zigzagged down the slope toward the base of the valley. At the bottom, she let the horse graze on the soft grass until Jarlath and their guard joined them. “Watch for the sky serpents,” she ordered. They hadn’t attacked anyone since their return from across the desert. With the lake gone, their purpose had ended. The sky serpents had no need to guard the mountains anymore. But no one had forgotten the damage they could do. Her father had lost a hand, sliced by one of their scales. Many, unbearably many, had lost their lives, including the Silk Clan’s magician Ilia and the chief of the Horse Clan. Countless soldiers and desert people had been injured before she had swept away the sky serpents.
A few of the soldiers on their horses began to press forward through the green toward the lake. Liyana held up her hand. “I wish to proceed alone,” she said.
They halted. “Yes, Empress.”
She slid off her horse and handed the reins to one of the warriors. Jarlath dismounted and crossed to her. He looked as handsome as he had on the day that she had first met him, but his face was no longer unreadable stone, at least not to her. “Whatever you find,” he said, “know this.”
She waited for him to continue.
But instead of speaking, he gathered her in his arms and kissed her. It felt as soft as summer rain. She let it wash away every worry, every fear, and every thought.
He released her, and neither spoke. Alone, she walked through the blankets of white and blue flowers, around the bushes covered in butterflies, and under trees that rang with the cries of birds. At last she reached the lake.
The pebbles were perfectly smooth except for the two mounds in the center of the lake. She walked toward the one on the right, and she opened the silk purse that she’d tied to her sash. She upended it into her palm, and silver bells fell into her hand. She spread them over Korbyn’s grave.
She saw a patch of yellow flowers that had burst through the pebbles beyond the grave. She reached to pick one to add to her offering, but she stopped. A few of the pebbles around the blooms lay beneath a sheen of water. She drew her hand back and stared at the tiny but unmistakable pool of water.
Overhead, a raven cried.
Liyana smiled. And then she rose and walked back through the valley to Jarlath.
SARAH BETH DURST is the author of the young adult novels Drink Slay Love, Enchanted Ivy, and Ice, as well as the middle-grade novels Into the Wild and Out of the Wild. She has been a two-time finalist for SFWA's Andre Norton Award, for both Ice and Into the Wild. Sarah lives in Stony Brook, New York, with her husband and children. Visit her at www.sarahbethdurst.com.
