Priests entered to prepare her chamber, cleaning the floor, moving furniture around, pouring a second cup of date wine for the guest while Sarra watched Saad come through the doors with a scowl on his face, his scar red and pulsing, looking like a schoolboy summoned before the lecturer. It took all her willpower to smile when he entered, lifting a cup of the sweet wine and inviting the boy to sit in the ironwood chair across from her, near the brazier. She settled into her own equally sturdy chair. They were in Sarra’s chambers in the Ata’Sol, her private rooms beneath the temple—ones she was quite sure even old Suten Anu had never managed to penetrate with his spy-holes and listening places.
Saad smirked, and for a moment she pictured herself cutting his throat with the ceremonial sword that hung at his waist. Instead, she traded her hatred for silence, forcing her muscles not to twitch, slowing her breath. She waited, her smile as flat as her gaze, neither of them spoke. Saad had come to the door with doubt on his face, doubt in his eyes, doubt in the way he stood as Sarra’s priests bustled around the room bringing them food and wine, then bustling out again to leave them to speak in private. When Sarra indicated that he should feel free to drink, he frowned, then reached over, plucking the bronze vessel from the table by her side and replacing it with his own. Only when he held her cup did he sit back down, put the cup to his lips, and drink, swallowing it all in one long gulp.
“You don’t really think I brought you here just to poison your wine?”
Saad scowled. “I would not put it past you, god-lover.”
Sarra’s eyes bored into his. Had he come just now from wherever Ott was held? She wanted to look at his fingernails, to see if there was blood beneath them, red stains in the skin of his knuckles, but she resisted. He had taken Ott to unnerve her, to toy with her, but he would not succeed. She had to trust that Ott had kept faith with all that he knew, that Saad was still unaware of Tolemy’s absence.
“Calm yourself,” she said, pouring another cup for Saad and one for herself, to show she had no ill intentions. “There are no weapons, save yours, in the Ata’Sol. No poisons but the ones we feed ourselves.” Sarra drank the wine.
Saad reached for the cup, but this time he did not touch it. “Then why have you called for me? Why are you in Solus? I ordered you to not return until your duty demanded it.”
“You have no power over me. Tolemy himself bade me to return,” she said, pausing, letting the words sink in. She knew of Saad’s preparations for the offensive against the traitor, the orders Arko had given the Protector to silence his former captain and put Barca’s men once more under Soleri command. She also knew that Saad would not be able to carry out those orders, that the boy Protector—whose transition to power was still marked by suspicion that he had killed his own father, by murmurs of treason among his ranks—did not yet have enough authority with his own generals to go up against Barca. That is why he is stuck here in the capital, taking innocents and torturing them in his tower. If Arko could not dispatch the boy, she would do it.
“The emperor has spoken to you directly?” Saad asked. “Is this another ruse?” There was distrust in his eyes, the same distrust she had seen in his tower on the last day of the year. Saad did not believe her. He stood, knocking over the chair, backing toward the door. “I’m done listening to your fabrications. Leave Solus,” he commanded, his hand reaching for the pommel of his sword. “Now.”
Sarra remained calm. This was not the last day of the year. She’d had time to contemplate this meeting and was certain this time that she could convince the Protector to do her bidding. “Stay where you are, Saad. I’m not finished with you.”
Anger rumpled his face, he motioned to leave, but Sarra kept on talking.
“I assume you have read the proclamation posted beneath the Antechamber window?”
Saad scoffed. He paused in the doorway, fingers rapping on his blade. “What about it?”
“That decree was not written by Tolemy.”
Saad’s eyes widened a bit. “Who then? The Harkan?” He took a step toward her, suddenly interested. He wasn’t leaving.
Sarra nodded.
“And how did you come by this information?” His hand fell from his sword.
“Tolemy himself sent word to me. Mithra’s Door is open. He called me to the edge of the Empyreal Domain, where his servants put these scrolls in my hands.” She produced two scrolls and handed him the first—a small one with a gold seal embossed with the many-armed face of the sun.
“The Harkan is ignoring Tolemy’s will. He is acting without the emperor’s consent. The proclamation was not penned by Tolemy, nor was Arko’s command that you should pursue the rebel. The emperor does not want you to pursue Barca, not right now, but to guard the city against any attack Barca might make.”
“Then what was it that the Ray gave me?” he asked, moving farther from the door.
“Lies. Deceit. No doubt his little toad Khalden Wat devised the whole thing. But the emperor is not as foolish as Arko thinks. Tolemy wants our help, Saad, yours and mine. It is up to us to avert a coup that might wreck the empire.”
Sarra followed Saad’s face closely. Would he believe the story? Had he learned anything from his captive? Maybe, but maybe not. It didn’t matter—not this time. She had learned her lesson on the last day of the year. She could not intimidate the Protector, but she could appeal to his ambitions. He did not need to believe her story—she knew he would accept the emperor’s command if it served his interests.
Saad narrowed his eyes at her. “It’s a risk,” he said. “One way or another, I’m sticking my neck out, and I never stick my neck out for no reason, god-lover. What will the emperor offer me if I agree?”
Death. She pulled forth the second scroll and handed it over. Now was the moment when the boy would decide—now, and no other. He broke open the seal and began to read, but Sarra did not wait for him to comprehend what it said. “You’ve been asked to remove the Ray and take his post. Arko Hark-Wadi will receive judgment by Mithra’s Fire.”
“Me, First Ray of the Sun?” Saad smiled, then stuck out his chin. “Why? Is this your plot, Mother? If the Ray dies without naming a successor, the post falls to you. Does it not?”
She did not answer his question; she would not acknowledge his doubt. “Tolemy has decided, for reasons of his own, that you are the better one for the position. When the task is done, I will escort you through the Hall of Histories, past the statues of the emperors, and into the domain itself. There, in the throne room, Tolemy will speak to you through the protection of his holy veil and name you as Arko’s successor. In the time between Arko’s death and the naming of the Ray, I will serve in his post, but only briefly. This title will allow me to escort you into the domain, the holy precinct of our lord Tolemy. As I said in your tower, Mithra wants peace between the Father and the Mother. Our lord and emperor said the same words to me through the veil.”
“Did he now?” Saad raised his hand and stroked his stubbled cheeks, his knuckles littered with small bruises and cuts. The hands of a torturer. He seemed to consider the offer, and then a look of satisfaction replaced the doubt on his face