She unlatched the cabinet doors, revealing bottles of rich, dark alcohol, and a few crystal cups. She poured a glass and held it out to him.

Not knowing what else to do, Hassan took it. As she withdrew her hand, Hassan caught sight of her ring, and the distinctive seal it bore: a compass rose.

“The Lost Rose,” he blurted. “You’re—You’re one of them?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Jude didn’t tell you?”

He shook his head mutely.

She turned back to the cabinet, pouring another drink. “I created the Lost Rose. After the other Prophets and I slew the god, I made sure its esha was sealed away. That each of the Relics was protected and would continue to be protected over the centuries.”

“So then … you were the one that helped us get to Pallas Athos?” he asked. He had known her voice sounded familiar when he’d first heard it in the foyer of the Archon’s residence.

She tipped her glass at him. “You’re welcome.”

“My father,” Hassan said, before he could stop himself. “He was part of the Lost Rose, wasn’t he?”

The Wanderer inclined her head.

“So he did know about the Relics,” Hassan said. He had guessed as much when he’d found the covenant of the Lost Rose hidden in the Great Library in Nazirah and when his father’s compass had led him to the Crown of Herat beneath the lighthouse. But somehow hearing it from this woman—a Prophet, no less—made it feel more real.

“He knew some,” she replied. “The way that I designed the Lost Rose … each member had their own crucial secret to keep and pass on. But I am the only one who knew how the pieces added up and what we were truly protecting.”

“Did you know my father?” Hassan asked, a little desperate.

The Wanderer took her time in replying. “I met him only once. He was young—a little older than you are now. It was just after his mother had named him heir and passed down the secret of the Relic of Mind to him. He took his newfound responsibility very seriously. He was … compelled, I think, by the idea of this secret knowledge, meant only for him and his descendants. Eager to protect these secrets, and with them, the world. You remind me of him at that age quite a bit.”

Hassan felt laid bare by her words. It was all he’d hoped for once—that someone might see his father in him. That Hassan could live up to his example.

“We kept in touch after that,” the Wanderer said. “Particularly once his mother passed. In fact, your father was the first one to tell me about the Hierophant. He didn’t know, of course, that it was Pallas, but he told me of the reports about the Witnesses and their leader, and all the rumors surrounding them.”