The hidden treasures had been so distracting, Soraya hadn’t even noticed the thief being restrained in the middle of the room until the priest called attention to her. Soraya approached warily- though several priests restrained the young woman, she looked ready to break free at her first chance.

The thief was short in stature but muscular, with straight black hair cut to chin length. Her skin was dark and her face bore the sharp, distinctive features of the Turani people of the desert.

Farnaz moved forward, radiating anger towards the thief. “What did she try to steal?”

The priest nodded toward a box. “The scimitars of Fereydun,” he replied. Soraya peered into the box. A dozen weathered bronze blades winked at her in the torchlight.

Farnaz curled her lip. “Those are sacred weapons, blessed by Mithra himself in the war with the daevas,” she spat. “How dare a filthy sandworm like you-“

“Your majesty, I did not steal them for my own benefit,” the woman pleaded, her earnest gaze meeting Soraya’s. “You need to know- there are strange things happening in the desert, things that have not been seen in millennia-“

“A thief with a silver tongue as well,” Farnaz interrupted. “This girl should be executed immediately. These treasures are hidden for a reason- even attempted thievery of them is a crime worthy of death.”

“We will her her speak first. Then we will decide her fate.”

Farnaz’s head whipped around in surprise at Shapur’s outspoken words before her eyes narrowed.

“I agree,” Soraya said. She turned to the girl. “You have been given an opportunity to speak…”

“Dashna,” she supplied.

“Dashna,” Soraya said. “Choose your words wisely.”

The girl nodded, taking a deep breath and meeting Soraya’s gaze fearlessly.

“Your Majesty,” she began. “Have you heard of Kopet?”

“It is a Turani oasis city,” Soraya replied, remembering private lessons with her tutors in the palace. The memories of them were so distant as to almost feel like a dream.

The thief nodded. “It is the capital city of the Turani people. It is built around Zard-Kuh, the largest single oasis in the desert lands. For centuries, it has been an outpost for traders and merchants, a way-stop for traveling caravans.”

“The empress does not need a lesson on history and geography,” Faranaz snapped. “Get on with it.”

Dashna’s eyes never left Soraya’s for a moment. She continued undisturbed. “My father’s caravan passes through Kopet every year, following the pattern of the southern winds. We resupply our water, trade bright woven cloth for feed for our goats. We stay camped on the outskirts of the city for perhaps a week before moving on.”

“This year, the sandstorms were particularly wild and we arrived a few days later than usual. When we reached the site of the city and still saw nothing, I thought one of the storms must have driven us farther off course than we’d thought. My father, a loud, charismatic man, became uncommonly quiet as we awaited the navigators to confirm our position.” Dashna paused. “No one can read the stars and sands better than my father. He’s been crossing the desert for decades and he has never been lost. When the navigators returned with the news that our position was indeed correct, it only confirmed what my father had already known.”

The hair on the back of Soraya’s neck stood on end the longer she listened to the tale. “What are you saying?”

“The city was gone, Your Majesty,” Dashna stated plainly. “Vanished without a trace- we found no fallen palm trees, no debris or bones. Nothing to indicate that a grand oasis had once stood on that spot.”

Farnaz scoffed. “You expect us to believe the city vanished into thin air?” She shook her head. “You desert people are nomads, no? Perhaps they decided to find a different spot to settle on. Or even more likely, a sandstorm came and destroyed the place. There are many possible explanations.”

“We are nomadic, yes, but the oasis cities never move- they stay with the water. As for a sandstorm, only one in the past thousand years has ever been powerful enough to decimate an entire city, and even that left massive carnage and debris in its wake, clear evidence of what had happened.”

Shapur spoke up this time, his brow furrowed. “And what do you believe happened?”

“The desert swallowed the city whole,” Dashna answered decisively. “Just as in the days of the daevas, when the desert was their territory alone. I don’t have any explanation how or why, but they have awoken again. You must believe me, Your Majesty.”

Soraya hesitated, exchanging glances with the magis. According to legend, the sands were indeed the birthplace of the daevas, the place where the gods had created that first race of earthly beings. Before Shah Fereydun had defeated them with the help of the gods, the histories described the terrifying power of the daevas- how they could turn men to ash with a single touch, how they could bend metal with their bare hands. And how they could cause whole cities to be swallowed up by the desert…

But the daevas had all been killed millennia ago, defeated by Shah Fereydun- Soraya’s own ancestor. The gods couldn’t have failed in killing them… could they?

“You can understand why this is hard to believe,” Soraya spoke at last. “There is no evidence of what you say. And Farnaz is right- there may be another explanation-“

“The vanished city was only what I witnessed myself,” Dashna cut her off. “But rumors spread fast in the desert. Other caravans have encountered even stranger sights. Creatures from stories terrorizing their herds, floating beings of fire crossing the skies. It is the daevas, your majesty.”

Farnaz remained unconvinced. “We are the magi of the Great Temple, the true speakers for the gods. If the daevas had awakened, certainly we would be the first ones to hear of it.”

“Farnaz,” Shapur said. “There was the vision. Could it have been…?”

Farnaz hesitated. For a moment, Soraya thought she would reconsider her absolute stance, but then her gaze hardened and she shook her head.

“This has been an entertaining distraction,” she said to Dashna. “But don’t think we have not forgotten your crime.”

“Your Majesty, I came to steal the blades of Fereydun, to prepare my people to fight the daevas,” Dashna protested. “Normal weapons can’t hurt them. These are the only weapons left blessed by Mithra himself. We need them desperately.”

Soraya frowned. “If what you say is true, then why steal them?” She asked. “Why didn’t you tell us this and then ask for the weapons?”

“Because the story is fake!” Farnaz seemed to be growing tired of this charade. “She is a simple thief who wants to sell our sacred relics for coin.”

“I knew you wouldn’t believe me, but I needed the weapons as soon as possible,” Dashna argued. “Punish me if you want, but send the weapons to Turan. Please, they’re people of the Parthian empire too- need your help.

Soraya took in Dashna’s pleading, desperate gaze. Her story was difficult, almost impossible to believe. But something about it made a shiver go down her spine. Something in her told her not to dismiss it so easily.

“Send messengers to the Turani desert immediately,” she ordered. “They will either confirm this story or return to explain that you have been lying. We will know the truth once and for all.”

“And the girl?” Farnaz added.

Soraya paused for a moment. “She can atone for her sins by serving as a temple attendant,” she said at last. “If the messengers return to say that she was lying, the mobedin will vote on the matter of her fate.”

“And if they return to say that she is telling the truth?” Shapur asked quietly.

Soraya tensed- she had no answer for his question.

“Then we can only pray Mithra guides us,” Soraya said at last. “Or else I’m afraid the war for the throne will be the least of our concerns.”