But that was the only time she’d laughed.

Liyana felt the passage of time as if her heartbeat were counting away her chances to reach Bayla. She couldn’t explain why she felt such urgency, but it pulsed through her veins. She was acutely aware that once they collected two more vessels, the demands of that many mouths would slow them even further, and she didn’t know how far they had left to ride after that. So she continued to try—and continued to fail.

Once they entered the hills, she had to quit practicing as they rode. Thousands of loose rocks were scattered over the terrain, and riding required everyone’s full concentration. No one wanted a hoof to slip on a rock, even if Korbyn could heal a lame horse.

By late morning, the sun beat down on the rocks, and they had to stop. Korbyn caused a trickle of water to well up in a dry streambed. Liyana and Fennik soaked cloths in the water and then squeezed it into their waterskins. The horses licked the wet rocks.

In the shadows of the rocks, Liyana resumed her practice while the others rested until the horses were ready to proceed. As she moved to mount, Fennik stopped her. “The terrain is worsening. We must walk the horses.”

Leading Gray Luck, Liyana walked beside Korbyn. The pace, as they picked their way over the rocks, felt far, far too slow. She chafed at their new speed.

“Can you tell if they’ve had their ceremony?” Liyana asked.

“I could tell if they’d succeeded,” Korbyn said. “You could too, once you learn. Once you can draw magic from the lake, you will be able to feel every rock, bird, and soul around you. Divine souls feel . . .”

“Divine?” she supplied.

“I was going to go with ‘glorious’ or ‘amazing,’ but ‘divine’ will do.”

“So either they haven’t tried yet . . . or we’re late.”

Korbyn halted and held up his hand. Behind him, Liyana patted Gray Luck’s neck and slowed the horse to a standstill. Holding the reins of the other horses, Fennik stopped them as well. He put his other hand on Pia’s shoulder to signal to her to stop.

“What is it?” Pia asked, her crystal clear voice ringing over the stones. “Have we found the Scorpion Clan?”

An arrow thudded into the ground at Korbyn’s horse’s hooves.

“Yes, we have,” Korbyn said calmly.

Shouts echoed on all sides as warriors sprang from behind rocks. The horses reared and shied, and Liyana fought to control Gray Luck. Fennik pulled down hard on Pia’s horse’s reins as she clung to her horse’s neck. Snorting and huffing, Gray Luck walked backward in a circle, and Liyana saw an array of arrows and spears trained on them. Attempting to keep her voice light, she said, “I’ve already been stabbed. Fennik was tied to a stake. I think it’s someone else’s turn. Pia, would you like to volunteer?”

“I beg your pardon,” Pia said.

Fennik shielded Pia by guiding his horse in front of her. “Do not even joke about her being injured.” Eyes on the warriors, he leaned to reach for one of his bows.

All around them, the warriors tensed. Some crouched, spears ready. Liyana saw bowstrings drawn. “Fennik,” Korbyn said. Listening for once, Fennik halted.

For an instant, no one moved. No one even breathed.

And then Pia began to sing. Raising her chin, she let the notes pour out of her mouth. Her melody cascaded over the rocks and echoed through the hills.

“Is that her answer to everything?” Liyana asked under her breath.

“You have to admit it’s effective,” Korbyn said. Around them, the warriors lowered their weapons. Pia continued to sing. Wordless, the song was a soothing melody that was at once as sad as a farewell and as uplifting as a child’s laugh.

“You know, I think I like her,” Korbyn said.

“You’re just happy you don’t have to heal anyone,” Liyana said.

“True.” Raising his voice to be heard over Pia’s song, Korbyn called to the warriors, “I am Korbyn of the Raven Clan! These are my companions! We bring word of your goddess! We must speak with your vessel!”

One of the men laughed. “Good luck with that.”

Liyana felt as though her innards had curdled. Oh, goddess, we’re too late.

“It is vital!” Fennik said. “We must speak with her immediately!”

“You can try,” said the man who had laughed. “Pretty sure she’s still drunk.”

Soiled clothes and empty jugs were strewn over the camp. Tents were pitched askew on boulders. Liyana picked her way through the debris. Behind her, Fennik had chosen the expedient solution of scooping Pia into his arms and carrying her. Left on the outskirts of camp, the horses grazed on the scant, tough grasses—they could not navigate through the rubble.

“There are no bodies. No blood. I don’t understand this,” Fennik said. “It looks as if they were attacked, but I don’t see any wounded.”

Korbyn marched in front of them with zero regard for where he stepped. As Liyana hopped over another shattered pot only to land on a soggy shirt that reeked of urine, she thought that he might have the right approach.

Pia clung to Fennik’s neck. “Are we in danger?”

“We are late,” Korbyn said.

Liyana felt her stomach clench. Men and women perched and sprawled on the rocks. Some looked listless. Others celebrated. And others clutched jugs and waterskins as if they held all the liquid that remained in the world. Perhaps, for this clan, they did.

“The waste here . . . I do not understand it,” Fennik said, frowning at the jugs. “They cannot be immune to the drought, can they?”

An old woman lurched out of a tent. She wore a headdress of bones and feathers that dangled down to her ankles. The bones clacked together as she moved. “You!” She leveled a crooked finger at Korbyn. “Bah! You again, pretty talker. You can change your face, but you can’t change your soul.”

Korbyn swept forward in a bow. “Runa, you are just as beautiful as you always were.”

“Humph. None for you today. Runa has standards, she does!” With that, Runa lurched back into her tent. The door flap smacked her on her wide rear.

“You can’t know her, can you?” Liyana asked. Once he was summoned, he’d come straight to Liyana from his clan. The old woman must have mistaken Korbyn for someone else.

“She was younger then. Same sunny personality.”

Fennik frowned at him. “Impossible. She would need to be . . .”

“One hundred sixteen years old, yes,” Korbyn said. “Mathematics are not your forte, are they? She always excelled at convincing magicians and deities to heal any ailments.” A smile danced on his lips. “It was fun being convinced.”

Pia sniffed. “Spare us the details of your lascivious youth.”

Liyana quit walking. “You didn’t! What about Bayla?”

He shrugged. “She was with Sendar. I was pining.” Eagerly he began climbing the slope toward the woman’s tent.

“Korbyn, we have a mission!” Liyana called after him.

“She’s the chieftess,” Korbyn said.

He swung the tent flap open. Liquid splashed him full in his face, and he staggered back. Liyana gasped. To waste liquid, be it water or liquor . . . An image of the wide-eyed child from the Silk Clan flashed through her mind.

Spitting, Korbyn wiped his face. “I’m honored I rate the quality refreshment, but you’ll wish you hadn’t wasted it.”

Runa stuck her head out of the tent. “Eh, I’ll lick it off you.” Cackling, she pointed at Liyana, Fennik, and Pia. “Oh, look at their faces! Don’t worry, children. My husband would have his testicles for trophies if we revisited old times.” She wagged her finger at Korbyn. “You watch yourself, my boy.”

Korbyn laughed, and his laughter echoed off the rocks. A few of the Scorpion Clan warriors stared at him. Others, sprawled by their tents, laughed with him.

“You always were a force to be reckoned with,” Korbyn said.

“You’d better believe it,” Runa said. “I hear you want our vessel. Go take her. We’re done with her.” She waved her hand toward the northern side of camp. “Fair warning, though—she’ll be less happy to see you than I am.” Smiling, Runa spat in Korbyn’s face.