But he had seen the runes on the priest’s back. Smelled his burnt flesh. Saayna would never commit such an atrocity on her own order. And the Eternal Fire was a powerful force he could not deny. He had sat in its flames, felt its heat, its hunger.
The messages it sent could not easily be ignored.
“Wouldn’t you,” Leo said softly, “if fire burned runes like that into your flesh?” When Samson did not answer, Leo nodded to the floating image before them. “Stories can be shaped. Altered. But fire can never be denied. Do you understand this, boy?It does not lie.Prophet or not, someone or something is coming. And I am not going to take any chances. Not when we also have the Arohassin and the Jantari to deal with.”
“But, Your Majesty,” Arish said, “how are you so sure that this Prophet, the Seventh, will burn the world like her predecessor? The other Prophets before the Sixth were saints. Gods, in a way. Their yuga was one of peace and fortune.”
Leo smiled sadly. Arish was a religious man, and so he clamped on to his beliefs like a lost traveler hugs his lantern in a sandstorm. “If only, Arish. But the yuga of saintly Prophets ended with the Sixth. The Seventh will be no different.”
He turned to Muftasa. “Where is the girl?” he asked.
“In the western slums,” Muftasa said. “Her name—”
“Don’t tell me,” Leo cut her off. The fist in his stomach tightened and turned. “I don’t need to know.”
It was better that the girl remained unknown to him. Names held power. They could corrupt, sway a man. Knowing her name would only make the job more difficult. Seeing her face made it hard enough.
“Shall we bring her in?” Muftasa asked.
Leo looked at the young girl with hair of spun starlight. She had unusually clear eyes that seemed to bore into him. He felt a pang in his chest—guilt perhaps, remorse even—but he pushed it down.
“Yes,” he said, “and begin a search in the capital. Look for others and bring them to me. We must find her.”
And then, to himself,Before she kills us all.
CHAPTER 9
YASSEN
The Yumi are proud, powerful warriors. Only the women are gifted with weapon-like hair. For centuries, they led the most fearsome armies, some even going on to lead as queens. Fewer still were granted the power of the gods and became the Yamuna. Fire wielders. However, the Sixth Prophet ended the Yamuna and killed many Yumi. Only a few hundred remain, and most have now closed themselves off in Moksh, their kingdom across the Ahi Sea.
—from chapter 30 ofThe Great History of Sayon
The gamemaster rapped on the changing room door.
“Ready?” she asked.
Yassen bit his lip as he slowly pulled the bulky gamesuit over his right shoulder. His arm had grown stiff since the morning flight. He felt old, clumsy. How could he expect to fight? When he had told Samson about the princess’s challenge, the militant had begun to pace the room.
“It’s a test,” Samson had said finally. “You can’t win.”
“But if I lose, I won’t be a part of her guard,” Yassen had responded. It wasn’t a test. It was a balancing act. If he lost, Elena would cast him out. If he won, he would dishonor her Spearandthe princess herself.
And nothing was worse than an heir with wounded pride.
With a hiss of pain, Yassen yanked the zipper up and walked out. The gamemaster tapped Yassen’s chest twice. The suit sucked in, morphing to fit the grooves and ridges of his body. Yassen flexed his hands, and the suit rippled in response, smooth like silk.
The gamemaster eyed the cut of his muscles and sniffed. “Not bad.”
Yassen allowed himself a small smile. He hadn’t been in a gamesuit since his training days with the Arohassin.
Kavach, they called their specialized suits. Armor.
Armor that had tracked every vital of the body—from heart rate to temperature fluctuation to reaction timing. The operators used the data to create personalized weapons for each recruit, given upon graduation. Yassen had been the first in his class to receive his pulse gun. He was better than most, which he had learned early on. When the other recruits balked, he had stood calm and steady. Firm, like the roots of a banyan. Even Samson, with all his wit and charm, could not hit a target as well as he could.
Yassen followed the gamemaster into a glass-encased chamber that overlooked a training field covered with black sand. When the gamemaster activated the field, the sand would rise and twist, adding a further challenge to the fighters.
Lotuses carved from onyx and granite lit up the ceiling, casting the field in a pale blue light. On the far wall, the insignia of the Phoenix smoldered.
