“Ah, and I look like I have seen death.” She’d sounded amused.

“Everyone says not to be scared or sad because we go to the Dreaming and it doesn’t hurt there and all my wishes can come true there.”

The old woman nodded. “But you’re still scared and sad.”

He nodded, and a tear spilled out of one eye. He wiped it away with the back of his chubby fist. Liyana wanted to wrap her arms around him, but she stayed in the shadows. This visit was for him.

“And I am supposed to tell you that they’re right, and death is a time to celebrate a life well lived.” The old woman beckoned him closer. “But I will tell you the truth: Death scares me. And it makes me sad. And it makes me angry. And this is the way it should be!”

Jidali’s eyes widened.

“Oh yes, I have lived more than my fair share of a full life,” she said. “Enough for two or three lives. But breathing every day . . . You are right to want to hold on to it, and you’re right to mourn it when it ends.”

The old woman had died before Liyana was named the clan’s vessel. Liyana wondered what she would have said if she’d known that Liyana was destined to die young.

But I am not supposed to die this way! Liyana thought.

At the force of her thought, her eyes popped open.

Sunlight cut in slices through the tent, illuminating the red and gold pillows and blankets that surrounded her. Beside her, she saw a gold basin perched on a three-legged stool. A damp cloth was draped over its rim. Beyond it, she saw a fire pit with a silver tea urn. Everything in the tent reeked of wealth and opulence. She inhaled incense.

She should have woken in a healing tent. Or not woken at all.

She touched her stomach and felt soft cotton. She looked down at a burgundy blouse with silver embroidery. She didn’t recognize the weave or cut. Someone had dressed her in clothes that weren’t her own. Tentatively she lifted the hem to see her stomach.

No blood. No wound. But she had a scar.

She traced the lump of hard skin. She’d had no scars before this. It looked like a star just below her sternum. “Korbyn,” she whispered. He had done this. And then what? What had happened to him? “Korbyn?”

Liyana pushed herself up, trying to sit. Her head swam, and she collapsed backward into the pile of pillows. A woman leaned over her, and Liyana bit back a shriek at how suddenly she’d appeared.

“Try again slowly,” the woman said. She braced Liyana with a hand under her back. Liyana eased up to sitting, and the woman tucked pillows behind her to prop her up. Liyana stared at her, mentally flogging herself both for failing to notice the woman was there and for showing alarm. Already the woman had her at a disadvantage.

The woman had leathery skin, and her hair was streaked with white and silver. She wore a necklace of silver tassels that matched the chief’s belt—this was the chieftess of the Horse Clan, Liyana guessed. The chieftess pressed a waterskin to Liyana’s lips. “Drink. Sips only.” She tilted the waterskin, and water poured between Liyana’s lips. Liyana swallowed automatically. It tasted like silt, and it felt like a flame in her throat. She coughed, and pain shot through her body. She blacked out.

Liyana opened her eyes again. She was lying down, and the chieftess sat cross-legged beside her. She had a crescent-shaped knife in her lap that she was polishing with a grayed rag. Liyana’s eyes fixed on the blade.

“Where’s Korbyn?” Liyana asked. Her voice sounded like a rasp, and the words raked over her throat. She licked her lips and swallowed, which caused her body to shudder.

“He speaks with the elders. Last I heard, he was being quite vivid in his description of what he planned to do to prove that my husband isn’t a god. I do not know if the discussion has progressed any further.”

Liyana wanted to see him with such an intensity that it felt like a pull on her skin. She struggled to push herself up. “I must—”

“You must drink some water,” the chieftess said. She held out a waterskin. “If that stays inside you, we will try a thin broth. Your insides need to remember how to function.” As Liyana reached for the waterskin, she felt as if her skull were being squeezed. She cried out. Leaning forward, the chieftess pressed her palm to Liyana’s forehead and concentrated. After a moment, the pressure in Liyana’s head lessened.

“You’re the clan magician,” Liyana said. She was about to ask if Korbyn had been right, that their summoning ceremony had failed, when the tent flap was lifted.

A young man poked his head inside. “Is Bayla’s vessel awake yet?” His voice boomed through the tent as if he were accustomed to bellowing across the desert.

“You should be quiet when you enter a sickroom,” the magician-chieftess said. “Didn’t your mother teach you better manners?”

He hung his head. “Sorry, Mother.”

“Come in, Fennik. She’s awake.”

Fennik trotted inside. Closer, Liyana saw the family resemblance: He had his mother’s amber-flecked eyes and his father’s wide shoulders. He squatted next to Liyana. As he squatted, his muscles compressed so that he looked spring-loaded. He was dressed as if for a traditional dance: an embroidered loincloth, several layers of gold necklaces, and black makeup in swirls over his cheeks and chest. His golden skin glistened as if he’d been rubbed with oil. His arms were bare, exposing the chiseled perfection of his arms as well as his tattoos. She knew those tattoos.

“You’re Sendar’s vessel,” Liyana said.

The chieftess rose. “You two have much to discuss.” She handed the crescent-shaped knife to her son and cryptically said, “The decision lies with you.”

Liyana’s eyes fixed on the blade. He shifted the hilt from hand to hand as if testing its weight. The chieftess swept out of the tent. With her exit came a breeze that rustled the tassels that hung from the ceiling of the tent. Bells tinkled, and Liyana thought of the bells that she’d left for her family.

“You believe the trickster?” Fennik asked.

“I danced through the night, and Bayla didn’t come.”

“And your clan?” He continued to toy with the knife. “Did they believe him?”

“My clan went to Yubay to dreamwalk again in hopes Bayla would choose a new vessel, and they left me behind so as not to anger her further.” It hurt to think about it. But if anyone would understand, it was another vessel. His clan must have been bereft as well. “Korbyn came a day later.”

“My clan would never reject me,” Fennik said, his confidence absolute.

His words felt like a kick. She focused again on the knife. He continued to switch it from hand to hand. She couldn’t tell if it was habit or preparation. “Bayla didn’t reject me. She was taken. She must have been. I am worthy.”

“So you say.”

Liyana glared at him. She wished she were fast enough to snatch that knife out of his hands. “You must at least believe that I’m not Bayla.”

After a brief hesitation, he nodded. “My father deeply regrets the pain that he caused you.”

She noticed his father wasn’t here extending an apology. “I do wonder what he would have done if I had been Bayla. I cannot imagine that my goddess would have taken kindly to being stabbed through the stomach.”

“He was prepared to die for his god.”

“That’s not dying for your god; that’s dying for your stupidity.”

Knife clenched in his hand, Fennik rose. “You do not take my family’s hospitality and then call my father stupid.”

“I don’t call this ‘hospitality.’ ” She raised her shirt to show her scar. “If you plan to stab me again, there’s your target. Is that why Korbyn isn’t here? So he can’t save me twice?” She felt fury mix with her fear, and she grabbed onto the fury and let it fuel her. “We did not have to come here. Korbyn and I could have skipped your clan and rescued Bayla and left your god to rot in whatever false vessel he’s trapped in. But instead of a ‘thank-you,’ I’m greeted with a knife in my stomach, separated from my companion, and stuck in a tent with an oiled-up muscle boy who has a ‘decision’ to make that may or may not involve another knife. I did nothing to you or your clan! Whatever issue you have with Korbyn and Bayla has nothing to do with me. All I want is my goddess to be where she belongs so that my little brother will not have to die before he has truly lived!” She was shouting, and she noticed that she had risen to sitting. Her whole body trembled. Liyana sank back into the pillows. “Ow. I still hurt. And I will scar. Bayla won’t be pleased about that. I have been so careful to keep this body unblemished for her. She won’t like that it’s been used as a pincushion. Later, if there is a later, you can justify it to her.”