He frowned. ‘This proves a weak winter.’
‘It does,’ she agreed. ‘My overture is well received. Neither unrelieved darkness nor light will serve us. There must be a proper union, a balance of powers. That there be light in darkness, and darkness in light.’
‘Ah. I see.’
Her sudden smile was brittle. ‘I think not. By “darkness” she means all that is base – vices, in truth. Fear and evil, the malign essence of mortal nature. In “light” and “light” alone dwell the virtues of our nature. She swallows us with difficulty, and sees the balance as a war of wills, upon the field of each and every soul. Fear blinds, after all, as befits darkness made absolute, while purest light reveals courage, fortitude, and the gift of seeing both truthfully and clearly.’
‘Purest light will blind as surely as absolute darkness,’ Herat pointed out, scowling.
‘And so the admixture is invited.’
Herat grunted. ‘An alchemy of impurity.’
‘And thus the fate of all mortal beings, historian, shall be one of unending struggle.’
The historian shrugged, looking away. ‘She but articulates every age past, and every age to come. Still, to cast us into such a venal role …’
‘There is this thing,’ Emral Lanear said, ‘with betrayal. It becomes easier to stomach the second time around.’
‘You will turn upon her?’
‘Entice her with seeming victory, yes. But I will fight for the virtue of darkness, by striking from it, unseen.’
Rise Herat nearly choked on the statement, wondering if she even grasped its appalling hypocrisy. He squinted at the tapestry scene. ‘So, what is this, then? I know not the artist, nor the court and its players.’
Frowning, the High Priestess turned to the hanging. ‘Woven by an Azathanai, I was told.’
‘Whence came it?’
‘A gift, from Grizzin Farl.’
‘He arrived without much upon his back, High Priestess.’
She shrugged. ‘It is their way, I suppose, to present gifts from unknown places.’
‘And the scene?’
‘Muddled, apparently. The weaver sought to elevate a momentous event among savages. Dog-Runners, in fact.’
‘Ah, then the woman on the throne must be the Sleeping Goddess.’
‘I imagine so, historian.’
Rise Herat rose and approached the tapestry. ‘She grasps something in her right hand – can you make it out?’
‘A serpent aflame,’ Emral replied, joining him. ‘Or so Grizzin described it.’
‘That is fire? It seems more like blood. What does it signify?’
‘The gift of knowing.’
He grunted. ‘The gift of knowing that which cannot be known, I presume. But, I think, it is but half a serpent. There is the head, but no tail.’
‘The snake emerges from her palm,’ said Emral Lanear, before turning away once more.
Rise Herat swung to her, but could not catch her eye, nor, as she moved away, her expression. Fire … blood. Eyes that see, but reveal nothing. No different from what afflicts Endest Silann. Dog-Runners, you have a sister goddess in your midst. A moment later the breath hissed through his teeth. ‘High Priestess? Is Grizzin Farl still a guest of the Citadel?’
‘He is.’ She was standing near her bedroom door now, as if impatient to see him depart her company.