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She shrugged. “Captain of horse, swordsman, bravo, quondam murderer, destroyer of lives—not just of enemies’, but friends’—shall I go on? The sort of fellow whose funeral’s orations are all on the theme of Well, that’s a relief.”

He winced. “I see I need not confess to you.”

“No. I saw.”

He looked away. “All my sins delivered . . . it’s a strange, strange thing, Royina. The lifting of one’s sins is usually considered a miracle of the gods. But your god has brought all mine back to me. Goram the groom . . . was a hundred times better a man than Goram dy Hixar will ever be. I was a blank slate, brought—saved, for no merit of mine—to live for three years with the two best men in Caribastos. Not just best swordsmen—best men, you understand?”

She nodded.

“I scarcely knew such lives were possible, before. Nor wanted to know. I would have mocked their virtues, and laughed. Lord Illvin thought I was overwhelmed with joy when I fell to my knees before you in the forecourt. It wasn’t joy that knocked me down. It was shame.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want to be . . . who I am. I was happier before, Royina. But everyone thinks I should be praying my thanks.”

She returned him an ironic smile. “Be sure, I am not one of them. But—your soul is your own, now, to make of what you will. We are all of us, every one, our own works; we present our souls to our Patrons at the ends of our lives as an artisan presents the works of his hands.”

“If it is so, I am too marred, Royina.”

“You are unfinished. They are discerning Patrons, but not, I think, impossible to please. The Bastard said to me, from His own lips—”

Dy Cabon’s breath drew in.

“—that the gods did not desire flawless souls, but great ones. I think that very darkness is where the greatness grows from, as flowers from the soil. I am not sure, in fact, if greatness can bloom without it. You have been as god-touched as any here; do not despair of yourself, for I think the gods have not.”

The dim gray eyes reddened, edged with water’s gleam. “I am too old to start over.”

“You have more years ahead of you now than Pejar, half your age, whom we buried outside these walls these two days past. Stand before his grave and use your gift of breath to complain of your limited time. If you dare.”

He jerked a little at the steel in her voice.

“I offer you an honorable new beginning. I do not guarantee its ending. Attempts fail, but not as certainly as tasks never attempted.”

He vented a long exhalation. “Then . . . that being so, and knowing what you know of me—which is, I think, more than ever I confessed to anyone, living or dead—I am your man if you will have me, Royina.”

“Thank you, Captain: I shall. As my master of horse, you will take your instructions from my seneschal. I think you will find him a tolerable commander.”

Goram smiled a little at that, and saluted her farewell.

Dy Cabon stood by her a moment, watching him exit the court. His face was troubled.

“Well, Learned? How do you feel about your witnessing now?”

He sighed. “You know, this god-touched business wasn’t as much . . . um . . . as much pleasure as I thought it would be, back in Valenda when we started. I was terribly excited, in secret, to be picked out to do the god’s work.”

“I did try to tell you, back in Casilchas.”

“Yes. I think I understand better, now.”

“My court is going to need a divine, too, you know. As I am to become a lay dedicat of the Bastard’s Order, of a sort, I think you might suit me very well. We will likely be riding into the Five Princedoms. If you truly aspire to martyrdom, as your early sermons to me implied, you may still have a chance.”

He blushed deeply. “Five gods, but those were stupid sermons.” He took a deep breath. “I’ll be glad to forgo the martyr part. As for the rest, though—I will say you yes, Royina, with a glad heart. Even though I’ve had no dreams directing me. Well, especially as I’ve had no dreams directing me. Not so sure I want them, anymore.” He hesitated, and added with a wholly inconsistent longing