The Head Abbot looked out at the marvels passing by without comment. How easily she had outmaneuvered him. He had stumbled in like a baby rabbit, eyes fused shut, and she had been the fox lying in wait, licking its chops. Here, at last, was the true face of the woman who had taken the derelict Protectorate of her ancestors—a feeble nation cowering in the shadow of almost-forgotten glories—and expanded it until her iron grip controlled more than half of known Ea.
Sonami said, “Venerable One, do you believe in the power of the fortunes?”
“Of course, child. They are what guides us and shapes the Slack.”
The child nodded. “The fortunes didn’t give Mother twins for no reason. That means that if there’s a plan, she’s not the one controlling it. And that does make me feel better.” A small, brief smile overtook their face. “Perhaps this is for the best.”
The Head Abbot blinked. This child, features still cushioned by the fat of innocence, spoke with the quiet confidence many took a lifetime to achieve. He had always suspected they were extraordinary, and not just because of their proficiency with slackcraft. When Sonami had first approached him with a desire to be admitted to the monastery, he had thought that with the right guidance, the child might one day grow up to take his place as Head Abbot, with all the secrets tied to that office.
Now none of them would ever know. That version of the future had been sealed off from them.
“Perhaps this is for the best,” he agreed.