Azael hadn't allowed himself to remain tormented by his thoughts for long. Rain had begun to fall harder, but the stable was still burning and thanks to the explosions, the fire had spread to the inn. It was Kahari's horrified gasp that had roused him from his stupor, and at the sight of the blaze, he'd thrown himself into action.

    He'd barely even spared a thought to shield himself before he ran into the inn and began waking all those who remained inside. Those who were able to manage for themselves, he sent out on their own while he remained to look for others.

    There were a few rooms that had already begun to collapse from the fire and that was where he found those with the worst injuries. There had been an elderly man and his wife, and a young mother with two children. Azael had shielded them all and helped them out of the inn, carrying one of the children himself, to where Kahari was waiting to heal them.

    He had to make several trips back inside the burning inn before all of the patrons were out. There had been several that were drunk and too heavily passed out to hear him shouting to them, and he had to break his way into their rooms to drag them out. But by the time the inn began to cave in on itself, everyone was accounted for and had been moved to safety.

    The rest of the village was awake before the sun had poked above the horizon, and most of them were gathered around, watching the dying blaze. Azael stood off by himself, not interested in any more thanks from those he had helped. He didn't want their gratitude. Their praise. It made his stomach twist with guilt.

    He closed his eyes against the morning sunlight and turned his face away, unwanted memories pushing to the surface of his mind. It had once been routine for him and his mother to rise before dawn and watch the sun rise together.

    It was during one of those times when she'd first explained to him why he was called Oriana's Heir, and what it meant to have god-blood. He could still remember the small smile on her face as she brushed her hand over his hair and remarked how the sunlight seemed to be drawn to him. He had been so proud then, as if he'd accomplished some great feat.

    But now, he didn't want it to be drawn to him. He didn't want to be seen. He just wanted to sink into the ground beneath his feet or slip away into nothingness. He wanted the world to stop. He wanted to just...cease. As if he never were.

    Azael glanced over his shoulder as quiet footsteps approached. Kahari had one arm wrapped around herself while the other held her staff. "Vael is finally awake," she said. "There was a woman bringing him some food. I tried to pay her for it, but she refused." Kahari shook her auburn head with a sigh. "These poor people. All of this destruction is because of us, but they don't seem to be holding it against us."

    "A true testament of their character," Azael murmured. "I'll try to do what I can to make amends. After I return to Arcan, I can arrange for supplies to be sent for them to rebuild the inn and stable. I'm afraid it won't make up for the loss of their Innkeeper and the stableboy though."

    Kahari bit her lip, appearing hesitant to reply. Azael gave her a prompting look. "You are going back then?"

    He lowered his gaze once more. "Tissaia and Talarion made it clear they don't want me, and I have to do what I can to try to have Roshan removed from my father's Court and convicted before he has a chance to do anything more."

    The female rested a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You don't believe they would have let their father kill you, do you?"

    "I don't know what I believe anymore. I thought I was starting to figure out what I was supposed to do with my life. Who I was supposed to be. The part Tissaia was going to play. But I've been taken for a fool so many times. How long should I continue to delude myself into thinking that I am what Asterria needs? That I'm what they need?" He jerked his chin towards the people nearby.

    "Azael, how many of those people would not be here right now if you hadn't gone into the inn to help them? Would any of us have made it this far on this journey without you? Have you ever even realized how much Tissaia, Talarion, and Kaius were depending on you?"

    "They didn't," he scoffed. "They didn't want me to come with them in the first place."

    "But you did, and they began to need you, just like you need them."

    Azael swallowed the bitter lump in his throat and blinked back the renewed stinging in his eyes. "She knew she was a ploy against me and my family. She knew it was possible for her father to have had something to do with my mother's death and let me believe it was my fault anyway. She knew all along what he intended to do if we had ever married. But she never told me. I thought we were beginning to open up to each other, but she..." He trailed off, words failing him.

    It was like a rift had opened within his chest and it was tearing his heart in two. One half of it had already forgiven Tissaia, arguing for her innocence because of the life she had lived. The other half drowned him in guilt and self loathing. For being led on. For falling right into Roshan's snare. For trying to forget the warning the Seer had given him.

    Perhaps that was the meaning behind it. Perhaps Tissaia was the one closest to him who would betray him. Perhaps Roshan would have killed him and their son, or worse, wielded their son as a puppet so no one knew it was really him on the throne.

    "She loves you," Kahari's voice cut in. His heart gave a treacherous lurch. "You know she does. Why would she have done anything to let her father hurt you?"

    "Then why wouldn't she tell me?" Azael faced her. "We've been betrothed for centuries."

    "She already gave you the answer to that."

    Tissaia's face flashed through his mind, accompanied by the words she had flung at him. "I was protecting you!"

    "Give yourself some time to think it over," Kahari urged. "I know it can't be easy to try to take in."

    "You have no idea."

    "I'll make sure Vael is fit to travel and see if there are any horses and supplies we can purchase." She turned to go, but something in his gaze had her pause. "You can't really intend to go back to Arcan." He didn't answer. "They need our help, even if they don't want it. We can't just go our separate ways now and leave Kaius a prisoner."

    "What if we follow them and only make things worse?"

    "What if we follow them and make things better?" Kahari countered. "Are you really going to let Tissaia face her father alone after seeing what he did to her?"

    Rage curled in the pit of his stomach and Azael exhaled a slow breath. "They won't thank us for coming after them."

    "I'm not looking for gratitude. I just want to make sure my friend comes back alive. Then she can spend the rest of her life hating me if she chooses." Kahari gave him a pointed look and returned to where she'd left Vael.

    He mulled over her words briefly, then shook his head and began to wander aimlessly, restlessness getting the better of him. He found himself heading back towards the skeletal remains of the stable. The dead boy had already been buried along with the Innkeeper, but the bodies of their horses remained until there were enough men to help dispose of them.

    Azael began to sift through the piles of ash and debris, in search of anything that might still be recoverable. He knew Kaius had lost one of his satchels and whatever had been slung over his shoulder during the fight. If he could find the belongings, he'd send them on with Vael and Kahari. In spite of all that she had said...it didn't matter anymore.

    He shouldn't have come along to begin with, and what would be the point in continuing now? He shifted a larger broken beam out of the way and winced at the memory of burning beams crashing down around Tissaia. The fear that had flooded every inch of him when he emerged from the stable and saw Talarion and Kahari pulling Vael out from under some rubble, but no sign of her.

    And when he'd run into the stable again and found her, unable to stand but still reaching for him with her broken hand... Every part of him had hummed with the instinct to protect her. He had done so last night. He had held her until he knew she was asleep, as he had done before. He had brushed light kisses to her temple, her hair, and spent close to an hour simply watching her before drifting off himself.

    During that hour, he had finally let himself consider what he felt for her, and what it could mean for their future. But they had hurt each other again. He scuffed his boot through another pile of debris and his foot caught the remnants of a leather belt, tugging a tightly wound roll of fabric out from the ashes.

    Azael cocked his head and knelt, carefully shaking more ash away. It was Kaius's cloak, he realized. The male had fashioned it into a makeshift scabbard of some kind. He could feel the shape of a sword within it. Azael peeled back the damp, mud-caked fabric and froze at the glint of a small diamond-shaped ruby.

    It couldn't be. He'd left it in the woods, and how had Kaius found it? How could he have smuggled it all the way here without him noticing? And why? He pulled the sword out of the cloak with a trembling hand. Its light weight was familiar, the delicately woven hilt of gold still warm as though someone had been holding it.

    He shoved to his feet and hurried towards the first area that promised him some semblance of privacy as tears burned against his lashes. Now that he had cried once, it seemed that his body was determined not to stop. Azael ducked into a secluded alley and pressed his back against the wall of a building, sliding down to the ground.

    He rested his head against his knees, sucking in a few deep breaths in an effort to steady himself. "Why bring it back to me now?" He whispered. "What do you want from me?" Why had Drenusha shown him to Kaius in his first vision? Why was he unable to rid himself of Oriana's blessed blade? What purpose could the gods possibly have for him?

    He managed to look at the sword once more. It had slipped from its sheath slightly, allowing him to see the white sheen of the blade itself. Azael swallowed, his mouth running dry. He curved his hand around the hilt. Never once had he actually held the sword. Never once had he unsheathed it. It had never shone for his father, and Mavron's reign had fallen apart because of it. If it didn't shine for him, would his own rule end the same?

    He loosened his grasp, then drew a deep breath and tightened it. He had spent so long asking for answers but never truly seeking them. This would answer one question at least. He would know whether or not he was worthy of being Oriana's Heir. Azael stood, closing his eyes, and pulled the sword free.

    When he opened them, his face was bathed in the golden light that poured from Orilight's blade. His breaths turned rapid and uneven, a torrent of emotions gripping his chest. But there would be time to process them later. He sheathed the sword and secured it at his hip, then sprinted back to where Vael and Kahari remained.