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The goddess has a name.

In sixty-seven years of service, I have never heard it. But I know it, because I have seen the syllables take shape through the smile on the Kraken’s lips when he whispers to his lover.

Her name is Naia.

from the unpublished papers of Rahvekyan High Priestess Omira

After half a candlemark in the man’s company, Sorin remembered vividly why he had banished Guildmaster Klement.

“... truly is fascinating. I did wonder at first, you know. If she might actually be their goddess. It’s an interesting theoretical question, you must agree. If belief can bring about the birth of such a person to begin with, surely it can facilitate a re birth. But she seemed a rather simple creature, if you must know. Very sweet, with some raw power. But surely the goddess of this island’s legends would not have been so easily dispatched. In any case ...”

The only comfort in being forced to endure his company was thinking of how much he must have tormented Gwynira over his years in her court. She detested aimless chatter and had even less tolerance for self-important scholars.

Imagining long winters of tedious dinners with Gwynira resisting the urge to stab a fork through the man’s throat entertained Sorin so much that he was in fairly good humor by the time they finally reached the base of the mountain. As distasteful as Sorin had always found Klement’s obsession with the past, he had to admit that without it, this opportunity might never have presented itself. He could afford to be gracious ... for a little while longer, at least.

He might even let the man live, after all.

“It’s up this way,” the man said, lifting the hems of his long robes as he started up a narrow path lined with lanterns. Sorin glanced back once toward Gwynira’s icy palace, shrouded now in darkness except for the scant light of the moons. It was tempting to simply stride through her doors and take satisfying and immediate vengeance upon her for her betrayal.

It wasn’t fear that turned him back toward the path up the mountain. Even diminished, he had no doubt he could end the very life he had given the frigid traitor. But it would be much more satisfying to do it after he’d claimed what was rightfully his.

His steps quickened with his eagerness, and soon the elderly scholar was struggling to keep up—a fact that didn’t seem to interrupt his breathless string of chatter.

“I think you will agree I did everything as instructed,” he said, with none of the deference Sorin was owed. The man had certainly let the honor of that heavy gold medallion around his neck go to his head. “I framed Einar for an attack on the island to drive a wedge between Gwynira and the Lover—”

“Which failed,” Sorin pointed out.

“Yes, but we knew it might. So I progressed to the contingency plan. I poisoned young Balian’s blade and planted enough stories in his head to convince him to challenge the Lover to a duel.”

“Which also failed.”

“It didn’t—” At a sharp look, Klement tacked on a belated “Your Imperial Majesty. He did poison the Lover.”

“Yes, and look how that turned out. Whatever you gave him was so unpredictable, he brought that Void-tainted traitor back from the dead. Now I have to kill her a second time.”

Silence, while Klement regarded the depth of that failure.

Perhaps Sorin had underestimated Aleksi. To bring Isa back from the living death to which Sorin had condemned her so many centuries ago would have involved a power far beyond any the man had ever displayed. The Lover had never seemed particularly formidable, even during the War of the Gods. He was too easily distracted by his inclination to nurture and protect, too soft. Aleksi had never had the Huntress’s brilliant strategic mind or the Wolf’s ruthlessness, or the Siren’s or Dragon’s terrifying power over the raw elements. Even the Witch was more impressive when her temper was roused, and as for the Phoenix ...

No. Sorin wouldn’t think about the Phoenix.

Klement wrung his hands together as they reached the top of the hill. “Perhaps there were ... missteps. But the agent you sent to neutralize them—she was successful in removing all three of them from the palace.”

“And the so-called raiders you hired to transport them were so inept, all three of them ended up dead.” For the Kraken and that newborn godling, Sorin had little concern. But Aleksi ... “I’m sure you know our mutual acquaintance will be very displeased to learn that he received a quick death at sea instead of a fate befitting one who murdered a Grand Duke of the Empire.”

That finally silenced the man, as well it should. In the Nine Kingdoms, few people could evoke more fear than the one Klement had disappointed with his failure.

They reached the top of the mountain and came out into a ruined temple. The unattractive mess of it scraped at Sorin’s nerves, but Gwynira had never had a sense of order. When she had been dispatched, perhaps he would raze this place and build a proper memorial to the miracle which was about to occur.

“Down here,” the old man said, gesturing to a cliff. He turned and began to back awkwardly off of it, dangling for a moment from the rock cliff by his fingertips before vanishing. When Sorin glanced over, he saw Klement on a narrow ledge mostly protected by cleverly nurtured greenery.

When Sorin had joined him, Klement twisted his hands together again. “Even with all of our ... setbacks, I did find this place. And recognize its significance.”

The one intelligent thing the man had done. “We’ll see,” Sorin murmured as he stepped into the cave. Power pulsed at the back of it, the kind he once would have considered trivial. But now ...

Drawn by that quiet song, Sorin descended the stairs and stepped into a perfectly round chamber. A ball of shimmering light pulsed at its center, a piece of the Dream trapped here in the mortal world.

“Hello, beautiful,” he whispered, circling it slowly. Oh, yes. This would do.

Guildmaster Klement cleared his throat. “About my request. I’ve considered it a great deal, and I feel the most practical way to harness the faith on this island would be to step into the role of one of their existing gods. If you could grant me power over storms—”

Sorin reached out a tentative hand toward the orb, not quite touching. The spark was electric. “I can grant you some limited power,” he murmured. “I cannot control what form it takes.”

Klement cleared his throat again. “Well, the sooner the better. If the Dream and the Void were to return here, to Akeisa—”

Sorin turned slowly to look at him, and the man snapped his teeth together hard. Mention of her was enough to put death in Sorin’s heart and in his eyes, and he hoped that was all the man could see. Certainly not that unfamiliar flutter of fear that still stirred in his gut when he remembered the moment when Princess Sachielle had torn his connection to the Dream from him, rendering him a weakling. A mortal .

That was what he was here to change. This lovely bit of the Dream was ripe for the taking, and once his link had been restored ... “You needn’t worry about either of them, or the Dragon,” he said evenly, turning back to consider his prize. “Our mutual acquaintance is keeping them quite distracted, and will continue to do so.”

Klement swallowed audibly but wisely said nothing. Sorin smiled and reached out to that beautiful little bit of concentrated Dream magic, his fingers tingling as they grew close.

The orb trembled, shying away from his touch. Frowning, he thrust his hand forward, only to find it sliding against an invisible surface as smooth as glass but utterly impenetrable. Mere fingerspans away, the globe of magic trembled, as if it would flee from him if it could.

“What is happening?” Klement whispered.

Sorin ignored him.

It seemed this little slice of the Dream wasn’t so unclaimed. Someone had formed a link with it, fouling its magic and entangling it with the dreams of their own heart. While that heart still beat, Sorin would not be able to claim what should have been his.

So. Sorin had some people to murder on Gwynira’s island after all.