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

by Lois McMaster Bujold

…What a strange moment he had come to that he was wishing for slavers.

The Bastard was, among many other things, the god of leftovers, last home to all the souls that no other of the Five would take. Criminals, executioners, orphans, whores, bastards, sorcerers, some artists and musicians, those with odd loves, and, yes, pirates. (On the whole, Pen much preferred to deal with prostitutes, with whom he got along fine.)

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

“So you think the demon-god will answer your prayers, Sea-eyes?” Sadly, no. I think the demon-god employs me to answer them for Him. Lazy Bastard.

Some poetic epics extolled heroism in warriors; Adelis the actual soldier put his faith in logistics, Pen had noted.

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.

“I think that Jedula of Raspay went into the hands of her white god as heart-high as the betrothed at a wedding feast. And found great comfort there. The rest,” he sighed, “is up to us.”

Fear is easy. Joy is hard,

the gods were no more present at Their altars than they were everywhere else. Nor less, I suppose. Temples were for the convenience, and perhaps concentration of mind, of their human builders.

I approve of ignorance, Des commented. It cannot fuel betrayal.

“I thought I was the evil sorcerer.” Lencia shot back, “Yes, but you’re our evil sorcerer.”

Lord god Bastard, I dedicate this day to you. I hope you are suitably amused. In fact, you can have this whole detestable week…

“You know,” he said conversationally in high Roknari—the mode of scholar to servant was nicely insulting—“I’ve been having an extraordinarily aggravating day. You probably shouldn’t add to it.”

Falun didn’t listen, of course. People seldom did.

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

Adelis’s black brows flicked up, perhaps at the disquiet of standing next to a man who could plausibly claim any idea of how the gods thought.

You borrow enough trouble already you’d need a counting-house to keep your ledger.