“He is the beloved of my goddess. I don’t like what you’re suggesting.” She’d never said a word about what had happened in the sandstorm, and she was certain that no one else knew. Mostly certain. Her eyes slid to the tent flap. It felt stifling inside the tent.

“You must remember that,” Pia said, her voice as placid as always. “You can’t afford to care too much about anyone or anything. None of us can.”

Propping herself up on her elbow, Raan looked at Pia. “Is that how you do it, how you’re okay with your clan offering you up on a platter for your goddess?”

“This life is ephemeral,” Pia said. “I cannot afford any attachments because they will be severed. My clan knows this.” Folding her hands in her lap, she smiled serenely.

Raan blinked at her. “That is the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“It isn’t true for me,” Liyana said firmly. “I’m very attached to my family.”

“Even though they left you to die?” Raan asked.

She felt the hilt of the sky serpent knife tucked into her sash. Even far away, her family had saved her life multiple times over. “Yes.”

“You’re both crazy,” Raan said.

“Everyone I love will be reunited in the Dreaming,” Liyana said. She thought of Jidali, growing old without her. He would have a lifetime of stories to tell her when they were reunited.

“Except for Korbyn,” Pia said intently.

“Once his vessel dies, he’ll return there as well,” Liyana said. She shouldn’t need to tell Pia that. Everyone knew gods could only exist in the real world while their vessel lived.

“But he’ll be reunited with Bayla, not with you.”

“I know that,” Liyana said.

“Good,” Pia said, her perfect doll face serene. “Remember it.” As Liyana stared at her, Pia fetched her brush and began to pull it through her soft, white hair. She hummed softly as she brushed, clearly done with the conversation, content that she’d made her point.

“I’m going to find water,” Liyana said. She stalked out of the tent.

Only when she was a hundred yards away did she feel her chest begin to loosen. Unfair accusations, Liyana thought. Untrue! She dropped into the sand beside a clump of cacti. She breathed in and out, trying to tame the swirl in her mind.

She focused on her heartbeat, which rattled in her rib cage as if it wanted to escape. With practiced ease, she imagined her lake and pulled out magic, inhaling as she felt the magic fill her. Korbyn had taught her the simplest way to summon water: Draw it into a plant that would naturally draw water, and then extract the moisture by hand. Full of magic, she flowed into the cacti before her. She plunged deep into the earth with its roots. Whispering to it, she coaxed it to suck the water up, up. Thirsty, so thirsty, she thought at it. She felt the moisture seep faster into its roots.

Last time she had done this, Korbyn had been beside her. She had laughed with him and shared stories. She thought of how it had felt to dance with him, the warmth of his hands and the nearness of his breath. She remembered the way his eyes had poured into hers as if there were nothing else in the world . . . and how a smile would spring to his face . . . and the way his laugh would cascade out of him . . . But even when his laugh filled her, she always, always knew he belonged with Bayla! Every action she’d taken was designed to unite him and Bayla.

Thinking of him, she let herself flow across the dried grasses and over the hills. She felt the thousands of souls in the empire’s encampment like a distant hum. Which one was Korbyn’s? Was he all right?

Forgetting the cacti, she pushed her awareness into the encampment. Each of the humans felt like candle flames, their souls flickering inside them. A deity would feel . . . more like sparks, as if it were barely contained rather than burning contentedly. She sensed the horses tethered to stakes. If she reached further, then perhaps . . . She stretched the magic thinner and thinner.

She felt herself fragment as her thoughts flew apart.

Her body! She didn’t feel it!

Racing over the desert, she tried to imagine the shape of her skin and the feel of her breath in her lungs. She pictured her soul pouring into her body, shaping back into herself.

She inhaled deeply, and then she collapsed, unconscious.

She woke with her cheek pressed into the sand. She didn’t know how long she’d lain there. Her rib cage hurt. Her fingers felt numb. How long could a body function without a soul in it? Seconds? Minutes? It hurt to breathe. The sun beat down on her.

Eventually she pushed herself upright. Hands shaking, she took out the sky serpent knife and sawed the cacti off at their bases. She tipped them over so that no liquid would ooze out the cuts, and then she wrapped them in a scarf to carry back to the tent. She got to her feet, and her knees wobbled.

She sank onto her knees in the scalding sand. Sweet Bayla, what have I done? Korbyn would have been so furious with her. This time he hadn’t been here to kiss her into alertness. Liyana tried again, straightening slowly. She wobbled as she walked forward, feeling like a newborn foal. Concentrating on each step, she clutched the cacti to her chest, determined not to drop them. The thorns pressed against the cloth but didn’t pierce her skin. By the time she reached the tent, she felt the ache of every muscle and bone.

Pia rushed out to greet her. “You were gone for hours!”

Liyana handed her the scarf full of cacti. “You were right. I care too much.” She crawled into the tent and slept without dreams.

Two days passed with no word from Korbyn or Fennik.

At dawn on the third day, Liyana shot out of the tent, thinking she had heard hoofbeats from the ridge. But the ridge was empty. A knot of brambles blew across the slope.

“Go fetch more water,” Raan said behind her.

“We have water,” Liyana said.

“You are driving us crazy with your worrying.”

Pia chimed in. “Occupy yourself. The hours will fly faster. Korbyn and Fennik’s mission will take time. First they must determine where the deities are. Next they must ascertain how they are being held. And last they need to know what will free our gods and goddesses from the false vessels. It will take time.” She sounded like a teacher, talking in a calm voice to an agitated child. “Fetch us enough water so that we may bathe.”

“Very well,” Liyana said curtly.

She stalked across the desert and didn’t stop until she found a massive clump of cacti. Filling these broad leaves would keep her occupied for several hours. Dropping onto the dirt, Liyana began.

Leaf by leaf Liyana filled the cacti until their skin felt taut with water and the sun was at its zenith. Sweat trickled down the back of her neck and dried in seconds. She gathered up the cacti to begin the trudge back to camp. She wanted the first bath. She thought she had a few flakes of soap left from her family’s pack. After that, though, she’d need to find a new task to distract her from the fear that made her feel as if her lungs had shrunk and her stomach had hardened into rock.

She wished she hadn’t let Korbyn convince her to stay. It had seemed sensible at the time. Fennik was essential for the ruse of horse traders, and Korbyn was ideal for reconnaissance. Bringing Liyana, Raan, and Pia would have been an unnecessary risk. But still . . .

A hundred yards from camp, Liyana heard a melody soar into the sky. Pia! But what was she thinking? Someone would hear her! Picking up her pace, Liyana hurried toward the camp—and then she stopped as the melody swelled louder.

Pia isn’t stupid, Liyana thought. She’s warning me.

Liyana ducked behind a group of boulders. She tried to calm her breathing. Slowly, breath by breath, she dropped into a trance. She pictured the lake, filled herself with magic, and then stretched her awareness toward the tent, careful not to overreach.