Silently the woman led Liyana in the opposite direction. Liyana looked back over her shoulder as Korbyn disappeared around the corner of a tent. The Silk Clan had begun to disperse, vanishing into the shadows of the tents as if swallowed. She felt her anxiousness curl up like a creature inside her stomach. At the very least she wished she could have talked to Korbyn. She had many, many questions for him, and god or not, he couldn’t avoid answering them forever.

Opening a tent flap, the woman waited for Liyana. “Thank you,” Liyana said as she entered. Without a word and without meeting her eyes, her escort inclined her head and left Liyana alone.

Inside the tent was a bed of silk. A basin with a thin layer of salt-choked water was in one corner. Layers of cloth lay around it to absorb any stray drops. Liyana washed herself as best she could, and she crawled between the skeins of silk. The silence was absolute, and she lay for a long time waiting for dawn and wishing she could hear Korbyn breathing beside her. Eventually she slept.

At dawn she woke. Her dreams had chased her through the night, images of Pia dancing and of sand wolves attacking. She wondered what Korbyn had dreamed about and if he’d had nightmares without her there to wake him. Sitting up, she noticed that a tray with several pieces of flatbread and a strip of dried goat meat waited for her by the tent flap. There was also a cup of precious, drinkable water.

She drained the cup instantly. Eating the food, she listened for sounds of the camp waking. If she had been with the Goat Clan, she would have heard chickens, goats, and children clamoring to be fed. People would have been shouting morning greetings at one another as they bustled to complete tasks before the sun scorched the air. By contrast, the Silk Clan was disturbingly quiet. Liyana emerged from her tent to find the camp empty.

As she wound her way through the tents, she saw and heard no one. She found the troughs where they’d left the horses—the troughs were dry and the horses were gone. Her heart began to hammer harder. It felt as though everyone had sneaked away in the night. “Hello?” she called. “Is anyone here?”

A child peeked around a tent flap. She had dark, wide eyes and concave cheeks. She was so thin that her shoulder bones poked against her robe.

Liyana waved at her, and the girl gasped and retreated. “Wait, I don’t mean any harm!” Liyana called after her. But the girl was gone.

She saw no one else.

Alone, she crossed the camp.

On the outskirts of camp, she heard voices. She recognized Fennik’s voice and then the melodious cascade of Pia’s voice. A horse stamped its hoof. Picking up her pace, Liyana jogged to the edge of camp.

On the sands, Fennik was coaching Pia on how to mount. Korbyn was with the other horses, securing their saddles. He waved when he saw her. “Good morning, sunshine.”

“Did I oversleep? I didn’t sleep well.” She scanned the area. None of Pia’s people were nearby. Even Ilia and the guards were absent. “Where is everyone?”

“We aren’t enough?” Korbyn asked, mock-hurt.

“The camp feels deserted.”

He lowered his voice and switched to serious. “She declared herself dead. They do not wish to risk hearing her speak.”

“But . . . she leaves to save them. And where are her supplies?” Fennik’s clan had loaded them with supplies, water, and horses. Liyana’s parents had left her the pack, and her brother had braved the wrath of the clan to sneak her the sky serpent knife. But she saw no new supplies from the Silk Clan.

“The dead do not need supplies,” Korbyn said. And then in a merrier voice he said, “Or perhaps I am wrong, and they simply don’t want to watch this.”

Liyana watched Fennik lift Pia into the air. She swung onto the horse with a fluid grace and sat in the saddle. Pia smiled, a look like the gentle wind that swept over the horse and Fennik at once. Fennik smiled back goofily, though he must have known Pia couldn’t see him, and then he laid the reins in her hands as if gifting her with a glorious present. Pia held the reins lightly as if they were an accessory, not a tool.

“Oh my,” Liyana said. “She is going to be a problem.”

“She compensates for her blindness.”

Liyana shook her head. “That’s not the issue, and you know it.” She watched Fennik guide Pia through the basics. Liyana could have used such a lesson. “She’s too used to being the princess. Mark my words. She’ll slow us down.”

Laughing, Pia slid off the side of the horse. Fennik caught her, a bundle of fluttering silk that landed softly in his arms. Clearly, he had forgiven her for having him tied to a stake.

“How soon can we leave?” Liyana asked, her voice still low. Given how ritual-driven these people seemed to be, there had to be an elaborate farewell ceremony, even for the “dead.”

“We can leave now,” Pia said in her clear singsong bird voice.

Liyana winced.

“The princess has excellent hearing,” Korbyn commented.

“But your clan—” Liyana said to her.

“I will see them in the Dreaming.”

With Fennik’s assistance, Pia mounted a new horse, the more placid mare, Plum. Still no one came to say good-bye to her. No one was willing to break tradition to give her a single embrace. Liyana was grateful for her own clan—at least she knew they cared about her before they left her to die.

Liyana mounted Gray Luck and urged her horse into a walk. Guiding the other two horses, Korbyn rode after her on his favorite mount. Ahead, Fennik kept close to Pia as she started across the sands.

Because Pia couldn’t, Liyana looked back at the Silk Clan as they rode away. Emerging from every tent, silent men, women, and children watched them leave.

Leaving the salt flats behind them, they rode west across the cracked earth toward the rocky hills, the territory of the Scorpion Clan. Liyana and Korbyn led. Behind them, Fennik regaled Pia with horse tales in a voice not quite loud enough for Liyana to hear. Every few moments, Pia’s laugh would ring out like a bell or Fennik’s chuckle would boom.

“Once again, vessels surprise me,” Korbyn said.

“How so?” Liyana asked.

“Based on initial impressions, I was not aware that either of them had a sense of humor.”

“Believing you have a sense of humor and actually having one are two different things,” Liyana pointed out.

“Indeed,” he said. He winced as Fennik let out a loud cackle. “At least they are enjoying themselves.”

Liyana studied Korbyn for a moment. Worn by travel, he looked very different from the boy who had walked out of a sandstorm, unrumpled and untouched by the gritty air. Now his soft hair was matted and his cheeks were sunken in. Dark shadows highlighted his eyes. “Are you?”

“Not so much,” he admitted.

At midday they halted. Pia slid off her horse and promptly crumpled to the ground. She tried to rise, but her legs buckled under her again. Fennik leaped from his horse to assist her. He offered her water, lifting the waterskin to her lips so that she could drink more easily. “She needs healing,” Fennik said.

Pia moaned. “I do not wish to slow us.”

“You need to heal her,” Fennik said. “She’s a new rider. Her flesh is tender.” He patted Pia’s hand. “Continue to be brave,” he said to her. “All will be well.”

Korbyn sighed, but he dropped into a trance to heal her blisters and sores.

Massaging her own sores, Liyana pitched the tent. Once she had it ready, she laid her hand on Korbyn’s shoulder. After a moment, he opened his eyes. “The Silk Clan did not replenish our supplies. We need water for the horses,” she said gently. He heaved a sigh as he lurched onto his feet.

“Come inside and rest,” Fennik said to Pia.

He led her toward the tent while she favored him and the world with her beautiful smile.