At his approach, the servants bowed and stopped sweeping.
“You,” he said to a young woman with an ash mark on her forehead. “Tell me—has the shrine been cleaned?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” she said, not meeting his eyes. “It was cleaned as of this morning.”
“Good. Instruct others not to wander there. I want to pray in peace.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” she said. “May the Holy Bird answer your prayers.”
She shut off her ears for me long ago, he wanted to say, but Leo held his tongue. He motioned for the servants to resume their task.
The sun felt warm against his shoulders as he strolled through the garden. The main courtyard stretched several yards, full of thick banyan and blooming ironwood trees; their pink flowers created a rich, heady scent. In the middle of the plaza, a lone torch hissed. Leo avoided it. He’d had his fill of fire to last a lifetime.
After the library, the main courtyard had been Aahnah’s favorite part of their home. She would sometimes take her reading and sit at the stone bench beneath the smallest banyan tree.
Leo went there now and sat, listening to the sound of the feathered brooms sweeping against the stone path, the shrieks of a desert hawk, the distant call of a servant, but their rhythms did not soothe him. Worry crawled in his stomach, knotted and dark. He could not forget the smoldering rune in the sand. How, all this time, the hunt circled back to within his palace. He felt like a fool. A damned, stupid fool.
And Mother’s Gold, was he tired.
Leo rubbed his eyes. When he had tried to sleep on the way back to the palace, he saw them. The dead priests. Their limp, torn robes. Their deaths had been fruitless. Like the girl’s.
Leo pulled out the kerchief Ferma had given him. The cloth was stiff with dried blood, but he carefully pulled it apart, then folded it into neat squares.
“What a waste,” he murmured.
He could ask for forgiveness, like he had with the girl. He could burn the cloth and scatter the ashes from Palace Hill, but Leo knew such words and actions would be meaningless.
He was unforgivable. Saayna had made that clear enough, but strangely, he no longer felt guilt. Or anger. Or pity.
Not anymore.
He held the kerchief for a moment longer before tucking it into his breast pocket, hand above his heart.
He felt free.
The dead could not hurt him, not like the living. Not like the Prophet, waiting for their chance to take his kingdom away from him. And if he was already damned, what could killing the Prophet do to him now?
“Phoenix,” he said, eyes closed, “hear me. I will find your Prophet. And I will bring her before you so you can watch her bleed.”
When he opened his eyes, he saw the wide expanse of the sky. He had not been struck down for speaking blasphemy. There were no flaming heavens, no hell and brimstone, like Saayna had warned. Just a pink, cloudless sky and warm horizon.
“Your Majesty?”
Leo turned to see Arish hurrying to him. He clutched a holopod.
“What is it?”
“Your Majesty, it’s Jangir. These reports were just released, and they claim that he is a Jantari spy. Even Muftasa signed off on it. There’s a copy of her report here…”
Leo snatched the pod, quickly scanning the documents. “But that’s impossible. I’ve known Jangir for many suns. He’s not a Jantari agent. Why—why would Muftasa sign off on this?”
“I’m not sure, but officers have already apprehended him. The princess was there when they took him in. The gold caps are outraged. Her Highness has called for more security in the city, and I agree,” Arish said. “Riots could break out. Varun already has asked to speak with you, and Leelat is saying he believesheshould take Jangir’s place.”
Leo listened with growing horror.Mother’s Gold, how did this happen?
“Father?”
Leo looked up to see Elena approaching with Yassen and her guards trailing behind her. She wore a warrior’s clothes with a padded vest, her sweaty hair sticking to her forehead, slingsword at her waist.
