Vessel

Liyana shrank back from it. How do I get rid of it? She circled around the spiderlike lump and saw that little tentacles stretched over the whole surface of the intestines. Minuscule bits circulated in her bloodstream.

It is not in its nature to vanish, Bayla said. Magic can only encourage what nature allows. I am deeply sorry, Liyana.

But there must be something! She’s your clan! First, Pia and Fennik. Then Raan. And now Aunt Sabisa. What was the point of having deities and knowing magic if you were still helpless when it mattered? For a moment, that question filled Liyana, and she couldn’t breathe.

We might be able to slow its growth, Bayla said, her voice gentle in Liyana’s head, but we’ll have to repeat the treatment daily. It is an expenditure of time and effort we can ill afford now.

Aunt Sabisa kissed her on the forehead. “It is good to know. You know how I like to plan ahead. Your mother has laid out appropriate clothes for you. You’d do best to wear them.”

“Aunt Sabisa . . .” She hadn’t said anything!

“Goddess or not, I know my Liyana. Your eyes give you away every time. You care too much, my dear. And now you shoulder the weight of the world.” She shook her head. “Bayla, take care of our girl. She is a gift to all of us.”

Before Liyana could think what to say, Aunt Sabisa swept out of the tent.

Remarkable woman, Bayla said.

Liyana did not reply. Feeling numb, she dressed in the clothes that Mother had left: a paneled skirt and an embroidered blouse. She had the blouse halfway over her head when she realized that these were Mother’s wedding clothes, the finest she owned. Gingerly she removed her arms from the sleeves. She laid the blouse back on the blanket and looked for her own clothes.

“Put it on,” Mother said from the front of the tent.

Liyana jumped and scooped up the blouse. “But I’ll ruin them. These aren’t for travel.”

“You may change before you mount. But today, as they prepare to leave, to fight, even to die, the clan will see you as they should. They need that.”

Your mother is wise, Bayla said. You would be wise to heed her.

Liyana put on the blouse. Mother arranged her hair so that it fell around her in waves. “No braids, I think. We’ll let them see your full glory. You are not a child anymore, and they must realize that if you are to lead us to battle.”

“Me? But Korbyn—”

“The trickster is not ours, and he must return to his own clan to lead them.”

She hadn’t thought about that, but Mother was right. He’d delivered her to her clan, and he had to gather his. She felt cold at the thought of proceeding without Korbyn. “But . . .”

“Bayla, speak to her,” Mother said.

You must be as a goddess, Bayla said. The clan must see me in you.

Whatever reaction Liyana showed in her face must have been enough to satisfy Mother. Mother nodded and said, “Eat the flatbread and then walk the camp. Do not pack. Do not dirty your hands or your dress. Approve or disapprove of what you see. But be seen.”

Mother left. Liyana helped herself to the flatbread that cooled by the fire. It was Aunt Andra’s recipe with roasted dates. Each bite melted in her mouth and triggered a hundred memories of birthdays and anniversaries and other celebrations for which Aunt Andra had made her special bread. Liyana savored the flatbread, but it sat as a lump in her stomach.

I will help you, Bayla said. Her swirling thoughts wrapped around Liyana like a blanket. With the goddess whispering to her, Liyana walked out of the tent to face her clan.

Bayla coached her, and on behalf of the goddess Liyana greeted men, women, and children whom she had known for her entire life. As Bayla fed her words, Liyana added her knowledge of each person. Eventually the starry-eyed looks of her people drove her back to her family tent. She found Korbyn and Maara there.

Maara was deep in a trance.

“She’s contacting other clans with deities,” Korbyn said. “I have asked your chief to send out runners to nearby clans without deities. Word is spreading.”

“What about your clan?” Liyana asked.

“After the midday sun has passed, I’ll leave,” he said.

Liyana felt a pang, but she nodded. She had no right to ask him to stay. “You’ll rejoin us?”

“That is the point,” Korbyn said, not unkindly.

She searched for something else to say. “Do you need help?”

“With my own clan? They’ll be intrigued by the idea of the clans stopping a massive army.” His tone was light, but she thought he looked worried.

“You don’t think we can do it?” Liyana asked. She had been so caught up with Bayla and then Raan and then her clan. . . . She hadn’t stopped to think about the impossibility of their efforts. Even with the united strength of all the clans, the empire’s army would still vastly outnumber them.

He hesitated before he answered. “I think we will need to be tricky.”

The empire does not have deities, Bayla said. We will even the numbers.

“If they were to attack with full strength . . . it would be ten to one, not in our favor,” Korbyn said. “We have to hope that they will not. If they underestimate us, we may have a chance.” He did not sound certain.

Liyana paced through the tent. She touched the tarp walls, walked between her family’s sleeping rolls, and picked up and then put down her father’s favorite teapot. Being here didn’t reassure her. She’d thought it would have. But soon all of this would be packed, and they would be on their way to face terrible odds. She thought of Pia and wondered if she was right about how ephemeral they all were.

“Done,” Maara said, opening her eyes. “It is time for me to rejoin my own clan.” She stood and stretched. “I will see you soon, Bayla. And Liyana.”

Liyana nodded.

Without any further discussion or any emotional farewell, Maara left the tent, and Korbyn and Liyana were alone. Or nearly alone.

“I have never liked good-byes,” Korbyn said. He leaned forward, and Liyana quickly turned her head. His lips brushed her cheek. She couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes. Her chest felt tight, and it was hard to breathe. “Take care of each other,” he said.

Liyana nodded again.

She listened as Korbyn left the tent. Outside were the sounds of the clan packing the tents and preparing the goats for travel. Orders were shouted, and people whistled and laughed and chattered as if this were a trip to the fair.

He is mine, Bayla reminded her. This body may be yours. But Korbyn is mine.

Chapter Twenty-Eight The Emperor

The emperor drank water from his canteen as he surveyed the array of clan tents. He didn’t taste the water. The view was as bad as his scouts had reported. At least thirty clans had staked out sites, with more joining them every day.

He had marched his army across this wasteland without seeing one desert person. But here, a short march away from the mountains, he found them waiting for him, blocking his way to the mountains. He had no doubt that if he tried to bypass them, they would adjust accordingly. Their presence here was not an unfortunate coincidence.