Lion Head Mesa The winged sun

“Yes. A festival,” the black crown nodded, then paused. “And the cleansing,” from wall to priest the eyes slithered. “Akashingo must cleanse itself of those who threaten divinity, Erpa-ha.”

For all the piety Senmut displayed in public—his prayers, his fasts, his rituals– it was time to see how such devotion would hold. Gods before men, or the priest’s faith was a threadbare cloak, fragile and easily rent.

“I have a name. Tavina Aelstromm.”