Four Roads Cross by Max Gladstone

cue. “Seril’s lack of liquidity is Her main weakness. By attacking the gargoyles, a Craftswoman can hurt Her directly. I’ve spent the last year tracking Seril’s treaties with old gods, without much luck. Other than Kos, most of Her partners died in the Wars, and their debts to Seril were written off in the necromantic process.” That dead end had taken eight months of work. “My next step’s to seek property Seril lost in the God Wars. This is a long shot: the Wars were hectic, and many Craftsmen immediately used power they seized from one god to kill another. But we might find something useful. Meanwhile, we have to ensure news of Seril’s survival breaks under conditions we control. Aev’s people have promised not to answer prayers. I’ve called for double Blacksuit patrols in the Paupers’ Quarter during the next few nights. In the meantime, bring any ideas, concerns, fears, or prophecies to me first.” She looked around the table. “Some of you have to run. I’m sure there are more questions. I’ll stay to answer those. I know the news sounds bad. But we can win this. We will.”
    Nods, with determination in various shades of grim.
    She’d convinced no one. But they pretended they believed her, that everything would work out for the best.
    Tara hadn’t expected more. She didn’t quite believe herself, either.
    Abelard excused himself; Aev followed. So did Cat. That left Tara, the Commissioner, and the Cardinals—and then the hard questions came.

 
    11
    Cat closed the conference chamber door, guillotining Cardinal Bede’s rambling many-subclaused question before His Eminence reached a verb. The door she’d chosen led to a stone landing and a stair winding down and up. The hem of a rust-red robe disappeared around the stair’s descending turn. “Abelard,” she called, but he didn’t stop, and she found herself alone on the landing. Or so she thought.
    A stone rumble from the shadows brought her hand halfway to her badge before she recognized the voice. “I do not think he wishes company,” Aev said.
    â€œDo you guys have lurking contests or something?”
    Aev stepped forward. Light chiseled her planes and angles from the black. “Why?”
    â€œIf so, you’d take the ribbon.”
    Aev gestured to her bare stone torso. “Where would I pin a ribbon?”
    Cat looked away. “I haven’t seen Abelard in a while, is all. Guess he has better things to do than talk. Tend the boilers, power the city, keep us from freezing in our beds or roasting in our towers. At least it’s a distraction.”
    â€œMs. Abernathy’s claims concern you.”
    â€œIt’s all so far above my pay grade.” Cat pointed down through the floor. “Thought we could work it out together, Abelard and me, but he hasn’t been himself these last few months. Then again, I don’t suppose any of us has been herself.” She frowned. “Themselves? Themself?”
    â€œIt’s easier to say in Stone.”
    Of course. What else would be easier in Stone? Poetry? Wrath? Prayer? “Why do you have your own language anyway?” Cat asked instead. “There’s only like thirty of you, and you were built—made—”
    â€œShaped, we say, or carved. And we were not always so few. We were made of Alt Coulumb, not born of it, so the Lady gave us our own tongue. You could speak it too, if you opened your heart to Her.”
    â€œNot likely,” she said, but Aev didn’t rise to the bait. “How many of you were there?”
    â€œTwo hundred fifty-six, as of the eighth carving. Some fell in the Wars, and after. Some perished in exile. There is a grove in the Geistwood where many stand who gave up hope of seeing home again. They set aside the quickness of their body and sank their roots into living stone. They will not move for a turning of the