Vessel

“I’m not Bayla. I’m Liyana.” Opening her eyes, she saw his face close to hers. He was bent over her, and behind him she saw a white-clad guard. Quickly she shut her eyes again.

She wasn’t quick enough. The guard pulled Korbyn away from her. “Speak your name,” he ordered. She felt hard coldness on the hollow of her throat.

She opened her eyes again. A sword tip touched her throat. “Liyana,” she croaked. She pressed her back against the table as if she could sink away from the blade.

The guard raised the sword . . . and then returned it to his scabbard. Scowling at her, he grunted. “The emperor wished her to return.”

Korbyn shielded her. “She isn’t well enough to move—”

“Carry her,” the guard said.

“I can walk,” Liyana said. She pushed herself up to sitting—and the wind slammed through her again. She collapsed backward as the world snapped into darkness. This time it felt much worse. Instead of merely Bayla’s soul, she felt the magic of the lake flood into her, and she instantly expanded to feel the tent, the sand, the camp, the plains, the desert, as if she were them and they were her. . . .

No! she cried. She focused on her body, rejecting the magic and huddling within the confines of her skin. I can’t let you hurt Korbyn. Or endanger my friends.

Bayla’s voice increased to a howl. I was tricked and trapped and—

And you will be free! Liyana promised. But you must let me help first! You don’t know the situation—

Wind and sand battered her insides. She felt as if her blood were churning in her veins. I am your goddess, Bayla said. You belong to me!

I am a free woman of the desert, and I belong to no one, Liyana said. I will give you this body of my own free will as soon as it’s safe to do so.

Inside, the storm quieted. She felt the goddess’s presence inside like a swirl of wind, stirring the sand in all directions, but she was not raging. You will then leave if I cooperate? Bayla asked.

Of course! You are my goddess! Liyana said.

She felt warmth circle inside her, and there was silence, blissful silence. Her chest loosened, and she inhaled and opened her eyes. She was in a medical tent. She remembered that Korbyn had mentioned he’d found an unused medical tent. Korbyn peered down at her. So did the emperor’s guard and three people with blue facecloths.

“Liyana?” It was Pia’s voice. She was one of the people in blue. “You—”

The person next to her squeezed Pia’s shoulder, and Pia cut off what she was about to say. “It is a good thing that she is Liyana.” It was Raan. “Otherwise she’d be dead from our friend here, per the emperor’s orders.” Raan fixed her eyes on Liyana—the only part of her visible—clearly delivering a hint.

“I am Liyana.”

For now, Bayla said within her.

She let Korbyn and the other assistant—Fennik, she guessed—help her from the table onto the stretcher. As they hefted her up, Pia and Raan flanked her, keeping the stretcher steady. The guard led them out of the tent. With their footsteps masking her voice, Liyana whispered to Pia and Raan, “The deities are trapped in diamond statues in the emperor’s tent. We can free them with the sky serpent knife.”

“But . . . it failed,” Pia said. “You’re here.”

“Bayla’s here too, inside me,” Liyana said. “I don’t know why I’m not gone.”

Raan’s eyes were wide. “You didn’t die.” She began to tremble. “We . . . we don’t have to die?”

Before Liyana could respond, their guard hefted a corner of the stretcher, picking up their pace and ending the opportunity for conversation. As she was carried through camp, she tried to think of what she’d say to the emperor. She wondered what he’d think of what had happened, if he knew what she’d done. He must know, she thought. Otherwise the guard would not have been ready with his sword.

Who must know what? Bayla asked.

The emperor of the Crescent Empire, Liyana said. She pictured the emperor ordering her death—Bayla’s death—and then she thought of him telling the story of his parents, trying so hard to hide his pain. She wanted to tell him that she was still alive, though she didn’t know why it mattered to her that he knew. Perhaps because he’d treated her honorably? Or because he’d listened to her stories and shared his?

Liyana felt a burst of surprise—not her own emotion. It felt like bubbles in her abdomen. This is not the desert? Bayla asked. I was taken from the desert? Who would dare?

Gleaming in the sun, the emperor’s golden tent rose before them. Lying on the stretcher, Liyana saw the banner of the crescent sun as the guards escorted them inside. Korbyn and Fennik lowered her stretcher onto the floor. Liyana sat up. She steadied herself with both hands on the floor, then rose to her feet. “Your Imperial Majesty—” she began.

The man behind the desk was not the emperor. A statue in each hand, Mulaf the magician froze as he stared at her. “Bayla,” he breathed. She saw crates around him lined with velvet. Several of the statues were already nestled in the crates. One crate was sealed shut.

Liyana shook her head. “Still Liyana.”

“But . . . the broken statue.”

“It failed. Where is the emperor?” Liyana asked.

You lied to him, Bayla said. Liyana felt her outrage like an ember of fire in her fist. Vessels should be pure of heart and mind—

I believe he is the one who trapped you, Liyana said.

Fury flamed inside her so fast and hot that she gasped in air. As she swayed, Korbyn grabbed her shoulders. He steadied her. His hands felt warm through the fabric of the robe.

“So now you understand that you are free,” Mulaf said. He placed the statues back on the shelf, and he scurried to Liyana’s side. He clasped her hands to his heart. “You will be an example to the others. They will flock to your side!” He kissed her hands. “This is a wonderful moment.”

Liyana felt Bayla raging inside her, and she managed a weak smile.

I want him to suffer! Bayla howled.

Can you use magic against him? Liyana asked.

You control the body so you control the magic . . . but perhaps I can feed you the power. In an instant Bayla was gone, and then she returned with a roar that filled Liyana’s ears. Mulaf was speaking, but Liyana couldn’t hear the words. She watched his mouth move as a flood of magic flowed into her. Her soul stretched to encompass Mulaf—but she was still not in a trance. According to Korbyn’s lessons, all magicians and deities had to be in a trance to access magic, but with Bayla feeding her power, Liyana remained alert and aware. Awed by this, she experimented with a step forward. She could walk, and the magic stayed stretched around Mulaf.

Kill, Bayla said.

Liyana smiled at the magician. “Sleep.”

He toppled over.

She reached further with the magic, and the guard slumped to the ground. Liyana had expected a wave of exhaustion when she finished. But it didn’t come. Yanking the sky serpent blade out of her sash, she ran to the statues. She found the silk worm, shattered it, and thrust the pieces to Pia, who clutched them to her heart.

Entering a trance, Korbyn chanted Pia’s words, softly so the guards outside would not hear. Pia began to dance. “Mine next,” Fennik said.

Liyana scanned the shelves for the horse statue. . . . She didn’t see it. She searched the open crates. No horse. Beside her, Fennik yanked off the cover of the sealed crate. The metal nails bent and screeched. He pawed through it and then held the horse statue aloft.

She severed its head.

“Liyana . . . thank you.” Fennik cradled the pieces. “I cannot express—”

“Then don’t,” Liyana said. “Just dance.”

He pulled down his facecloth, smiled broadly, and then kissed her cheek. With a wink he replaced the facecloth.

As Korbyn chanted the words for Sendar, Fennik joined Pia in the dance, leaping and twirling. Silent,