He’ll do as I ask and be grateful for the chance. Thinking himself worthy of the title and position, she guessed he did not stop to think too long and hard about the message, or the messenger. His greed, at last, made him trust the Mother Priestess. The boy could not be intimidated, but he could be seduced, and she had done as much with her offer.
Sarra stood, wrapping her cloak around herself. “I bend my will to the emperor’s, and do as he commands. For his sake, Saad, not yours.” She once again gave him her best imitation of a frank look, one she had used often on Arko, on Suten Anu, on Saad’s own father, when needed: to look like she was doubtful, but doing as she was bidden anyway.
“Then it is finished.” Saad approached. “I will go to the Ray. The task will be done by midday tomorrow,” he said, adjusting the fit of his armor. She guessed he had resized the ceremonial armor since he wore it on the last day of the year, but the metal still didn’t fit him. Saad paused, shaking his head. “All I needed was an excuse to get rid of that Harkan, and now I have one.” There was pride on his face, triumph, just as she had intended. He poured himself another cup of wine, downed it, and took up the scrolls, one after the other. When he had secured the rolls, Saad turned and without speaking or acknowledging Sarra, let himself out of her chamber. It was customary to bow and bid farewell to the Mother Priestess, to wish her the sun’s fate, but he did none of these things. The man thinks himself Ray; he does not even acknowledge me. He thinks Tolemy is his only master.
She waited until the Protector was gone.
“Scribe,” Sarra called.
A girl appeared in the doorway.
“Fetch a messenger,” Sarra said, and the girl dashed down the corridor.
At midday tomorrow, Saad would gather his men, he would light Mithra’s Fire, and end the brief reign of Arko Hark-Wadi.
She must go to her husband, but not until tomorrow—just prior to Saad’s arrival. Then she would tell him the secret she had been holding for a decade.
A boy appeared in the doorway, his feet covered in dust, a trace of perspiration on his brow. “I have a letter, but I don’t want you to deliver it until the morning.” There was no sense in giving Arko time to prepare for their audience. “When you wake, I want you to go the Antechamber and arrange a congress between me and the First Ray of the Sun. Speak to Khalden Wat and return with his reply.”
51
“At last,” Ren said, putting his foot on the parapet and looking out at the city of Solus, “a breeze.”
“If you say so,” Adin said as he lay on his bedroll. “I didn’t feel one.”
“You would if you’d bother to sit up a bit.”
“You try to sleep sitting up.”
“I can’t sleep,” Ren said. “It’s useless.”
“The Priory?”
“Yes. It’s so close.”
“You think too much. Tye always said that was your biggest problem.”
Ren agreed, but said nothing. He had tried resting, attempted sleeping, but dreams of the Priory invaded his every imagining. Through sleep’s eye he saw a prison made of sand. Every wall and every floor was hewn from sifting granules and when Ren moved, the walls collapsed, pulling him down into gray depths, suffocating him.
They had entered the city two days before, moving among the soldiers and refugees, blending in among the people asking for work, for food, for a few empty rooms. They looked like what they were: a couple of half-grown boys, refugees trudging the road from the Dromus, nothing more. War had come to the empire. They heard the traitor, Barca, was raiding all of the lands to the south and east of the Dromus. Everywhere they went, there were refugees, people journeying from the countryside to the capital, hoping to find safety behind the walls of Sola. There was much talk among the people, rumors that the new Ray had caused unrest by posting a proclamation. The people were clearly upset about it, but Ren and Adin dare not ask any questions for fear of revealing themselves.
In the dark of night, they had slipped from the crowd of refugees, past the long rows of tents the Protector had set out to house the crowds, and wandered into the city, reversing the route Ren had taken weeks earlier when he was freed from the Priory. The city was unfamiliar, but Ren remembered the gate at the entrance to the underground city, the place where he had first tasted his freedom. Who could forget such a thing? There they curled up against the wall and pretended to be blind, a couple of beggar boys whining for hard bread, largely ignored by the throngs of other desperate and frightened people streaming into the city.
In the morning they had looked for a room. They could not afford one, but they did find a man who would rent them his rooftop—nothing luxurious, just a place to stay where the city guard would not harass them. For the roof Ren gave his last tin crescent. It bought them a few loaves of bread and a place to stay, but they had no food for tomorrow and no coin to pay for another night, so they would have to make the most of this one or find another source of income in the morning.
From the rooftop, Ren saw the pillars of what he guessed was the temple of Mithra at Solus. Lamplight flickered between the stout columns. At the gates of Solus, he’d heard that the Mother Priestess had gone to Desouk after the riots on the last day of the year, that she was assaulted on the wall but had somehow survived. Guided by Mithra’s hand, one woman had whispered. He guessed she would not return to Solus for some time. Nevertheless, he wondered what she would say to him if he confronted her, how she would explain why she never came to him in the Priory or used her stature as the Mother to lessen his suffering. Perhaps she was allied with Merit, maybe that was how his sister had learned of his release.
“Daydreaming again?” Adin asked.
“No, just thinking about Sarra Amunet. I saw her temple.”
“Dreadful topic.” Adin knew what Ren thought of the Mother. His friend broke another chunk of bread from the hard yellow cake and stuffed it in his mouth, his eyes on the horizon. The boys were not the only ones standing under the stars: Everywhere they looked, whole families lay on the mud-baked roofs, squirming in the heat, hoping for a breeze to pass as they pushed sweat from their brow. They shifted and settled as children leapt and played, waking sleepers, eliciting howls. Some roofs were so crowded the women were sleeping in shifts, some knitting while the others slept. There was no night here; the city was always in motion, always restless. He had heard only echoes from the Priory, distant barking, traces of laughter. He had not seen who or what made those sounds. Now he saw it all. The people of Solus were nearly as visible in the darkness as they were under the light of the sun: Torches hung from every roof, and oil lamps lit the streets. The city was bright, but the sky was dark. It was the new moon, the Thieves’ Moon.
“Ren, can I ask you something?” Adin said, still chewing on the bread.
“Go to sleep.”
“I can’t—it’s too hot.”
“You’d be cooler if you stopped eating so much. You’re going to get sick.”