“Of course,” Elena murmured. Her father had encouraged her to visit the rallies, to see the people who so ardently supported their throne and their rule.Maybe he thinks we’re finally on the same page, she thought ruefully.
“Let me do the talking,” she said.
“Trust me, I have no desire to face the king.” Ferma grinned.
When they finally reached the top, two men awaited them. Elena recognized Majnu, her father’s Spear. He was a large brute of a man with wary eyes, and he dwarfed the short, white-haired man beside him.
“Arish.” She smiled, a true smile. She was fond of Arish, who served as her father’s Astra—his highest-ranking advisor.
The man bowed deeply, his silver hair shining.
“Your Highness,” he said in his soft, whispery voice. “His Majesty is already inside for the Ashanta ceremony.”
How many times will he consult the heavens?Elena squeezed Arish’s arm and then brushed past him.
“Wait out here,” she called back to Ferma.
The temple’s entrance was carved from firestone and pink marble, laden with jewels burnished from the heat of the desert, but when Elena stepped inside the dark stone hall, shadows awaited her. She could hear the hypnotic drone of the priests coming down the main hall. Carefully, she removed her shoes and set them aside. The stone was cool underneath her feet but grew warmer as she neared the center of the temple. The chanting of the priests grew louder. The scent of sandalwood incense and smoke wrapped around her. Shadows danced along the wall, a mirage of the fire that awaited.
When she reached the curve, Elena paused. Her throat was already beginning to tighten from the smoke, her heart fluttering in her chest like a moth.It’s just fire, she told herself.
She closed her eyes and concentrated on her breath. Felt the warmth of the stone. Emptied out her thoughts and then walked forward.
It was like stepping into a furnace. The heat slammed against her face, chasing the air from her lips. Despite her resolve, Elena stumbled back. The Eternal Fire roared and shot up toward the domed ceiling and the golden statue of the Phoenix that soared above. A semicircle of priests stood around the pit of the fire, chanting.
Within the flames, on the raised dais, Elena saw a man, seated cross-legged, his head bowed but his back arrow straight. Saayna, the high priestess, dressed in a golden shawl, stood before the steps of the dais. She threw lotus petals into the Eternal Fire, and the flames grew. The heat intensified. But the figure did not even stir or tremble.
No wonder people feared her father.
Elena sank to her knees behind the circle of priests. She felt her chest begin to constrict like the windpipe of a desert bird in the hand of a butcher. Her palms grew sweaty. She rubbed them against her knees and blinked the sting out of her eyes. She forced herself tobe still, to stop fidgeting, to look into the Eternal Fire and not be blinded by its light.
The priests gave their final chant, and then the high priestess poured an urn of clear mountain water into the pit.
She opened a leather-bound book, a rarity in Sayon, and smoothed the pages.
“Here sits the servant of Alabore Ravence, the one true king. The one chosen to lead his people to their promised land,” she sang. “May the Phoenix bless Her followers from the ash of Her fire. May we take this ash and see the world with eyes unclouded by hatred. May She bless the son who carries Her legacy.”
King Leo stood. Ash sprinkled down his shoulders as he stepped off the raised dais and walked down the stairs. The high priestess pinched vermilion powder between her fingers and drew three diagonal lines across the king’s forehead.
“And so we the blessed few,” she intoned.
“So we the blessed few,” both Elena and her father returned.
Elena rose slowly as her father accepted offerings from the priests. He raised them to his lips, kissing lotus flowers, sweets of diamond rock, and petals of desert rose. Saayna saw her and smiled. Elena bowed as she gently pressed her hand to Elena’s forehead.
“When you are queen, you too will sit in the flames,” she said, and the wrinkles around her eyes deepened.
“Thank you, Saayna,” Elena said, but she could feel her father’s eyes on her. He probably sensed the insecurity in her voice. Because try as she might, she could not hold a flame, let alone sit in the Eternal Fire. She could not withstand the burn.
“Elena,” her father said, and she turned to the king.
Her father was a tall man, straight-backed like the great pines, broad-shouldered like the mountains, and with the same high forehead as hers. He was over fifty suns but gave no signs of his age save a faint greying of the hair at the edges of his temples. Perhaps his rigid constitution and ability to withstand the Eternal Fire made him so, or perhaps it was the fact that he managed a kingdom constantly threatened by wars and coups, fanatical anarchists and greedy neighbors. Yet when Elena bowed and King Leo placed a heavy hand on her head, she knew the reason her father held the throne was not because of his cunning and tenacity. It was because he had lost his wife to madness—and his sense of fear had died with her.
Her father feared nothing. And that made the Phoenix King a dangerous and capable man.
The ground rumbled as the stone seal before the entrance slid away, revealing steps. The priests all retreated into their underground chambers, save the high priestess.
She pressed a small leaf-bound package into Elena’s hands.
