Holy Bird Above, this will be difficult.
She drew her knees in and rested her chin between them. Her eyes held a strange awareness—a clarity Leo had never seen before. She did not seem to be perturbed in any way; she merely sat quietly as he studied her.
Finally, Leo spoke.
“Let me in,” he said in a voice too thin. “Let me talk to her.”
Without a word, Muftasa turned a dial on the panel before him, and the door separating the two rooms slid open. Arish gave him a single match.
“So we the blessed few,” he whispered.
Leo grasped the splinter, but could not bring himself to repeat the phrase. He walked into the other room before he could change his mind. As if sensing his fear, Muftasa shut the door behind him.
The cell felt even smaller now that he was standing in it. On the right wall, a large black hole covered with a metal grating yawned at him. Leo tried not to think of what lay behind it.
The girl looked up. She was frail, with a head too big for her shoulders. She had marks on her hands and arms, light red burn marks that spiraled up like braided rope.
Carefully, Leo dusted the bench and sat on the other end.
“Hello,” he said.
The girl blinked.
“My name is Leo,” he said and then hesitated. “I’m the king.”
The girl said nothing.
Leo felt sweat pool underneath his armpits. On the other side of the glass, Arish and Muftasa watched him, and though he could not see their faces, Leo could feel the weight of their judgment. It wrapped around his shoulders like a slow, coiling snake. But he had to do this. He must. If the girl before him was the Prophet, it was his duty as king to face her.
“I have something for you,” he said and revealed the match.
The girl’s eyes grew wider, as if he held a prized jewel between his fingers. He saw the curiosity in her gaze, and a deep, creeping madness.
He held the match between them. “Do you know what this can create?”
“Fire,” she said, her eyes shining. “Life.”
Life. What an odd choice.Out of all the things Leo had seen and known about fire, he had never believed that it created life.
“And what do you do with fire?” he asked.
The girl blinked. Her eyebrows furrowed, and she looked at him as if he had suddenly knocked his head.
“It protects me,” she said. Her voice was high and sharp, beautiful even. She reached for the match, but Leo pulled back.
“Can you control the flames?” he asked, but the girl shook her head. She reached for him again, but Leo gently pushed her hand away. “Do the flames hurt you?”
The girl sat back. She looked down at her arms, at the marks that lightened her brown skin. “You’re the king,” she said. “You should know.”
Leo got up. The girl followed him with her eyes. At the door, Leo paused. He looked back at her.
Twelve suns. She had a lifetime before her, a lifetime to grow, travel, fall in love. But if she was the Prophet, it would only be a lifetime of ash. And if she wasn’t—well, then whoever the Prophet was, she would burn them all.
Leo knocked on the door, and it slid open. He turned and threw the match to the girl, then stepped out of the cell.
The door closed with a whisper. Through the glass, he watched the girl scramble for the match. With a wave of her arm, she struck the match against the stone bench. It flared to life, the light flickering in her luminous eyes.
“Do it,” he said.
