she felt as if her insides were churning. Korbyn was right! She’d been right to trust him! Their deities truly were trapped. Oh, she’d believed it before in her heart, but now . . .
Beside her, Fennik’s ropes were cut, and he fell forward into the salty sand. She knelt by his side. “Fennik? Can you hear me? Are you all right?” She kept her voice low. Backs still turned, the men and women spoke only in hushed murmurs.
Fennik raised his head and crowed, “She was glorious!”
Shushing him, Liyana examined his wrists. The ropes had bitten into his skin. Fresh blood oozed at her touch. “You’ll need bandages until Korbyn can heal you. What did you say to them?”
“Only the truth,” he said. “But that girl—she commands! Did you hear her voice, how they obey? We have no one like her in the Horse Clan. No wonder her clan so reveres her.”
She helped him stand, and she turned to Korbyn. She wanted to ask how soon they could leave. Each day they delayed, Bayla was imprisoned longer. But Korbyn had crossed the circle to speak to Ilia. “We were right to trust him,” Liyana said, “but he needs to start trusting us, too. This should not have happened.”
“He’s a god,” Fennik said. “They aren’t used to needing humans.”
“They need our bodies,” Liyana said. “If he’d share information, we could help. We can do more than get ourselves tied to stakes.” Whatever Korbyn believed, they were not like the injured horses. Perhaps it was sacrilege to think so, but they could be partners . . .
“This was not my fault.”
“Exactly.”
With Korbyn, Ilia crossed to them. “Judgment has been made,” she declared. “You will share our vessel’s fate. May the blessings of the divine Oyri be upon you in your quest.”
Craning his neck, Fennik strained to see the tent that Pia had disappeared into. “Can we speak to the vessel?” He sounded like an eager puppy.
Korbyn leveled a look at Fennik and said to Ilia, “We honor your judgment and thank you for the blessings.”
Ilia clapped her hands. Two men and one woman scurried forward. “Lead them to tents and see to their needs,” she ordered the three servants. To Fennik, she said, “No one may speak to the vessel within our hearing. She is now dead to us.”
“Our quest is urgent,” Liyana said. “If we could—”
“You will accept our hospitality,” Ilia said.
Liyana looked to Korbyn. She didn’t want to waste time with “hospitality.” They still had two more clans to reach—and that was before the true rescue mission could begin. She didn’t know how far they would have to journey for that. “But—” Liyana began.
After tossing a smile at her, Korbyn was escorted away by one of the men, and Fennik by the other. The smile was clearly meant to reassure her, and Liyana tried to feel reassured. She told herself that it was unreasonable to expect to leave instantly. They had to wait until dawn’s light to travel. And the horses had to recover from their ordeal. But still, after seeing the summoning ceremony fail . . .
Silently the woman led Liyana in the opposite direction. Liyana looked back over her shoulder as Korbyn disappeared around the corner of a tent. The Silk Clan had begun to disperse, vanishing into the shadows of the tents as if swallowed. She felt her anxiousness curl up like a creature inside her stomach. At the very least she wished she could have talked to Korbyn. She had many, many questions for him, and god or not, he couldn’t avoid answering them forever.
Opening a tent flap, the woman waited for Liyana. “Thank you,” Liyana said as she entered. Without a word and without meeting her eyes, her escort inclined her head and left Liyana alone.
Inside the tent was a bed of silk. A basin with a thin layer of salt-choked water was in one corner. Layers of cloth lay around it to absorb any stray drops. Liyana washed herself as best she could, and she crawled between the skeins of silk. The silence was absolute, and she lay for a long time waiting for dawn and wishing she could hear Korbyn breathing beside her. Eventually she slept.
At dawn she woke. Her dreams had chased her through the night, images of Pia dancing and of sand wolves attacking. She wondered what Korbyn had dreamed about and if he’d had nightmares without her there to wake him. Sitting up, she noticed that a tray with several pieces of flatbread and a strip of dried goat meat waited for her by the tent flap. There was also a cup of precious, drinkable water.
She drained the cup instantly. Eating the food, she listened for sounds of the camp waking. If she had been with the Goat Clan, she would have heard chickens, goats, and children clamoring to be fed. People would have been shouting morning greetings at one another as they bustled to complete tasks before the sun scorched the air. By contrast, the Silk Clan was disturbingly quiet. Liyana emerged from her tent to find the camp empty.
As she wound her way through the tents, she saw and heard no one. She found the troughs where they’d left the horses—the troughs were dry and the horses were gone. Her heart began to hammer harder. It felt as though everyone had sneaked away in the night. “Hello?” she called. “Is anyone here?”
A child peeked around a tent flap. She had dark, wide eyes and concave cheeks. She was so thin that her shoulder bones poked against her robe.
Liyana waved at her, and the girl gasped and retreated. “Wait, I don’t mean any harm!” Liyana called after her. But the girl was gone.
She saw no one else.
Alone, she crossed the camp.
On the outskirts of camp, she heard voices. She recognized Fennik’s voice and then the melodious cascade of Pia’s voice. A horse stamped its hoof. Picking up her pace, Liyana jogged to the edge of camp.
On the sands, Fennik was coaching Pia on how to mount. Korbyn was with the other horses, securing their saddles. He waved when he saw her. “Good morning, sunshine.”
“Did I oversleep? I didn’t sleep well.” She scanned the area. None of Pia’s people were nearby. Even Ilia and the guards were absent. “Where is everyone?”
“We aren’t enough?” Korbyn asked, mock-hurt.
“The camp feels deserted.”
He lowered his voice and switched to serious. “She declared herself dead. They do not wish to risk hearing her speak.”
“But . . . she leaves to save them. And where are her supplies?” Fennik’s clan had loaded them with supplies, water, and horses. Liyana’s parents had left her the pack, and her brother had braved the wrath of the clan to sneak her the sky serpent knife. But she saw no new supplies from the Silk Clan.
“The dead do not need supplies,” Korbyn said. And then in a merrier voice he said, “Or perhaps I am wrong, and they simply don’t want to watch this.”
Liyana watched Fennik lift Pia into the air. She swung onto the horse with a fluid grace and sat in the saddle. Pia smiled, a look like the gentle wind that swept over the horse and Fennik at once. Fennik smiled back goofily, though he must have known Pia couldn’t see him, and then he laid the reins in her hands as if gifting her with a glorious present. Pia held the reins lightly as if they were an accessory, not a tool.
“Oh my,” Liyana said. “She is going to be a problem.”
“She compensates for her blindness.”
Liyana shook her head. “That’s not the issue, and you know it.” She watched Fennik guide Pia through the basics. Liyana could have used such a lesson. “She’s too used to being the princess. Mark my words. She’ll slow us down.”
Laughing, Pia slid off the side of the horse. Fennik caught her, a bundle of fluttering silk that landed softly in his arms. Clearly, he had forgiven her for having him tied to a stake.
“How soon can we leave?” Liyana asked, her voice still low. Given how ritual-driven these people seemed to be, there had to be an elaborate farewell ceremony, even for the “dead.”
“We can leave now,” Pia said in her clear singsong bird voice.
Liyana winced.
“The princess has excellent hearing,” Korbyn commented.
“But your clan—” Liyana said to her.
“I will see them in the Dreaming.”
