Something heated and political between Zimrahil and the Zigûr - for Wesley.
Black marble is not found in Anadûnê. It must be quarried at the edges of the Eastern desert, and taken by ship to Rómenna, and thence, by cart, to the capitol. Each massive block will take 15 days to reach Arminalêth, and thousands will be required before the temple is finished.
"And you say you have consulted with our ministers of the treasury in the development of your plans for ...that?" She gestures to the rising foundation with a disdainful flick of her wrist. The pointed sheaths on her finger-tips - gold and ruby - catch the afternoon sun.
The Zigûr looks down from the horizon and into her eyes. His dark, long-fingered hands rest on the porphyry railing. "Surely you do not suggest, dear lady, that matters of expense can be import, in the service of the Giver of Freedom. What cost is too great, in treasure or in blood, to express our infinite devotion and surety of future service to Him?" He raises his head again, piously, at the speech, but the corners of his mouth betray a sardonic smile.
Zimrahil recoils imperceptibly at the endearment. "Our devotion may be infinite, Zigûr, but our funds are not, and your lord has certainly succeeded in liberating us from them." She pauses, the noise of the work making all conversation momentarily impossible, and then continues. Her voice is softer, and more sweet. "Besides, I had always believed that we could serve best serve Him by bringing about the destruction of his gaolers. Our shipbuilders cannot feed their families on piety."
She can see the impression of the Zigûr's fingers in the stone. "It is not the shipbuilders, or the sailors or the merchants, who whisper of your improprieties - and your husband's - over silver plates, to the music of Elvish harps. You are too great to have any fear of unsubstantiated rumor, but your servant has heard -"
"There is an army massing in the Andustar."
After a moment, he carefully closes his mouth. Zimrahil does not know if he is more shocked that her spies have outpaced his, or that she has dared to interrupt him, but she savors the moment. "Though they are little more than a militia, we do not have the force on land to challenge them. And you would spend the last of our coin on monuments."
"My Queen, you mistake me. If your armies cannot reclaim the rebellious province, it is of paramount importance that they do not rise."
The setting sun shines off the half-completed walls, creating the appearance of leaping flames. She nods.
"And so they must fear us."
