“Innocent people will be hurt.”
“They are hardly innocent.”
“What do you mean?” Hassan asked.
“Surely you must know,” Arash replied. “There are almost no Graced left in the city. We’ve managed to rescue a few and bring them here, and others have fled. But the Witnesses have captured more than we thought possible. All thanks to their Graceless neighbors. Time and again we’ve heard stories of them giving up their Graced friends, even their family, in exchange for safety.”
“You can’t assume that all the Graceless are doing that based on the actions of a few cowards.”
“It may only be a few for now, but if this regime continues, there will be more and more Graceless who turn. That is simply the way of things. I’m sure you understand. These people have nothing on the line, and even the most noble will eventually preserve their own selves over the lives of the Graced.”
Hot anger flooded Hassan’s chest. He was not imagining the way Arash directed the comment at him.
“How dare you,” Hassan said, his voice shaking, his hands flat on the table.
Arash raised his eyebrows, as if taken aback by Hassan’s anger.
“You think I have nothing on the line?” Hassan asked.
“Hassan,” Khepri said placatingly. “I’m sure he didn’t mean it like that.”
“That’s exactly what he meant,” Hassan said, keeping his gaze on
Arash, who looked impassive. “That because I’m not Graced like the rest of you, I’m not to be trusted.”
Arash didn’t reply, which was as good as an agreement.
“The Witnesses took everything from me,” Hassan said. “I was driven from my country. My father was executed. And my mother—I still don’t know where she is. If she’s even alive. I did everything in my power to stop their Day of Reckoning from happening. So don’t you dare tell me I have nothing at stake here.”
With that, Hassan stood from the table and stalked out of the room.
He got a third of the way down the hall when he heard footsteps behind him. He stopped, heaving a sigh.
“Khepri—”
“Not Khepri.” It was Zareen.
“What do you want?” Hassan asked warily.
“Just to give you some friendly advice.”
“Let me guess,” Hassan said. “I shouldn’t take things so personally. Arash wasn’t trying to imply that I would turn on the Graced.”
“Actually,” Zareen said. “You were right. That’s exactly what he was implying.”
Hassan was so surprised he didn’t know what to say.
“Look, Arash is a good leader,” Zareen said. “I love him like a brother. But he grew up in a family where if you weren’t Graced you were considered worthless. He’s never really seen beyond that paradigm. Plus, the reason his parents were taken by the Witnesses was because their servants betrayed them.”
“Who were his parents?”
“Lord and Lady Katari,” Zareen replied.
“I do remember them,” Hassan realized. “They stopped coming to court when my father named me his heir. They said that having a Graceless king would be a disgrace on all of Herat.”
His mother had tried to shield him from their words, but his father had told him when Hassan asked for the truth.
“When you are king, there are people out there who will disagree with almost everything you do,” his father had said. “And there are people who will dislike you just because of who you are. You cannot hide from them. But you can choose not to let them rule you.”
Hassan looked at Zareen, who returned his gaze without shame or apology.
“Is that what Arash believes, too?” Hassan asked. “If the Witnesses fall and we depose Lethia, he doesn’t want me on the throne, does he?”
Zareen gave a thin-lipped smile. “He was glad when the lighthouse fell. He said it meant you no longer had a claim on the throne.”
“And I suppose,” Hassan said darkly, “he wants to claim it himself.”
Zareen shrugged.
“Why are you telling me this?” Hassan asked.
“Just figured you should know who you’re dealing with.”
“Hassan.”
Hassan and Zareen both turned toward the door of the workshop. Khepri stood there, one hand wrapped around her waist, looking contrite.
Zareen shot Hassan an indecipherable look and then flounced back inside.
“Things got heated in there,” Khepri said.
“I lost my temper,” Hassan said. “But the things he was saying . . .
I had to do something.”
“We need to work with them.”
“They should be working with us,” Hassan said, frustration bubbling in his chest. “I’m the Prince of Herat.” He stopped, and realized that what he had said was wrong. “I am the King of Herat, whether he likes it or not.”
Khepri sighed, taking his arm and pulling him down the hall and into a little alcove. “We’ve been running scared since the lighthouse fell. This is a chance to actually do something.”
“Yeah, ruin a parade,” Hassan said, not bothering to conceal his derision. He stopped, glancing at Khepri. “You agree with me, right?”
Khepri closed her eyes. “Yes. I mean . . . I don’t know. The situation here is worse than we thought. And I don’t necessarily like everything Arash is planning, but he has a point. We don’t have many other options.”
“You’re serious?” Hassan asked.
Khepri spread her arms. “What do you want me to say?”
“That you’ll back me up.”
“Did you think we’d just march in here and take over leading the Scarab’s Wing?”
“Yes,” Hassan replied.
“That’s naive.”
Hassan flinched, stung. “Herat is my country.”
“And I know you care more about it than you do a crown,” Khepri replied. “We just got here, Hassan. All I’m asking is that we try to cooperate with the only people who are actually on our side.”
Hassan shook his head. “I’m happy to work with Arash. He would just rather not work with me.”
Khepri let out a sound of aggravation. “You don’t need to like each other. But I know you’ve been going crazy not being able to do anything since we got back to Nazirah. This is a chance to do something. Let your aunt know you’re still here. That you’re not giving up.”
She was right of course. It was driving Hassan crazy not having anything to do.
“Go cool off,” she said. “Do what you need to do. Then tonight, once you’ve cleared your head, talk to Arash.”
“Fine,” Hassan agreed.
Khepri looked mollified. “All right. Well. I’d better get back in there.”
She turned on her heel and then was gone, leaving Hassan alone in the hall.
Hassan returned to the Library’s reading rooms, doing what he always did when he was overwhelmed—turning to books. Late in the evening, someone joined him.
“Prince Hassan,” Arash said, clearing his throat.
“Arash,” Hassan said warily.
“I came to apologize.” To his credit, Arash did look remorseful.
“I think we got off on the wrong foot. I behaved . . . rudely during our meeting.”
Hassan waited.
Arash sighed. “You had a right to be angry. I’m afraid I’ve grown less trusting since the coup. But I should not have doubted you.”
Hassan tamped down the anger still swirling through him. Try to cooperate, Khepri’s voice chided in his head.
“I think I can relate,” he said at last. “As I’m sure you know, I trusted someone I shouldn’t have. Her betrayal . . . well, perhaps it’s affected me more than I thought.”
“I would like to ask you to take part in this mission,” Arash said. “That is, if you’re willing.”
“I’m not sure,” Hassan replied. “I stand by what I said. It’s dangerous, and I think there are better uses of our time and resources. We need
to find out more about what the Witnesses and my aunt are planning before we try to strike at them.”
Arash pressed his lips together. “I understand your hesitance. I hope that, perhaps, you might come to the meeting tomorrow and present your case again. I’ll hear you out.”
“You’ll hear me out?” Hassan said slowly.
“I am always willing to listen to the concerns of those I lead,” Arash replied in a reasonable tone.
Hassan saw red. Arash really thought Hassan was going to defer to him, that his leadership was more legitimate than Hassan’s. He met Arash’s gaze evenly and rose from his chair.
“You know, Arash, I don’t think that will be necessary. You see, I’ve read many, many of the books on these shelves, and do you know what I’ve learned? That the King of Herat does not defer to the sons of minor noblemen.”
And with that, Hassan walked out of the room.
9
EPHYRA
“WHO IN THE WANDERER’S NAME ARE YOU, AND WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN Badis’s hideout?” Shara demanded, stepping up to the bars of the cage, brandishing a knife.
Illya’s gaze slid from her to Ephyra in the corner of the room. “Do you want to tell them, dear?”
Shara whirled around to Ephyra. “Dear?”
Ephyra tightened her grip on the hilt of her dagger as she watched the shadows flicker across the smooth planes of Illya’s face.
“Are you working together?” Shara demanded. “What, you were going to get information from us while your boyfriend here robbed Badis’s hideout?”
“He’s not my boyfriend, and we are not working together,” Ephyra said. “I have no idea what he’s doing here.”
“But you know each other,” Shara said.
“Pardon me,” Illya said, “I couldn’t help but overhear you talking earlier, as I am literally trapped in here. You’re all looking for Eleazar’s Chalice, aren’t you?”
Hadiza stalked up to the cage. “What do you know about the Chalice?”
Illya shrugged. “Well, that depends,” he said, his voice going low and soft in a way that made Ephyra’s hackles rise.
“Depends on what?” Shara asked, suspicious.
“On whether you’re going to let me out of here.”
Shara barked out a laugh. “You’re bold, I’ll give you that. But we need a little more to go on—and you’re gonna tell me why you’re even here.”
“Same reason you are,” Illya replied. “I’m looking for the Chalice, too.”
“Then we’re better off leaving you in here, aren’t we? Usually I love a little competition, but in this case, I think I’ll pass.” Shara moved toward the handle on the wall that had revealed the little room.
“I thought you were supposed to be clever, Thief King,” Illya said.
Shara paused.
Ephyra wished Illya would shut up. She knew exactly how manipulative he could be—after all, he’d tricked her into trusting him not too long ago. Then, Ephyra had been the one behind bars, and Illya had held all the power. Now the roles were reversed, but she couldn’t help feeling like even behind bars, Illya was still the one pulling the strings.
“We’re both here looking for clues to find the Chalice,” Illya went on. “So maybe you’d like to know what I found.”
“He’s lying,” Ephyra said, her eye trained on Illya. “He didn’t find anything.”
“Maybe you recognize this?” Illya said, holding up a mirror about the size of his head with an ornate frame and base.
Shara stilled.
“What is it?” Hadiza asked.
“That’s Badis’s,” Shara said to Illya. “Give it to me.”
To Ephyra’s surprise, Illya handed it through the bars to Shara without protest. Shara took it in both hands, examining it. “One of the last treasures he ever found.”
“What happened to him?” Ephyra asked.
“He was on a hunt with his crew, searching for some lost jewels in the Killing Caverns,” Shara said. “They thought it would be their ticket to retirement. But they wound up getting trapped in a cave. A shepherd found their bodies a few weeks later.”
She said it matter-of-factly. Like it didn’t hurt anymore.
“When did it happen?” Ephyra asked.
“Six years ago, now.”
Ephyra was silent. Six years ago. Right around the time the plague had come to her village. And, judging by the contents of her father’s notebook, just a little while after Ephyra’s father had asked for Badis’s help finding the Chalice.
It could be a coincidence.
Shara held up the mirror. “He brought this back from a hunt just before he died. He didn’t want to sell it, but I never knew why.”
“I think I do,” Illya said. “There’s a clue in it. I believe it will help lead us to the Chalice.”
“Badis didn’t know where the Chalice was,” Shara replied.
“Maybe he didn’t know where it was,” Illya said. “But he knew enough. Enough to get himself killed.”
“What are you talking about?” Shara demanded, her fingers tightening over the mirror. “What do you know about Badis?”
“Enough to know his death wasn’t an accident,” Illya replied. “Look at the back of the mirror.”
Shara turned it over. “‘For those who seek the Sacred Relic, that which gives dominion over life and death . . . look no further, for I will show you the key to what you seek, if you have the power to wield it,’” she read slowly. She lowered the mirror. “You think Badis tracked down this mirror so he could find the Chalice?”
“Whether or not he knew the mirror was a clue, someone else certainly did,” Illya went on. “Otherwise, I’m sure, he’d be here right now.”
“Well if it is a clue, you just gave it to us and now you have no leverage,” Shara said, smirking.
“That one was free,” Illya said, smiling. “A gesture of my desire to cooperate with you. But I found something else that I think you’ll need to locate the Chalice. A code. Which I destroyed. So I guess you’ll need me if you want to use it.”
“He’s just trying to stall,” Ephyra warned. “For all we know he has a dozen men waiting outside ready to ambush us. He’s working with the Witnesses. I don’t know what they want with the Chalice, but it can’t be good.”
“Is that true?” Parthenia asked sharply. She had studied at the Great Library of Nazirah—it made sense that she would be sensitive to rumors about the Witnesses.
“I was with the Witnesses,” Illya admitted. “For a time. Until being among their ranks no longer served me.”
“You are so full of shit,” Ephyra said. She turned to Shara. “Don’t believe anything he says, and for the love of Keric, do not let him out of that cell.”
Shara’s gaze shifted from Ephyra to Illya. “I thought all the Witnesses were fanatical zealots. What happened, did you hit your head and realize it was all horseshit?”
“Something like that,” Illya replied. His eyes turned downcast. “The Witnesses, I have to admit, had me convinced for a while. The Hierophant has a way of . . . understanding, completely, what it is that drives you. And twisting it to suit him.”
Ephyra snorted. “Sounds like someone else I know, actually.”
Illya ignored her. “For a while, I ate up everything the Hierophant told me. That the Graced did not belong in this world. That they needed to be cleansed.”
Beside Ephyra, Numir tensed. “That is sacrilege. The Graced are divine.”
Illya turned his gaze to her. “You’re from the north, aren’t you?”
“The Talin tribe,” Numir said.
“The Novogardians believe in the Divine Graced, too,” Illya said. “That is why I was so eager to be told they were nothing of the sort.”
“We get it—your parents didn’t love you,” Ephyra said, rolling her eyes. “None of this is an excuse for being with the Witnesses in the first place. Or an explanation as to why you left, as you claim.”
“You’re right,” Illya s
aid. “I suppose nothing excuses it. It was youthful folly and a desperate need to feel like I was part of something greater than myself.”
The words sounded similar to what Illya had told Ephyra when he was trying to convince her to trust him. I found purpose. Somewhere I could feel useful, for once.
“But then the Hierophant asked me to do something that chilled me to the bone,” Illya said, swallowing roughly. “He asked me to torture my own . . . my own brother.” He shut his eyes. “And I . . . I did it. I did what he asked because he told me it was necessary. That it was the only way to right the world. But when my brother tried to escape, I let him go. I was disgusted with myself. I realized that no cause could be good when it required me to do something so monstrous.”
Ephyra narrowed her eyes at him. From what she knew of Illya, he struck her as an eternal pragmatist who acted out of self-interest, not out of deep-seated beliefs. If anyone would pretend to be a zealot for personal gain, it was him.
But even if he was telling the truth, even if his devotion to the Witnesses was out of self-interest, that was no reason to trust him.
“So why are you after the Chalice?” Shara asked.
“Because the Witnesses want it. And they’re not too happy with me for leaving. I don’t know what they’re planning on doing with the Chalice, but I figure if I can find it before they do, then I can draw the Hierophant out and kill him before he kills me.”
“What a convenient cover,” Ephyra sneered. “So that when you find the Chalice, you can deliver it directly to the Hierophant and win back whatever favor you may have lost with him.”
“There’s a problem with your plan,” Shara said. “You’re much more likely to get killed looking for the Chalice than by the Witnesses. Someone doesn’t want it found.”
“It’s a risk I’m willing to take,” Illya replied. “Besides. The Witnesses are worse than whoever’s protecting the Chalice. Trust me.”
Ephyra scoffed. “Trust you? Are you serious?” She glanced around at the others. “The last time I saw him, he tricked me into helping him find his brother and then tried to kidnap me.”
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