builder within the Rankan prince’s entourage. She had another friend and patron
living within his household. Was this the woman of Cappen Varra’s idylls? Had
the minstrel finally overstepped himself?
‘Why would the Rankan have his way with you?’ she asked, prying gently.
‘They have sought to build a temple for their gods.’
‘But you are not a goddess, nor even Rankan. Such things should not concern
you.’
Illyra spoke lightly, but she knew, from the cards, that the priests sought her
as part of some ritual – not in personal interest.
‘My father is rich – proud and powerful among those of Sanctuary who have never
accepted the fall of the Ilsig kingdom and will never accept the empire. Molin
has singled my father out. He has demanded our lands for his temple. When we
refused, he forced the weaker men not to trade with us. But my father would not
give in. He believes the gods of Ilsig are stronger, but Molin has vowed revenge
rather than admit failure.’
‘Perhaps your family will have to leave Sanctuary to escape this foreign priest,
and your home be torn down to build their temple. But though the city may be all
you know, the world is large, and this place but a poor part of it.’
Illyra spoke with far more authority than she actually commanded. Since the
death of her mother, she had left the bazaar itself only a handful of times and
had never left the city. The words were part of the S’danzo oratory Moonflower
had taught her.
‘My father and the others must leave, but not me. I’m to be part of Molin
Torchholder’s revenge. His men came once to my father’s house. The Rankan