Molin Torchholder realized the danger when his workmen began to drop beside his unfinished city wall and, returning to the palace, found the Prince in a panic and a full-scale crisis on his hands. That morning, the decapitated body of a dog had been discovered in the ruined Temple of Dyareela, with “Death to the
Beysib” scrawled in its blood on the altar stone.
Lalo turned, spattering blue paint from the plastered wall past the pillar as the High Priest stormed through the Presence Hall with the Prince and the Beysa hurrying along behind.
“They are saying that Dyareela is punishing Sanctuary because of our betrothal.”
Shupansea tightened her grip on Ka-dakithis’s hand. “They say that your Demon
Goddess is angry because the town has accepted Mother Bey!”
“My goddess!” Both Prince and Beysa fell back as Molin turned on them, looking rather like a Storm God himself with his mantle flaring around him and dust flying from his uncombed hair and beard. Lalo found it hard to believe that this was the same sleek priest who had given him his first great commission so long ago. But then his own changes in the past few years had been even more remarkable, if less obvious. And Sanctuary itself had changed.
“Dyareela’s no deity of Ranke, or of the Ilsig either!” Molin’s gaze fixed on
Lalo and a quick grab hauled the limner out from behind the pillar. “You tell them-you’re a Wrig-glie! Is Dyareela any goddess of yours?”
Lalo stared at him, more startled than offended by the priest’s use of the
Rankan epithet. Torchholder’s unguarded tongue was the best evidence of the priest’s own frustration and fear.