Soraya tensed immediately, nerves worming their way into her stomach. They had to arrive now, at such a moment? Soraya bit back a frustrated curse. If she was so beloved by the gods, then why did they test her so?

She turned back to a disdainful mobedin and a still-bewildered Dashna.

“Thank you for your counsel,” Soraya said, as if she had not just simultaneously humiliated herself before them and lost all sense of credibility. “You are now dismissed. I wish to speak privately with our guests.”

Despite the argument just a few moments earlier, the priests each nodded and stood to follow her orders. They filed out of the chambers one by one, their matching red robes as dull as rust. Farnaz held Soraya’s gaze for as long as she could, a frown frozen on her face, until she too left the room with the others.

Only Dashna still remained. Her eyes stared blankly at the black ash that had once been the corpse of a daeva, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Haltingly, Soraya stepped forward and placed a hand on her shoulder. Dashna flinched, turning to meet her gaze.

“I’m sorry, Dashna,” Soraya said in a voice little more than a whisper. “There’s nothing else I can do.” Her gaze too wandered down to the empty crate. “For now, you must go. The outcome of the war may depend on this meeting.”

“I-I understand.” Dashna’s voice was rough and low, as if she had just swallowed gravel. She moved with forced, heavy steps to leave the chamber. Soraya’s heart clenched in pain for her as she went. The mobedin’s dismissal had just thrown away Dashna’s one hope of helping her people. Now she must be feeling the weight of her people’s crushed hopes upon her shoulders.

Soraya inhaled deeply to clear her clouded mind. She could not focus upon that now. There was still another war to fight, one much more urgent. She turned to the chamber’s entrance and beckoned Massoud and Parvana to come forward.

Massoud Imani had not been difficult for Soraya’s messengers to find. His network of thieves and bandits had always been active, albeit discreetly. Though Roshani had sent spies and assassins to kill him for ages, the slippery thief had always managed to outrun them one way or another. Ever since the shah’s death however, the general lawlessness of the countryside made him more brazen. Soraya had suspected, and now it proved correct, that such a man wouldn’t have been able to resist the summons of an empress, the chance to be legitimized and rewarded for his battles rather than hunted and ridiculed.

The other person had been much more elusive. Soraya had sent out her men less to look for Parvana Nahal and more to spread the word that Soraya sought her presence at the temple. There had been no way of knowing whether the fallen general would have heeded such a call. But here she was, tall and gracefully intimidating in her silver armor, her stern gaze peering down at Soraya like a disapproving mother.

This was not the first time Soraya and Parvana had met. Soraya remembered the occasion only in the haziest of memories now, but she could still recall the scene. Soraya had peeked into the training yard and seen a tall woman knock Esfandar to the ground in a bout and proceed to scold him harshly for his weak form and sloppy technique. Parvana’s eyes had glanced up and caught Soraya looking. Startled, Soraya had hurried away.

Soraya had seen Parvana about the palace many times since then, but they had never interacted outside of the usual palace courtesies. The general had been much too busy to trouble herself with young, inexperienced princesses, and she only seemed to like Esfandar at all out of the royal children anyway.

Until Esfandar had had her stripped of all her titles and positions and banished from Nishapur forever, that is. The story surrounding her deposal had been vague and uncertain, but whatever the reason, Parvana had been cast out by her former pupil and protégé. And now here she was.

Neither Massoud nor Parvana bowed to Soraya as they stopped before her. Instead they both glanced at one another, as if considering how good a fighter the other might be, and then looked back to Soraya.

Massoud’s expression bore the grin and twinkling eyes of an exceedingly confident commander, while Parvana’s only looked on with sadness, the lines around her mouth deepening.

“You’re much older than the last time I saw you,” Parvana said, her voice just as weary as her face. “How many years has it been then? Six?”

“I don’t know,” Soraya replied. “But certainly long enough. I welcome you both to Azar-Atash, and thank you for answering my call.”

“It’s not every day you get a summons from an empress,” Massoud said with an easy shrug and an easier smirk. “At least, not in my line of work. Usually it’s only ransoms and notices of arrest.”

Soraya straightened in her seat, putting her hands in her lap.

“I assure you, I have no intention of arresting you,” Soraya said, looking meaningfully at both of them. “You have my word.”

“In my experience, the word of a princess doesn’t mean much,” Massoud replied cryptically. “But I suppose I’ll have to give you the benefit of the doubt.”

Soraya turned a sharp gaze towards him. “Empress,” she corrected him. He merely shrugged, the smirk still plastered to his face. Soraya breathed deeply, clasping her hands behind her back. He would have to learn to control his tongue, but for now she would have to look past it. There were more important matters at hand.

“I suppose you both know the reason I summoned you here, then?”

“You need us to train your army,” Parvana said bluntly. Her steady gaze and impeccable posture made her look almost regal.

Soraya nodded. Massoud scowled.

“I’m not interested in armies,” he said. “You can count on me for any of your spying and thieving needs, but armies won’t cut it.”

“You will be rewarded in kind, of course,” Soraya continued smoothly. “As much gold and jewels as will fill a palace, and more. All of your former crimes pardoned, all of your former titles restored to you.” Parvana’s lip twitched slightly, a movement that didn’t escape Soraya’s notice. “And once the war is won, governorship over a province.”

Massoud whistled out loud.

“By the gods, you really do need us, don’t you?”

Soraya replied to Massoud, but her eyes locked with Parvana.

“Yes,” she said. “I need to defeat Roshani and Esfandar and sit on Parthia’s throne.”

Parvana’s shoulders visibly tensed at Esfandar’s name, a maelstrom of emotion crossing her face- pain, uncertainty, rage. Massoud bared his teeth in a snarl at the mention of Roshani. Panic rose in Soraya’s chest- she was counting on their grudges against her brother and sister, but she didn’t mean for them to project their anger onto her. She steeled herself and continued on

“I am the only one suited for the throne,” she said. “Roshani is a cruel tyrant and Esfandar an ignorant soldier. Neither will rule this empire for the benefit of all people beneath its roof. Neither will be able to lead the empire toward greatness.” She thought of the people of Turan as she spoke, of Dashna and all those previous emperors had ignored. The thought of them gave her confidence. “I swear before you now, I will be different than any emperor Parthia has ever seen. And so I beg of you,” she paused to meet each of their gazes. “Will you join my cause? Will you fight for me?”

Both of them remained silent. A moment stretched into a minute, the seconds ticking by impossibly slow. Soraya looked between them with increasing desperation.

Massoud was the first to speak. “That’s all well and good,” he said, crossing his arms. “But even if you would be the better ruler, you are forgetting one thing: being the best for the throne means nothing if you aren’t even capable of winning it. Right now, you are the weakest of the three armies fighting this war. Roshani holds the capital and the support of most of the great houses, Esfandar boasts the strongest army in the empire and a strategic position. Meanwhile you have nothing but a simpering band of priests and a small army of worshippers to follow you. Why should we align ourselves with the losing side?”

Soraya winced at his words. They were only too true. All she had to give them was her word, her solemn vow. She had hoped against hope that it would be enough for people who already had a motivation to fight against her siblings. It seemed she had hoped in vain.

Parvana did not speak, but waited in calculating silence, watching how Soraya would respond.

“I have no answer except that the gods are with me,” Soraya said at last. “Mithra will ensure my victory. Please, don’t make a decision yet. Stay in the Great Temple, observe for as long as you’d like before you make a choice. That is all I ask of you.”

Silence followed her words once more. This time it was Parvana who answered.

“Very well,” she said. “I will agree to stay and observe, and nothing more, until I make a choice.”

“I will do the same,” Massoud added. “But I’ll tell you now: don’t be too optimistic. Until you give us a reason to fight for you, we will not do so.”