Rubin Aldor sat in Onfri’s beautiful garden, where red roses were blooming and the fruit on the trees was ripening. It was a perfect evening for watching the sunset cascading a red-and-pink radiance across the sky, promising more warmth tomorrow. Instead of thanking the weather gods, he felt like chiding them. They had given the god-killers a glorious day. Up and down Kimalloa, people would remember in years to come what a good time they had at the first Victory Festival.
Rubin and Onfri raised their wine glasses.
“To what, Onfri? What can we drink to? One pathetic trick with an old woman! That was all we could muster to spoil their show of dominance.”
“Small symbols it will have to be—for now—and you can thank Sitra that there was even that. Twenty-seven of our loyalists were arrested in Nasrin alone last night. Let’s drink to the future, Rubin. Our time will come.”
Rubin drank some wine. It tasted as soft as velvet. “Yes. I believe there’s hope. They sat me almost on Clayhills’ lap at the groundball—to deter assassins, I suppose—but it gave me a close-up view of their reactions. The new general and his old wife were furious about the crowd chanting for the Yerallan. That was very amusing! They’re falling out with each other so soon.”
Onfri smiled. “Therein lies our salvation, Rubin. Power corrupts and power divides. There’ll be jealousies and there’ll be factions. We should do what we can to drive wedges between the god-killer elite.”
“Well, you’re the expert on that. Do your utmost. I can’t help thinking that we’ll have to wait for a catastrophe, like a great plague. Even so, we are divided and weak. The Lords of the North won’t follow Esta, even if she declares for our faith.” Rubin took another mouthful of the gorgeous Pozarian wine. “Poor Esta. She admired Nolli’s uncovered hair, you know—she must long to show off her lustrous curls. I’m going to donate a new craft shed or three in some godforsaken villages of inbreds on the fens—for our veterans—and invite the gracious Lord Arbiter and his wife to visit them. Then I might know more about who she is now.”
“They will be overwhelmed by your generosity, I’m sure. But don’t get her hopes up. King Rolan has had a gutful of Kimalloa—”
