The Hethraeum of Vilais was an awe-inspiring sight, but above ground the only evidence of its existence was a series of pillars arranged in a rectangle. "The sky is being the First Knight's ceiling, Cass, do you see?" Barthim was in even better spirits than usual, having fallen in love with Vilais at first sight. Casimir had caught some of the Beast's enthusiasm, grinning at him as he drank in the sights, but Denisius sometimes caught the boy looking somber and withdrawn.

Around the sunken stairway that led to the Hethraeum itself was a wide circle of sand. Knots of men were engaged in wrestling contests and duels with blunted weapons, priests milling about to referee the matches. A few women were present as well, but mostly as bystanders, a number of them looking on rapturously, cheering their favored combatants. The ones who were actually sparring looked fiercer than some of the men. Denisius imagined they might give even Barthim a challenge, though based on the way most of them were eying the bouncer he doubted "challenge" was what they had in mind.

Barthim, who had far more important matters to attend, was giving Casimir a tour of the above-ground plaza. "And here," he pointed to the broad white stair that descended into the Hethraeum proper, "is where we Blades go to pay our devotions to the First Knight. Ammas is not saying you are not to be honoring the gods, is he?"

"No," Casimir said. "He doesn't really talk about the gods much."

"Then he is neglecting a vital part of your learning! Good Denisius, you and Vos stay up here while I am showing Cass the prizes and shrines below. Compete, if you are feeling valorous. But be careful if Vos Goldentongue decides to climb into the circle." He leaned forward, grinning, a conspiratorial gleam in his eye. "I am hearing rumors Nythelians like to bite." Laughing, he descended into the Hethraeum, one arm curled about Casimir's shoulders.

"What do you think?" said Denisius once Barthim and Casimir were out of sight. "Feel like signing up for a match?"

Vos shook his head. "I'm not in the mood for sprained limbs or broken teeth today, milord." His keen eyes met Lord Marhollow's. "Besides, I think you and I ought to speak a little frankly. You had questions the other night. And I'd like to know why you've spent the last few days looking like you'd bitten into a hunk of rotten fish."

Denisius wandered over to one of the spectator's benches, slumping into it with a frown. Vos remained standing, looking down at him with some concern. "Vos, you don't care much for the nobility, do you?"

Vos glanced from side to side, saw no one at all interested in the two of them, and shrugged noncommittally.

"And you left the Imperial army after -- "

"I think you should curb that, milord."

Denisius glared. "Well, let's say you had a difference of opinion with Imperial policy and leave it at that."

"All right," Vos said uneasily.

"So why would you serve my father, who's as bad as any of them?"

Vos stared at him. "Milord, I don't know -- "

"I overhead Othma Sulivar and Ammas. They were talking about Briarcliff. What my father did to it. How he helped kill them. You're all right with that?"

Vos said nothing for a long moment, looking away from Denisius to the sparring matches. When he spoke it was with the slowness of a man weighing every word before it left his lips. "Whether I'm all right with it or not, milord, I was in no place to say otherwise."

"I look at the way Ammas is trying to help Carala, I look at the way he teaches Casimir, I hear stories like the ones Othma told, and I find myself wondering how in the name of the pit my father and the other nobles let all that happen. You were there. You saw it all. Did they have it coming?" A rage was burning in Denisius's eyes Vos had never witnessed, not even when he complained bitterly of Lorith's abuses.

"I didn't see it all, milord -- "

"More than most. And you were in Marhollow when Briarcliff -- "

Vos laid a hand on Denisius's shoulder. "Milord, I know a lot has been kept from you. From Carala, too, for that matter -- "

"Like why she's being given to me?"

Vos froze. Denisius's glare intensified.

"So you knew. You knew all along and didn't say a gods-damned word to me about it. Did you think it was funny, seeing the Emperor give his daughter to someone like me, someone who's not going to inherit anything but a worthless grove of seretto trees and maybe some books?" Reddish blotches had climbed into Denisius's cheeks and his eyes glittered furiously.

"I don't think anything about this is funny, milord. I truly don't."

Denisius only glared, staring off now at the stairs of the Hethraeum. A warrior-priest was scrutinizing a blunted sword, while one of the sparring visitors watched on anxiously. Vos sat beside Denisius, tugging a fresh cigar from his tunic.

"Last one," he said regretfully. "Do you want it, milord?" Denisius shook his head. Vos nodded and went about trimming, lighting, and smoking. When he spoke his tone was soft, nearly apologetic. "Your father isn't a bad man, Deni. He really isn't. Could you have stood against the Emperor and his wishes? Think of how he is now. Then imagine him twenty years younger and fitter and more ambitious. If you knew the things that had happened then -- the things he did to Ammas's family, and some things even worse," Vos trailed off, a thin cloud of rieldo fumes drifting up from him. "Once the dissolution had begun, there was no stopping it. He had the bar of seer-magistrates conspiring against him, and who knows how many of their colleagues supporting them? The Ninefold faiths sanctioned everything he did, too. You must remember that. The rivalry between the faiths and the academies had only gotten more and more bitter over the centuries. Imagine your father trying to stand against not only the Emperor and his armies, but the priests of the Graces, the Hethmar Blades, the moneychangers of Tol Daether, all of them."

"He should have tried," Denisius retorted acidly.

"You're forgetting something else, Deni."

"Oh? Tell me how stupid I'm being, Vos. Othma would love you for it."

"You forget that your father had three young sons. You were still in your clouts, and Lorith and Steffen weren't much older. And every noble sworn to the Malachite Throne knew what had happened to Jan Mourthia. Do you think the Emperor or one of his sons might not have done the same to you?"

Denisius said nothing, though his glare softened considerably.

Vos studied him closely. "I think Erstan feels guilt over it, Deni. I think that's why he's letting you marry Carala. If he wanted to, he could order Lorith to set aside Ammi Kerrell, or force Steffen to accept whatever bride he ordered. But you're the one who reminds him of himself. So, a less useful match, if he can make you happy, and get something good out of what he did all those years ago."

"You must be very well paid, Vos," Denisius said sourly.

"I'm comfortable. Do you think that's why I serve your family?"

"I rarely know why you do anything."

"What if I told you not every student at Briarcliff was killed? What if I told you I asked your father for help in saving just one of them?"

Denisius regarded Vos coolly. "So it's true, then."

"What's true?"

"You had a sister at Briarcliff. The Doyenne spoke of that too."

Vos was gazing out over the plaza, his eyes distant. "I guess Othma spoke of many things she shouldn't have." Vos sighed. "Yes, Irenne was why I retired to Marhollow. To help raise her, as our parents were gone." He smiled a little and turned his eyes back on Denisius. "Erstan was at quite a loss. He knew he had just saved his family, but he was sickened by what was about to happen. So I convinced him to help me get my sister out of there before it did. She serves as an astrologer to the Sultan's court in Q'Sivaris now."

"I had no idea."

Vos shrugged. "Only the smallest acts of defiance were possible, Deni. There are far worse men in the Anointed Realms than your father. Try not to be too angry at him."

A silence fell over them for a while. They watched the sparring combatants. A tall, wiry woman clad in a leather surcoat and a snarling half-mask seemed to be winning the day. "I don't know if I can do this anymore."

"You wish to go back to Marhollow?"

"That's not what I mean. I'm not going to turn my back on the others, especially not Carala. But I don't know if I can marry her, even if Ammas cures her. Knowing why I'd be marrying her -- why her father gave her to me."

"Oh." Vos sounded puzzled. "If you don't think you can marry her, then why keep on with this?"

"Because I want to -- I don't know -- I want to -- " He shook his head, searching for the words. "I want to earn her. I can't stomach the idea that she'd be some kind of prize for what happened at Briarcliff. I want to earn her, then tell my father I won't do as he wants."

"Deni, your prospects -- "

"To the pit with my prospects," Denisius growled.

"The Emperor -- "

"To the pit with him, too."

Vos stared at his master wonderingly. "I think," he said at last, "Barthim would be incredibly proud of you."

Denisius laughed. "That means more than you know." A crooked smile curled his lips. "What do you say? When this is all over we sail to Summervale, try to woo a couple of Namarri?"

"Why not?" Vos laughed, and turned from his master with a shake of his head, watching as the warrior-priest looped a bronze medallion over the masked woman-warrior's neck.

*