Squirming a little, Rexei slouched in her seat and considered his questions firmly, banishing all other thoughts to the back of her mind. “I came up with it myself. Mostly. I remember . . . when I was young, my father and brothers were talking about this and that, and they got onto the topic of what we’d do if we ever actually did get rid of the Dead God. Lundrei, that was the one . . . my eldest brother—half brother, technically—he said something about he’d never want another male deity.
“He said Goddesses were almost always more compassionate and caring, and less devoted to war and other violent pursuits—not that we knew for sure if this is true or not,” she cautioned. “Even now, we barely have any friendly trade with the Sundarans, and the priesthood constantly comes up with blatant lies about them and everyone else just to keep the wars going on the other three fronts, against Arbra, and Aurul, and the northeastern lands.
“But that was his thought, to long for a gentler ideal to worship. And Father asked, what sort of patronage would a Goddess have of our land? So we all thought about it, and the others offered suggestions. I was a bit young, so I didn’t say much, just listened. But I remembered it, and I thought about it from time to time, especially after I had to leave,” she said, looking past him at one of the bookcases lining his sitting room. “I remember I was apprenticing with the Coalminers. One of the priests came to oversee the operation.
“He wanted to grope me, just because he saw a young lad with . . . with a pretty bottom.” The indrawn hiss of Alonnen’s breath reassured her of his sympathy. She continued, clearing her throat. “One of the master miners distracted him, while one of the visiting Carters whisked me away in a coal shipment. Got me a job with the Coopers Guild, making barrels. Just like I’d gotten a job in Brassworks after a Tanner journeyman tried the same thing—he got punished by the local grandmaster, last I heard—and how the Woodrights took me on after my first accidental . . . you know . . . thingy we shouldn’t do.”
“Spellcasting?” Alonnen asked her, arching one brow.
Rexei nodded. “Yeah. That. It drew attention when I was apprenticed in a Glassworks forge. That’s when I realized the guilds had always been there for me, even as an orphan.” She looked up, meeting Alonnen’s gaze. “That’s when—in the Coopers Guild—I realized what kind of Goddess we needed, if we could only get rid of Him. A Goddess of Guilds.”
Listening to her recite her thoughts, Alonnen almost missed it. Almost, but not quite. As the Guild Master of Mages, he was constantly hyperaware of magical energies. Rexei still appeared to have none, even though he had watched through his scrying mirrors as she had demonstrated how to cast spells while cloaking the power traces. But behind her . . . something shimmered.
“I’d already played around in the Woodwrights with some carvings and drawings, a symbol of all the things I’d done. I was thinking I might go into the Engravers Guild at that point, but I ended up having to flee when my powers showed up again in the woodshop at the wrong moment, and I wound up in the Lumber Guild. I realized a Goddess would need a symbol . . . so I started working it up, perfecting it . . . and then drawing it everywhere I went. All the while thinking about what kind of deity we deserved, instead of the one we suffered.”
Alonnen scratched his chin, listening to her rambling reminisces. The faint glow had eased a bit and faded once she stopped talking about the concept of a female Patron Deity. Letting his suspicions simmer in the back of his mind, he focused on her current words. He had seen the extra Guild medallions while setting out the stacks of her freshly laundered things. At the time, he had wondered how it was possible, but with just a few descriptions of her troubles, she had outlined just how one youngish person—male or female—had racked up memberships in roughly thirty guilds.
With that many guild associations under her belt and with her mind attuned to the thought of a Goddess of Guilds . . . Gods, this young woman might actually be the focus for manifesting an actual, real, tangible Patron Deity. . . . But he didn’t say that out loud.
“I’d think that would be the most dangerous thing you’ve ever done, marking everywhere you went with the symbol of a new Patron,” he said. She gave him a lopsided smile, one reminiscent of Gabria’s friend, the one who worked as a clerk in the Precinct his brother served and who rarely smiled fully at anyone or anything. He smiled back equally wryly at Rexei. “So, what’s the symbol, and how did you slip it past everyone?”
Rexei tried not to feel too much pride in her cleverness, since part of it was simply because it was a good design. “I didn’t work out the final version until I was around fourteen, and by then, I was in the Tailors Guild and ended up chatting with a Brassworks master while filling an order for my master . . . and he realized I knew enough about brassworkings and glassworkings and such, he sponsored me to the local Consulate as a Gearman apprentice.” She shrugged, folding her knitting-covered arms over her flat-bound chest. “When I got in, the master Gearman who approved my apprenticeship caught me doodling it one day, asked me about it, and said it was perfect.”
“Oh?” Alonnen asked, raising his brows. “How so? What does it look like?”
She shrugged diffidently. “You’ve probably seen it by now. It’s a gear-toothed wheel, but the six spokes are actually made up of three crossed tools,” she explained. “A scythe, a hammer, and a paintbrush.”
“Yes, I’ve seen it,” Alonnen agreed, nodding slowly. “I remember seeing it a few years back in the Heiastowne Consulate—that was you? I thought the name of the creator was some chap named Targeter.”
Rexei sighed. “That was the name I held at the time. The gear stands for our engineering knowledge, the hammer is for craftsmanship, the paintbrush for artistry, and the scythe represents our kingdom’s many resources. Master Crathan said it covered all the guilds he could think of and carved a stamp of it to use on all his Consulate paperwork. I think his fellow Consuls saw it, liked it, and started using it as well. By the time I was fifteen, the Masons Guild I had joined was already carving it into the motifs for the Consulate Hall they were renovating.”
“So when did you stop being Rexei Targeter?” Alonnen asked, curious. “Or did you have a different first name?”
The question roused a blush to her cheeks. Rexei shrunk down a little in the padded leather chair and tugged on her black woolen sleeves, half hiding her hands. “I had to quit the Actors Guild, so I just picked a new last name when I moved on.”
As much as he wanted to respect her privacy, Alonnen could not help the rampant curiosity her shy, embarrassed shrinking evoked. “What happened that had you abandoning a guild you’d gained journey status in?”
Her face heating even more, Rexei mumbled, “Th’ women wouldn’t leave me ’lone.”
For a moment, Alonnen frowned in puzzlement. Then his confusion lifted. “Ahh, right. Randy older actresses, younger cute lad . . . Well, you’re quite good at acting. My brother would’ve given me a sign if he thought you were a young woman instead of a young man. He’s good at figuring out that sort of thing, weeding out the women in trousers from the men he’s had to conscript, but you still managed to fool him. I can see why you’re a journeyman.”
He fell silent, thinking. Rexei watched him rubbing at his chin. The sitting room was warm, but she still huddled a bit in her chair, feeling vulnerable instead of chilled. Finally, he sighed.