In the light of dawn, the encampment seemed to spread endlessly in all directions. Liyana wondered if this was what the sea looked like—each tent a wave crest, all poised to roll over her beloved desert. She watched Korbyn and Fennik lead the horses down the slope. They slowly picked their way around the rocks and bushes. At the base, they allowed the horses to graze for several minutes before they waded forward into the tall, golden grasses.
Liyana felt as if she were the one exposed out there on the plain. Every muscle felt like a knot, and her heart thudded inside her chest. She watched Korbyn and wished she could see his face. “Keep him safe,” she whispered, though she knew no one would hear her prayer.
The slow speed had been Korbyn’s idea—he’d said it would present them as harmless. Fennik had agreed, and they’d spent the bulk of the night meticulously planning their approach as if it were an elaborate performance. But watching their show was torture.
As they reached the halfway point, a trio of guards cantered toward them. Crisp white, their uniforms reflected the sun. Brimmed hats shielded their faces from the sun and from view. Scarlet scarves covered their necks. “Please,” Liyana whispered, again to no one.
Liyana saw Fennik sweep his arms open to gesture at the horses. She imagined she could hear him say the words that they’d rehearsed last night. The guards didn’t unsheathe their swords—she would have seen the metal flash in the sun—but they were too far away for her to tell if their hands were on their hilts.
“Lovely to see the boys working together, isn’t it?” Raan said behind her.
Liyana jumped. Absorbed in the show on the plains, she hadn’t heard the other girl approach. “I should have insisted on going.”
“You’re needed to babysit me in case I decide to avoid my ‘fate’ by crossing the border.”
The bitterness in Raan’s voice felt like a slap. Liyana didn’t know what to say—Raan wasn’t wrong, though none of them had voiced that concern out loud. Side by side, in silence, they watched the figures of Korbyn, Fennik, and the guards on the plain.
Softly Raan asked, “If I find a way to save the clans
“And save the deities?” Liyana asked.
“I can’t promise that,” Raan said.
“Then I can’t promise either.”
Raan was silent. Escorted by the guards, Korbyn and Fennik led the horses toward the encampment. At last Raan said, “Pia sent me to tell you that we’re low on food.”
Scooting back from the edge, Liyana joined Raan for the trek to the tent. They’d picked a grove of leafless trees about a mile from the hills as their camp. It was mostly obscured from view by the thick tangle of branches. If they huddled inside the tent with all of their supplies, chances were that a patrol on the ridge wouldn’t see them. Or at least that was the hope.
Pia popped out of the tent to greet them.
“You know, it might not have been us,” Raan said. “You should stay in the tent until you’re sure it’s safe.” She squatted next to the tent and took a gulp from her waterskin. “Getting low on water, too.” She waved the waterskin at Liyana.
“You shuffle your toes when you walk,” Pia said. “Liyana lengthens her stride every few steps. I am always careful. If they catch us, it will be because they know where to look.” She scooted inside the tent, again out of view from the hills.
“I can’t summon water like Korbyn,” Liyana said, joining Pia in the tent. Without the boys the tent felt empty, and without the horses the camp felt deserted. She missed the comforting stamp of hooves, and she wished Gray Luck were here. She hadn’t realized how used to the horse’s presence she’d become. “Get ready for lots of tubers.”
“Let me know how I can help,” Raan said as she crawled into the tent. She stretched out and then put her arms behind her head. Both Liyana and Pia sat at the edges. “I know it’s not the same as your special time with Korbyn. . . .”
Liyana felt herself stiffen. “Excuse me?”
Raan waved her hand. “You two. Always swapping stories. Laughing about something. At night you comfort away his nightmares. A person begins to feel like she’s intruding.”
“He is the beloved of my goddess. I don’t like what you’re suggesting.” She’d never said a word about what had happened in the sandstorm, and she was certain that no one else knew. Mostly certain. Her eyes slid to the tent flap. It felt stifling inside the tent.
“You must remember that,” Pia said, her voice as placid as always. “You can’t afford to care too much about anyone or anything. None of us can.”
Propping herself up on her elbow, Raan looked at Pia. “Is that how you do it, how you’re okay with your clan offering you up on a platter for your goddess?”
“This life is ephemeral,” Pia said. “I cannot afford any attachments because they will be severed. My clan knows this.” Folding her hands in her lap, she smiled serenely.
Raan blinked at her. “That is the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“It isn’t true for me,” Liyana said firmly. “I’m very attached to my family.”
“Even though they left you to die?” Raan asked.
She felt the hilt of the sky serpent knife tucked into her sash. Even far away, her family had saved her life multiple times over. “Yes.”
“You’re both crazy,” Raan said.
“Everyone I love will be reunited in the Dreaming,” Liyana said. She thought of Jidali, growing old without her. He would have a lifetime of stories to tell her when they were reunited.
“Except for Korbyn,” Pia said intently.
“Once his vessel dies, he’ll return there as well,” Liyana said. She shouldn’t need to tell Pia that. Everyone knew gods could only exist in the real world while their vessel lived.
“But he’ll be reunited with Bayla, not with you.”
“I know that,” Liyana said.
“Good,” Pia said, her perfect doll face serene. “Remember it.” As Liyana stared at her, Pia fetched her brush and began to pull it through her soft, white hair. She hummed softly as she brushed, clearly done with the conversation, content that she’d made her point.
“I’m going to find water,” Liyana said. She stalked out of the tent.
Only when she was a hundred yards away did she feel her chest begin to loosen.
She focused on her heartbeat, which rattled in her rib cage as if it wanted to escape. With practiced ease, she imagined her lake and pulled out magic, inhaling as she felt the magic fill her. Korbyn had taught her the simplest way to summon water: Draw it into a plant that would naturally draw water, and then extract the moisture by hand. Full of magic, she flowed into the cacti before her. She plunged deep into the earth with its roots. Whispering to it, she coaxed it to suck the water up, up.
Last time she had done this, Korbyn had been beside her. She had laughed with him and shared stories. She thought of how it had felt to dance with him, the warmth of his hands and the nearness of his breath. She remembered the way his eyes had poured into hers as if there were nothing else in the world . . . and how a smile would spring to his face . . . and the way his laugh would cascade out of him . . . But even when his laugh filled her, she always, always knew he belonged with Bayla! Every action she’d taken was designed to unite him and Bayla.
Thinking of him, she let herself flow across the dried grasses and over the hills. She felt the thousands of souls in the empire’s encampment like a distant hum. Which one was Korbyn’s? Was he all right?
Forgetting the cacti, she pushed her awareness into the encampment. Each of the humans felt like candle flames, their souls flickering inside them. A deity would feel . . . more like sparks, as if it were barely contained rather than burning contentedly. She sensed the horses tethered to stakes. If she reached further, then perhaps . . . She stretched the magic thinner and thinner.
