Only when the crowd had settled did Uinian IV make his entrance from a gilded door halfway down the southern aisle. If you stripped off that overwrought amice and alb, Adare thought, you might mistake him for a carpetmonger or a wheelwright. The priest’s entourage ensured that there was no danger of that. Before and behind him walked two columns of novices, boys and girls both, each dressed in the gold and white of Intarra, each swinging a crystal from a golden chain. The stones caught the light and scattered it dizzyingly across the walls and floor, but Adare kept her eyes on Uinian.
The man’s defiance and ambition had only grown in the weeks since the Trial. In addition to augmenting the Sons of Flame, he was preaching openly on the distinction between human and divine rule, turning what had been an abstract theological issue into a contention that could overturn an empire. According to il Tornja, people were arguing about the difference between Divine Mandate and Divine Right in the Graymarket and the dockyards, arguing, that was, about the very legitimacy of Malkeenian rule. Worse, Uinian had taken to repeating his “miracle” every day in the noon service. To the men and women gathered in the pews, he was not simply the Chief Priest; he was the anointed of the goddess herself.
Which is why I have to be here, Adare reminded herself. To do this.
For a long time it appeared that Uinian had not noticed her, but as he drew abreast of the imperial booth, he halted the procession with a gesture, and turned to face her. When he spoke, he kept his eyes on hers, but his voice was meant for the congregation.
“How unusual. The princess graces us with her presence.” A hiss and murmur rippled through the crowd, but Uinian raised his hand for silence, a sly smile on his face. “We have not seen you in this place of worship for a very long time, my lady.”
Adare took a deep breath. She had broken the dam; it was time to see if the flood would carry her on its current or drown her. “My family worships the goddess who gave us life in the old place, atop Intarra’s Spear each solstice.”
“Of course,” Uinian nodded, steepling his fingers before his lips. “Of course. An ancient place, and holy. And yet, the solstice services come but twice a year.”
“It would be strange,” Adare shot back, “if we had more solstice services than solstices.”
As soon as the words left her lips, she knew she had made an error, conceded territory in the dangerous game they were playing. The parishioners who came to the daily noon service were pious folk, devoted to the goddess. Some, no doubt, made the visit every day from as far away as the dockyards, the Graymarket, or south of the Godsway. Her flippant tone grated against their faith.
Uinian’s smile widened.
“Each of us serves the goddess in our own way,” he acknowledged. “I’m sure there are more … bureaucratic tasks that demand your attention. But tell me, why have you joined us today? Might I be so bold as to inquire if you come in penitence for your recent … errors?”
The man was bold indeed, to insult her to her face before the assembled citizens of Annur. Ran’s words came back to her: There is a time in every battle when you must act. There could be no half measures now.
“I come to illuminate my people, to bring them the truth.”
Uinian narrowed his eyes. He was on his own ground here, surrounded by his own people, hard on the heels of his recent triumph. He had nothing to fear from her, and yet, clearly he had not expected this line of attack.
“Illumination? Those eyes of yours may smolder, but they fail to cast much light.”
Adare ignored the gibe, turning instead to the congregation and raising her voice. “Your priest claims to be half divine himself.”
“No,” Uinian said firmly. “Just a faithful servant of the goddess.”
“He claims,” Adare continued, pressing on as though the man had not spoken, “that Intarra guards him from the flames. He lies.”
An angry chorus exploded at her charge. Those who came for the noon service were the heart of the faith, the most devoted. She was treading on very dangerous ground here. Uinian himself, however, held up a hand to still the congregation.
“Those who have seen, know the truth,” he said, “while those who have come now, questioning, will have it revealed.” He turned to gesture to the lens above him. “The goddess has graced us with her light this noon, and I will undertake the Trial once more, as a gesture of my faith.”
“Your faith is barren falsity.”
He turned to the crowd once more. “You hear now the sad and desperate recriminations of a house that will lie, even kill, to retain its grip on power. You hear the empty mewling of a tyrant so far fallen in her faith that she would utter bald untruths here in this holiest sanctum.”