"You prayed to a god, but you don't believe in one?" Rona Gillman's tone was amused.
"If you wrote His Majesty the Emperor a letter and gave it to the least reliable, limping old postman around, then a squad of guards turned up the next day saying the emperor wanted to see you, would you believe them?"
Rona Gillman thought it was a good example, but she had no interest in proving herself. "The Holy Son wants to see you. Are you coming?"
"I'm coming!"
Avery had every quality needed to become a magic user except talent. It was as if the gods had muttered to themselves while creating him: "Hmm... a spoonful of wisdom, a spoonful of courage, a spoonful of wit, and another of humility. That should be enough for him to make something of himself. But he'll need a little adversity too. Let's make it his talent and family background... a spoonful of mediocrity, a spoonful of poverty—oh no, I poured in too much."
Avery wasn't being modest, either. If the City Lord held a "Most Miserable Resident" contest, he would win first place without question.
Avery followed her out, quietly leaving marks along the way. Rona Gillman ignored his little maneuvers and returned to the commercial street.
"Miss Rona, the next Portal to Free City opens in fifty minutes. Please wait here."
Now that Avery was sure they really were the Holy Son's people, he sidled over with an awkward smile. "Could you have someone tell my friend I'm all right?"
A blackboard stood in Annan's "office." It bore nothing but an eight-digit number, and Lilith's projection appeared from time to time to erase and rewrite its last two or three digits.
It showed how much of the Free City Development Fund had been spent.