The Orphans of Raspay (Penric and Desdemona, #7)

by Lois McMaster Bujold

Just once, Pen thought glumly, he’d like to get an answer to prayers, instead of being delivered as one.

Two good plans, ransom and mass escape, had turned to wet paper in his hands because other people wouldn’t be sensible. Maybe he needed a plan that didn’t rely on other people. Or being sensible.

The gods did not control the weather. Or the world. Or souls. But death, oh, they own that.

Fear is easy. Joy is hard, said Des.

“However did you know where to find me?” “I thought the columns of smoke were a good guide.”

“The gods may be able to sort the just from the unjust soul by soul. I’m afraid armies must treat them in batches.”

No, that’s what they’re paying us to not leave you here.”

Beloved, god-touched, great-souled… a saint, even? The true sort, who moved through the world as silently as fishes, unnoticed by carnal eyes that focused only on outward domination and display. Never on a small woman in a small town, being kind. Soul by soul.