Vessel

thought she should be able to tell—divinity should beam out of his eyes. But he seemed human. “Truly? You are the Korbyn?”

Instead of answering, Korbyn laid one hand on the charred sticks, goat dung, and dried palm leaves from her last fire. He concentrated for a moment, with the same blank expression she’d seen on Talu’s face when she was in a trance. Flames burst to life. He grinned at her as the fire licked his fingers. Smoke curled up.

She smelled a hint of burning skin. Korbyn’s face contorted as if he were confused. Liyana lunged forward and shoved his hand off the fire. She smothered the flames on his palm with her sleeves. Once she was sure the fire was out, she released him.

He raised his hand and looked at the red, puckered skin. Blisters ran up and down his palm. “That hurts,” he said, wonder in his voice.

Quickly Liyana grabbed the bucket and plunged his hand into it. “Keep it in there. I have aloe and bandages.” She dove into her tent and then emerged with her supply pack.

“My attempt to impress you has failed,” Korbyn noted.

Liyana lifted his hand out of the water. “We have to try to keep it clean.” She squeezed the aloe leaf, and the precious white sap smeared onto his palm. Moving quickly, she wrapped white cloth bandage around his hand. “You have a high tolerance for pain.”

“It’s a novelty,” he said. “I haven’t felt pain for a century.”

She knotted the bandage and then rocked back on her heels. She had no doubt about his identity now. No human would lack the instinct to yank his hand away from a fire.

He flexed his fingers. “Thank you. That was kind of you.” He then looked at the bucket and grimaced. “We may want new water for the tea.”

“Boiling fixes nearly any impurity.” She dug the one small pot out of her pack, and she poured water in the pot and then set it over the fire. “You’re in a vessel?” She was proud that her voice sounded so calm.

“I was summoned five nights ago, and I set out to find you.”

“Me? But . . .” All calmness fled, and her voice squeaked. “Your clan! Your clan needs you!”

“All the clans need me,” he said. “And I need you.”

She understood the words he was saying, but the order of them made no sense. “You left your clan to find me?”

“Deities are missing. Five in total. They were summoned from the Dreaming, but their souls never filled their clans’ vessels.”

Liyana felt as if she had been dropped back inside the sandstorm. “Bayla . . .”

“I believe their souls were stolen. And I intend for us to steal them back.”

Chapter Six The Emperor

In the predawn, the emperor walked through the dead garden. Orange trees had once filled this place with a fragrance so heavy that it thickened the air. Now the trees were bare, and the branches looked like bones. A gardener had meticulously combed the dry, dusty earth, trying to create beauty from death. The emperor knelt next to an empty flower bed and ran his fingers over the spirals and swirls. He scooped up a handful of dirt. His people hadn’t given up. Neither could he, no matter how impossible it seemed and no matter what his court said.

He heard them, even when they whispered, even when they didn’t speak. He’s too young. Barely a man. Their eyes accused him from every corner of the palace. His father had not been able to break the Great Drought, and he had been the finest emperor ever to grace the throne of the Crescent Empire. And now it was whispered that his son had a mad plan. . . .

He had dreamed of the lake again last night. He had walked through a valley framed by sheer, granite cliffs. Green had overflowed all around him. He had halted at the pebble shore of the lake. It had been a perfect oval, and the crystal blue water had been still. He had tossed a pebble into the water, and the smooth, glassy surface had broken into a million diamonds, each reflecting the sky.

Heels clicked on the marble stones that wound through the garden. The emperor let the dirt fall through his fingertips, and then he rose and turned to greet the guard. “Yes?”

The guard snapped his heels together and bowed. “Your Imperial Majesty. The court is assembled and awaits your decision.”

Inwardly the emperor sighed. He wished he could tell the court to wait another hour, another day, another year. But he didn’t have the luxury of emotions like that. The face he presented to the guard was as serene as the lake from his dreams. “Then I shall join them.”

The guard bowed again.

Wiping the garden dirt off his hands, the emperor straightened his robes. “The gardener who tends this garden . . . See to it that his family receives extra water rations this month.”

The guard’s eyes widened ever so slightly, and the emperor had to suppress a smile. But he didn’t explain himself, and the guard had had enough training not to ask any questions. Leaving the guard behind, the emperor strode out of the garden and into the palace.

The palace of the emperor of the Crescent Empire had marble pillars from the northern mountains and walls inlaid with mother-of-pearl shells from the western sea. Silk cascaded from the ceiling to mimic the wind, and the symbol of the empire— a crescent sun from a lucky eclipse—decorated everything from the exquisite chairs to the ornate mirrors to the jade vases that perched on blue glass pedestals. All in all, the emperor preferred the dead beauty of the garden. At least it didn’t lie to him and claim that all was well.

Guards flanked him as he approached the massive double doors of the court. He nodded at them, and they threw open the doors before him. He didn’t pause as he strode inside. All the men and women of the court— chancellors, judges, musicians, generals, princes, and princesses—ceased conversation and scurried to line the central corridor that led to the dais. Each bowed as he passed.

He climbed the marble steps to the throne. He’d composed a speech, filled it with arguments and eloquence. But looking out over his court, he felt tired. “Our salvation lies in the desert. I will lead the army across the border, and we will claim the sands and all the magic within,” he said. “In my absence . . . try not to do anything stupid.”

Chapter Seven

Korbyn peered into the pot. “It’s boiling. Tea leaves?”

Mechanically Liyana fetched a wad of leaves from her pack. Trust Mother to think to pack tea leaves. Korbyn dropped them into the boiling water. She watched him use a stick to stir. “Bayla . . . She didn’t . . .” Liyana licked her lips, swallowed, and finished in a rush. “I’m not unworthy?” Waiting for an answer, she didn’t breathe.

He patted her knee. “You’re lovely.”

Air whooshed out of her lungs.

Korbyn frowned at her. “Your breathing is rapid. Are you well?”

She placed her hands on her knees and hung her head between them. Bayla hadn’t rejected her! Or Jidali. Or Talu. Or her parents . . . Gulping air, she steadied herself. Her head quit spinning after a moment. When she looked up, Korbyn was pawing through her supply pack. “Cups?” he asked. “To drink the tea?” He abandoned his search before she could frame a reply. “Eh, no matter. Once it cools, we can sip directly from the pot.” A grin lit up his face as he said, “I am having all sorts of new experiences this time around.”

She thought of the string of delicacies that her clan had prepared for Bayla’s arrival—fried goat cheese, sugared date pastries, sun-baked tubers with spices, and the finest array of meats from the clan’s best-fed goats. “You should have been greeted with a feast and dancing.”

He waved her words away. “Once we have succeeded, the desert will celebrate.” Raising the pot to his lips, he took a sip. He winced and coughed. “Delicious!” He coughed again and then spit over his shoulder. Flashing her