I Crit missed Strat like food and water. He missed Kama less, but still loved her. And still hated the gutterslime she’d taken up with: Molin Torchholder, the politicized priest of a pantheon unnatural to this Ilsig soil.
All the Rankan conquerors of this Ilsigi town of Sanctuary, and the Beysib invaders who had come after and made an uneasy alliance by marriage with the Rankan governor, Prince Kadakithis, mistook the townspeople here for the sort that were governable. And now Crit was responsible to see that at least the appearance of governance was instilled and maintained here, where the balance between gods and magic had suddenly crumbled and all that was left to do was rule Sanctuary by force of arms.
As commander-in-chief of the policing forces, he was responsible to the prince/governor Kadakithis, who was answerable to Theron and might lose more than his palace if the emperor’s demands weren’t met; responsible to Kadakithis’s Beysib consort, Shupansea, who wasn’t even human, but some sort of fish-woman from across a forbidden sea; respon- sible to Kama because she was the Riddler’s daughter and, by all the gods that loved the armies, Crit’s woman more than Molin’s.
Kama had conceived a child with Crit and they’d lost it on a battle- field. Since then, she’d found whatever man she could to sleep with who’d be most hurtful to Crit when he found out. Which he always did, because she was her father’s daughter and thought that women’s ways were for lesser creatures, the way her father thought that men’s limits applied only to his enemies.