Vessel

stand, thank the goddess. Leaning over the edge of the well, she looked down. She saw only blackness. Hands shaking, she found the rope and bucket. The knot had held, which was one bit of good luck. She lowered the bucket. It hit bottom. Had it hit sooner than before, or had she just lowered it faster? She didn’t know.

Please, Bayla, she silently begged. She couldn’t survive without water, and dehydration was a terrible way to die. Please.

Liyana pulled the rope. She tried to pull steady and slow to avoid spilling. If she jerked the bucket up and spilled all the water, then she’d panic for no reason. But with each slow pull, the pain in her arm spiked until she felt dizzy. As the bucket got close to the top, she had to stop. She lowered her arm. It hurt so badly that her head swam. Gritting her teeth, she pulled the bucket up the rest of the way.

Wet sand.

It was full of wet sand.

She dug her fingers into it, and the sand clung to her skin. She made a fist, squeezing it, and then she flung it across the camp and screamed. Tears raged down her cheeks. She grabbed another clump and threw it. Continuing to scream, she hurled wet sand until the bucket was empty. She then fell to her knees and pummeled the sand that had piled up beside the well.

“I did everything right!” she screamed at it. “I worked. I trained. I did everything that was asked of me. I dedicated my life! I was pure! I was fit! I was worthy! You betrayed me! You . . .” Unable to find more words, she threw fistfuls of dry sand with her unhurt arm.

Her eyes were so blinded by tears and sand that she did not see the man walking toward her through the hazy air until he was only a few feet away. Hand raised with a fist full of sand, Liyana froze. She panted, her rib cage heaving. Her arm began to shake. She stared at the silhouette of the man—boy, really.

He came closer, and she saw he was beautiful: sculpted face, shadow-dark skin, haunting eyes. He’s not real, she thought. He had to be a dream that her addled brain had produced.

Dropping her arm, she rose to her feet.

He didn’t vanish.

He spoke. “I have been looking for you.”

Chapter Five

Clamping his hands on her wrists, the boy twisted her arms to expose her tattoos. Liyana kicked him in the knee and sprang backward. She pulled out her sky serpent knife and held it in front of her. “Touch me again,” she said, “and I will skewer you through the eye.”

Clutching his knee, he winced. “I would prefer that you did not.”

“Strangers do not touch me,” she said. She had studiously kept this body pure. She would defend it with force if necessary.

Still favoring his knee, he executed a sweeping bow. “I am Korbyn. You are the vessel of Bayla, as your marks confirm. There, we are not strangers anymore.”

She didn’t lower the knife. He hadn’t named his clan or his ancestors, and Korbyn was a common name, often used by those who wished to hide their own name.

He sighed as if she were a child who had disappointed her teacher—it was an oddly old sigh from a boy who looked to be the same age as she was. “This is not a situation I have been in before. Would you like to offer me tea? I have traveled a long way to find you.”

She didn’t recall falling asleep, but this had the same insane logic of a dream. Handsome strangers didn’t suddenly appear in an empty desert and request tea. “There’s sand in the water. We can’t have tea.”

He peered into the dark shaft of the well. “You should have covered the well before the sandstorm,” he said unhelpfully.

“Who are you truly?” she asked. There were a dozen more questions that went with it: Where had he come from? Why was he here? What did he want? “It’s a hundred miles to the next well.” She saw no horse. He carried no pack. He didn’t have deposits of sand trapped in the folds of his clothes, the way he should have after a sandstorm. There was no sand plastered to his skin, like there was on her cheeks. In fact, he looked perfect, as if an artist had crafted an ideal boy with shining eyes, baby-soft black hair, and smiling lips.

He lowered the bucket into the well. It smacked the bottom.

For a moment he stared into the well. Around them, the wind paused, as if it held its breath. And then Korbyn relaxed. “That should do it,” he said cheerfully. Yanking on the rope, he pulled the bucket up with careless ease. Water sloshed over the brim as he hefted the bucket over the lip of the well.

Liyana felt her mouth drop open. Her mother would have tapped her chin and told her not to catch flies. Or maybe her mother would have been stunned too. Talu couldn’t have done that. “Who are you?”

“I am Korbyn.” He unhooked the bucket from its rope and held it out to her. “Shall we?”

She didn’t budge.

He heaved another long-suffering sigh. “As tricks go, that one was easy. The water was there. It was merely a matter of causing the sand to settle faster than usual. Now if you want a real trick . . . Have you heard about the time that the raven tricked the moon into sharing her light?”

Liyana knew the story. She’d told it to Jidali once. But she could only stare at Korbyn. He had to be a magician, but to be so powerful . . .

“He flattered her beauty and told her that she must see herself,” Korbyn said. “He knew of a mirror, he said, where she could view her own beauty. He guided her to the sea. When the moon looked down at the rolling water, she saw her image broken on the waves. The raven complimented her shine and her color, but said it was a pity she wasn’t round like the world. He said that if she gave him a sliver of her light, she would be fixed. So she did.” He nodded at her, as if he wanted Liyana to finish the story for him.

Liyana swallowed. “But she still looked broken. So she gave him another sliver and then another until she was nothing but a crescent.” His smile broadened, as if he were delighted with her. Encouraged, she continued. “And when she realized she’d been tricked, she struck a deal: The raven would return her light bit by bit until she was full if she would then share it again with him bit by bit. And so it continues, month after month, waxing and waning.”

Korbyn beamed at her. “See, now that was a trick.” Whistling, he strode across camp with the bucket in his hand. Precious water spilled out, darkening the sand around him. After a second of staring, she followed him.

Korbyn set the bucket down next to her tent. The torn side fluttered sadly in the wind. “Your fire pit is . . . ahh, here.” He knelt beside a lump and proceeded to wipe away sand with his sleeve. He exposed her circle of rocks, as well as the remnants of her fire pit.

“What clan are you?” she asked.

He rolled back his sleeves for her to see the tattoos that decorated his arms. Black birds wound around his wrists and up to his shoulders.

“Raven Clan?” she asked.

Swirls twisted between the ravens in a pattern she knew very well, and she suddenly felt as if she couldn’t breathe. She had the same swirls on her arms. She looked up into his eyes. “You’re a vessel.”

Shaking his head, he winked at her.

“You’re a god?”

He laughed again, but she didn’t feel as if he were laughing at her. It was the joyous, glad-to-be-alive sound of a child. It cascaded over him and shook his whole body. She thought of Jidali’s laugh and how it would overcome him. You couldn’t help but smile when Jidali laughed. When Korbyn laughed, the sheer joy in the sound made her feel dizzy.

Liyana sat down hard on the sand opposite Korbyn. She stared at him, and he, still amused, stared back. She