Chapter 2

Dowinne was pacing fretfully from room to room. An unease had been growing on her all day. It was probably the weather, she tried to convince herself, taking her cue from the grim clouds that were steadily building up over the town. But even as this thought came to her, she dismissed it. Whatever was troubling her was deeper by far than any pending storm.

It was not in Dowinne’s nature to tolerate difficulties with equanimity and, from time to time, she gritted her teeth and bared them in anger and frustration as she strode about the house. Until she caught sight of her image grimacing out at her from a mirror: it seemed to be snarling at her for this exposure of her inner feelings and she straightened up hastily and forced her face into a bewitching smile.

Something behind the image seemed to be mocking her. She moved again to the window. The Haven Parish Meeting House at Troidmallos was a well-appointed one, and the living quarters were excellent. As they should be, Dowinne thought. This was far from the poky, down-at-heel Meeting House they had begun with, way out in the wilds, ten years ago, and Cassraw’s appointment to it so young was no small achievement. Yet...

Yet it wasn’t enough.

She folded her arms and squeezed them hard into her body as if to contain the ambitions that for some reason were clamouring to be heard today. Then, secure in the silent stillness of her home, she gave her old desires their head. They excited her. It did not matter what she had now — she would have more. She would be important — powerful. Not just in Troidmallos, but in the whole of Canol Madreth. People would defer to her — would watch their words, their very gestures, in her presence, just as she did with others now. And they would seek her patronage. Dowinne could scarcely contain herself at the prospect of what would eventually be hers, if she managed the affairs of her husband correctly.

With remarkable perceptiveness she had seen, even in her youth, that the church in Canol Madreth wielded almost as much authority as its secular counterpart, the Heindral, and that her best hope for future wealth and security lay that way. For despite its austere protestations, the church was rich, and its senior figures, though for the most part not ostentatious in their lifestyles, were most agreeably comfortable. More significantly, in political matters the church’s opinions and discreet support were always carefully sought because of the influence it exerted over the people. Dowinne particularly appreciated the fact that the church’s utterances were substantially unburdened by popular debate and that, above all else, it did not need the affirmation of the people every four years for its continued reign.

Of course, she could not enter the church herself — that was a privilege confined exclusively to men — but she could perhaps do even better than that. By marrying and mastering the right man she could master in turn those whom he commanded. And Cassraw was the right man beyond a doubt. She had judged him to be her own restless ambition given form, and he had confirmed her judgement time after time.

True, his fierce passion had been an unexpected burden to her at first, but she had gradually redirected it into proclivities that she found more tolerable and which had subsequently proved to be useful both as goad and lure. She smiled secretively