They strode out of the temple, back into the open air. Soraya followed at his side, her steps hurried. The sun rose high in a cloudless blue sky, beating down upon everything below it. The heat out here was harsher than it had been in the altar, and Soraya pulled a shawl over her hair to keep her scalp from burning.

They walked across the red sandstone that formed the temple walkways, under tall gates and around squat alcoves. Several priests and their acolytes dressed in dull red robes prayed before the alters while others swept the temple floors clean or scrubbed the bronze idols until they gleamed bright and lustrous.

They entered one of the temples, a large domed structure adorned with beautiful mosaics. Normally, meetings of the mobedin would be held in a chamber of the fire palace. It had become a sort of unofficial throne room, due to the lack of a proper one. But that was on the other side of the complex, far from the temples and altars where the priests conducted their daily business. It seemed this matter was an urgent one.

Soraya and Shapur walked through the enormous domed hall, where braziers burned in every corner and worshippers prayed before them. Their footsteps echoed in the grand chamber. They climbed a tall winding staircase and emerged in a simple hallway. Shapur stopped before a wooden door on the left and pushed it open. Soraya followed him into the room. It was simple and unadorned, just a plain chamber with beige stone walls and a large table in the middle. Seated at the table was the mobedin- the full assembly of high priests at Azar-Atash. There were about a dozen of them, mostly older men and women with graying hair and cool gazes, wearing simple robes in dull hues of red, orange, and brown. All of the priests stood and bowed as Soraya entered, bending their heads forward.

“Your highness,” they murmured collectively. Soraya held up her hand in a gesture of acknowledgment, and the priests once more took their seats.

The seat at the head of the table was empty, and Soraya quickly moved to take it. Farnaz was already seated in chair to her left, her silver-gray hair flowing loosely around her face, and Shapur took the seat to her right. The mobedin was officially assembled.

Farnaz didn’t waste any time. “Esfandar has captured the city of Shriaz,” She began as soon as Soraya was seated. “He now occupies the city as his base.”

All eyes turned to Soraya expectantly, waiting on her reaction. She had been expecting this to happen for weeks now, but it sent a chill down her spine all the same. Soraya took a slow breath to settle her nervous stomach.

“What do the reports say?”

“Esfandar’s army laid siege to Shiraz two nights ago, and mounted a sudden attack yesterday morning,” Yousef a high priest of Anahita with a clean shaven head, answered. “The city is his. His troops occupy the countryside surrounding Shiraz as well.”

“Did he sustain any losses?” Soraya pressed hopefully.

“No, your highness,” Yousef replied, the corner of his mouth turning down into a scowl. “According to the reports, Shiraz fell fairly quickly after their initial defenses failed.”

Soraya exhaled through her nose, leaning back in her chair. The fact that it wasn’t surprising didn’t make it any less discouraging. Shiraz was one of the greatest strongholds of the north, a position and fortress that commanded the entire region. Esfandar had gambled on making the first move in this war, and it had paid off; now it was her and Roshani’s turn to respond.

“Farnaz,” Soraya said. The old magi’s attention snapped to her. “How many temples are there in the city of Shiraz?”

“Many, your highness,” Farnaz responded. She had a hard, raspy voice, hoarse even for a woman her age. “You are wise to think of them. If we can get any communications through to the priests of Shiraz, we can certainly receive valuable information about the traitor’s movements.”

Shapur cleared his throat loudly. Farnaz narrowed her eyes at him across the table. The younger magi ignored her and went on.

“The Arani sect is powerful in Shiraz,” he said. “They’re extremists and zealots, and not easy to control. It’s not assured that they’ll be cooperative, not even to the orders of a magi. That is, if we want to associate with such a group at all.”

Farnaz’s scowl deepened.

“They are devoted followers of Mithra. That’s all that counts.”

Shapur’s brow creased. “There have been reports of them putting non-believers to the fire,” he argued. He turned his gaze upon the rest of the mobedin. “Would you collaborate with such people?” He turned back to Farnaz, and then to Soraya, the question clear in his eyes. Would you?

The argument always returned between Farnaz and Shapur in one form or another. The two of them were the only magis in Azar-Atash, practically the only magis in the world, yet they were constantly at odds with one another.

It seemed to Soraya that they were simply too different in their views of the world. But there was more to it, as well. Soraya had pulled the story out of a few monks with loose tongues.

There were always three magi in existence at one time. When one died, another emerged somewhere in the world. It was the temple’s duty to find and raise them as small children, to train their powers and prepare them for their important role in this world.

Shapur, however, had not been discovered and taken to Azar-Atash until he was already nearly grown- and in a household of nonbelievers. The monks had told her in conspiratorial tones that he’d even tried to run away from the priests rather than go to the temple to fulfill his duty. It had made Farnaz furious.

Eventually, he had come to accept his role, one way or another. But his ceaseless questioning and doubt of the gods’ will never stopped irritating the other priests, Farnaz most of all. Soraya suspected that she considered it her own personal failure that Shapur had turned out this way, and only felt all the more angered by his ways.

Soraya returned from her thoughts back to the present moment. She knew the answer that Shapur expected: they should disregard the Arani, and find another course of action. It’s what was right. It’s what she herself would have done a month ago, before the world had tilted sideways and left her with nothing.

Things were different now, and her eyes were not as naïve as they once were. What would Roshani do? That small, pestering voice whispered in the back of her mind. What would Esfandar do?

And then she recalled Dashna’s face, only a little while earlier. The demand for her to prove herself worthy, and to protect her people at the same time. Gods, how did anyone do such a thing?

Soraya felt the intensity of Farnaz’s gaze on her and knew in her heart that the woman was right, no matter how cautious she was of the magi’s growing power. She could no longer afford to be soft-hearted, to follow some arbitrary code of morality; if that was what she wanted, then she might as well give up her claim to the throne this very minute. That couldn’t be her path any longer.

Soraya relaxed her shoulders. She’d made her decision.

“Farnaz.”

Farnaz dipped her head forward. “Your highness?”

“Send word to the Arani that they have my full support as long as they give me their complete loyalty.” She spoke with an air of authority that was unfamiliar to her tongue, yet not at all unpleasant. She ignored Farnaz’s triumphant smirk and Shapur’s biting look of disappointment equally. “I want to know everything that happens in that city.”

Farnaz bowed forward. “It will be done,” she vowed.

“However, I want the Arani priests to be warned that they are to stop any extreme behavior immediately,” Soraya continued. “If I am to hear of any disobedience, they can expect my support to be cut off.”

Farnaz scowled, and it was Shapur’s turn to stand and bow before her. “I will see that it is done, your grace,” he said.

Soraya nodded. She didn’t dislike how it felt to give commands and to have them be followed. No, she found that it made some of her doubts melt away, and settled the roiling nervousness in her stomach. She looked out across the faces all turned toward her, so much older and wiser than she was yet looking to her for leadership. If they expected it of her, then she would simply have to exceed their expectations.

“Our forces are still unprepared for war, yet Esfandar’s victory shows that it could be upon our doorstep any day. We need them to be ready.” A sea of nods greeted her as she spoke, and she sat a little straighter. “Yousef,” Soraya called. The priest stepped forward, head bowed. “Send messengers to every corner of the eastern provinces in search of Parvana Pahlavi and Massoud Imani. I want them here, leading and training my army.”

An uncomfortable murmur passed through the council of priests, many frowning at her suggestion.

“Your majesty, your cause has the support of the gods themselves behind it,” Farnaz spoke up. “Would it really be wise for your army to be led by an outlaw and an exile?”

“That is exactly why we need them,” Soraya insisted. “Parvana was exiled by my brother, and Massoud hunted by my sister. Neither of them would ever join forces. All the more reason for them to lend their skills to my cause.” She turned her gaze away from Farnaz’s scowl to address the entire mobedin. “After all, didn’t Mithra himself steal the fire of the sun to give to man? Didn’t Rashnu endure exile in the ocean of night for a hundred years?” She turned back to Yousef. “Send the messages immediately. We have no time to waste.”

“As you command, your majesty.”

“Good.” Soraya stood up from her throne. The priests all bowed before her, their dark red robes rustling in unison. “This council is now dismissed.”