“I read the words of the Goddess to Zeelean war criminals fleeing justice for atrocities committed on Rodinian battlefields. I pray alongside mercenaries who will stomp a debtor halfway to death and walk through these doors, blood still wet on their uniforms, and beg for the Goddess’s forgiveness time after time. And I see an endless cycle of drunks looking for a quiet place to sleep things off. Maybe none of us can change who we are. Maybe the best we can do is all be alone together under the candlelight for a little while. But at least we’re doing something. Trying to build something, together, that might help carry the weight of our sins and grief.”

Cinehilde released Vaster’s hand. “Do you feel better?”

“Not really.”

“Good.” Cinehilde turned to face Vaster. “Faith isn’t for feeling good about yourself. If that were all there was to it, I’d have the easiest job on Neith. We’re all hurting others and ourselves over and over again because there’s something fundamentally wrong with us, something inherent to existence that we can’t fix. Something that nobody can fix. Not yourself, or a lover, or a priestess, or even the Goddess. Not in this life, at least.”

“That’s depressing. How do you fix it, then?”

Cinehilde shook her head. “You don’t. You can’t. Because that’s who you are. That’s who we all are. Take away that little kernel of misery and failure and each of us would crumble to ashes. Faith is discovering ways to work around it, to live with it and with each other.”

“That takes faith?”

“It takes something stupid and irrational and unexplainable to bridge that gap between yourself and who you could be or between yourself and someone else. A leap of faith.”

Vaster nodded his head.