intent on her response.
“Once, the raven and the horse had a race. . . .” She told him the story of Korbyn and Sendar, and how Korbyn had bent the desert in the Dreaming in order to win. “The Dreaming is a place of pure magic.”
He nodded as if the story had pleased him. “And the lake is made of that same magic, spilling into our world through the rift made by the star. Your magicians and your deities draw their power from that lake.”
“I . . . I have heard that magicians imagine a lake to symbolize the source of magic.” She didn’t want to admit that she had done so herself in defiance of tradition. “But I don’t believe that it exists.” She had simply imagined it. Korbyn hadn’t even described it. Certainly not the granite cliffs or the pebble shore . . . “Stories are sometimes just stories.”
“Nothing is ‘just’ a story,” the emperor said. He reminded her of an ember, quietly burning but with the potential inside to explode into a wildfire that would chase across the grasslands and destroy all life. “The lake is real.”
“I don’t believe—”
“There is a man, one of my soldiers, who has seen it. But the lake is guarded by glass sky serpents.” He pulled Jidali’s knife out of a pocket in his silk robes. “Your people know about the sky serpents. Tell me what you know. Tell me how to defeat them!”
“I know of no one who has defeated them,” Liyana said. “And the sky serpents guard the mountains, not a lake.”
“Tell me of the sky serpents and the mountains.”
“Once, the sky serpents preyed on the people of the desert. Arrows could not pierce their scales. Swords could not slice their skin. The serpents attacked men, women, and children, and they left death in their wake. Seeing the destruction and fearing for their clans, the gods bargained with the sky serpents. The sky serpents would not harm any of the desert people, and in return no human would ever set foot in the mountains—”
He leaned forward, his hands clasped in front of him, his face alive with excitement. “You have never wondered what lies within those mountains? If there are peaks, there must be valleys! And if there are valleys . . . one of them could hold the lake.”
“We call them the forbidden mountains for a reason. Break the promise with the sky serpents, and they’ll attack. That knife . . . My ancestor didn’t defeat a sky serpent. No one ever has!”
“No one has ever directed an army such as this to the task.” The emperor spread his arms to indicate the whole encampment.
“You can’t! You’ll be killed! And the sky serpents will turn on all of us!” There would be no defense. Her people would be slaughtered.
“We have no choice but to try. My people are dying. We need the magic of the lake so that we can survive.” He clasped her hands. She’d expected his hands to feel as cool as gold, but his hands were warm as they enveloped hers. “I cannot allow my people to die. You of all people should understand that, vessel of the Goat Clan.”
She stared at their hands, entwined. The crazy thing was that she
Releasing her hands, he withdrew. “Let me tell you a story of my people. Once, there were only gods on our world, and each of them was an artist. The sculptor shaped the dirt to create the mountains, valleys, and plains. The weaver wove roots under the ground and grew the plants, trees, and flowers. The singer created the birds. The dancer created the animals. And the painter filled the world with light and shadow. When the gods finished, they looked at the world and said to one another, ‘But there is no one to enjoy this beauty.’ And so they worked together—sculptor, weaver, singer, dancer, painter—to create people to live in their world. When they finished, they were pleased. They said to one another, ‘Let us find a new world to fill,’ and so they departed, leaving us this world to enjoy.”
He fell silent as the servants filed into the tent and filled two chalices with water that smelled like fruit. The emperor waved them away from the untouched food. Bowing, they exited.
Liyana tried to imagine such horrible emptiness. Facing the world knowing that you were alone . . . “Your gods left you?”
“They left us the gift of a world,” he corrected.
“But that’s not enough,” Liyana said. “You can’t fix a drought alone.”
“With the magic of the lake, I believe we can.”
Liyana could only stare at the emperor, this handsome boy-king filled with such light in the glory of his impossible dream. “People will die,” she said flatly. “Yours. Mine. The clans will never allow you to violate the peace of the forbidden mountains.”
He took her hands again. “That is why I need your help.”
“Me?” Her voice squeaked.
“Once we cross the desert border, we will begin to encounter the clans,” the emperor said. “Someone must explain our cause to them—prevent misunderstandings and encourage cooperation. You have met Mulaf. He is ill suited to such a task. But you, a vessel, one of the desert’s own precious jewels . . .”
“I . . .” She pulled her hands away from his.
“Think on it tonight,” the emperor said. “I will not force a free woman of the desert. But through your words and actions, you could save many lives.” He handed her a chalice of fruit-water. “Drink. Eat. You may answer me in the morning. We will speak of it no more now.”
She took the chalice.
Liyana’s dreams that night were filled with armies and sky serpents and an emperor with shining eyes who toasted her health with a gold chalice. She woke before dawn and discovered that her water pitcher had been refilled, and that a sapphire-blue robe, the same style as the emperor’s, had been left for her. She hesitated—her ceremonial dress was creased, but she did not want to lose it. On the other hand, she did not want to offend. Hoping her clan would forgive her, she dressed in the robe. The fine fabric felt like a whisper on her skin, but she felt as if she wore a nightshirt.
She noticed a strip of gold silk that had fluttered to the floor. She retrieved it and tied it in the desert style, like a sash around her waist. She wondered if it had been the emperor who had ordered a sash to be provided or if the magician had shown her this kindness. She found herself hoping it was the emperor.
Sitting on her thin cot, she held the sky serpent knife in her hand. Last night, between sharing stories and eating the meats and breads and rich, pungent soups, the emperor had given her back her brother’s knife.
It would have been far easier to hate him if he hadn’t done that.
She thought of his black eyes, so intense and so sincere. She couldn’t hate him. But she couldn’t help him either. He was chasing the moon, and he would never succeed. He’d only end up causing the deaths of his people and hers.
Tucking the knife into her sash, Liyana rose. She didn’t know for certain that the guards would let her leave the tent. She was a “visiting dignitary,” but that could be a polite way to say “foreign prisoner.” It was time to test this freedom that Mulaf claimed she had and find Korbyn and the others. She opened the tent flap.
“All the talk is of the desert princess who dines with the emperor,” a voice said behind her. “I knew it was you.”
She spun around, and the flap fell shut behind her. Lounging in the shadows was the trickster god. He wore a soldier’s uniform, and he was smiling at her. “Korbyn?”
In three strides he crossed to her. He wrapped his arms around her waist, scooped her into the air, and swung her in a half circle. “You are as infuriating, stubborn, and single-minded as a goat,” he whispered in her ear. “You were supposed to stay safe!” He set her down. As she opened her mouth to protest that comparison, he kissed her.
Her eyes flew wide as his lips pressed against hers. His hands cradled her back, and hers wrapped around his neck. She felt as if the outside world had faded away, and the universe had shrunk to just her and Korbyn.
And then it was over.
He pulled away. “I . . . Liyana . . .”
“Please, don’t,” she whispered, aware of the guards on the other side of the tent flap. She didn’t want to hear
