Rexei had never met her, but she had heard of Guild Master Saranei Grenfallow, one of the few female Guild Masters who was respected by the priesthood; she was that good an actor. Or had been before taking up the Guild Master’s job. From what Rexei had observed in her many apprenticeships, it was difficult to lead a guild even as a mere grandmaster, never mind as the Guild Master for all the various chapters across the kingdom.
In contrast to all the Guild Masters who wore their palm-sized oval medallions with their symbols on both sides, Alonnen wore a large gold medallion that had been left polished but otherwise blank on the side currently facing outward. Rexei had seen the other face of it when he had taken off his coat upon their arrival; that side had been engraved with a striated triangle, with its point down. Only because she had seen the Vortex itself did she know what it represented, for it was not in the list of symbols Gearmen apprentices were supposed to memorize. Reassured by the sight of it that he was the Guild Master of Mages, she still marveled that he would actually dare to wear it in public, even with Mekha gone. The man has far more bravery than me . . .
While she watched and plied her hook, tugging out lengths of silvery spun wool every so often, the two Guild Masters engaged in an increasingly animated discussion. Then Guild Master Grenfallow turned and clapped her hands, gathering her entourage to her. More discussion followed. The grandmaster of the Servers Guild was called up from one of the front benches, and the matter, whatever it was, was discussed further.
Rexei didn’t know and wasn’t sure she wanted to know. As it was, she knew Alonnen intended to call upon her to discuss Guildra as their next Patron Deity and the formation of a new priesthood. It was taking most of her concentration to keep her crocheting stitches even, rather than small and tight with tension. Every few lengths, she looked up to gauge the mood of the room and the mood of the Guild Masters in particular, some of whom had been summoned from other cities.
Gabria Springreaver had done an excellent job of summoning everyone important within reasonable traveling distance; Heiastowne would not be the only Precinct represented here tonight. The Guild Master for Lacemakers had already been shown to the far end by a Gearman apprentice; from the looks of things, they were trying to determine if she could share the bench with the Master Gearman at that end or if she would have to displace him. If that happened, Rexei herself would be ousted from her own bench, to give Guild Master Grenfallow her seat.
“Are you Journeyman Rexei Longshanks?”
The question startled her. Quickly winding a span of wool around the tip of her hook to hold the yarn in place without slipping, Rexei stuffed it into her basket and gave the head of the Actors Guild her full attention. “Yes, Guild Master.”
“Hm.” The middle-aged redhead frowned at her. Behind her stood Alonnen, giving Rexei an encouraging look. He had removed his outer coat, revealing a dark, fine-spun wool waistcoat over his equally dark shirt. Grenfallow frowned at her, even as Alonnen smiled. “I’m told you changed your name after moving on from my guild. What name did you earn your journeyman rank under, and why did you quit the guild?”
Rexei glanced at Alonnen, who smiled at her. Confused and wary that he would have told this woman about her abrupt change in names as well as careers, she answered, “I used to be called Rexei Targeter . . . before I was harassed out of the Guild by a grabby woman who should’ve known that ‘no thank you’ means ‘no thank you,’ even when a lad is the one saying it. I moved on to Clockworks after that, among others.”
“So I’ve heard. And tell me, where have you been apprenticed and working for the last two months?” Grenfallow asked her.
“Servers Guild. I was one of five who worked in the Heiastowne temple until yesterday,” she admitted warily.
“So I’ve heard,” the older woman murmured, before sharpening her tone into something very no-nonsense and direct. “Now, be honest with me, Journeyman Actor. Were you set to spy upon the temple inhabitants—the priests—for those two months?”
Alonnen nodded in encouragement, so Rexei admitted carefully, “Yes . . . as a Gearman investigating a claim of improper conduct by the temple inhabitants against members of the Servers Guild.”
“Did they ever suspect you of being anything other than a Server?” Alonnen asked.
“Not while I was within their walls. If anything, the archbishop claimed I grew stupider every time he talked at me,” Rexei admitted. “But . . . they may have overheard me speaking with some wit in the square yesterday, after they pushed us all out the doors. I do not know if they did, but the possibility is there.”
Rather than speaking to her, the leader of the Actors Guild turned to her three companions, two men and another woman. All wore the large round medallions of grandmaster actors. Ovals were reserved for Guild Masters alone. “I believe Master Tall’s assessment is accurate.”
“Two months is an impressive time in the face of their understandable paranoia and skepticism,” the older of the two male actors stated.
“One must subtract some of the points for that from their sheer arrogance, though,” the younger blonde woman countered. “They do sometimes overlook things.”
“Not for two whole months,” the younger male argued.
Grenfallow raised her hand. “Value for value . . . would you agree with Master Tall’s assessment?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Of course.”
“Definitely,” the other three agreed.
“Then I’ll take it up with the grandmaster.” Nodding graciously to Alonnen, Grenfallow strode off. The others made their way toward the back of the room to look for any scrap of pew or bench unoccupied.
Rexei gave Alonnen a quizzical look. “What was that about?”
“Just a little bit of business I thought about on the way over here, after hearing who would be in attendance,” he dismissed. He nodded to her and headed for the centermost seat to chat with Grandmaster Toric.
A sudden swell of sound from the back of the room caused heads to turn . . . and the sight of what caused it made everyone stop talking within seconds. Clad in snow-speckled velvet robes, Archbishop Elcarei of the Heiastowne Temple of Mekha strode into the Consulate meeting hall as if he owned the place, with three similarly dressed priests at his back. Their rich scarlet, emerald, and sapphire velvets looked very out of place among the plebian undyed wools most everyone wore—dyeing was also taxed, same as loomed cloth.
It was not the first time Rexei had seen priests enter a Consulate meeting with such arrogant airs of command. This time, however, the looks on the faces of the men and women seated on the pews were not expressions of fear and avoidance. Instead, they wore dark looks of irritation and resentment, even anger.
Before more than a few whispers and mutterings could begin, Grandmaster Toric picked up his stone-headed gavel and cracked it twice against its matching anvil. The sharp noise cut off all sound in the hall, beyond the sound of the priests’ boots on the polished stone floor, and the movements of Alonnen and the leader of the Actors Guild moving off to the side to find their seats.
“This emergency Consulate meeting is reserved for Guild Masters, grandmasters, masters, and representative journeymen,” the Gearman at the center of the table stated, his voice strong and steady despite the visible wrinkles of his years.
“And that is why I am here, Toric,” Elcarei stated smoothly. “As Archbishop of Heiastowne—”