Eugenides is named for a god and touched by a god; sometimes, in some lights, he may even embody that god; and these days he carries the painful brightness of that attention when seen from the corner of one's eye: a spark of divine fire and glory that reflects from his eyes and teeth like the breath of dew rising from grass at the touch of morning sun.

Attolia bows to the altar in the temple she has erected to honor her husband's gods and says, so quietly that no air moves to carry her words to mortal ears, "If you steal him, or burn him up in your plans, I will find a way to lay siege to your heavens myself until you repay the fullness of my loss."

As she steps back into the light of day, she ignores the way her shadow seems fainter and less sharp-edged than those of her handmaidens, as if some faint light has lingered in her hair and on her skin.