The Bishop regarded me without haste, almost as if we were discussing something trivial and I was a disgruntled teenager.
He straightened and his voice took on a chiding note. “A man came to us on his knees and in despair, and he left here believing that the goddess healed him,” he replied calmly. “Is that a problem?”
For a moment, I thought I had misheard. Never in all my years had I ever heard someone so softly and yet thoroughly twist the truth to their benefit.
No wonder he had so many followers. If I had a tongue as glib as his, I would have probably tried to steal a throne too.
I let out a short, incredulous laugh but his gaze did not waver.
“We are vessels,” he continued, his tone patient, almost indulgent. “Conduits through which the goddess’s will is made manifest. It does n
