I gave a strangled shriek. That idiot! Who held the high ground and then jumped off it into the middle of an angry mob? Was Katu trying to get himself killed?

But apparently the mob was just as shocked as I was, because before it could trample or tear him to pieces – or just stand back and let him break his neck – the butterfly spirits dove after him. They surrounded him midair, beating their multi-colored wings to slow his fall, so that when he landed, it wasn’t too heavily. It could have been more graceful – he did pitch forward before the butterflies steadied him and pushed him back on his feet – but it worked.

And no one mobbed him. Maybe the rioters weren’t sure what to make of this idiot poet either.

Katu threw back his head, flung his arms into the air, and shouted, “Come, good people of Goldhill! Let us seek the aid of the Divine Intercessor! Let us hie to the Temple!” He set off down the alley, trailing butterflies. The spirits seemed to have decided that here was a human who needed adopting.

His way was blocked by masses of people, but he strode at them as if he expected them to part for him – and they did. Then, miraculously, they fell in behind him.

I gaped after him, my thoughts in a churn. This wasn’t how I envisioned the High Priest’s arrival at the Temple, but it was working. I couldn’t break his momentum. Who knew what would happen if I broke the (non-magical) spell he’d cast over the mob? But his robes! He needed his High Priest robes!

I zipped back through the air to the serow. He led them away! He’s leading them to the Temple! Quick, we have to get his robes and meet him there!

We dashed to Lodia’s workroom, where – mercy of mercies – she’d cut and hemmed a cape and was now basting it onto the robes. (Even her “basting stitches” were straight and even and for anyone else would have counted as normal stitches.)

Lodia, Lodia, we have to get to the Temple right now!

“Now? But I’m not done! I need five more minutes!”

(For her, that meant at least ten. Maybe an hour, even.)

There’s no time! Katu’s leading the mob to the Temple right now! We have to get there before he does so we can get him into his robes and fill him in on what’s happening. He’s winging the whole thing.

“He’s leading them to the Temple? Katu left? He’s outside?” With every question, Lodia’s voice lifted higher into a shriek.

As abruptly as Katu had jumped off the gate, she leaped to her feet and started bundling up the robe and her sewing box.

“We have to go after him!”

What? No! You’re not coming! It’s too dangerous out there. Just finish the robe and we’ll take it!

Lodia’s chin jutted mulishly, the way it had that time right before she cut up her own embroidery. “No. If it’s safe enough for Katu to be on the streets, it’s safe enough for me to be on the streets.”

That does not make any sense whatsoev–

“And besides, I have you.”

Well.

After that, how could I deny her?

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And that was how the three of us returned to the Temple, with me clinging to the serow’s horns, and Lodia clinging to the serow’s neck, and the robes, which had come loose during the wild run, flapping behind us like a warlord’s banner. It must have been quite a sight, because as the serow bounded across the tops of gates and garden walls, rioters stopped to stare, point, and shout. Hands reached out to grab her legs, but she kicked them away, and we arrived safe and sound, if somewhat windblown and frazzled.

In my absence, someone, probably Floridiana, had conscripted the brawnier ex-rioters into guarding the Temple gates. They’d started up a security checkpoint of sorts.

“Here now, you can’t take that inside,” one of them was telling a human who clutched a rusty spear. “Put it there.” And he pointed at a pile of makeshift weaponry that ranged from pitchforks to rolling pins.

“But it was me grandda’s!” the human was protesting. “What if someone steals it?”

“We’ll keep an eye on it.”

“But – ”

“Put it there, or don’t go in. Your choice.”

The man dithered, but in the end, he carefully, carefully propped the spear against the wall and went through the gates. Free food: It got them every time.

The serow was about to jump down into the street to join the line of people entering the Temple, but I stopped her. It’s all right, we’re Temple personnel, we don’t have to check in. Just go over the wall.

As we leaped from the neighbor’s wall onto ours, the clatter attracted the guards’ attention. One shouted, but another told him, “It’s all right, it’s Miss Caprina.”

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Oh good, finally I’d learned the serow’s name.

Katu’s coming with more guests! I called to Floridiana and Bobo. He’ll be here soon!

“Lodia! What are you doing here?” cried Floridiana, before she turned on me. “Why in the names of all the gods – I mean, in the name of the Kitchen God – did you drag Lodia here? All you needed were the robes!”

The girl was already tumbling off Miss Caprina’s back, clutching the robes to her chest to make sure the sleeves didn’t drag on the ground. “It’s not Pip’s fault, I insisted. May I borrow your desk?” Without waiting for an answer, she trotted towards our workroom.

I petted the serow on the forehead, just in front of her horns. Thank you for your assistance, Miss Caprina. We couldn’t have done it without you. Camphorus Unus, do be a dear and get her refreshments, please?

As the steward led her away, Anthea came slinking out of whatever hole she’d been hiding in. “Where’s Katu?”

No thanks or even an attempt to express any kind of thanks, I noted. With Miss Caprina out of earshot, I dropped my act.

On his way. Leading a horde of rioters who were attacking your back gate, I might add. You owe him thanks for saving your house.

She simply nodded, accepting that as her due. Seriously, did the raccoon dog expect her household to run suicidal risks to save her property and movable goods? I certainly didn’t ask anything close to so unreasonable of my staff.

“Good,” Anthea proclaimed, as smug as if she had directed these operations. “Oh, Camphorus Septimus! I mean, Unus. Go make sure the guards let in Katu, okay? He’ll be here any minute now.”

I whirled to find my steward already back from my previous instructions.

Ordering my staff around now? I asked icily.

Floridiana’s eyes darted between my face and Anthea’s. The mage muttered something about inventorying the spices in the pantry and fled.

Anthea, however, met my glare head on. “Oh, I’m sorry, did you become High Priestess of this Temple when I wasn’t paying attention? Last time I checked, this is my Temple and everyone here is in my employ. Including you.”

Whaaaaaaaat?!

“I hired you to establish this Temple for me, didn’t I? And you subcontracted to all these people on my behalf.”

Was that how her worldview worked?

“Let me remind you: The funding for all of this comes from my coffers.”

I was flapping my wings and bobbing up and down in fury, but that stopped me short. It was true. Anthea was bankrolling this entire operation. Did that make her – my boss?

No.

Definitely not.

I did not work for Anthea.

I was more like a – a minstrel. Or a freelance painter. I had no boss. I merely, um, took commissions, which I could pick and choose at will, and executed my artistic vision to the glorification of those patrons who had the discernment to appreciate and sponsor my fine work.

Yes. That was definitely it. That was what any objective observer would say.

But hey, if Anthea wanted to believe that she was in charge, and if that delusion kept the funding coming so I could execute my plans – that was what mattered, wasn’t it? I could swallow my pride when I had to, and shine when I had to.

Somehow, though, it felt like I’d been swallowing my pride a lot more than shining lately.

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Katu, on the other hand, glittered like a minor god when he strode out the front doors of the Temple. The sunlight struck the gold plates on his sash and reflected off the glossy silk. The riot of colors dazzled the eye. Around his head and shoulders fluttered the butterflies, their wings generating a breeze that stirred his hair and attire and made them wave gently.

“There he is!” shouted one of the erstwhile rioters. “The High Priest himself!”

A hush spread through the courtyard. People lowered their teacups or froze with teacakes crammed halfway into their mouths. (Said people included my child priests, who had apparently reverted to form in my absence.)

Under my claws, I felt Katu’s shoulder stiffen. You can do this. Just pretend you’re in Lychee Grove, I whispered in his ear before taking off.

After an instant of hesitation, Katu raised his arms in that gesture he’d used after leaping off Anthea’s back gate. His voice boomed with confidence. “Welcome, friends! Well met in the Temple to the Kitchen God, before the altar of He Who Intercedes!”

He met the eyes of random people in the crowd and smiled at them, as if he were addressing each one personally. Those chosen individuals stood up straighter, proud to be singled out, curious what he would say next.

I, too, wanted to know how he’d segue to the sermon that he’d been drafting and tearing up. As I scanned his audience, I noticed Lodia hovering in the shadows just inside the front door, hands twisted into her skirts.

I flew over to perch on her shoulder and rubbed the crown of my head against her neck to reassure her. It’s all right. He knows what he’s doing.

“Does he?” she whispered, barely moving her lips. “What if he says something wrong? What if they turn on him? What if they attack him?”

They won’t. Trust him. Trust the image he projects, that you helped him project. He’s captured their imaginations now. It’ll be fine. You’ll see.

Katu was supposed to stand on the platform for his sermon, but he seemed to have decided to stay on the top step. Although he would have been visible to more people on the platform, the Temple façade formed an impressive backdrop, and the wide-open doors behind him sent their own message.

Katu lowered his arms and extended them towards the crowd, as if to embrace them. “Tell me, friends, of all the places in the capital where we could have sought help, why did we come to the Temple? Why did we seek sanctuary here?”

Perhaps he meant his questions to be rhetorical, but his audience was not so learned, or reverent.

“’Cuz there’s free food here!” some wit shouted back.

Lodia winced. Floridiana smiled thinly. Chuckles rose from the audience, and Katu laughed along with them.

Silken footsteps moved past me, and without looking, I put out a wing to stop Anthea. Don’t meddle. You’ll ruin his momentum.

“The rudeness! The disrespect!” she fumed.

He has it under control. Just watch.

And indeed, Katu responded swiftly to the joke. “Yes! Because the Kitchen God provides for us all! Not just free food and tea, but also shelter and safety: These he grants to all, even to those who trespass upon his generosity.”

Taking his meaning, his audience looked down and shuffled their feet.

“His mercy is infinite! His compassion knows no bounds! All hail the Divine Intercessor!”

Katu moved a few steps out, raised his arms above his head once more, and let the sunlight fall full upon the gold and embroidery and glittery butterfly wings about him, and the crowd burst into cheers. “All hail the Divine Intercessor! All hail the Divine Intercessor!” they roared.

If you can get your god to show up, now would be a very good time, I joked at Anthea, expecting a retort that gods didn’t pop up like mushrooms on pine roots.

Instead, I got dead silence.

That was a joke, Anthea. Anthea?

When I turned, she was frozen. Not a single fur on her ears twitched. I followed her gaze across the foyer, through the doorway into the main hall, and all the way across the main hall to the image of the Kitchen God on the altar.

It had begun to glow gold.

Uh-oh.