Samson inhaled sharply. “Skies above,” he whispered.
“Well, I suppose you could say the heavens have spoken to us,” Leo said. “The Prophet will come.”
Silence filled the room, sudden and heavy.
“It will be a woman,” Leo said finally. “A young girl who has already been marked. If what the high priestess says is true, if the Prophet is to come, then we are dead men walking.”
He walked to the northern wall and pulled up a map of Ravence.
“According to Saayna, the girl is in the city. Muftasa, I would like you to work with Samson to locate those who fit the description. Quietly. They will be marked. Maybe with a rune or a flame… I’m not sure. But I know they will not burn. You will find them, and you will bring them to me.” He turned; the red light of the Phoenix rendered on the wall spilled down his shoulders. “We will not allow a religious heretic to dismantle our kingdom.”
“But, Your Majesty. If the legends are true… we won’t stand a chance before the Prophet,” Muftasa said.
“We will if we execute her before the Phoenix rises,” Leo said. And the silence that followed was even more damning. He could feel the weight of the heavens and seven hells bearing down on him, judging him.
“Find her,” Leo said and looked pointedly at Samson. “If you want Ravence, you will bring me the Prophet.”
Muftasa nodded, but Leo could tell by her shoulders that she was wringing her hands underneath the table. She did not meet his eyes.
“Say it,” Leo commanded.
“I—I’ve recently seen a report,” Muftasa began. Still, she did not meet his eyes. “My men have been tracking a family of anarchist sympathizers. The mother gives speeches that amount to little more than rants in parks. Nothing of importance, but… We think the father may work for Jantar.”
“What does this have to do with the Prophet?” Samson asked.
Again, Muftasa hesitated. It was not like her. She was always outright with him; it was one of the things Leo respected most about her. But if even Muftasa was hesitating…
Worry, cold and sharp, stabbed through Leo.
“Muftasa,” he began.
She sighed and opened a holo. It showed a girl with hair the color of starlight.
“Their daughter was recently taken to the hospital for burns. At first, we thought she had gotten caught in a fire, but then we learned thatshestarted it. Claiming that she saw a vision of the Phoenix.”
“Burn marks?” Samson asked. “But you said the Prophet doesn’t burn.”
“The Prophet does burn—but only once,” Leo said. “It is said that the Phoenix burns the Prophet to mark her. After that, she will not burn again.”
“But what if this so-called Prophet doesn’t know of her powers? Maybe she doesn’t understand the significance of not burning.”
“She could be an ignorant fool,” Leo agreed. “But that doesn’t lessen the fact that she is the Prophet. With a burn test, we can root her out.”
As he said this, Leo felt a cold fist clamp around his stomach. This girl perfectly fit the description. He should feel relieved, but he could only feel an impending sense of dread. If this girl was the Prophet, he would have to commit the highest sin in all the heavens. He would be hated, cursed. No amount of Ashanta ceremonies would save him.
But if the Prophet started her rampage, his sins would pale in comparison.
He knew the stories. When the last Prophet rose, she had gone mad. Burned down armies of men, turned forests into harsh, arid deserts. No one had been able to stop her. No one could.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Samson interrupted. “This is madness. The Prophet? I know nothing about your religion, but do you honestly believe there’s a vengeful god with a murderous prophet, set to rise again?” He laughed. “Do you truly believe in such stories?”
Arish bristled and Muftasa frowned as Leo turned to Samson. He meant to school the boy on Ravani religious beliefs, then hesitated.
Because the boy was right.
Who could honestly believe in such stories?
He hadn’t. Not at first. A part of Leo was still in disbelief, still hoping that the old tales were simply parables engineered by priestesses like Saayna to force submission and fear into those around them.
