SABIRA FOUND CALLER Arrow in Conqueror’s Shrine. Standing at the entrance, she noted how even from behind he was handsome, the lines of shoulders to waist forming an inverted triangle. He knelt silently before the scarlet pyramid looming in the center, its trigonal tip directly below the shrine’s apex. Carved from solid, unprocessed aku-vayk, it dominated the room, radiating with sacred presence. A single cone of light fell from the sloping ceiling onto the pyramid. Holo-projected banners of victory glyphs lined the walls of green marble and offered the only other illumination.
Sabira strode forward, careful to respect the silence, and knelt before the three-meter-tall tetrahedron of Gohnarus Conqueror. Like Arrow a few spots over, Sabira pressed the knuckles of each fist together before her sternum and closed her eyes to pray. Gods knew she had plenty to pray for, from the nine eyes healing on her back to the infiltration mission awaiting them, but she could not focus her thoughts on devotion.
“Caller, please,” she spoke just above a whisper, her eyes still closed, “I hope you can forgive me for disturbing your prayer.”
She heard him take a sharp, controlled breath. “You have something to tell me that is worthy of such a disturbance?”
“I don’t . . .” She felt herself faltering and tried to regain her mental footing. Why did he have such an effect on her, she wondered, always able to throw her off balance? “I don’t know that what I have to tell you is worthy of disturbing your prayer, Caller, only that I need to tell you.”
“Say what you have to say.”
“I didn’t want it,” she said. “I mean, I did—I do—want it. But not like that. I’ve earned every glyph I have, and I’ll earn every one to come, Gods see me.” Sabira opened her eyes and turned toward him.
His eyes remained closed, his face expressionless. Arrow’s attractiveness differed from the pretty pillows she’d known. If you focused on individual elements it might be hard to consider him handsome. His nose had been flattened by several previous breaks, his jawline was thick and his brow heavy. When his eyes weren’t closed in prayer, his pale gaze was intelligent and penetrating. When she took in all the elements of him at once, his magnetism was undeniable.
Open your eyes, and see me, Arrow. A flash of ecstatic memory. The drum rites. The command in his grip. The raw strength of him inside her.
“I don’t want to be treated any differently for who my blood-mother is or who my Master is,” Sabira continued. “No better, no worse. Conqueror see me, my honors should be for the blood I shed, not for the blood I inherit.”
Sabira waited through a tense silence for him to respond.
“Finished?” Arrow finally asked, eyes still closed, fists still held in prayer.
“Yes, Caller.”
No, not finished. See me. See how hard I work. See how hard I fight. Open your godsdamned eyes, and tell me that you know I’ve earned this.
Arrow’s eyes remained closed as he spoke. “You kneel here in Conqueror’s Shrine, and you confess your innermost thoughts, filling the silence with words. Is this Dancer’s Shrine? Or Mother of Life’s?”
“No, Caller. As you say, Conqueror’s Shrine.”
“As I say,” Arrow repeated, as if in contemplation. “Listen, then, to what I say now. There are Nine Gods beyond the Gates, and we must honor them all. But mine is the God of Servants. Gohnarus Conqueror, Son of Star Father. If you want me to see you, skin, if you want to be seen by this crew, then make Conqueror see you. And believe me, pleading and confessions will not rouse Him.
“Deeds, Sabira. Actions. Sacrifice. Results. That is the way of Conqueror and the way of the Servants. Only this calls our God’s attention. Only this matters. If there is something you want, you conquer it. If you want me to know that you value honor more than privileges, you make it happen.
“Because the truth is you are the property of the Ihvnahg-Ra, and you are the Handmaiden’s blood-daughter. Your bloodline has been crafted for a purpose. A purpose neither you nor I can turn a blind eye to.”
“Even if my own crew resents me?” she asked.
“We all must face the truth of ourselves,” Arrow continued. “Whether it’s the scars we deserve or the privileges we don’t, we must face the truth of who we are. If you cannot see the truth of yourself, Sabira, then no matter where you are or what you are doing—kneeling in a shrine or infiltrating the target—then your actions will fail, and your sacrifices will mean nothing, and the Gods will not see you.”
Silently, Sabira stood and looked one last time at her caller, his eyes still closed to her, before turning and walking back toward the entrance.
“Sabira,” he said a moment before she left the shrine.
“Yes, Caller.”
“You are not the first to wear the nine eyes on your back. You won’t be the last. All of us have . . . made unwise choices. Especially when we were young skins. Offer your pain to the Gods. And remember what I’ve told you.”
You are right. I see you. I hear your words and know you are right. Actions. Sacrifice. Results. That is how I will make you see the truth of me, Arrow. And I of you.