“But what has that love gotten you, Saayna?” he asked. “The blood of your brothers and sisters is on your hands. They burned because you held your secret. Tell me, will you dream of their screams, like I will?”
The high priestess looked away. The dancing shadows made her face a war zone, flickering between regret and piety. Yet when she finally spoke, her voice was unwavering.
“I never expected the runes to point to the temple, but I had suspected the possibility. I put my brethren at risk. I know this. But it is our duty to protect the fire and Her Prophet. We swore an oath. We gave our blood. There is no higher honor.”
“You somehow altered the second rune on the young priest’s back,” he said. “Why?”
The fire sighed out sparks. They danced in the air and then spiraled downward, dusting his hair and hands. A spark caught on Saayna’s chin, and she flinched before raising her hand to touch it.
“As above, so below,” she murmured. It was an old prayer, one that Aahnah would utter.
The magic of the universe resides in us as much as it resides in the heavens, she said. But if magic was fire, then it was a cruel illusion.
Leo leaned forward. “You said that the first two runes meant ‘Daughter of Fire.’ First, they led to the city. Then they led to the temple. Now they lead to my own home. So where in the seven hells is she?”
“She,” Saayna said, and it was something in her voice: the slight derision, the edge in her mouth that made Leo stop. He blinked.
Mother’s Gold, I’ve been a fool.
All this time, he had thought he knew the nature of Saayna’s lie. That she had tampered with the runes only to hide the Prophet’s true location. But he realized then that it had not been one lie, but two.
“It’s a man, isn’t it? The Prophet is a man.”
Her eyes locked with his. For a moment, hers almost looked golden, and Leo understood that he had arrived at the truth.
“You wished it was you,” he said and laughed. “You wished the Prophet was another woman, another priest, just as the Sixth had been. But it’s not. It’s a man, and you already know it’s not me.”
Saayna turned back to the flames, sorrow crossing her face. “The Prophet can never be the same man twice.”
“Do you know who he is?”
It was her turn to laugh. It sounded like dry wood snapping when burned. “I do not. But it is my duty to make sure you don’t know either.”
Leo stood. The flames hissed, retreating.
“Seek forgiveness,” she said. “Repent now, and the Holy Bird might give you reprieve in the afterlife.”
Overhead, the Phoenix watched. Her red eyes glittered with the harshness of fire, with its cunning shadows and white, hot glare.
“Oh, Saayna,” he said. “It’s much too late for that.”
CHAPTER 25
YASSEN
At some point, we must all grieve for our old selves.
—from the introduction ofThe Great History of Sayon
Yassen stalked through the palace courtyards, unable to sleep. The night air felt sharp, cold. Storm clouds lingered along the horizon, but here on Palace Hill, the heavens were clear. Tiny stars shone in the dark like uncut gems.
The courtyard he entered was one of the smaller ones in the back of the palace. A white path, gleaming with inlaid lights, led to a large banyan tree. The tree stood in the middle of a wide basin carved out of red desert stone. Moonflowers floated in its water, their pale petals curled inward.
Yassen paced underneath the tree. Few people frequented this courtyard, and the servants who did hurried through with a quick nod in his direction. Though they no longer regarded him with distrust, the servants were not rushing to offer him kind words or friendship.
A dark shape broke from the canopy with a squawk, and Yassen looked up. He watched it ascend and circle over the tree, hovering for a moment before soaring off into the night.
Sighing, Yassen sat on the lip of the stone basin. He hugged his arm to his side. He had been practicing his hand exercises every day, but after this morning at the temple, a strange tingling sensation spiraled up his arm at unexpected moments. The burns had not worsened; his arm looked the same as before, but when the pain came, sudden and sharp, it was as if fire crept beneath his skin.
