed your School.
“You’re drunk,” the chanv addict said, his tone both unnerved and disgusted.
Eleäzaras raised his hand in a foppish wave. “Go speak to him yourself. He’ll discern more than pickled meat through your skin. You’ll see—”
He heard the man snort, then kick away a metal bowl as he withdrew.
The Grandmaster of the Scarlet Spires reclined in his settee, resumed his study of the Fama Palace through the afternoon haze. The network of walls, terraces, and Fanic colonnades. The faint smoke rising from what had to be the kitchens. The clots of distant penitents filing beneath the square gates.
Somewhere … He’s in there somewhere.
“Oh, yes, and Iyokus?” he abruptly
“When Achamian returned,” he drawled, “I had assumed you were dead.” He leaned forward, glanced back at the wraith once again. “Even more,” he said, raising a finger, “I had hoped you dead.” He returned his gaze to the walls and buildings encrusting the opposite heights.
“What happens, Eli?”
He tried his best not to laugh. “Can’t you see? The Padirajah is dead. The Holy War prepares to march on Shimeh. We prepare to march on Shimeh … Our foot lies upon the neck of our enemy.”
“I’ve spoken to Sarothenes,” Iyokus said, unimpressed, “and to Inrûmmi …”
A mawkish sigh. “Then you know.”
“I confess, I find it difficult to believe.”
“Believe it. The Consult exists . All this time, laughing at the Mandati, and it was we who were the mumming fools.”
A long, accusatory silence. Iyokus had always told him he should heed their claims more seriously. It seemed plain enough … now. Everything they knew about the Psûkhe suggested it was a blunt instrument, far too cumbersome to fashion something like these … demons.
Chepheramunni! Sarcellus!
In his soul’s eye he saw the Scylvendi, bloodied and magnificent, hoisting the faceless head for all to see. How the mobs had roared.
“And Prince Kellhus?” Iyokus asked.
“Is a prophet,” Eleäzaras said softly. He had watched him— he had seen —after they had cut the man down from the Circumfix … Eleäzaras had watched him reach into his chest and pull out his fucking heart!
Some kind of trick … it had to be!
“Eli,” Iyokus said, “surely this—”
“I spoke to him myself,” the Grandmaster interrupted, “and at quite some length … He’s a true prophet of the God, Iyokus … And you and I … well, we’re quite damned.” He looked at his Master of Spies, his face screwed into an expression of pained hilarity. “Another little joke we seem to have found ourselves on the wrong side of …”
“Please,” the man exclaimed. “How could you—”
“Oh, I know. He sees things … things only the God could see.” He swung at one of the earthenware decanters, caught it, shook it in the air to listen for the telltale slosh of wine. Empty. “He showed me,” he said, casting it against the wall, where it shattered. He smiled at Iyokus, letting the weight of his bottom lip draw his mouth open. “He showed me who I am . You know all those little thoughts, all those half-glimpsed things that scurry like vermin through your soul? He catches them, Iyokus. He catches them and holds them squealing in the air. Then he names them, and tells you what they mean.” He turned away once more. “He sees the secrets .”
“What secrets? What are you saying, Eli?”
“Oh, you’ve no need to worry. He cares nothing whether you fuck little boys or press broomsticks up your ass. It’s the secrets you keep from yourself, Iyokus. Those are his interest. He sees …” A pang gripped his throat so violently he had to look at Iyokus and laugh. He felt tears spill hot across his cheeks. His voice cracked. “He sees what breaks your heart.”
You have doomed your School.
“You’re drunk,” the chanv addict said, his tone both unnerved and disgusted.
Eleäzaras raised his hand in a foppish wave. “Go speak to him yourself. He’ll discern more than pickled meat through your skin. You’ll see—”
He heard the man snort, then kick away a metal bowl as he withdrew.
The Grandmaster of the Scarlet Spires reclined in his settee, resumed his study of the Fama Palace through the afternoon haze. The network of walls, terraces, and Fanic colonnades. The faint smoke rising from what had to be the kitchens. The clots of distant penitents filing beneath the square gates.
Somewhere … He’s in there somewhere.
“Oh, yes, and Iyokus?” he abruptly
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