“There’s a girl. A soldier,” he told them. “Khepri.” He described to them where her tent was located. “Find her and bring her here.”
“Just what are you up to, Hassan?” Lethia asked when the servants had left.
Hassan glanced at his aunt. “She was in my dream. My vision.”
“Vision?” Lethia repeated, doubt suffusing her tone. “You don’t really think—”
Penrose appeared in the doorway, looking harried and tense. Behind her, the rest of the Guard filtered in. Once again, two of them were missing.
“Where is Captain Weatherbourne?” Hassan asked.
“He had to take care of some more business with the Sentry,” Penrose replied. Her gaze didn’t quite meet his.
“What business?” Hassan’s mind darkened with the possibilities—maybe the Witnesses had done something, destroyed a temple in the night or threatened the lives of the refugees.
“Nothing you need concern yourself with,” Penrose answered tightly. “He put me in command in his absence. I know that if he were here, he would say that this is too important to wait. Tell us what you saw, Prince Hassan.”
Hassan straightened up, looking out at the other members of the Guard.
“I … I had a dream last night,” he began unsteadily. “A vision.”
He felt the room shift as soon as he said it. Penrose must have told the Guard about his dream already, but hearing him say those words sent a tremor through the room, a collective intake of breath, a hopeful silence.
Somehow, Hassan had tapped into the Sight that had been bestowed on him at birth. Somehow, his power had revealed itself, at just the moment he needed it most. He had asked for guidance, and his own heart, his own Grace, had answered.
Petrossian broke the silence. “What did you see?”
Hassan took a deep breath and, as best as he could, described his vision to the Guard. He watched their faces as he spoke about standing on the deck of the lighthouse of Nazirah, watching as the Witnesses were overrun by his troops, sitting on the throne of Herat and looking out at his subjects.
“It could have just been a dream,” Lethia interjected gently. “With everything that’s happened in the past few days, I wouldn’t be surprised if the Witnesses and Nazirah and Godfire were showing up in your sleep.”
“No,” Hassan said. “I’ve dreamt about the Witnesses and the coup since it happened, but this was different. Those dreams were confusing, twisting in my mind. But this was … almost solid. The details are so vivid, even now. More like a memory than a dream. I felt this pull, like I knew this is what I was supposed to do. It feels right, doesn’t it? Returning to Nazirah and taking on the Witnesses is my destiny.”
“‘The final piece of our prophecy revealed in vision of Grace and fire,’” Penrose recited. She turned to the rest of the Guard. “This is what the Seven Prophets could not see. This is the answer we have been searching for. The way to stop the Age of Darkness.”
“I hope you understand what you’re saying,” Lethia said, her voice crackling with ire. “If this prophecy is in fact real, and if Hassan’s dream was truly a vision, then you’re asking him to put himself in a great deal of danger.”
“We ask nothing,” Penrose replied. “Prince Hassan’s vision has shown us the path forward. He must return to Nazirah.”
The thought made Hassan’s chest clench. Return to Nazirah. It was all he’d wanted since arriving in Pallas Athos.
“What if you’re wrong?” Lethia asked. “Hassan is the sole heir to the throne of Herat. If something happens to him—”
“Nothing will happen to me,” Hassan said. “Aunt Lethia, listen.”
She rose from the settee. “I hope you’re right about this. I truly do. But I fear that these people who say they are sworn to protect you may not truly have your safety in mind. I fear that they will lead you astray.”
Penrose’s eyes flashed at this. “The safety of the Prophet is our only priority. We would never do anything to endanger him.”
Lethia’s cool gaze flickered to Penrose before settling back on Hassan. “I beg that you think everything over carefully before you make any decisions just because some Graced swordsmen who haven’t been seen in a century tell you it’s your destiny. If not for your own sake, then for the sake of our country.”
Hassan felt as if Lethia had struck him. “I am doing this for Herat. All of this is for Herat. It’s more than anything you’ve done for our country.”
Lethia’s eyes narrowed. “Your temper makes a fool of you, Hassan,” she said. “I am only trying to help. I know you have hope. I just don’t want you to put it in the wrong place.”
Hassan regretted his harsh words, but he could not bring himself to take them back, even as Lethia walked out the door.
He felt a loss at her absence. The day before, Lethia had seemed skeptical of the prophecy, but he’d thought that, like him, she was simply taking time to adjust to what they’d learned. A part of him had even wondered if Lethia’s resistance came from her own past of growing up without Grace. He’d never asked her directly, if she used to wish for Grace the way he did, but he thought she must have. Perhaps she’d felt a twinge of envy on learning that Hassan had gotten what he’d wanted. If their positions were reversed, he was certain he would feel that way.
“So what does this all mean?” Osei asked, breaking the awkward silence.
Penrose raised her chin. “We must go to Nazirah.”
“How? When?” Petrossian asked. “What does the vision tell us about how to stop the Witnesses?”
Hassan opened his mouth to reply, but a sharp rap on the door interrupted him.
“Who is that?” Annuka asked, looking alarmed.
The door opened, and a servant entered.
“Miss Khepri Fakhoury is here, by request of His Grace Prince Hassan.”
Hassan stood. “Send her in.”
“Prince Hassan—” Penrose’s objection was cut short as Khepri stepped into the room.
Everything went quiet inside Hassan’s mind at the sight of her, his anger and frustration melting away. An image from his dream flickered before him—Khepri standing by his side at the lighthouse of Nazirah, fierce and luminous in the flame’s light.
She swept into a bow. “Your Grace.”
“What is she doing here?”
Hassan barely heard Petrossian’s question. He was still staring at Khepri. “You were there. You were right there, at my side.”
Their eyes met. “Your Grace?”
I knew I needed to come here, she’d said that first night in the agora. The moonlight had cast a glow across her face, making her look like one of the golden statues that lined the Hall of Kings in the Palace of Herat. I came here to find the prince and help him retake our country.
She had believed in him then, even before she knew him. Believed in him enough to risk everything and come to Pallas Athos to find him. It was fate. He hadn’t realized it then, but he knew it now. She had come to find him so that they could retake Herat, because that was what was meant to happen.
With Khepri here in front of him, it was all so clear.
“You were there.” He drew toward her. She got to her feet uncertainly, allowing Hassan to take her by the wrist. “On the lighthouse, overlooking the city.”
“What do you mean, on the lighthouse?”
Hassan glanced at the Guard behind him. He knew that they had wanted to keep the secret of the last prophecy, but that was before his vision.
Before he’d completed the prophecy.
“Khepri,” he said. “The Paladin Guard aren’t just here because of the Witnesses. They came here because of me. Because for a century, the Order of the Last Light has kept a secret from the rest of the world.”
“Your Grace,” Petrossian cut in. “You cannot simply reveal—”
Penrose silenced him with a look. With a nod at Hassan, she told Khepri, “When the Prophets disappeared, they left one final prophecy. An unfinished prophecy. It w
as entrusted to the Order of the Last Light, to be kept secret until it could be completed.”
In a patient, matter-of-fact tone, Penrose explained about the harbingers, the Age of Darkness, and the Last Prophet, who would stop it. Khepri listened without interrupting.
“Khepri,” Hassan said when Penrose was done. “I am the Last Prophet. And now I finally know what we need to do to stop the Age of Darkness. We have to go to Nazirah with the refugee army. Your army.”
“Army?” Osei asked.
Hassan turned to the Guard. “Khepri has been training the refugees in the agora. An army of Graced fighters who have as much reason to fight the Witnesses as I. They want to help me retake Nazirah and drive them from the Kingdom of Herat.”
Khepri’s gaze caught on his, and Hassan could see the burgeoning hope in her eyes.
“And that’s exactly what we’re going to do,” he said, the words coming easily to him now that he was looking at Khepri. “Storm the harbor of Nazirah. Overtake the Witnesses. The way to stop the Age of Darkness is to save Nazirah.”
Khepri’s eyes widened. “But yesterday, in the agora, you said—”
“I didn’t know,” Hassan said. “I didn’t know then what I was supposed to do. What I was. I do now. I know what we’re meant to do. I saw it.”
“I—You’re serious?” Khepri asked. “Yesterday you told me there was no hope of stopping the Witnesses with a few hundred soldiers. But now … You really saw it, didn’t you? This vision. The salvation of our kingdom.”
“Yes.” He met her gaze, and the spark that flickered between them burned all other doubts away. “And it wasn’t just the refugee army I saw. I saw ships. With silver sails. A whole fleet of them.”
“The Order’s fleet,” Penrose said.
“Osei told me your numbers have dwindled since the Prophets disappeared, but there are still hundreds of Paladin, aren’t there?” Hassan asked.
Penrose nodded. “There are hundreds of us sworn to protect the Prophet from harm. If your vision is to come to pass, and I believe that it will, then our path is clear.” She knelt in one swift motion, her hand going to the hilt of her sword. “Our swords, and all the swords of the Paladin of the Order of the Last Light, are yours to wield.”
The rest of the Guard followed, dropping to one knee. Hassan was not unused to people bowing to him, but this felt different. There was a weight, a promise of something that he had only just begun to grasp. He was more than a prince now, and this was more than allegiance.
“I stand with the Prophet,” Penrose said, lifting her chin.
“I stand with the Prophet,” the other members of the Guard echoed.
Khepri raised her chin. “I stand with you, Prince Hassan. Wherever that may lead.”
For the first time since the Hierophant had taken Nazirah, Hassan saw the path forward. Everything that had happened since the coup—the Witnesses in the agora, the revelation of the last prophecy, Khepri—was leading to this. At last, he knew what he needed to do. At last, he had people to stand with him.
But with that thought came an edge of apprehension. No longer was his own path the only thing at stake. Now, there was Khepri and the refugee army. There was the Paladin Guard and the Order of the Last Light.
He was finally the leader he’d never thought he could be. The leader his father had seen in him. He could only hope he didn’t lead them all astray.
28
BERU
Something had gone wrong. Beru knew it in her bones. The thing she’d worried about, night after night, that Ephyra would one day leave and not return, had finally happened.
She wasn’t sure exactly what her sister had meant when she’d said she had to go to the Temple of Tarseis to “take care of something,” but it had now been over a day since she’d left. Worry ate at her gut.
Their argument was still fresh in Beru’s mind. Ephyra believed they could still find Eleazar’s Chalice and cure her. Maybe she was right. But in case she wasn’t, Beru still had the train tickets tucked into her pocket. If Anton couldn’t find the Chalice, they were going home. As soon as Ephyra came back.
She has to be all right, Beru told herself, running her fingers over the beads and shells of the bracelet she’d just finished making. They stopped on the tiny glass bottle stopper Ephyra had brought her.
The sound of footsteps coming down through the mausoleum broke through her anxious thoughts. Beru’s body went slack with relief. Ephyra was back. She didn’t have to leave without her.
As the footsteps came nearer, Beru detected a second set. Anton.
She hurried to the door and unlatched it quickly. She didn’t want another moment spent not knowing Ephyra was safe.
But when the door swung open, it wasn’t her sister who stood there.
She recognized him instantly. It had been over five years, and in that time, he had transformed from a bright and lively little boy into this ferocious, intense man.
Somehow, impossibly, Hector Navarro was here.
He stood frozen, looking as shocked to see her as she was to see him.
“It’s all right,” Anton said, stepping out from behind Hector.
“What are you doing with him?” Beru asked, her voice shaking as she looked between them. “Where’s Ephyra?”
It was Hector who answered. “Your sister is where she belongs.”
Beru’s blood went cold.
“It’s not what you think,” Anton cut in quickly. “We were caught by the Sentry in the temple. They thought we were there to rob the priests, so they put us in cells. She’s all right.”
“How could you let this happen?” Beru asked Anton. She didn’t know if she meant Ephyra getting imprisoned or Hector standing in front of her like a vengeful spirit. Both were unfathomable.
“Your sister is a killer,” Hector said. “She deserves to be locked up. And I’m going to make sure she never takes another life.”
“Beru,” Anton said, stepping toward her. He looked like a wreck—hair standing up, deep lines beneath his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
Hector threw out his arm to hold Anton back. “You did as I asked. You’re free to go.”
Beru heard the words not as an offer, but as an order.
Anton glanced from her to Hector. “I’m not going to leave you with her.” His voice shook slightly, but Beru had to give him credit for trying.
“Just go, Anton,” she said quietly.
His gaze jumped to her, startled. “What if he tries to hurt you?”
Maybe I would deserve it, Beru thought. “The time for worrying about that would have been before you brought him here,” she said, her voice cold. “This is between us now. Leave.”
Anton cast her another haunted, helpless look before slowly turning away. She watched him disappear through the door, leaving her and Hector alone.
A chill shivered down Beru’s back. She tugged at the edge of the wrapping that covered the black handprint on her wrist. “How did you even find us after all this time?”
Hector shook his head slowly, his eyes lost and far away. “I didn’t. Fate brought me here so that I could stop her. And you’re going to help me.”
“Why would I help you hurt my sister?” Fear bled into anger.
“Because,” Hector said, “you’re the only person aside from me who knows the truth about what she’s done. That the Pale Hand doesn’t just kill the wicked. She’s killed innocent people—people like my family. If someone doesn’t stop her, more will die.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Where she goes, darkness follows,” Hector said. “You know the truth about your sister. You know what she’s done. If you tell everyone, they’ll believe you. She is an agent of evil. A harbinger of darkness.”
“That isn’t true,” Beru said fiercely. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I was there when she killed my family. So were you.”
She closed her eyes. She knew if Ephyra were here, she’d never let Be
ru do what she was about to. “You don’t know the whole story.”
“The whole story?” Hector repeated. “My family took your sister in, and she killed them in cold blood. I had to bury their bodies. That’s the story.”
Beru shook her head. “It was an accident. She wasn’t trying to hurt anyone.”
“She killed them.”
“She was trying to heal me,” Beru said desperately. “She—she didn’t know what she was doing. She took esha from them by mistake. It wasn’t her fault. It was mine.”
Hector reeled back, staring at her.
“Do you remember how I got sick right before your mother died?”
Hector’s hands balled into fists so tight they shook.
“I’m the reason your family is dead,” Beru said. “Don’t blame Ephyra. It was my fault. All of it. I’m the reason the Pale Hand exists. If it weren’t for me, Ephyra would never have taken a single life.”
Hector’s eyes narrowed. “Then atone,” he said. “Stop your sister from killing anyone else.”
His words struck to the core of her, because some part of her knew he was right. If Beru were truly remorseful for the deaths she’d caused, she would have done more than argue with Ephyra about it. She would have found a way to stop it.
It wasn’t the first time she’d had this thought. Every time Ephyra put on her mask and went out as the Pale Hand, it crept into her mind.
“Come with me,” Hector said, holding his palm out to her. “Help me show everyone what the Pale Hand has done. Help me stop her.”
Beru looked at his hand and then at the curtain behind him.
“I will never,” she said, her voice trembling, “ever betray my sister.”
She reached up and yanked down the curtain. Hector lunged forward, seizing her by the arm as the falling curtain twisted around them.
“Just let me go!” Beru cried, stumbling back against the table, dragging Hector with her. She threw her other arm back, reaching for something—anything—to help. Her fingers closed around a pair of brass pliers. In one jagged motion, she jabbed them at Hector’s shoulder.
He moved to block her, yanking her arm back by the wrapping around her wrist. The cloth unraveled, and Hector froze, staring.
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