Reiji entered the wide arc entryway into the prayer tower. A semicircular recess was domed over the entire floor. He walked through the short nave paved with coral rocks until he reached the apse at the other end, where the wooden statue of the first Kaharaza—Ozaro—stood. Unlike the image in the throne room that was bare and naked in the painted ceiling, this Ozaro, made of dark acacia, was fully clothed and robed in an elegant karkan.

Reiji paused before the sculpture and placed his right hand over his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. And when he bowed to Ozaro, he whispered a prayer, "Clear skies." It was not a greeting to the Kaharaza, but a request, a wish for the bright future of Daracka.

He stayed with his head low for a moment, knowing that beneath the statue were the ashes of Ozaro, and he hoped that his ancestor heard his prayer.

When Reiji straightened, he looked at the wooden sculpture once more, gazing at the tangled thorn patterns over the chest of the karkan. For a moment, he also prayed to the old kings. Though their images were not in the tower, it was still a part of his religion to include them in thought.

Reiji finished his meditation, releasing a breath and feeling the relief of sharing his worries. He bowed low once more to the statue before he turned to a staircase on the left side under the apse.

The staircase trailed along the cylindrical body of the prayer tower, enclosed by coral rock walls. Sunlight streamed in from its line of windows.

Every ten steps was a landing, a station for prayer. Every landing stood a carved wooden statue of one of the rulers of the modern age—Reiji's bloodline.

For years, he had climbed this tower with wishes and burdens, but none of his past weights were as heavy as now. Heart as sorrowful as now.

When he stopped at the first landing, he bowed to the image of a woman, a Kahani who ruled after Ozaro's reign. He whispered the same prayers and gave the same respects before continuing to climb.

Ten generations of rulers, ten prayers, ten flights of stairs with ten steps each. A small physical sacrifice in exchange for what he was praying for—the salvation of Daracka.

Reiji climbed the last flight to the previous landing, where he would find his father's image. He followed the curve of the staircase until he could see the next dock at the top and found that he was not alone.

The Kahani stood with her back to him, facing the image of the late Kaharaza. Though Reiji's boots echoed over the floor, she didn't turn to him. She was in a trance, focused in prayer, and he stopped to give her a moment. Her red mestiza, more orange than wine, was the only color in the room against the dull walls darkened by time.

When the Kahani finally moved, she looked up and gazed at the face of the statue. With her standing like that, staring up at his father's eyes, a memory flashed in Reiji's mind.

He had been a child when he used to cling to her, to her skirts, and to her hands that now rested on her sides. He used to call her mama. He used to let her take care of the world for him. And now the urge to let her do so again came. To cling to her and let her run his world. To hide behind her skirts like a frightened little child. But he clenched his jaw and swallowed that urge; he wouldn't allow himself to do it. He would not let her take the burden, his freedom, and his life.

Reiji stepped beside the Kahani, and like her, he stood before the late Kaharaza's statue. Keeping his face forward, he only watched her from the sides of his eyes.

He still wished that the Ghost had mistaken. He still doubted that the Kahani was the one trying to kill him. Looking at her now filled his heart with sorrow instead of anger. All those years, she had taken care of him. All those times, she had fought for him. Why would the Kahani want him dead?

"I miss him every day," the Kahani spoke first. Her pinned hair revealed the length of her neck, the cascade of a strong temple. And underneath the dark waves, brilliant pearls dangled from each ear.

"I miss him, too." Reiji returned her sentiment. He hadn't said his prayer on this station. Instead, he looked forward behind the statue where the staircase ended, closed off by a rail. Someday, it would be extended—ten steps constructed—and the last landing would be his.

"I was arranged to marry him, you know," the Kahani said. "Even though his heart belonged to another." There was bitterness in her voice. "I was so young then. I never dreamed of becoming the Kahani."

"Do you regret it?" Reiji asked.

"No." The answer was immediate. "I will never regret it, and I will never regret him."

"Did you love him?" Reiji didn't know why he asked such a question when the answer was evident in the Kahani's blue-gray eyes.

She paused for a long while. "Eventually, I did." There was no lie in her voice when she spoke. "I did love him, and I still do."

"How often do you come to pray?" Reiji hadn't come here in months. He thought of his father often, but he hadn't come until today.

"As often as I can," she answered. She then turned to Reiji, angling herself to him. "You remind me so much of your father."

Reiji didn't speak, but he turned to watch her as her face grew grim. And he saw so much sorrow in her eyes.

"When you were born, he gained and lost a part of his heart. But he was very proud to have a son." A sad smile formed on her lips.

Reiji only nodded. They stayed there, watching each other for a time, and when he said nothing more, the Kahani dipped her head. It was a rare gesture from her. She never bowed to anyone—not to Reiji. She was the queen regent of Daracka, but perhaps in front of the late Kaharaza, even if it was only a statue, she wanted to show his son the respect she should have given him all this time.

"I will leave you to pray," she said and paused, then looked up at his face. "My son."

She then turned to leave, and the urge came to him again. The wanting to run to her and tell her everything. To make her say to him that the message was a lie, that she was not trying to kill him. To let her take care of him so he could be a child again. But he gritted his teeth and listened as her footsteps faded down the stairs.

.