"You can be assured of House Varaz's unquestionable loyalty," Prince Zohar declared, a clenched fist upon his heart. "I swear upon Mithra's name."

Soraya sat upon an elegant divan. The soft cushions were draped with red silks from the far east, skins of spotted animals from the south, and shimmering embroidery woven out of bright gold feathers. To either side of her, retainers waved massive fans of bamboo and reeds. It did nothing to relieve the oppressive heat. Beads of sweat trailed down Soraya's neck, and the fabric of her dress clung to her body uncomfortably. Still, the servants fanned away, vainly attempting to cool her.

"I don't doubt your loyalty, Prince Zohar," Soraya assured the man. "But it's Lord Goshtab's that I doubt. He is not a man to believe in mysticism if the accounts are true, nor does he believe in serving anyone but himself." Zohar moved to interject, but Soraya raised a hand to stop him. He immediately halted, bowing his head in reverence. It was such a marked difference from the diffident, dismissive man who had arrived just days ago that it was almost funny. "There is no guarantee that your father will be convinced, regardless of your promises to me now."

"Forgive me your Highness, but you don't know my father as I do," he replied, standing from his bow. "No, he doesn't believe in mysticism, or trusting others. I don't think he even truly believes in himself." He removed his turban to wipe the sweat from his brow with a kerchief and then replaced it on his head. "Goshtab Varaz believes in one thing only: power."

He became more animated as he went on and stepped closer to the throne with each word. "Power that younow hold, your highness," he pressed. "You hold a weapon neither Esfandar nor Roshani could ever dream of possessing, one that is capable of turning the scales of this war irreparably. Even if the odds are still not guaranteed in your favor, this sudden opportunity will be too great a temptation for Goshtab to turn away."

Soraya looked away and gazed about her. The wide room was resplendent with golden figurines and jeweled pedestals, the light sandstone columns carved into images of gods and monsters that seemed to leap from the very rock. In spite of Zohar's words, there was still no guarantee of House Varaz's loyalty. There was no certainty in this world, not for her or anyone else. But she was finally beginning to like her odds.

She returned her gaze to the older prince and nodded. She stood from her seat, and Zohar immediately took a step back.

"I will send you on your way with gifts for Lord Goshtab and your house." She adjusted the shawl of her gown and waved a hand. An attendant rushed forward from the side of the room, eager for her orders. "Fill a palanquin with as many rubies and opals as can be found," She commanded. "It shall go with Prince Zohar back to the Varazi capital, along with ten white elephants."

The servant blinked in surprise at the command to send so many white elephants, the rarest and most holy creatures of the gods, but he did not say a word. He hurried away to carry out his empress's orders.

"These are my gifts as a gesture of my goodwill in this alliance. I'm relying on you to convey this to the Lord of House Varaz."

Zohar bowed deep once more, so low that Soraya thought his turban would fall off. Again, however, he hesitated.

"A gracious offering, your highness," he said. "But I'm afraid there is one thing that I require to bring with me if I am to secure Goshtab's loyalty..."

Soraya's shoulders tensed. Zohar did not need to say the words for her to understand them. He meant that he needed an example of her newly acquired power to show Goshtab- some kind of proof. And there was only one way to prove the impossible.

"I've already told you," Soraya said, her tone firm. "The priests are holding a council to decide how to proceed. Until they come to their decision and method, no other man or woman is permitted to bathe in the Great Fire."

No one was even permitted inside the shrine since Soraya had emerged from it. Her very first order had been to seal the doors and guard them day and night. This secret was too valuable to release to the masses like some token. It had to be protected.

In truth, Soraya doubted that anyone else would be able to walk through the flames and live as she had, but she wasn't eager to find out. She pictured the screams and burning skin of the poor soul who would dare to follow her and shuddered. She would not put lives unnecessarily at risk... Not without being sure of the consequences. The matter was in the priests' hands now.

Zohar's lips pursed, and he opened his mouth to protest. The doors of the chamber were thrown open, and he was cut off by a young monk entering the room. The monk immediately dropped to one knee before Soraya and delivered his message.

"Your highness, the honorable magi Farnaz is leading a force past the guards of the Great Fire- she means to... to enter the flames."

"High Priest Farnaz?" Soraya repeated, her eyes widening. She shouldn't have been surprised, and yet she was taken aback. Farnaz had been so loyal, so unquestioningly obedient that Soraya had forgotten where her true loyalties lied- with the gods.

Flashes popped into her mind of Farnaz's quiet anger at Soraya's recent decisions, her outrage at her preference for Shapur's advice over her own. A horrible, roiling dread bubbled up in Soraya's stomach. She had been foolish and inattentive. She had let this wound fester and now there was no healing it.

Soraya tightened her hands into a fist, then released it. This was no longer about the powers of the Great Fire. If Farnaz lived and emerged with abilities, then it proved the great source of power in their possession. If she died, then it proved that the fire had only worked for Soraya. But this, directly disobeying her commands and attacking her guards- this was as good as treason, a direct challenge to Soraya's authority. She could not let it stand.

The next moment, Shapur rushed into the room, breathing hard.

"Your highness-"

"With me," Soraya ordered, marching past him and towards the Great Fire's shrine. A retinue of guards detached from the wall to follow her, and Zohar and Shapur rushed to follow by her side.

Soraya exited the temple palace into the grand pavilion. If the heat had been hard to bear indoors, it was completely impossible under the sun's burning gaze. A lazy, heat-addled atmosphere permeated the temple complex. Monks sat sweating under the meager shade of palm trees. A cart driver impatiently whipped two long horned oxen who seemed to bow under the pressure of the humidity in the air.

The wide, white marble roof of the shrine appeared in the center of the courtyard. It loomed over the rest of the complex, casting a blessedly large shadow over the hot stone bricks. Outside of the gate, a group of men lay on the ground, unmoving.

Soraya rushed to one fallen monk and knelt by his side. She felt for his pulse, and found a weak but steady beat. The others were bleeding or beaten, but alive. Farnaz at least had had the dignity not to kill her fellow priests.

Soraya looked up. The doors to the shrine were closed.

"Open them," Soraya commanded, her voice steely. A group of her guards moved forward to push against the doors, to no avail. Hacking with swords and axes did nothing to budge the huge bronze doors, carved so intricately with scenes of gods and monsters. There was Mithra, raising his spear to the sky as he stood upon the corpse of Sinahi, the water demon who had nearly drowned the world. Mithra's eyes gazed upward, towards the heavens in triumph. Sinahi, defeated but alive, only looked up at the god with fear and loathing. The image made a chill run up Soraya's spine despite the heat.

"That fool," Shapur muttered to himself, his brows furrowed in frustration. But Soraya could see the deep fear there as well. If Farnaz died, then he would be the only magi remaining in Azar-Atash. Such a responsibility was heavy even on the shoulders of an older and wiser priest, but for the youngest magi ever chosen it would be crushing.

Soraya took a slow breath. She walked towards the bronze doors slowly, each step deliberate, focused. She did not wear any shoes, and the sparkling granite floor burned the soles of her feet, but she did not falter. The guards noticed her approach and immediately bowed, making way for her.

Soraya put a hand on Mithra's face in the very center of the carvings. She felt the heat hanging suspended in the air around her, like an endless supply of energy, anxiously awaiting someone to use it up.

Soraya imagined it as a cup filling to the brim with sweet water. She let it fill up so that it nearly overflowed, but just managed to stay contained.

"Soraya," Shapur said in awe from behind her. She heard Prince Zohar gasp as well, and a murmur echo through the congregated guards and priests.

Soraya slowly opened her eyes. She extended her hands towards the doors and imagined a single, sparkling drop spilling from the cup and splashing to the ground.

An inferno erupted from her palms, engulfing both her and the door in its flames. Those nearby cried out and backed away to avoid being sucked in, their shouts getting louder as they watched.

Soraya grit her teeth as she tried to reel in the overwhelming energy. Sweat poured from her brow, not from the heat but in intense concentration. In fact, she no longer felt the heat, not really. The fire touching her skin felt like a gentle caress, the soft touch of the breeze on a windy day. It did not harm her.

The cup trembled, threatening to spill all of its contents at once. Soraya had no way of imagining what would happen if the cup really did spill, but somehow she knew that she wouldn't survive it.

She remembered the image of the dagger that she'd seen in the flame, the simple wooden hilt and blade sharpened to a lethal point. Whatever happened here, this was not where she was meant to die.

Soraya focused on that cup of power again, until it was all she saw in her mind. She couldn't change the contents, but she imagined the cup growing larger and wider, until it was safe from spilling anymore. The wild flames around her calmed and narrowed, curling about her form as if in question. Command us, they seemed to say. We will obey you.

With a strained shout, Soraya did so. All of the fire flowed at once to where she directed it: the towering bronze doors of the shrine. There was a split second of light so bright Soraya was blinded, and then an explosion that shook the very ground. Soraya was pushed back by the force of it, falling backwards onto the burning stones.

When she sat up again, the doors were blown inwards, completely destroyed. The intricate bronze was now mangled and melted, bent in impossible angles by the powerful heat. Soraya searched for the image of Mithra and Sinahi, but found nothing. All of the beautiful carvings were gone, melted into nothingness by the flames.

Shapur rushed forward to help her stand. Soraya accepted his help, and then waved him off. Beyond the doors, the Great Fire was visible, burning as high and bright as always. And in the back of the shrine, along the stone walls, were a number of shadows.

"To me," she ordered. The guards and priests blinked in awe, but followed her command, surrounding her with weapons at the ready. She caught Shapur and Zohar exchanging a glance before quickly moving to stand by her side. Zohar stood at her left shoulder, so quickly taking the place usually occupied by Farnaz. Together, they marched inside.

Soraya's bare feet stepped over the burning metal and debris, but they no longer felt any burning or even any discomfort from it. They quickly moved past the destroyed entrance to the back of the shrine.

Farnaz stood in front of the flames, before a group of perhaps two dozen priests and monks. All looked up at the elder magi with anticipation and glee, though a few eyed the fire with fear behind their eyes.

One of the priests cried out at the sight of Soraya and her guards and they all began to back away slowly in panic. None of them had weapons- any instruments of death were explicitly forbidden in the presence of the Great Fire. Soraya had just broken that rule by entering with armed men. Perhaps Farnaz had been counting on Soraya also following the ancient traditions. Clearly, the woman hadn't known her as well as she thought she did.

Soraya's men began to move towards the crowd, weapons at the ready.

"Stop!" Soraya commanded. The roar of the flames made her shout seem small, but they heard her and heeded her words. Soraya moved forward, towards where Farnaz stood at the edge of the fire. The elder magi's teeth were bared in hostility, strands of her long gray hair coming loose from her bun. Her eyes seethed.

"You dare to bring weapons into the presence of Azar-Atash?" She growled, a crooked hand pointing at Soraya in accusation. "The gods will not stand for such insolence!"

Soraya flexed her wrists, and her hands immediately burst into flames. The men and women present, both Soraya's and Farnaz's stared in openmouthed wonder. Farnaz flinched, any other accusations cut off.

"You all have committed treason against your empress, chosen of Mithra," Shapur came forward and spoke. His dark eyes met Farnaz's wild ones across the chamber. "The gods chose Soraya, and Mithra himself gave her his gift. Who do you think they will punish?"

Farnaz winced once again, as if she'd been slapped in the face. She moved closer and closer to the edge of the fire.

"The gods gave her their gift, but she is not their only chosen one," Farnaz cried. "I am the eldest magi! I have served the gods faithfully all my years, I have been loyal. Who crowned you empress when others wished to raise up your brother instead? Who gave you the path to that throne you seek to desperately?" Her eyes narrowed. The shadows playing across her face made her wrinkles look deeper, the lines of her skin darker. "The gods won't forsake me."

Her gaze wandered into the distance as she spoke the last sentence. Soraya wondered if she was talking to the people in front of her or someone else beyond what the rest of them could see.

"Farnaz," Soraya spoke. "You are a strong woman, a powerful magi, and a true speaker for the gods." She extinguished the flames of her hands, and held out an arm in peace. "You can continue to serve me and serve the gods. Don't do this."

Farnaz only smiled and took one step backward into the fire-

Until a hand grabbed her wrist, preventing her from taking the final step. Farnaz's smiled instantly dissipated at the sight of Prince Zohar grabbing her. She threw a fist forward to punch him, and the two of them began to struggle, dangerously close the fire's edge.

Soraya had not noticed Prince Zohar subtly move around the edge of the chamber towards Farnaz during the time they had been speaking. Her attention had been focused solely on Farnaz. Now Prince Zohar tried to grab onto the woman's shoulder to pull her away and restrain her. He lunged forward.

"Guards!" Soraya said sharply as she rushed forward herself to join the skirmish, but it was too late.

Farnaz ducked Zohar's grasping hand, as slippery as a fish, and he lost his balance. Soraya saw the prince's eyes widen momentarily in horror before the two of them both tumbled forward into the flames and were obscured from view.

"No!" Soraya shouted, running up to the edge of the fire a moment too late. She reached a hand into the flames, intending to go in after them, and recoiled sharply, clutching her hand to her chest.

She looked at her hand in horror, then back up to the flames. There was no mark indicating a burn, but the pain had been very real. Soraya understood that she had paid a price- no fire could burn her, except for the Great Fire itself. She stared at the flames, suddenly more wary of them, and took a step back.

She glanced to the side. Shapur looked at her hand, an intelligent, calculating expression on his face. With any luck, he had been the only other person to notice her weakness. She quickly pushed the thought out of her mind.

For a split second, all was silent. Then came the screams. They were high and bloodcurdling, like the cry of a goat being brought to the slaughter block. It was a scream of death.

And then, as soon as it had started, the scream tapered off into silence once more. Soraya squinted into the flames, but nothing could be seen beyond their thick haze, nothing but endless fire and smoke and ash.

Her heart began to beat faster as the ramifications of what had just happened hit her. Not only was one of her magis dead, but the son of Lord Goshtab of the House Varaz had died on a peace mission to her capital, right in the middle of her temple.

Soraya paled. House Varaz would attack in revenge. There was no other possible outcome. How could she have let this happen? With Lord Goshtab blaming her for Zohar's death, he would ally his house with Roshani or Esfandar. It didn't matter which. The outcome would be the same: she would be defeated and crushed, all hopes of taking back the throne crumbled to dust.

Her hands began to alight with flames again, this time unconsciously. She didn't know what she would have done next, but fate made it so that she wasn't forced to find out.

Zohar shot out of the Great Fire, gasping and coughing, his hair singed and his clothes half burned away. He fell to his knees catching his breath, a hand around his neck.

Soraya rushed forward. He seemed stricken and shocked, but unharmed. There were no burn marks on his skin, nothing to indicate he'd been completely engulfed in the flames. Soraya looked back into the fire, half expecting- and perhaps hoping- that Farnaz would come running out after Zohar, equally unharmed. But something deep inside told her that the magi was gone- she belonged to the fire now.

"Take the Prince to a healer, and have him well cared for," Soraya ordered, and a group of priests rushed to do her bidding. She stared down at Zohar, the gears of her mind already turning rapidly. "He has a long journey ahead of him."