All the power of this world. My Godstone thrums in recognition, sending shivers of warmth up my spine.
“The zafira,” Ximena says.
“Just like the Invierno said,” Alentín points out.
“How would an uneducated village boy know that word?” Nicandro asks, his voice soft with awe. “It hasn’t been in use since the first families came to this world. It’s older even than the Lengua Classica.”
Darkness edges my vision, whether from dread or excitement or residual exhaustion from healing Hector I can’t tell. I ask, “What, exactly, is the zafira?”
Alentín says, “The Afflatus says that magic crawls beneath the skin of this world and that once in every four generations, God raises up a champion to bear his mark and fight magic with magic.” I love the way his voice falls into rhythm whenever he quotes scripture. It takes me right back to our desert cavern and our lessons together while sitting on gritty shale and drawing letters in the dust.
After a pause, he adds, “Scripture supports the Invierno’s claim that the zafira is the magic of the world.”
I narrow my eyes, thinking hard. “The animagi can call the magic to them from anywhere. All they have to do is feed the earth a bit of blood. But Storm made the zafira sound like a specific place.”
He nods. “Storm also made it sound as though calling this magic takes no small effort. But Lucero’s Blasphemy describes a crack in the world, where the wellspring of power bubbles to the surface. I think it refers to a place where the world’s magic is more accessible, or maybe more concentrated.”
They all regard me with expectation as I mull their words.
I say, “The champion alone shall find the zafira . . .” And as soon as the words leave my mouth, I know I want to. More than anything.
But how would I manage such a thing? A queen does not have the luxury of leaving everything behind in pursuit of a nebulous quest.
“You are the champion,” Nicandro says. “It goes on to say that your determination will be tested. That you must prove your worth. But it also says that he who bears God’s own stone shall pass through the gate.” He shrugs, sighing. “Frankly, I think it sounds dangerous.”
Prophecy is a tricky thing, I have learned, full of edges and secret meanings and mischief. Prophecy can feel like the betrayal of a dear friend, the disappointment of a lifetime, the hope of a nation.
“This could be it, Elisa,” Ximena says, and her black eyes spark with something fierce. “What you need to rule. To finally grasp the destiny I know God has prepared for you.”
I’m not sure why, but her words make me uncomfortable—even though she’s a little bit right. With that kind of power, I would be able to discourage the machinations of the Quorum. Keep my enemies at bay. Make my kingdom whole again.
“And Elisa . . .” Nicandro’s voice is dark with gravity. “It’s best that you tell no one about the Blasphemy. It’s a forbidden text, after all.”
“And yet you had a copy lying around in the monastery.”
He shifts on his stool. “Er . . . no. Father Alentín did.”
A laugh bubbles in my throat, and Alentín flashes me a mischievous grin. This is the man who stole the oldest known copy of Homer’s Afflatus when he fled the Monastery-at-Basajuan. Of course he has a copy of the forbidden Blasphemy.
“We should begin making arrangements, my sky,” Ximena says. “We could leave—”
I hold up a hand to cut her off. It’s crusted with Hector’s dried blood. I say, “I’ll think about it.”
Chapter 15
BUT I don’t have time to think about it, for the day of the Deliverance Gala dawns hot and bright and busy. Everyone hurries through preparations sheened with a layer of sweat. I spend the morning approving last-minute changes to the menu and guest lists and practicing the blessing I will recite at the ball. That afternoon, I tell Mara and Ximena about healing Hector, though I leave out the most pertinent detail. Ximena is beside herself with excitement that I have found a way to tap into the Godstone’s power.
“God has a great destiny for you, my sky,” she says, her eyes shining.
If she realizes I’m keeping something to myself, she does not press. Still, I’m relieved when it’s finally time to dress for the gala, for it means I’ll have something to do besides avoid her zealous gaze.
I can’t stop thinking about Hector. I can’t wait to see him again, for Doctor Enzo has declared him well enough to escort me tonight.
Because of the attempts on my life, my own personal guard will be on my arm, soldiers will be stationed at every entrance and crossbowmen in the high cupolas overlooking the audience hall, and every guest will be thoroughly searched for weapons.Still Ximena insists on one further precaution.