“If all it takes to put sin in the minds of men is women flashing a bit of silk,” Leesha said, “perhaps the problem is with your sermons, Inquisitor, and not the Krasians.”

“Still got a point,” Smitt cut in. “Shamavah’s selling on the cheap to cut into my business, but she’s making up for it in the back waving gold in workers’ faces then paying them klats. Getting folk dependent on our enemies for things we can do without or make here in the Hollow.”

“I think you’ve gotten too used to being the only store in town, Smitt Inn,” Leesha said. Indeed, the Speaker of the Hollow had many connections with the Merchants’ Guild in Angiers, and had grown steadily wealthier even as those around him suffered the depredations of the last year. “I’ve seen what you charge hungry folk for a loaf of bread. A little competition will do you good.”

“Enough,” Thamos cut in. “We’re in no position to refuse the trade right now, but as of today there will be an import tax on all goods from the Krasian lands.”

Smitt and Hayes broke into wide grins at that, but the count checked them with a finger. “But you’re both going to have to get used to a little silk and competition in exchange. Don’t make a habit of wasting my time with these petty complaints.”

Leesha held back her own smile as the curve fell from the other men’s lips.

“I trust the new cathedral is not a petty matter?” Hayes said testily.

“Not at all, Inquisitor,” Thamos said. “In fact, it vexes Arther daily when he prepares the tallies. You’ve barely broken ground, and by all accounts already exceeded your yearly budget and every line of credit available.”

“There are no braver men or women in all Thesa than the Hollowers, Your Highness, but they are woodsmen,” Hayes said, the derision in his tone almost undetectable. “Canon—and wisdom—demand a Holy House be built in stone. In Angiers, where stoneworkers are more common, the cost would be a third as much.”

Smitt coughed. He was one of the many creditors waiting on the Inquisitor for payment.

“You have something to add, Speaker?” Thamos asked.

“Begging Your Highness’ pardon, and no disrespect to the Inquisitor,” Smitt said, “but that just ent true. Demons did most of our quarrying for us at new moon. Stone is cheap in the Hollow, and so is muscle. Wasn’t our idea to make this the first building in history in the shape of a ripping greatward.”

“Ent the whole barony a greatward?” Gared asked.

“Even the baron agrees it’s a redundant waste,” Smitt said.

Gared’s face took on the strained look it did when someone said something he didn’t understand. “A what?”

Child Franq ignored him, glaring at Smitt. “How dare you question the Inquisitor? Hollow Cathedral will be the last refuge if the corelings take the county, as they nearly did at new moon.”

“A project that will take decades to finish properly,” Erny said, “and leave you with irregularly shaped rooms with vastly wasted footage. A basic wardwall would be cheaper and far more efficient.”

“Demons make it all the way into the center of the Hollow,” Gared said, “ent no wall or ward gonna stop ’em. Better to use the place to pray for the Deliverer to return.”

“Mr. Bales himself denies he is the Deliverer,” Hayes reminded him. “By his own words. We must continue to look to the Creator for true succor.”

Gared’s hands curled into fists at the words. He had become more pious of late, but it was due to his belief—shared by tens of thousands across Thesa—that Arlen Bales was the Deliverer, sent by the Creator to lead humanity against the corelings.

The Inquisitor had been sent to the Hollow by the Tenders of the Creator in Angiers to study these claims, preferably disproving them and outing Arlen as an imposter. But the Inquisitor was no fool. A public stance against Arlen would turn the entire Hollow against him.

“With all due respect, Inquisitor,” Leesha said, “Arlen Bales never said any such thing. He denies he is the Deliverer, true, but it was one another he told us to look to.”

Gared’s fists thumped the table, rattling goblets and making papers jump. All eyes in the room turned to his dark glare. “He is the Deliverer. Don’t understand why we’re still talking like he ent.”

Inquisitor Hayes shook his head. “There is no proof …”

“Proof?!” Gared boomed. “He saved us when we’d all have been et. Gave us back the power to save ourselves. Ent none can deny that. You all saw him floating in the sky, throwing lighting from his rippin’ hands, and you still want rippin’ proof? How about how there wan’t a mind demon attack last Waning?”

He looked to the count. “You heard him during the fight. ‘You’re my last piece of business before I take the fight to the Core,’ he told Jardir.”

“Demons still come every night, Baron,” Thamos said. “Homes burn. Warriors bleed. Innocent people die. I’ll not deny what Mr. Bales has done, but neither do I feel ‘delivered.’ ”

Gared shrugged. “Maybe he did the hard part, and we’ve the rest to do ourselves. Maybe it’s gonna get hard again, an’ he just bought us time to grow strong. Ent no Tender. Don’t pretend to know the Creator’s whole plan. But I know one part, sure as the sun rises. Creator sent Arlen Bales to deliver the fighting wards back to us and show us how to fight.”

He looked back at the Inquisitor. “Rest we’ll see when we get down the road. Maybe we’ll be worthy an’ win back the night, and maybe our sins’ll weigh us an’ we’ll fail.”

Hayes blinked, caught for a reply. Leesha could see the man warring within himself, trying to reconcile Arlen’s “miracles” with the desire of his order to hold on to power.

“So we are supposed to bow down to Arlen Bales?” Thamos demanded, giving the thought voice. “All the Tenders and Shepherds—I and my brother and Euchor of Miln? All of us voluntarily abdicate power to him?”

“Abdi-what?” Gared asked. “Course not. You’ve met him. Mr. Bales dun’t care about thrones and papers. Dun’t think the Deliverer cares about anythin’ ’cept keepin’ us safe in the night. So where’s the harm in givin’ him credit for what he’s done, ’specially now when he’s gone on to the Core itself for us?”

“We have only his word on that, Baron,” Child Franq noted.

Gared turned a cold glare at him. “You callin’ him a liar?”

The Child shrank back, clearing his throat. “Of course not, I, ah …”

Hayes laid a hand on his arm. “The Child will be silent.” Immediately, a look of relief crossed Franq’s face, and he dropped his eyes, withdrawing from the debate.

“I don’t see what difference it makes,” Leesha cut in. Gared glared at her, but she met his gaze coolly. “If Arlen had wanted to be called the Deliverer, he wouldn’t have spent his every other breath denying it. Whether he is or isn’t, he thinks folk won’t put their backs into the fight if they’re waiting to be saved.”

The Inquisitor nodded, perhaps too eagerly. Leesha turned to him next. “As for your plans, Inquisitor, I’m afraid I must agree with my father, Speaker Smitt, and the baron. They are impractical and wasteful.”