Ranke’s palace with Theron, interviewing chart makers and seamen who told of dragons in the eastern sea with emerald eyes and of treasures in shoreline caves the like of which the Rankan Empire had never seen.
But neither Jihan nor her intended, Randal, understood that their betrothal was the result of a deal Tempus had made with Stormbringer, the Froth Daughter’s father-a deal he’d struck in expediency and haste with a god known as a master trickster. Though deal it was, he was no longer certain it was prudent: He’d have use for both Jihan and Randal, the Stepsons’ warrior-mage, on the eastward trek, and neither one could leave until the matter was decided.
So he was here, to yea or nay the thing, to make sure that Randal, a Sacred Band partner and one of his men, was not trapped in hell’s own bowels against his will, and that Jihan’s father did not blow storms of confusion in his daughter’s eyes to keep her where He had chosen to abide.
He had come in disguise, as best he was able. His form was heroic in proportion and his face resembled that of a god once known in Sanctuary, but banished now:
High-browed and honey-bearded, that face looked upon the gutted ways of the warehouse district with all the disgust three centuries and more of life could impart.
It was the face of Vashanka, now called the Hidden God, that Tempus wore tonight: Selfish and proud, full of war and death, it was the face of Sanctuary itself.
It made him feel at home here, as did the storm descending. In Sanctuary, self interest never flagged; his presence here upon pressing, private business, was proof of that.