Korbyn bowed. “Please accept our apologies for this untimely intrusion, though once you hear why we have come, I think you will agree that it is, in fact, timely indeed.”

The chief grunted in response.

“You are a man of few words, I see,” Korbyn said.

His scowl deepened, and Liyana shrank back as if from a looming storm. She wondered if Korbyn could sense the chief’s growing hostility. Perhaps this was part of his plan.

“Let me cut straight to the point,” Korbyn said. “We need to speak with your vessel.”

“He prepares for the summoning ceremony,” the chief said, his voice a rumble.

“Ahh . . . in that case, please interrupt him,” Korbyn said cheerfully. “What we need to discuss is directly relevant.”

The chief flicked his arm, and the horse whip snaked out. It cracked in the sand at their feet. Liyana jumped. Korbyn didn’t even flinch. Whinnying, the nearby horses shied away. Liyana thought of how he’d burned his hand. Perhaps he’d forgotten that he was in a mortal body. “You disrespect us,” the chief said.

“He doesn’t!” Liyana said. “Korbyn, tell him.”

“As you wish,” Korbyn said. All humor drained from his face, and when he addressed the chief again, his tone was serious. “Several of the desert deities, including Sendar, were summoned from the Dreaming but never arrived at their clans. Their souls have been, in essence, kidnapped.”

“Lies,” the clan chief said. “No one can kidnap a god.”

“It’s happened already,” Korbyn said. To Liyana, he said, “Show them who you are.”

Liyana pushed up her sleeves. “I’m the vessel of Bayla of the Goat Clan. We conducted the summoning ceremony. . . .” She felt a lump in her throat, and she swallowed hard. “She didn’t come.” Even knowing the truth, it was hard to say. She felt the weight of her failure all over again. She bowed her head. “Bayla was supposed to enter me, and she didn’t.”

“She couldn’t,” Korbyn said. “Like Sendar couldn’t.” He tapped his nose. “I can smell a lie. Your vessel isn’t preparing for the ceremony. You have already completed it, and it failed. Hence the hostility in our greeting from your guards. Hence the lack of hospitality now.”

Around them, murmurs rose into shouts.

The chief held up his hand.

Instant silence.

“Lies,” the chief said. “Lies and tricks.” He pointed at Korbyn with the whip. “Identify your name and clan.”

Liyana inched closer to Korbyn. Like the tents surrounding the oasis, the Horse Clan encircled the two of them. She felt as if their stares were stones ready to be thrown. The pressure of Jidali’s knife in her sash wasn’t much comfort.

“I am a friend to all desert clans,” Korbyn said.

The chief did not lower the whip. “You are Korbyn, trickster god of the Raven Clan, who has heaped countless humiliations on my god and stole his beloved Bayla through flattery and lies.” He spat at Korbyn’s feet.

Korbyn spread his hands in a show of innocence. “Your deity and I may have had our differences, but never at the cost of harm to any of our people.”

“And you”—the chief pointed the whip at Liyana—“have joined the trickster to humiliate my people. We are not fooled. You are Bayla herself.”

Liyana’s mouth dropped open. “I . . .”

“I wish this were a trick,” Korbyn said, “but for once, I am telling the truth. I can see how you would be confused. This honesty and nobility is new to me as well—”

“Seize them,” the chief ordered.

Two men strode forward and caught Liyana’s arms from behind. Two others grabbed Korbyn. Liyana yelped and struggled, but Korbyn held still. “For the good of your clan, I hope you will hear sense,” Korbyn said. His voice was mild. “I believe that the souls of the lost deities have been captured in false vessels. They must be freed from their prisons and then transferred into true vessels. I can perform the summoning chant for the transfer, but the vessels must be there to dance. Liyana has agreed to accompany me on behalf of her clan. We hope that your vessel will too, as well as the vessels from the Silk Clan, the Scorpion Clan, and the Falcon Clan. Together, we can rescue your deities.”

The chief glowered at Liyana. “You abandoned your clan to perpetuate this trick? I believed better of Sendar’s beloved than to keep our god from us. You have fallen low.”

“I’m not Sendar’s beloved! I’m a vessel! And I didn’t abandon anyone. My clan left me to die in the desert because Bayla never came.” She pulled forward, straining against the hands that were clasped hard around her forearms. They squeezed, and tears sprang into her eyes.

“If you are human, then prove it.” The chief strode toward Liyana.

For the first time, she heard worry in Korbyn’s voice. “Let’s not be hasty. Sendar would not want harm—”

The chief drew his sword.

Liyana’s eyes fixed on the blade, but her mind couldn’t understand what it meant. Surely he didn’t intend to—

He plunged his sword into her stomach. “Heal yourself, goddess.”

Chapter Nine

Liyana felt stillness for one endless moment. Everything seemed hushed. She saw faces twist and mouths stretch as if they were shouting, but she heard only the whoosh of wind. Her body felt light. She knew that two men held her arms, but she couldn’t feel their grip. She looked down at her stomach. The sword hilt protruded. Red blossomed around it and spread through her sash, soaking the fabric.

The chief yanked the hilt, and the sword pulled out of her with a sucking sound that reverberated in her head—the only sound she heard. She felt as if all the air had been pulled out of her with the sword. She covered her stomach with her hands. Wetness poured over her fingers. She tried to hold the liquid back, but her wet fingers slid over one another.

Her stomach started to throb, a dull pulse of pain that intensified with each second. It spread like a fire eating the grasslands, overwhelming the feel of her arms and legs until the only sensation she felt was fire. She was burning inside and out. Hands lowered her down as she slumped into the sand. Blackness crawled into her eyes, and her vision narrowed to only the sand by her cheek.

And then she was cradled against a chest. She focused on a face. Korbyn.

She wanted to say she was sorry she’d failed to finish their quest. But her throat felt full of liquid. She coughed, and red spattered Korbyn. His face stilled, as if it had hardened into stone, while his eyes focused on her with a gaze as searing as the sun. Her vision contracted until all she saw was his eyes. And then even they were gone. She floated in a sea of darkness.

Colors came and went. Warmth. Coldness. Softness. Shooting, searing pain.

And then nothing.

Eventually she noticed cushions. Pillows were nestled all around her, and she was swaddled in blankets. She fluttered her eyes open, but she saw only shadows that swayed above her. She closed her eyes and drifted away again.

The next time she woke, she heard voices. They were hushed, and the words ran together like poured water. She listened to the trickle for a while, and it lulled her back to sleep.

She dreamed about Jidali.

“Liyana, am I going to die?” her little brother asked.

“Not for a long time,” she said.

“But someday?”

“Why don’t you ask Father about this?”

“He said to ask you.”

She remembered this conversation. It wasn’t a dream; it was a memory. She’d tried to change the topic. She’d tried to distract him with games. She’d even offered up a sugared date as a bribe. But in the end, she had told Jidali yes, and he’d cried.

The next day, Mother had let them shirk their chores. Liyana remembered that she had taken Jidali to visit Talu’s mother, a woman so old that she had resembled a tortoise.

“You’re seeking wisdom, little man?”

“I want to know about death,” he’d said in his tiny, birdlike voice.