text: "I was supposed to protect him," Natanial said, slogging his way through the rolling grass of the plateau, the jistas and guards from the temple just ahead of him, Monshara grumbling beside him. "Now he's gone, Saradyn's gone, that little boy is gone. That's not on me. That's on your empress and her temple's terrible security."
  
  "She's going to be pissed," Monshara said. "That boy could traverse through the temple like a specter."
  
  "I should never have brought him," Natanial said. "I failed him. I went after him for foolish, selfish reasons. Just like Zezili."
  
  "Maybe he's just gone home," Monshara said. "I'm the one here looking like a fool. She'll want my head."
  
  "This is such a fucking nightmare."
  
  The Empress herself met them in the front garden. She was yelling at the jistas about securing the temple against omajistas. When her gaze found Natanial she stabbed a finger at him.
  
  "Here we go," Monshara muttered.
  
  "The two of you," Kirana said, "come with me to the Sanctuary. Right now." She brought two soldiers with her, ones he recognized from upstairs, and several more he took to be jistas of one type or another.
  
  The Sanctuary was a marvel; Natanial hadn't seen anything like it in all his travels. The great dome of glass filtered the light of the double helix of the suns. The bloody red eye of Oma stared down balefully, precisely centered over the stained-glass representation of the satellite that had been worked into the ceiling… how long ago? Another cycle ago, perhaps, many cycles, the first cycle, if the rumors were to be believed. They had built these temples knowing exactly where Oma would appear in the sky.
  
  Altars to the Dhai gods, the satellites, still ringed the central pedestal. Stone lanterns circled each altar. There was an ancient library here, filling the eastern stretch of the room, and dozens of tables piled with books and papers and diagrams.
  
  An old man waited for them, hands stuffed in the pockets of his tunic.
  
  "Empress," he said immediately, and made to cross to her, but she held up her hand.
  
  "Hold there, Dasai," she said. "Close the doors, Monshara."
  
  She did, leaving the four of them alone in the great space, their voices echoing. Natanial was very aware of his own breath. He let his gaze travel up the green skin of the temple to the domed glass again, shielding his eyes from Oma's light. The other satellites were visible, Tira and Sina, at the outer edges of the dome.
  
  "You all brought a good many messes into my temple," Kirana said. "All at once."
  
  "I apologize," Dasai said, "but as you can see, the boy can converse with these temples if we–"
  
  "I get it," Kirana said. "Monshara, you can see you're not the only one I'm pissed at. That boy shouldn't have been able to channel. Suari should have put a Song of Unmaking on him. That's his fuckup and I'll have words with him. Dasai, I want you out of here. Pack up your little friends and get back to Caisau. I've no need of you here."
  
  "But Empress, this boon–"
  
  "You brought me nothing," she spit. The temple seemed to tremble at that, but it may have been Natanial's imagination. "You are creeping perilously close here to being suspect. A year it took you to get here, after you knew what he was?"
  
  "It's very complicated. I–"
  
  "You have your own little flesh deals, yes," the Empress said. "I know about your scheming in the north. I know that you're looking to consolidate power. I've no time for that. Madah? Oravan? Light him up please."
  
  "This is–" Dasai sputtered.
  
  Madah flicked her wrist, releasing a willowthorn sword that wrapped around her wrist and pressed back against Dasai. She maneuvered him away from the tables.
  
  The air heaved.
  
  Dasai burst into flames. He shrieked, once, long and loud, bringing his arms up even as the flesh seared away, curling his arms into long claws. The body collapsed, still simmering, mostly charred bone and papery flesh, sizzling fat. The smell made Natanial's eyes water.
  
  "And you," Kirana said, rounding on Natanial and Monshara.
  
  Monshara said, "I have ever been loyal. You know that."
  
  "I do," Kirana said, folding her arms. "It's why you're alive. But you," she said, jabbing a finger at Natanial. "You I don't know. Monshara says it was your idea to bring that boy here, and the old man."
  
  "I honestly thought it would help your campaign."
  
  "And why do you want to help me, Tordinian? Or are you Aaldian?"
  
  "A bit of both," Natanial said. "I'm a mercenary. That's true. I like to align myself with the strongest players."
  
  "And that's me."
  
  "Yes."
  
  "And when it's not any longer?"
  
  Natanial gave a small shrug. Monshara grimaced, as if he had just agreed to become a human torch, and maybe he had.
  
  "You want to work for me?" Kirana said. "You ward yourself to me, or I light you up like I did Dasai."
  
  Natanial peered at the smoking ruin of the old man, considering his options. He had chosen to put himself here, at her mercy, so he could survive until the end of all this. But in return, who would she have him destroy next?
  
  "I want to find the boy, the omajista," Natanial said. "I want to live through this breaking of the world, and I care enough for him that I'd like him to live, as well. Let me do that, and I'll do anything else you'd like."
  
  "If he's intelligent, he winked himself off to Aaldia or Tordin," she said. "Be happy you're rid of him. An omajista one cannot control is worse than no omajista at all. Trust me in that. I can offer you protection, but frankly, running after that boy would be a fool's errand."
  
  Natanial gazed up at Oma again, turning over his limited options. Bound was better than dead. He had made worse pairings. Saradyn had not been his finest moment, either.
  
  "All right," Natanial said. "I'd like to bring my soldiers over. Pay them, and they'll be as loyal as I will."
  
  "Fine," Kirana said. "With Daorian in hand, both of you are worth more to me scouring the Woodland for a few… key individuals I have been seeking for some time. A child, calling herself Tasia. And a woman called Yisaoh. Both Dhai. I have portraits for you. We've found that it's better to have small but well-trained groups working in the Woodland. We've met nothing but disaster trying to move larger units. Those fucking plants eat them like candy."
  
  "Tordin has similar issues with plant life," Natanial said. "I can help Monshara and her soldiers navigate the Woodland."
  
  "Excellent," Kirana said. "So you'll be useful after all. Let's get you warded, and get you your soldiers. What is a useful mercenary without his soldiers?"
  
  As the Empress's omajista advanced to ward his loyalty to the Empress into his flesh, Natanial took a knee, and wondered if he would ever get the smell of burning flesh from his nose.