“True. So it should not pain you to give it up,” The Which countered, equally as calm. In contrast to the steely insistence of her eyes, The Which smiled and expectantly extended her hand. She would not be denied.

“I know of your Prophecy,” the soldier said.

The Which recoiled as if he had slapped her. “The Prophecy? How could you know of our Prophecy?”

The young Indiran gave her such a condescending smirk that she had to press her fingernails into her palms for restraint.

“As I said before, Indirans are educated,” he stated. “Apparently, our leaders want us to get to know you before we try to kill you. The question is, why would you want King Xander’s reign to end? Isn’t that what’s supposed to happen if your Prophecy comes true? Do you have designs on the throne?”

The eyes of The Which grew as glassy and reflective as windows closed to the midday light. Her shoulders drew back proudly. Her neck seemed to lengthen, and she stood pillar straight.

“You are not just a common soldier. Who are you?” she whispered, as if raising her voice would release a torrent of uncontrolled fury.

“I’m not the one who’s going to marry a princess, I can tell you that,” the soldier retorted. “But at least now I know why you’ve kept me alive.”

“Give me the Tinderbox!” hissed The Which.

“So you can enslave me and lead me like a lamb to the altar? I think not.”

Her nostrils flared and she inhaled slowly through them. The Which remembered that the soldier was indispensable to the larger aspirations of her plan. She relaxed into a more reasonable posture, her head tilted to the side.

“You talk as if it’s a sacrifice,” she said. “It’s actually quite a promotion, don’t you think? Marry a princess? Become a prince?”

The soldier clenched his jaw and his face became strained. It occurred to her that he was stifling a laugh, but she herself could find no humor in her proposal.

Not to be distracted, The Which continued, “And Princess Allegra is quite beautiful, I can assure you.”

Much to her satisfaction, the soldier’s face paled at the mention of Allegra’s name. At least for a moment, he appeared far less smug.

“I’m not tempted by beauty,” he said after a brief pause. “And, like many of us on Indira, I don’t believe in your Prophecy. I think it’s a fable. But this…”

Everson reached into the satchel and retrieved the Tinderbox.

Femera and Amali had drifted down to the horizon. Their ruddy glow was pervasive and painterly, making the air thick and lending luster to every detail. The moment became imbued with historic importance, like an antique painting depicting an armistice or the coronation of a king.