Thieves World 7 – The Dead of Winter by Asprin, Robert

plowed the fields with a Celebrant (Hereditary Harridan, in the vernacular) of

Sabellia.

“I have affairs in the city which require my presence, Milady Wife,” he answered

her, not bothering to be polite. “I cannot stand idle each morning while you

diddle through your wardrobe.”

“You have more important affairs right here. Danlis informs me that no

preparations have been made for our Mid-Winter Festival-which, need I remind

you, is a mere ten days from now. None of the bitterwood I sent to Ranke for has

arrived. Sabellia’s sacred hearth will be unpurified and there won’t be enough

embers for the women to take back to their home-hearths. Now, I know it’s too

much to think that snake-smitten puppy of a Prince would take his position as

Savankala’s Flamen seriously enough to attend to these matters, but I would

think that you, the ranking Hierarch in Sanctuary, would see that our gods

receive proper respect.

“The Flamens of Ils have set their altars up, the Snake-Chanters have theirs.

Rashan struggles to honor all the gods without any aid-“

Molin spun the empty goblet between his fingers. “I have no god. Milady Wife,

and precious little interest whether anyone scatters scented ashes this winter.

Did you feel the ground quiver during the storm-“

“The glass in our bedroom, which you choose to ignore, is on the floor instead

of in the windows. You’ll have to get that horrid little metal-worker to fix it

I won’t spend a night with the sea air ruining my complexion.”

He paused, thought better of commenting on her complexion, then continued in a