“Enough,” Akaros said quietly, forcefully.
He took off his shirt and gently wrapped it around her burnt forearm. Jaya moaned, her voice soft, but it sounded like a thunderclap. It struck Yassen down to the marrow, to the deep, ugly guilt rotting within him. He fell back, staring at his hands, his fire, in terror.
“What is this?” he said, his voice shaking. “What have you done to me?”
Akaros did not reply right away as he gently cradled Jaya in his arms. His face was drawn, tired. Yassen had forgotten how old he was, how old he had become. When Akaros turned, he looked at him with a cavernous sorrow.
“I have done nothing. This is what you are, Yassen Knight.”
“N-no—”
“Guardian of the Phoenix. Creator of the desert. Third of the Agni. You are the Seventh Prophet.”
EPILOGUE
THE THIRD AGNI
It was strange waking up as a forsaken god.
On one hand, Yassen felt like the sun had burned the clots of sin marking his skin and birthed him anew. Tender-fleshed, glorious. A godling still unaware of his deep and terrible power.
And on the other, in the dreams that would not wither, in the visions that pricked his eyesight like desert kair, he saw the ghosts. They had come after he had burned the girl. He did not know who they were. They did not speak or seem to notice him, but when he caught them edging the shadows, a cold, vicious dread beat through his chest. He felt as if he knew them. Not from now, but from several lifetimes ago, a slow pouring of souls who all bore the prints of burning on their skin.
This is a mistake, he thought.I should be dead.
“Are you ready, Prophet?”
Prophet.That awful word again.
“Don’t call me that.” Amid his visions and confusion, they had dragged him to a gamefield. Yassen had no idea of how much time had passed, only that Akaros sauntered toward him now.
“It is what you are,” Akaros said. A ghost flickered in his shadow.Yassen could not see her face, but he saw her burns, a glowing red map of pain sprawling down her chest and abdomen. Reflexively, he touched his own stomach. But his skin lay intact, whole and strong.
“I am no god,” he said.
“We will teach you how to become one,” Akaros said as the sand hummed. “First, we’ll start off with summoning a simple flame.”
Yassen jerked back as shards shot up like a flock of crows cawing with anger. They stopped suddenly, sharp edges glinting over their heads.
“Elena and Samson used a channel,” Akaros said. “Something to help them center and focus their energy. Elena’s was dance. Samson’s, an urumi. We need to find yours.”
The shards plunged down. Yassen yelped and stumbled back, raising his hands above his head. The sand smacked into him, beating him into the ground.Thump. Thump. Thump.He buckled, smashing onto his knees.
The sand collapsed. Grains rained down into his hair, beneath his collar, as he peered blearily through his fingers. Akaros studied him, unimpressed.
“Again.”
The field hummed as another flock of shards streaked through the air. Yassen barely had time to get onto his feet before they slammed into him. He was brought to his knees much quicker this time.
“Again.”
This time, Yassen ran. He sprinted across the field, the shards hissing behind him as Akaros shouted in a clipped, bored voice.
“Focus on your Agni, Cass. Its shape. Its heat. Call to it.”
“I don’t know—heugh.” A shard slammed into his chest, and he crumpled instantly.
Black leather boots edged his vision as he lay there in the sand.
