back to his Prince. We’re going to need that man’s unique and nasty talents
before this is over.’ He rerolled the parchment and handed it over to the
mute.
Walegrin scowled. He had no desire to have Tempus back in the town. Molin sipped
at his wine and seemed to notice Cythen for the first time again. ‘Now then, for
your companion’s questions. I was not aware of the unfortunate woman’s
relationship to Cythen until after she was dead. And I certainly did not know
there was danger in bedding a Beysib until it was too late.’
‘But you were watching her. You must have suspected something,’ Cythen snarled,
grinding her heel into the lush wool-and-silk carpet and banging her fist on the
priest’s fine parquet table.
‘She was, I believe, a half-mad – or totally mad, you’d know better than I
harlot at the Aphrodisia. I can not imagine the dangers or delights of such a
life. She entertained a variety of Beysib men, one of the few who would, and as
the welfare of the Beysib is important to me, I kept tabs on them, and therefore
her. It is a pity she was murdered – that is what happened, isn’t it? But, mad
as she was – sleeping with the Beysib – isn’t it better that she’s departed? Her
spirit is free now to be reborn on a higher, happier level.’
Theology came easily and sincerely to the priest. And Cythen, who knew her own
sins well enough, was tempted to believe the resonant phrases.
‘You knew something,’ she said pleadingly, clutching her resolve. ‘Just like the
Harka Bey suspected something when I told them.’