(It might not surprise you to know the two most popular urns are copper and coal. Maybe that says something about human nature, but I also think it says something about personal budgeting. Buying good luck? In this economy?)
“You think the priests will take us?” Joniza asks doubtfully. I don’t blame her. Fortune’s templesdoprovide shelter to those wounded by her caprices, but that’s usually in the event of a grand disaster like a flood or a landslide, not one measly house fire.
“They’ll take us,” I answer through my teeth. I walk up the steps and push the doors open.
It’s dim inside, smelling of old timbers, hot coals, beeswax tapers, and frankincense. Threads of delicate smoke weep heavenward from thuribles strung in vestibule corners, sweet and heavy with gardenia. On the far side of the sanctuary, an acolyte looks up from polishing the gold-and-bone archway over the altar.
“Hello?” She sets her polishing rag down and hurries through the truncated rings of pews. “Can I help you? Our evening service won’t—WELL, now.”
Mid-step, the acolyte freezes and shivers. A wreath of flipping coins manifests over her head, and her simple vestment turns to a gown of gold and bone.
I hear gasps from the others crowding in at my back. I ignore them.
“Hello” is all I say.
Fortune plants her hands on her hips. “I suppose this settles it, then? Do you think Death should be here for this?”
Death never needs an invitation. She appears beside Fortune, tapping a foot. “Weagreedto give her space.”
“She came to me!” Fortune protests as another round of startled gasps takes a lap around my company. “With all her little friends in tow! She came to ask me for help, not you, I win, end of story. Oh, Vanja, we’re going to have thebesttime—”
“I’m not asking for help,” I interrupt.
Both Fortune and Death look at me.
“This is your house,” I continue, “so it’s also mine.”
“Now, wait.” Fortune frowns.
I don’t let her finish. “I am here to claim my place in your house, as your daughter. I’m not asking for anything that isn’t mine by right.” Fortune’s frown deepens. I keep pushing. “Of course, if you don’t want me here, you can renounce me. Give up your claim to me, and I will losemyclaim to you and yours.”
We all know that isn’t happening.
Death coughs into a sleeve.
“Stop laughing,” Fortune snaps. “It’s not funny.”
“It’s very funny,” Death returns.
Now Fortune’s the one who looks peeved. Or rather, the acolyte she’s possessing looks peeved. “You can’t just expect me to host all your friends indefinitely.”
“They’re my guests, and I brought money. I’ll give you twosjillingfor every day they’re here. That should cover food, lodging, and protection againstgrimlingenunder this roof.”
“Three white pennies a day.”
“One.” I jingle the purse. “I’ll pay you twenty-five up front. That’s the best offer you’ll get out of me.”
It’s a rare sight, seeing Death’s shoulders shake with silent laughter as Fortune looks more indignantly betrayed than a cat in a bath.
“Deal,” she grouches, and I toss her the purse. “Our offer stands, Vanja. You don’t have to choose. But you can’t run forever.”
She vanishes, leaving the acolyte blinking and clutching a leather purse with an extremely generous donation. Death hesitates, then disappears after her without another word.
“I, er,” the acolyte sputters. “I need to tell the High Priestess. Can our . . . guests . . . please follow me?”
She leads Umayya and the children off to a hallway branching from the sanctuary. Gisele and Joniza hang back, eyeing me like I might smite them at any moment. Emeric’s brow is furrowed, but he says nothing.
“Vanja,” Joniza begins, artificially casual, “at what point were you going to tell us about this?”
