She sighed as she headed for the steps. “I’ve handled cases where rogue sorcerers have summoned creatures out of the Darkness. Maybe those creatures could be mistaken for gods, if they weren’t so malevolent! Those cultists who worship them rarely live to regret it. And the higher gods, the greater gods…
“People are wasting their lives worshipping creatures who can’t or won’t intervene in human affairs,” she added. “The time spent praying could be better used elsewhere. The food donated to the temple could be given directly to the poor. If the gods were good, they’d help anyway; if not, they wouldn’t. And all the stories make the gods out to be spoilt brats in need of a good thrashing. They may be more powerful than us, but that doesn’t make them good.”
Emily said nothing. She’d read enough about the Greek and Roman gods to know that Sienna had a point. The gods had been assholes, demanding worship on one hand and cursing random people on the other. And yet, if religion caused no harm, why bother to worry about it?
Her thoughts answered her. Because no religion is as good as its god. It is only as good as its followers. And some of those followers are worse than their gods.
They reached the bottom of the stairs. “Something clearly happened up there,” Sienna said, “but what?”
“I don’t know,” Emily said. A Manavore might be able to drain the local magic field, but she hadn’t seen one of them in the present day, not even in the history books. They’d been forgotten hundreds of years ago. “What do we tell the guildmaster?”
“Nothing, yet,” Sienna said. “I think we’d better go visit an old friend of mine – and her daughter. She might be able to tell us what she saw, the night her boyfriend died.”
Emily nodded. “And then what?”
Sienna looked, just for a second, much older. “I wish I knew,” she said. “Right now, we can’t even swear to it being murder…or suicide.”
“And if he committed suicide,” Emily finished. It didn’t seem likely – there had been something on top of the temple – but it was possible. “Everyone is going to want to know why he committed suicide.”
And they’ll demand their money back, her thoughts added. What happens then?
Chapter Seventeen
THERE WERE MORE GUARDS – AND HANDS of Justice – on the streets as they left Temple Row and headed towards the docks. The homes were darker here, bolted and locked…sometimes even guarded by hired toughs. Men gathered outside bars, chatting to one another in hushed voices, their eyes flickering from side to side as if afraid of being overheard. There were few women on the streets at all. Emily resisted the urge to walk closer to Sienna as she felt sharp-edged protective spells drifting through the air. None felt friendly.
“Be on your best behavior,” Sienna warned, as they stopped outside a small house. “Sarnia is not one to tolerate incivility.”
Emily glanced at her, then nodded. The house – Sarnia’s house – was surrounded by hundreds of protective spells, meshed together into a network that would be difficult to break without setting off all kinds of alarms. Emily could feel them probing at her, warning her to keep back. There were so many redundancies built into the spellwork that she had no doubt Sarnia was a powerful and experienced sorceress. And then the wards fell back, allowing them to enter.
“This way,” Sienna said.
She led the way to the door, which opened smoothly. A tall woman stood just inside the porch, her eyes studying Emily with undisguised interest. Emily looked back, evenly. The woman – Sarnia, she assumed – could have passed for an aristocrat. Her stern face, cold eyes and greying hair suggested it wouldn’t be easy to change her mind about anything. Her black robes made it clear she was a sorceress.
“Sienna,” she said. Her voice was cool and composed. “I welcome you to my house.”
“Thank you,” Sienna said. “Sarnia, may I present Lady Emily?”
Sarnia looked unimpressed. “You are welcome, Lady Emily.”
“Thank you,” Emily said. “I pledge to hold my hand in your house.”
“Very good.” Sarnia’s voice was still composed. “You may enter.”
Emily followed the two older women, looking around with interest. There was no household god, no sign of any religion…merely hundreds of runes, carved into the walls. Sarnia had linked them into the wards, she noted. It would make it harder to starve the wards of power instead of breaking them down one by one. Sarnia led them into a small living room, so picture-perfect that Emily couldn’t help wondering how long Sarnia – or her servants – spent cleaning and dusting it every day. Everything had its place.
“I assume this is not a social call,” Sarnia said, as she motioned for them to sit down. “Shall we get right to the point?”
“We’re investigating Vesperian’s death,” Sienna said, briskly. She sounded pleased. Emily wondered if she’d been dreading a few minutes of pointless chatter before getting to the point. “We need to talk to Alba.”
“Alba is not in a good state at the moment.” Sarnia’s face didn’t change, but Emily thought she saw pain in the older woman’s eyes. “Do you have to talk to her?”
“I’m afraid so,” Sienna said. “She was a witness to one of the petrifications.”
Sarnia looked displeased. “I shall summon her,” she said. She cocked her head, interacting with the house’s wards. “Do you want my insights while you wait?”
“Of course,” Sienna said.
“Alba snuck out of the house, two weeks ago.” She smiled an odd little smile. “My daughter believes I didn’t know she was sneaking out.”
“Just like you did at her age,” Sienna said.
“Indeed,” Sarnia agreed. “She had the usual collection of protective spells – and her wand, of course – so I believed she could go in reasonable safety. And the next thing I know, a guardsman is knocking desperately on my door, babbling something about my daughter being frightened out of her wits. I checked the tracking spell, and it was gone.”
Emily leaned forward, shocked. “You had a tracking spell on your daughter?”