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\hypertarget{chapter-81-devotional}{%
\section{Chapter 81: Devotional}\label{chapter-81-devotional}}

\begin{quote}
\emph{``To have faith is to believe there is a plan greater than your
own. And so the dreadful crowned are faithless one and all, for what
plans could ever be greater than our own?''}

-- Dread Emperor Reprobate the First
\end{quote}

``As I recall, the game requires three people,'' I said. ``I've only had
half a cup, Kairos, it's too early to start seeing double.''

Which was as pointed a cue as he could hope for before unveiling
whatever nasty surprise he'd been keeping up his sleeve. The wretched
little bastard grinned at me appreciatively, recognizing the extended
hand for what it was. It was never pleasant to be forced to look in the
eye the truth that I understood Kairos better than I did more people --
and that it came naturally, without effort.

``I believe you're familiar with the man,'' the Tyrant of Helike mused.
``He goes by Beiakim.''

In Ashkaran, that'd be Be-Iakim, which translated to `Child of Iakim'.
The name was not unknown to me, for though it had been millennia late
and in another realm I had attended King Iakim's burial. It'd been in
that echo that I had first heard the word \emph{Intercessor} spoken by
the lips of the man that would become the Dead King: Prince Neshamah, at
one time the most obscure of King Iakim's many children. That was on the
nose, even by villain standards, but I couldn't say as much without
acknowledging Masego and I had stolen knowledge of the long-dead tongue
from Arcadian echoes. Along with others things. Hierophant had plundered
the thoughts of still-mortal Neshamah but I'd seen/

/. Still, this was a rather clear indication of our coming guest's
identity. Chittering gargoyles scattered as someone left the back of the
shop to join us, some of them hurrying to bring forward a skull-adorned
chair and place it to the side between myself and the Tyrant. The Dead
King's puppet, for I much doubted this to be the true body of the King
of Death, made no pretence of still living. Though dressed in long
cloths of purple and silver -- the colours of Keter's banner, as I
recalled -- it was a skeleton that I was looking upon. The bones were as
polished ivory, much of them adorned with purple chalcedony and silver,
and there was something lurking in the shadows of the empty eye sockets
that was dreadfully vital.

``Catherine,'' the King of Death greeted me. ``How pleasant to see you
again.''

``He is rarely so sweet to me, you know,'' Kairos complained.
``Favoritism is a sin, Catherine.''

``Might have something to do with all those betrayals you did,'' I
noted.

I then cleared my throat, gaze turning to the Dead King. Wariness
quickened my pulse, but I could not show weakness in this den of tigers.
They would not strike at me with violence, not here and now. It would
have been more reassuring if those two were not some of the finest
masters of twisted words living and dead. The dead thing claimed the
skull chair, leaving me to wonder if Kairos had ordered it made for this
very occasion or if he'd campaigned across a third of Procer with a
spare skull thorne stashed somewhere in Helike's baggage train.

``Beiakim, is it?'' I said. ``That's new. Surprised you didn't stick
with the classics and go with Trismegistus.''

``If I had, I would have been robbed of the pleasure of your pretended
ignorance,'' Neshamah replied in Ashkaran.

``I don't speak that, you ought to know it by now,'' I replied without
missing a beat.

``Dandelion mouse fishing,'' the Tyrant proudly added in Ashkaran.

More or less, anyway. He was accenting the wrong parts of the words and
there were some syllables he was pronouncing in what I figured to be the
tradertongue way which just\ldots{} didn't work with Ashkaran. There was
almost no commonality between the languages. He might have meant moue
instead of mouse, now that I thought about it.

``Well said, Kairos,'' I agreed.

``I suppose that, bereft of anyone able to share my humour, Trismegistus
will have to do,'' the Dead King said.

``King Trismegistus,'' the Tyrant mused. ``It has a ring to it. Might I
offer you refreshments, Your Highness?''

I eyed the clothed skeleton skeptically. It had no, well, throat. I
assumed the fact that he could speak at all was the result of sorcery,
maybe some sort of runic trick. Likely I was looking at a small sliver
of the Dead King invested in a construct, not unlike the crows that Sve
Noc has sent south with me -- and which, physically speaking, had about
as much business talking as a skeleton. I had to say I admired Kairos a
little for the amount of sheer pointless pettiness it took to offer the
Dead King drinks he couldn't drink. Say what you would about the Tyrant,
but there was absolutely no one to which he would no offer at least one
inconsequent slight.

``That will not be necessary, Tyrant,'' the Dead King said.

I willfully ignored the chittered disappointment of a few gargoyles,
unwilling to entertain exactly what it was that Kairos Theodosian might
have considered fitting refreshments for the Hidden Horror.

``Come to attend the peace conference, I take it?'' I said.

``As I told you I would,'' Neshamah said. ``I find I've lost taste for
war, even in the defence of my ally.''

Keter had made bargain with only the Tower -- \emph{officially, anyway},
I thought as I glanced at Kairos -- which meant it was Dread Empress
Malicia he was speaking of. Might have been more apt to call her a
shield or an excuse than an ally, in my opinion, but it was true he'd
not actually struck before being invited out of his lair by the Empress.
I was not unaware that killing Malicia might actually forced him back
into the Serenity, though actually achieving that would be difficult
considering Ater would be murder to siege and against all odds the
Empress still had a firm grip on most the Wasteland. Pulling away the
kind of forces that would be required to take Praes from the Proceran
fronts would almost certainly collapse them, which made the plan rather
unattractive. It might still come to that, if everything went to shit,
but it was not the first or finest arrow in anyone's quiver.

``It's more than a few corpses too late to be claiming a fondness for
peace,'' I said.

``Mayhaps,'' the Dead King said, ``it is a few corpses too early
instead. It matters not: I am a patient man.''

``How I love a pleasant evening with friends,'' the Tyrant enthused.
``Yet I believe there was talk of indulging a foible of mine.''

``Tower-raising, is it?'' the Dead King said.

``Indeed,'' Kairos smiled. ``'tis an interesting game, though I believe
it would benefit from a greater number of competitors.''

``Is there a single thing you \emph{don't} believe that about?'' I drily
asked.

That actually surprised a laugh out of him, and it ripped out of his
throat in too ungainly a manner -- spit touched his lips, his side
convulsed -- to be entirely feigned. Though I wasn't all the inclined to
play and the Dead King seemed largely indifferent, Kairos still adroitly
pressed for us to indulge him. The rules were not all that complex, and
I'd had vague memories of them. Each of the three of us would begin with
a hidden amount of stones: either six, eight or ten. To win one of us
must gather twenty stones, and those could be obtained both by taking
from opponents as well as from the `kingdom', a pile of fifteen stones
all could see and take from. Acquiring stones had a tad more nuance to
it, for taking from an opponent required the assent of the third while
taking from the kingdom could be done without. One could destroy one's
own stones, one at a time, also without assent. The game ended in common
defeat should twenty full circles pass without anyone having raised
their tower, as the kingdom being plundered `rebelled'. The last detail
was the `pledges', bargain struck between opponents.

Anything could be agreed on, with the only forced detail being that a
number of stones had to be `pledged' as collateral by both sides. Should
one of them then break the pledge, the stones would be obtained by the
wounded party. The Tyrant covered the bowls with embroidered cloths
after having a gargoyle move around the stones, and only then had them
set on the table before us. I checked under mine, raising an eyebrow.
Fortune had been a little too much on my side, these days: I began with
six stones.

``As the most ancient king among us, I would invite honoured
Trismegistus to begin,'' Kairos said.

The Dead King's eyeless gaze turned to me and I shrugged.

``If you're robbing him, I'll assent,'' I said.

The Tyrant of Helike pouted but handed over his stone, which the Hidden
Horror deftly took and slid into the cloth-covered bowl before him.

``So Malicia twists the Thalassocracy's arm so it'll leave the Grand
Alliance,'' I lightly said. ``And now the two of you are here, thick as
thieves. Now, if I were a suspicious sort, I'd suspect some sort of
coalition was being assembled.''

A counterweight to the Grand Alliance, in a way. The Dread Empire, the
Kingdom of the Dead and the League of Free Cities bound by treaty. With
that in mind, forcing Ashur on the fence made a great deal more sense.
Malicia had been trying to make an alliance there for decades without
successes, but the Thalassocracy lived and died on trade: when its ports
were closed by blockade, it quite literally starved. It could not
petition to re-enter the Grand Alliance the moment the wight fleet
sailed away if doing so cost it closed ports across the entire League,
the same of Praes and the displeasure of the Dead King. Trade with the
League of Free Cities was Ashur's lifeblood, much more so than trade
with Levant and Procer. Oh, I doubted the Thalassocracy would turn on
the Alliance even then. But it would suddenly have a great interest in
remaining neutral, one that'd be highly encouraged by how absurdly
lucrative it would be for Ashuran trade to become the middleman between
the two great alliances. This had Malicia's mark all over it, precise
violence followed by the subtle chains of coin and politics.

Of course, there was one little detail in the way: such an alliance
could not take place without the assent of the Hierarch of the League,
and I suspected Anaxares of Bellerophon would rather eat his own sandals
that bargain with the likes of Malicia or the Dead King. Not for the
Evil involved, but rather the crowns. Sisters bless that highly
inconvenient madman. I stole a stone from Kairos as well, with the Dead
King's amused assent.

``Catherine,'' the Tyrant said, ``if you would-''

``No,'' I said.

The Dead King refused as well when Kairos's gaze moved to him. The
Tyrant took from the kingdom, still pouting.

``There would be advantages to endorsing peace with such a coalition,''
the Dead King said. ``I'd think such a gesture would sway all its
members into signing your Accords.''

And there was the bribe they wanted to throw my way. Even if Praes and
the League came out as allied with Keter -- which I still figured at
least somewhat unlikely -- the Grand Alliance might still try its luck.
The League's armies were marching south and depending on Procer to ward
off hunger, Praes dealing with the loss of two major cities, one of them
lost to goblin rebellion that'd birthed the Confederacy of the Grey
Eyries and now threatened the Wasteland's south. It'd be damned risky to
push through with war in such a situation, but it was a gamble that
might be made. It couldn't be made without \emph{me}, though. I brought
to the table the Firstborn as well as the Army of Callow and the
Legions-in-Exile, and if war came out the eastern front would be my
kingdom. In effect, if I refused to press through with war then the
Grand Alliance had little choice but to accept peace. My pulse quickened
with excitement. Not because the offer was one that pleased me, for it
did not, but because of what it implied.

The drow were marching on the Kingdom of the Dead with the intent of
seizing it as their home on the surface. If the Dead King had known as
much, he would have realized that his offer was not so tempting after
all -- it involved selling down the river my own patron goddesses and
the nation that was arguably my steadiest ally, while they were all
carrying out a plan I'd been the one to suggest in the first place. No,
if the Dead King \emph{knew} then this was a botched offer. Which meant
he'd not yet found the Firstborn marching towards him, and they might
yet launch their assault from the north with the benefit of surprise.

``A meaningless gesture,'' I hedged. ``You could forge the kind of
doomsday artefacts forbidden by them in the Serenity by the dozens and
without access we'd have no way of knowing.''

Silently, I assented to the Hidden Horror once more stealing a stone
from Kairos then in quick succession did the same.

``Inspection might be considered, should the inspectors not bear
Names,'' the Dead King said.

``Catherine-''

``No,'' I said without turning.

``No,'' the Dead King said, before Kairos could even ask.

The Tyrant took from the kingdom again.

``Gods,'' I muttered. ``She really scares you, doesn't she?''

``You believe it is fear of the Intercessor that commands my interest in
your Accords,'' the King of Death stated. ``In a sense, you are not
incorrect.''

My brow rose. That was quite the admission, coming form the Hidden
Horror himself.

``So long as the Liesse Accords stand, I have no need to war against
Creation,'' the Dead King calmly said. ``I lose nothing in observing
such a peace, even on the terms of another.''

An ivory finger pointed at Kairos questioningly and I absent-mindedly
agreed. The Tyrant complained about the unfairness of being so brutally
and repeatedly plundered, but neither of us leant much of an ear to it.

``No need,'' I repeated.

``What is it that you believe I gain from such ventures, Black Queen?''
the Hidden Horror asked. ``Wealth, bodies, fame?''

We both knew he had need of none. His wealth was beyond measure, he had
a Hells' worth of human farms to harvest and the Dead King was the most
storied being on Calernia bar none.

``You keep your story alive,'' I said. ``And shape it in the cultures of
those who live in your shadow. It's not about invasion, you know the
risks in that. You were pruning Calernia so nothing that could strangle
you would ever grow.''

That was the conclusion I'd come to, after my latest chat with the
Intercessor. The Wandering Bard might nakedly have tried to manipulate
me, but she'd not necessarily been lying about everything. There was no
denying it was unlikely to be a coincidence that the Principate had
never had a Named ruler. \emph{Someone} must have had a hand in that and
given that the Intercessor worked best through Named she did not strike
me as the obvious culprit there. The routine of tower-raising continued,
Trismegistus assenting to another theft of Kairos and the both of us
refusing the Tyrant's attempts to break out of encirclement.

``You miss the forest for the trees, Black Queen,'' the Dead King said.
``\emph{Why} is it that all that grows in this garden of Creation would
so seek to destroy me?''

I frowned.

``You're saying you were warring on the Intercessor, not on Calernia,''
I said.

``I was denying tool to my opponent,'' the Hidden Horror said. ``You
would do this for me with your Accords. What need have I then of
pursuing the matter further?''

I paused. Ghastly as what he was implying was it sounded terribly, well,
believable. Neshamah as a mortal prince had already recognized the
dangers in bearing a Name, for all the power they brought, and so
carefully arranged his apotheosis through the work of years if not
decades. He would not have forgotten those early lessons after touching
the godhead, him least of all: undead did not change, at least no in the
way that the living did. His only invasions had been under the shield of
alliance or invitation, and it could not be denied that he'd been
cautious about intervening on Creation. He'd been utterly monstrous when
he did, but then it wasn't his soul I was putting on trial. That ship
had long ago sunk at the bottom of a deep, black sea. It was the sense
in what he said and horrified as I was to admit it rather \emph{fit}. If
he'd been using scorched earth tactics against the Intercessor instead
of pursuing conquest of any sort, some pieces of the puzzle began to fit
together. Cordelia Hasenbach had nearly gained a Name, hadn't she? Which
meant the Principate had been growing into a nation where the ruler
might be Named, which the Dead King would see as a direct threat.

Which explained him taking Malicia's offer over mine, among other
things. He wasn't really interested in taking lands or helping the
Tower: he wanted to thoroughly dismantle everything about the current
Principate that might grow into a danger to him, and there was no world
in which I would have allowed him that loose of a leash. The Dread
Empress, though? So long as Praes and its breadbasket stood, she hardly
cared about what happened to the rest of the continent. I'd been invited
to Keter to bag two birds with a stone: the Dead King could have a look
at the latest fool to touch the outmost edges of apotheosis and
simultaneously use my presence as a way to finally secure Malicia's
agreement after months of negotiations. Now, though, large parts of
Calernia had come together in a coalition, which as a story was poison
to him. War, even if he had the advantage in strictly military affairs,
carried other risks if pursued.

On the other hand, signing the Liesse Accords meant that so long as he
did not provoke the living realms he wouldn't be up to his neck in
crusades anymore. What was curtailing a few of his worst habits in the
face of that? Shit. It fit together well enough I couldn't be sure if
this was true or an exquisite lie -- the only kind the likes of the Dead
King would deign to employ. The Firstborn might be able to find a home
among the tall grasses of the Chain of Hunger, I thought. It'd certainly
give the Mighty something to do other thank killing each other. Another
circle passed according to our habit, Kairos' stone slowly dwindling at
our hands. No, I decided, that entire approach was mistaken. The
Intercessor being an enemy did not mean her opponent was an ally, or
indeed ceased being an opponent.

Leaving the Dead King to rule his realm and garden horrors in the
Serenity was not the same thing as admitting that Stygia's slavery was
not mine to curtail, or that Praesi blood magic would not end because I
found the practice disgusting. On the other hand, was it really my place
to make a decision that would see at least dozens of thousand die? No,
even though I probably had the influence to force the outcome either
way. It was something that Cordelia Hasenbach needed to be brought in
on, and likely the Blood as well. Another circle passed, the Tyrant
complaining at how dully uninspired our playing was. My eleven stones
could not be in the lead, no matter who it was that'd begun at ten
stones, but soon enough the rising threat would see the game beginning
to have real conflict.

``This isn't a decision I can make in haste,'' I said, biting my lip.

It was a lie, I thought. Unless the rest of the Grand Alliance flinched,
the decision was already made. And I remained skeptical that the League
would fall on the side of this scheme, no matter what the Tyrant wanted.
So long as the Hierarch lived it was unlikely and should be he slain I
rather doubted Kairos Theodosian would be elected to the office instead,
or anyone for that matter. Which would mean the end of unity between the
city-states, every ruler able to bargain for their own people again.
Malicia might have full coffers and the influence to sway some, but she
wouldn't even get most the cities on her side. It'd turn into a quagmire
that would effectively take the League out of the war, which was more
than acceptable. That would leave Praes and Keter, and a fight that
could be won.

``There is yet time,'' the Dead King said. ``Consult your pawns if you
must.''

Another way around the table, leaving me at twelves stones -- and
Trismegistus at either fourteen or sixteen. One more, then, I'd assume
he'd begun at ten.

``Lovely Catherine,'' Kairos tried.

``Flattering,'' I said, but shook my head.

The circle passed, and I now had thirteen stones in my bowl.

``Truce for seven turns,'' I offered the Tyrant. ``Neither theft nor
assent against either of us. I'll pledge six stones over it.''

``Alas, I only have one stone,'' Kairos smiled.

I frowned, counting in my head, and that should mean he'd begun at eight
stones. The Dead King was only three away from winning, then.

``What happens if you can't pay the full pledge?'' I asked.

``One pays as much as one can,'' the Tyrant said.

``Offers stands, then,'' I said.

I glanced at the Dead King, whose gaze conveyed amusement and little
else.

``Denied,'' Kairos grinned.

My brow rose. Interesting strategy. The moves continued in quick
succession. I allowed Kairos to be robbed once more by the Dead King to
turn up the pressure then myself took from the kingdom, as did the
Tyrant. I reiterated essentially the same offer for fewer turns and a
lesser pledge but was once more turned away. The Dead King took from the
kingdom, bringing him to nineteen and I gazed at the Tyrant. Unless he
wanted to throw the game, if I took from the kingdom he'd have to ask
from my assent and take from the Dead King. It'd be better for me to
take from the kingdom, there were only four stones left in it and they
were the only way to gain stones without someone's assent. So I smiled
back at Kairos, and from the kingdom's bounty rose up to fifteen stones
in my own bowl.

``A pointless exercise,'' the Dead King suddenly said. ``It is not a
game that can be won save through the idiocy of another.''

Hollow sockets gazed at Kairos.

``Should you require it for the settling of my boon I will continue
until the end, but this can only lead to a common loss,'' the Hidden
Horror said.

He wasn't wrong, I thought. Cannibalizing the rest of the kingdom with
Trismegistus would bring me up to sixteen while he stayed stuck at
eighteen, but after that Kairos would have no real incentive to do
anything but assent to the Dead King and I robbing each other while he
profited from the side. Our possessions would then slowly equalize until
we all lost.

``I got all I bargained for, Trismegistus King,'' the Tyrant of Helike
grinned. ``The debt is settled in full.''

``Then a pleasant evening to you both,'' the King of Death said, rising
to his feet.

He did not bow, for haunted bones or not he was the Dead King, and left
without further deigning to speak.

``Tell me a game of tower-raising isn't what you asked for in exchange
for bringing him to Salia,'' I slowly said.

``That would be a lie,'' the Tyrant piously said. ``Although I'll
confess, this affair was not meant for my own benefit.''

My eyes narrowed. Kairos Theodosian smiling took the last stone in his
bowl and rolled it against his own palm, before tossing it behind him.

``You would have destroyed your last stone,'' I said.

``I have lived on no terms but my own,'' the Tyrant of Helike tranquilly
replied. ``And when the day comes, as it does for us all, it is on my
terms I will perish. That is my nature, Catherine Foundling. That is the
truth of me.''

And with Hakram's game, he'd also tried to show me the nature of the
Hidden Horror. Who'd not considered for a moment, I thought, that any of
us could take any action in this save that which benefited us the most.

``He wouldn't keep to the Accords,'' I quietly said. ``That's what you
were trying to tell me. It's not in his nature to suffer his will to be
leashed.''

``Neither of them would tolerate your little orderly world, I don't
think,'' the Tyrant mused. ``And who could blame them? It's a dreadfully
dull one you have painted. Yet for all your occasional snivelling
self-righteousness, you've not been boring. And you've indulged me, so I
shall return that favour with a boon of my own.''

The odd-eyed boy leaned forward.

``Here is the first secret: angels cannot be seen by the Augur, save if
they allow it,'' he said. ``Neither can the Intercessor, the Dead King
and yourself.''

He smiled.

``Here is the second secret: one who has made treaties with the Queen of
Callow will soon break them.''

He grinned, red eye shining malevolently.

``Here is the third secret, and the last I offer this night: the
Twilight Paths can lead to places not of Creation.''

Kairos Theodosian dropped back into his cushioned seat, a grin like a
knife still stretching his lips.

``Sweet dreams, Catherine Foundling.''