Al-Souki’s success irked Yasmid. The history of the Faith was speckled with military geniuses who became liabilities after they won their reputations. That started with her uncle Nassef, who had been with her father from the beginning. Nassef, as the Scourge of God, helped build a wide, wild religious empire. And had been a thorough-going bandit when the Disciple was not looking. He had been ambitious, too, systematically eliminating anyone who stood between him and succession to the Peacock Throne. He had wanted Yasmid as his child bride so he could unite Royalists and Faithful under his rule.

Fate had delivered Yasmid to Haroun bin Yousif instead.

The Faithful never lacked brilliant commanders but few were moved more by faith than by ambition and greed.

Yasmid was not ready to believe that Elwas bin Farout al-Souki was something new.

She made a “Get on with it!” gesture.

Al-Souki said, “Phogedatvitsu can conquer an addiction as deep as your father’s. I beg you, allow him to try.”

She had mixed feelings. And a sense of shame.

She was not sure she wanted her father freed. If he recovered, his daughter would become a simple ornament to his glory. A saint at best.

How shameful. How dare she put herself ahead of God’s Chosen Disciple?

Despite all, including her long love for the King Without a Throne, she believed in her father’s message. He had a unique relationship with God. Much as she reveled in being God’s stand-in hand and voice, directing the Faithful, she did not have that direct relationship herself.

She was a custodian, nothing more.

“Elwas, I will give you the chance you want. The foreigner can try to rescue my father. I will make him wealthy if he succeeds.”

“You won’t be disappointed, Shining One,” the prostitute’s son promised. “It may take a year but the world will gain its soul back. El Murid will be a golden beacon once more.”

After al-Souki left, Yasmid asked Habibullah, “Is he for real?”

“Totally. And he’s not unique. He just doesn’t mind letting the world know.”

Yasmid looked like she had bitten into something sour.

Habibullah began to frown. Did he wonder what her problem was? Elwas bin Farout al-Souki had offered her a chance to spark new life into the flames of the Faith.

Habibullah was her slave emotionally but he was, as well, one of the oldest of the Believers. He coughed gently to remind her that the One was watching. This might be His mercy at work.

“Call him back.”

Habibullah was not gone long.

Yasmid looked al-Souki in the eyes, hard. He was not accustomed to that from a woman. His gaze dropped. She said, “You have one hundred days to show me real progress. If Phogedatvitsu is a con artist his corpse will join the hundred thousand already fertilizing Sebil el Selib. No more talk. Habibullah, arrange to house and feed those men.”

Giving Habibullah that task was meant to put both men in their place. She felt petty doing so.