I knelt on the icy stones before the two fires, and offered God my thanks. It was more a cry of triumph than a prayer, but I think it pleased him. Then I went out again, and saw that the two guards were gone. I found some stairs going up to a higher place, and a circular room with huge windows all around and other braziers waiting to be lit. So I lit them all from my torch, singing my Quelled song, and all of Kasimarra knew that the Firelord had returned.

Then I steeled myself for the hardest challenge of all: my meeting with the priests. I shook the curtain’s dust from my garments, wishing I looked more glorious, and began descending the stairs to the lowest temple floor. Hundreds of stairs there were, and countless passages. Sometimes I passed unshuttered windows and, looking down, saw the town far below. The main road to the temple was teeming with people, all shouting and cheering. As I descended, the cheering grew louder, more frenzied and tumultuous. I ran faster, my heart hammering. I came to a pair of massive wooden doors, richly carved. I threw them open and ran through.

The room was vast, more a courtyard than a room, and it had no furniture save a raised throne at one end, and hundreds of torches blazing on the walls. A thousand men stood lined up on either side of me, and they barely covered any floor in all that place. Their priestly robes fell in stately scarlet to their golden boots, their oiled hair shone, and their faces, ritually washed, were aglow with torchlight. We stared at each other, unspeaking, and I don’t know who was more shocked: them or me.

I took a deep breath and brushed my grimy hair out of my eyes. I pushed back the dusty hood, and knocked the remains of cloth and dust from my crimson robes. The flames, embroidered gold across the sleeves and hem, were dull with dust. For one terrible moment I thought I had done it all wrong. I was ashamed of my dirt, for being unprepared. But then I remembered that my dust was from a holy work, and that I was prepared – more prepared and qualified than anyone else on earth.

I said to the priests: “I am Elsha of the Quelled. I was the Firelord’s handmaid.” I hesitated, fighting a fresh onslaught of grief. My voice sounded strange in that huge, echoing place. “I bring news of him. Heavy news. He died on the road between Qustra and here, on the last bridge.”