The brazier is on its side, the eternal flame spilling out—the fire never dying. The girl child walks toward it. I’m the only one who notices as Osiris closes his eyes, whispering prayers to the god, and the nurse is still busy sobbing.
I draw a sharp breath as the baby nears the flame. The wet nurse looks up and gasps. Osiris stops praying.
The child is about to be burned alive.
The three of us watch from our knees, all too stunned to move. The baby is so close to the flame of truth that she can nearly reach out and touch it. This makes no logical sense. She should have been scorched, repelled by the intense heat, yet she is not.
I look at Osiris, but he seems more curious than worried. He continues to recite his prayer with his eyes open, but my limbs twitch, itching to move the girl away from the fire.
I suppose I’ve already started to care. Curious how something so small can pull so hard at the heart.
The baby continues in her uneven steps, entranced by the flame like a moth. But rather than being singed, she toddles right to the edge of the fire, and then inside it.
I gasp, getting to my feet, and I am not alone in my shock. The nurse stands slack-jawed, and even the High Priest is agape.
The baby stands inside the eternal flame as if it is her mother’s arms and not a fire so hot it would burn a disbeliever to ash. Even the most practiced priests barely hazard a hand into the fire. Osiris has the most control I have ever seen, but he can’t do anything like this.
“The god,” he says.
I sign my respect again, penitent for my initial skepticism. This baby is truly blessed. Elusian or not, she was brought here as a gift to the temple, to us, to all of Pryor. She will raise the Faith to greatness.
Once out of the fire, the girl walks to Osiris as if nothing has happened. He has moved to the other edge of the flame and crouched down to be at her level. He stares at her with awe. When she reaches his arms, he picks her up like she’s his own child. And somehow, I know she will be.
“We will keep her,” he says.
I open my mouth. I want to disagree, because if the Senate discovers us harboring the last Elusian, they will treat it like a declaration of holy war and kill us all. But the girl is obviously chosen by our god, and Osiris has made up his mind. He has already started to love this child. There is more affection on his face now than I have seen in twenty years. Including for myself.
I purse my lips.
“Thank you, High Priest. A million thanks to your great name,” the nurse says. Tears well in her eyes. “We call her—”
Osiris raises a hand and cuts her off. He will decide a name for the child, not some servant.
The High Priest strolls out of the Inner Hall, snuggling the baby in his arms and cooing to her. As I watch him, there’s a stirring in my chest—happiness, I think. I can’t help but love seeing him like this any more than I can help loving him. It is a one-sided affair, as I have never burdened him with my feelings. Our duty is to the Faith first and foremost. Yet he has completely forgotten the danger we are in in favor of the child.
“But the woman now knows…everything,” I whisper.
The High Priest shakes his head as if he’s waking up. He looks straight ahead and then nods. I exhale, relieved. We can’t have a nursemaid with this kind of knowledge, and Osiris finally realizes it.
As we pass the chief guard, Osiris draws a line over his own throat with his thumb. And then he returns to bouncing the child and smiling.
I look over my shoulder. The nurse screams as she’s dragged away by her shawl. Good. She will be dealt with. No one, other than us, will know where this child came from or who she really is. The baby looks enough like Osiris that he will be able to pass her off as his own. He will give her his name. And I will do whatever is necessary to protect her. I’ll give my life to protect this secret.
The woman screams a final time—a bloodcurdling sound.
Osiris doesn’t look back, and neither do I.
LIV.
Torren
A knock on my door has me on my feet in the early dawn. It has to be Kera—I already heard her stirring and moving her bureau. She is awaiting my decision. After a fairly sleepless night, I am ready to give her my answer.
I open the door, disappointed to find Julian leaning on my doorframe.
“You look just terrible,” he says.
I rub my face. “For the life of me, I can’t understand how you don’t get beaten more often.”
