Safira walked slowly behind the richly ornamented sarcophagus that sparkled in the sun. Her brother’s body was not in it. It would be prepared for the afterlife for another year in the care of the physicians.

The sarcophagus was carried on the shoulders of royal servants dressed in fine gold ornaments and linens. In front of them walked two rows of thirty mourners. Their wails carried through the air.

In front of them walked the royal prophets with their tall staffs. For once, their voices did not cry out to announce the coming of royalty.

The procession walked through the green palace gardens full of fountains, trees, flowers and white marble and gold. The streams of water and polished gold leaf sparkled and shone.

Servants shielded her face from the sun with large fans made of colorful feathers. It was only mid-morning and the sun was already hot against Safira’s skin where it touched at her heels. She wore her face uncovered so all may see the tears of her grieving. She didn’t feel like it, but it was expected of her.

She wore a richly ornamented headdress, a broach necklace made of linked plates of silver, and a brilliantly white sheath dress. Her light golden hair had been glued stiff so it laid down to her shoulders in the shape of a bell.

The procession was long and stretched all the way back to the palace behind her. Her mother and father walked at her sides. Many more relatives and officials of the city followed.

The palace gates opened before them and immediately the people of the city began to wail. Guards were already posted along the road on either side. As they walked through the gate, guards fell in beside the royal family and officials.

She let her tears go. They ran down her face and dripped to the ground. Just in case, tears were painted on her face in black to resemble tears she could no longer shed.

The sounds of people wailing was a cacophony of noise around her.

For an hour they walked through the city, then out past the walls and into the desert. Her brother’s throne for the afterlife was far from complete in the Halls of Ohuros. Someday, she would see him again.

The procession walked along a white marble road to a building in the desert sands. Green trees were around it. White pillars capped with gold stood along the path with linen strung between them to give shade.

This path led to a hall with a ceiling just as tall as the pillars outside. Wide steps led down into the bowels of the earth. Torches lit the darkness.

The long rites of passage were completed in half-darkness. It was evening before the procession made its long walk back to the palace.

***

Safira changed, then proceeded to her throne room adjacent to her father’s. She would accept only the most pressing business if there was any.

Eight servants were waiting with bowed heads as she took her seat on her throne.

“Tell me, which of you has the most pressing news?”

One of the servants stepped forward and kneeled without looking up. “Princess, the sword Adhiam has been found.”

She sat forward. “How?

“A traveling swordsman had it in his possession, however, he did not have the sheath. He was found trying to enter the city yesterday evening. The sword has been secured, but not before a guardsman clutched it in his hands and its curse killed him. Even now it is still in his frozen hands.”

Her heart pounded in her chest. “Do the people know?”

“We kept the sword and the body under a tarp, but the chill couldn’t be contained. The cart that took it to the armory passed by many commoners. I’m afraid rumors have already spread that the masked swordsman has been finally killed, and many others.”

“Where is the swordsman?”

“Waiting in the palace jails princess. He’s been there for most of the day. Shall I send for him?”

“No,” she felt her anger burn against the man, even if he wasn’t the swordsman who killed her brother. “He can wait. How did he not fall to the curse?”

“He is under an equally powerful curse. He carried a sword with him that burns like the sun. No one has attempted to draw its blade for fear of it. He also bears wounds like those the captains suffered before they died at the hands of Zaim.”

She sat back in her throne. This could mean that the swordsman proved greater than Zaim. He wielded a sword like the sun and bore wounds like the ones that had killed her city’s captains.

The words of prophecy painted on the stone on the pillars of the room caught her eye. With growing dread she read the painted scenes.

Nine stars crowning the head of Akhumet fall

From the east comes a man

He bears a sword like the sun

And a sword of stars

He comes to the city

In ten days it is ruined by flame from the night sky