Rahsia scrabbles at the last of her dreams. She’s built her life around a lie. Now that it has all been taken away, she has nothing. Everything she’s been doing in between has been waiting. Waiting for her destiny. Now she has no career, no prospects, no training that would be useful for anything. What use is knowing how to shield her mind to prospective employers? How useful is unravelling a dream to anyone but a priest or a Secretkeeper? What in Trikingdom can she earn by knowing how to skim thoughts or how to tell lies from truth? How could Nek have done this to her?
But it hadn’t been her fault. Nek couldn’t have known, could she? Foretelling was for priests. Nek had always insisted on that. But she’d also told Rahsia many times that she would be the one to take over. Not her mother. Not anyone else. If she’d known, she wouldn’t have— she would—
Nek hadn’t known. It’s a flimsy kind of comfort, but the only one she can find, at least until Iman wakes up. Maybe Iman will be able to tell her more. Tell her something comforting.
“What’s your end goal?” Rahsia finds herself asking.
“A priest doesn’t hang around and give advice for no reason, especially one from Suci. What are you trying to do?”
Father Farouk stretches open his hands as if trying to indicate he has come with wide open arms. Rahsia doesn’t believe it.
“Like I said yesterday, you’re important. I don’t know exactly how yet, but you are. And if you’re important, I need you to know everything you should be knowing and doing everything you should be doing,” he says.
“How do you know I’m important?”
He taps his head then points upwards.
He sighs. “I guess you can call it that. No, it’s not really a vision. A vision would tell me clearly what’s going to happen and most likely when. This is more like a … well, a knowing.”
“It’s hard to explain.”
“Don’t injure yourself trying.”
“Anyway, no change to our dear patient. And I’m sure you’re worn out. I will see you tomorrow.”