work is more important than the appeasement of deities, so this time, as in the
past, we have intervened.’
‘But the temple? They should have buried a virgin, then?’
‘A forged person would arouse the Rankan gods, but not an imperfect virgin. When
the temple of Ils was erected, the old priests sought a royal soul to
inter beneath the altar. They wanted the youngest, and most loved, of the
royal princes. The queen was a sorceress of some skill herself. She disguised
an old slave, and his bones still rest beneath the altar.’
‘So the gods of Ilsig and Ranke are equal?’
The hooded man laughed. ‘We have seen to it that all gods within Sanctuary are
equally handicapped, my child.’
‘And what of me? Lythande warned me not to fail.’
‘Did I not just say that our purpose – and therefore your purpose – was
accomplished? You did not fail, and we repay, as Marilla promised, with a black
steel anvil. It is yours.’
He laid a hand on the anvil and disappeared in a wisp of smoke.
‘Lyra, are you all right? I heard you speaking with someone. I buried that girl
before I came looking for you.’
‘Here is the anvil.’
‘I do not want such an ill-gotten thing.’ Dubro took her arm and tried to lead
her out of the courtyard.
‘I have paid too much already!’ she shouted at him, wresting away from his
grasp. ‘Take it back to the bazaar – then we will forget all this ever happened.
Never speak of it to anyone. But don’t leave the anvil here, or it’s all worth
nothing!’
‘I can never forget your face on that dead girl… thing.’
Illyra remained silently staring at the still-muddy ground. Dubro went to the