“Everything I know, I give to you,” Yassen said and withdrew a holopod from his pocket. It contained names, meeting points, and—the mother trove of all—a map of the Arohassin sleeper agents in Ravence. “This is proof that I’ve truly defected. It’s all there, Sam.”
“Then you already know what I’m going to ask you,” Samson said. He hesitated for a moment. “Come with me to Ravence. I’ve already spoken to King Leo. He’s agreed to give you a royal pardon if you help dismantle the Arohassin. Freedom, Yassen. You’ll finally have it.”
Yassen looked down at his hands.Freedom, what a funny word. Here, in the heady mountain air, in the quiet, he felt so close to it. But Ravence…
He pinched the nerve between his finger and thumb, flexing his fingers. Ravence was his home. And despite the peace of this garden, he knew what he really longed for was the desert. The endless, rolling dunes.
He watched Samson sit back and look at him, not with the pretense of childhood familiarity, but with the cold, calculated air of a militant.
“Take out that flame I gave you,” Samson said.
Yassen pulled the metal insignia from his pocket and placed it on the holopod. A confidential file opened—his own.
“That flame contains everything I have on you. Names, dates, even the serial numbers of your guns. It could lock you away for life. But I give it to you as a measure of good will,” Samson said.
Yassen laughed. “So, you’ve been watching me.”
“Watching and waiting for the right moment,” Samson agreed. “I want no secrets between us. I said long ago that I would help you get home, and this—this is it. I mean to fulfill that promise. People are going to question my decision, but I know you. You haven’t changed.”
Yassen studied Samson, searching his face for a trace of dishonesty, but either he was true to his word, or too well trained in hiding his thoughts. The look on his face was one of belief. Actual belief. The same burning belief that opened a floodgate when Samson, gripping Yassen’s arm after being whipped for failing his mission, had babbled about revenge and defection. The same belief that shone in his eyes when he told Yassen, in a rare instance of drug-induced clarity, that he, Yassen Knight, would survive. Survive out of all of them. Survive to live out old age and perhaps even forgiveness from the gods.
What Samson hadn’t known was that Yassen did not find himself to be in the ranks of the forgiven. He was well beyond that point. The burns up his arms told him so. His long flight across the sea told him so. The faces he saw in the night told him so. Guilt, that snakelike poison, wormed its way down his throat as Yassen smiled—a smile he knew would break the cold, calculated air Samson held up as a shield because he, too, hadn’t changed.
Yassen reached for the flame and slipped it back into his pocket.
“I’ll go to Ravence with you if you get me amnesty,” he said. “And then I’ll be free.”
Samson kissed his three fingers and held them in the air. Yassen did the same, and they touched their fingers together, sealing the promise.
CHAPTER 4
ELENA
The Prophet is justice in the corporeal form. Blessed by the Phoenix, the Prophet never dies but is reincarnated—life to ashes; ashes to life. The last Prophet, the Sixth Prophet, was known to live in this world five hundred suns ago. There are no records of her death, but after her disappearance, Alabore Ravence led his followers into the desert and created what we know now as the Kingdom of Ravence.
—from chapter 3 ofThe Great History of Sayon
They flew across the sea of dunes toward the mountains along the western border. Despite the arid desert, the Agnee mountains were filled with lush, towering pines. Legends said that when the Sixth Prophet rose, she created the desert to deter armies, but kept the mountain forests to protect the temple.
If it had been up to her, Elena would have burned it all down. It was easy for enemies to hide in the forest. The desert left no room for secrets.
Low clouds hung over the Agnee Range and turned the trees into silver spears. The hoverpod rose, climbing through the grey expanse before the mist gave way to the looming temple.
The Temple of Fire was older than the Kingdom of Ravence, older than the desert itself. It sat on the edge of a steep cliff, overlooking the forests. Shaped in the form of a lotus, it had eight ivory wings, or petals, that each represented a tenet of the Phoenix: Truth, Perseverance, Courage, Faith, Discipline, Duty, Honor, and Rebirth. Large multitiered lanterns were fixed at the top of every petal. The priests took rotating shifts to refill the diyas with mustard oil and keep the flames alive.
At the heart of the lotus was a pristine white marble dome. The Seat. A thick plume of smoke curled from its center.
The hoverpod docked and Elena walked out, breathing in the smell of ash and pine. Two royal guards, dressed in black uniforms with a red feather above their hearts, stood at the base of the steps. They bowed as she and Ferma approached. Elena craned her neck to take in the white granite staircase chiseled into the face of the mountain.
Her heart sank.
They could have docked behind the temple. But this was her father’s subtle way of reminding her who was in power. The king, of course, could land right on the holy grounds. The heir would need to climb.
Elena sighed and began the long process of ascending, Ferma close behind, moving with the grace of a dancer. The stairs were steep, the climb winding, but Elena was determined not to show discomfort.
“Do you think he knows? About our visit to the gold caps?” she whispered to Ferma when they came to a landing midway up the stairs. They were alone here. A large fountain rose before them, its waters splashing loudly below the statue of the Phoenix soaring above the basin. When Elena glanced up at the statue, she shivered. The statue’s red eyes glowed despite the lack of sunlight. It was unnerving.
“If he does, he’d be thrilled,” Ferma responded. “The princess at a gold cap rally? Maybe she’s starting to see some sense.”
