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“Was it one thing that made you turn your back on all the parts of your life, or many unconnected events?”
“It seemed like many unconnected events, but I suppose they all sprang from the same sense of dissatisfaction,” said Stollo. “My father had been a banker, and both of us had always expected that I would join him in the business. It’s a good life, if you only care about powerful people. But I was more interested in the powerless, those who rarely had access to money. I advocated a new type of credit with a new type of lender.” He shrugged. “The bank wouldn’t support my plan and my father was embarrassed that I had even proposed it. We quarreled about it so often that our relationship has been deeply damaged.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Pietro said. “Was your wife also uninterested in your radical notions?”
“No, in fact, she was my strongest supporter,” Stollo answered. “But eventually it was the only thing we had in common. Any time the conversation did not revolve around reinventing finance, we had very little to say to each other. When she confessed she had been seeing another man, my first reaction was relief.”
“So everything came to an end for you,” Pietro said. “And then what?”
“I obviously needed a new career, but what? I didn’t have the patience to study medicine and I didn’t have the heart to study law. My cousin Danner runs a few small cargo ships out of the Corcannon harbor, and I crewed with him one summer, but I’m not cut out for a life at sea. I decided I wanted to pursue something that had meaning.” He sipped his beer. “While I thought it over, I began volunteering. And the more I worked with temple philanthropies, the more I found that my soul was soothed. That I was content.”
Pietro toyed with his fork. “That does not sound,” he said carefully, “as if you heard a calling from Cordelan himself.”
Stollo shook his head. “I had a calling to do good, and I thought I could accomplish that in the temple,” he said. “I assure you, I am not the only man who has joined the order because he thought he could achieve some goal other than serving the god.” When Pietro looked inquiring, Stollo went on. “Some are like me. They are looking for ways to give their lives meaning. Some are schemers who see that sacred power and secular power go hand in hand, and they want more of that power for themselves.”
Pietro leaned back in his chair and regarded Stollo with a smile. Maybe alcohol had loosened the younger man’s tongue, or maybe he felt it was safe to share his unguarded thoughts with someone outside the holy orders. Then again, Pietro had spent a lifetime inducing people to confide in him. He had heard more than his fair share of secrets over the years. “I take it you have little liking for that latter group.”
“None,” said Stollo. “But—I suppose—like any profession, the priesthood needs those with a talent for organization. For managing wealth, training the next generation, and running the city. So while I might feel disdain for those who crave power and prestige, those are the very men who will lead the priesthood in a decade or two.”
“Or sooner,” Pietro said. “I understand the current high divine is very old.”
“Eighty, or thereabouts,” Stollo confirmed. “But I hear no rumors of his ill-health.”
“Do you like him?”
“Very much. Harloisa consummate politician, no doubt about it, yet there is never any suggestion that he wants power for its own sake. Now, the secretary of the sanctuary—he’sthe kind of man who enjoys controlling other people, all the while pretending like he’s just acting in their best interests. But Harlo is genuine. He really does care about the good of the city. He works tirelessly on its behalf.”
Pietro waited until the pain around his heart subsided. “He sounds admirable.”
“Not that I have many direct dealings with him, of course. I have met him maybe a dozen times, and I would be very surprised if he remembered me.”
Pietro would be more surprised if Harlodidn’tremember him. Harlo remembered everyone and everything; it was his great strength as a leader, that ability to keep track of people and incidents that others might consider inconsequential. Anyway, Harlo had always had an eye for a handsome man, or a charismatic one. The high divine definitely would have noted Stollo’s fresh face and general exuberance. “Maybe next time you see him, you should do something memorable,” Pietro suggested. “Then he might elevate you to his inner circle.”
“Oh, he has plenty of others in that circle already.”
Pietro raised his eyebrows as if intrigued by a little light gossip. “A lover or two?”
“One. At least that’s what everybody says.”
And that remark caused its own pain, though the news was hardly a surprise. “Not one of those power-hungry priests, I hope.”
“He doesn’t seem to be. Quiet. A little intense. Very handsome.” Stollo grinned. “I mean, I can certainly see why Harlo would favor him.”
Pietro simply couldn’t bear talking any longer about Harlo’s possible lovers, so he changed the topic with no attempt at subtlety. “So I understand there are ranks within the priesthood,” he said. “Which one have you achieved so far?”
“The third rank,” Stollo said proudly. “Which included—just the other day!—a tour of every level of the temple.”
“There are levels in the temple?” Pietro repeated, as if he didn’t know. “I’ve only seen the sanctuary on the ground floor, where the public rituals are held.”
“There are several levels below it,” Stollo confirmed. “One is divided into small cells where priests can go to retreat for days at a time—though I would feel like I was suffocating if I was underground for that long. Another one is mainly used for storage, and you can find the most amazing things down there.”
Stollo drew a deep breath. “But below that. There is thiscavernthat seems to have been carved out of the bedrock of the city. And the only thing in it is this strange metal device—Lenno, who gave me the tour, said it was the holiest artefact in the city. He said it was the instrument that Cordelan used to bind the scattered lands together.”
“I never heard of such a thing,” Pietro said, which was another lie. “I’d like to see it someday.”
“I was supposed to receive my own key as part of my investiture, so I can go down to the lower level and meditate whenever I want,” said Stollo. “But Lenno told me they’d stopped making new keys so I’ll only get my own when someone dies. Well, I can hardly root for that, can I? But if I ever earn my own key, I’ll take you to see the god’s device.”
That invitation was what Pietro had been angling for during this whole conversation—but by the time Stollo was in a position to follow through, Pietro was pretty sure it would be too late. Nonetheless, he smiled and held out his hand. “It’s a deal.”
