A vessel, here. “Well. That is unusual.” He doubted that the soldier knew how much of an understatement that was. According to the magician, vessels never left their clans. Ever. They were treated like jewels—or prisoners. For a vessel to be here without her clan . . . Such a thing should be unheard of. “You were correct to come to me. I will see her.”
The soldier bowed. “Yes, sir.”
The emperor returned to reviewing the judgments, but he could not focus his attention on them. According to the magician, from the moment a vessel was “chosen,” he or she lost all control over his or her own life. Vessels were not allowed their own thoughts, their own choices, or their own futures. They sacrificed their lives to their clans long before their true sacrifice. He’d always been curious to meet one, and now he was flat-out intrigued. At the least, this should provide a welcome distraction while the army finished acquiring supplies.
Five soldiers marched into his tent. All of them halted, saluted, and then rotated to reveal a young woman. She was beautiful, as vessels were purported to be, with skin that looked like burnt cinnamon and features as perfect as a sculpture. Coiled in elaborate braids, her black hair shimmered in the light of the candles. Her dress flaunted every color in the sunset. Her hands had been tied in front of her, but she held her delicate chin high and her shoulders back as if she hadn’t even noticed the ropes. She met his gaze evenly with black eyes that were as clear and piercing as a sword. He’d imagined a subservient sacrifice. Instead she was a desert princess.
“Untie her,” the emperor ordered, his eyes not leaving hers. “Asking to speak with me is not a crime.”
The soldiers obeyed.
She held still while they cut the ropes, and her eyes stayed on the emperor’s. His soldiers removed the ropes and retreated, though not far. He approved of their caution. Even assassins could dress well. In fact, some of the finest assassins he knew were lovely.
“You have your audience,” the emperor said.
She raised her arms, and the sleeves fell back to reveal swirled tattoos on her arms. “I am Liyana, the vessel of Bayla of the Goat Clan, and I have come to tell you a story.”
Only a lifetime of habit kept the surprise from registering on his face. Keeping his expression carefully neutral, he gestured for her to proceed.
“Once, there was only sea. The moon loved the sea, for the moon was vain and her reflection was like a beautiful jewel on the water, but the sun wearied of the endless waves. All day he looked down on the same blue. So one day he burned hotter and hotter, and he dried the ocean. That night, the moon was horrified to see mountains and plains instead of her beloved sea. So she flooded the land. The next day the sun scorched the world again, and the next night the moon summoned the tides and covered it with water. This continued until at last there was only one creature left alive. It was a turtle, and she called to the sun and moon and begged for mercy—”
“You crossed a desert to speak to me about a turtle?” Most of his people considered stories fit only for children at bedtime. Certainly they’d never brave a desert crossing to tell their emperor a story. He had to fight to keep the excitement out of his voice and off his face.
“I speak of the turtle who was our mother,” Liyana said.
“I have heard many creation myths from the regions of my empire,” the emperor said, and he was pleased that his voice conveyed only mild interest. He was aware that his soldiers were listening. They knew it was a story that had led their emperor here—a story of magic that could save his people. But this woman couldn’t know that. “Fetch us water and dates,” the emperor ordered a soldier. The soldier bowed and exited.
The vessel continued. “She proposed a bargain: The moon could have an ocean if the sun could have an island. But when the sun created the island, he shone with such intensity that he scorched the center of it. In this barren desert, the turtle laid her egg. It hatched, and the desert people were born.”
“I had not heard this tale,” the emperor said. He continued to control his voice, as if this were only of passing amusement to him. In truth, he collected stories like past emperors collected rare jewels or exotic animals. This was the best way she could have chosen to capture his attention, but he wouldn’t let her know that. Accepting a golden dish of dates, he held it out to Liyana. She didn’t touch it. He ate one, and then poured water into two gold chalices. “You have a point in telling me, I presume?”
“The desert people exist to ensure that the moon remembers her promise to never flood again. If you threaten us, you threaten the whole of the world. You don’t want to do that. You want to leave and return to your green fields and blue lakes. Leave us to our sand. There’s nothing for you to gain here and much for you to lose.”
Chapter Twenty
Liyana presented the same smooth face that she’d shown her clan on the day of her summoning ceremony, and she hoped the emperor couldn’t hear the way her heart galloped inside her chest.
“You’d like us to leave because of a turtle’s bargain with celestial bodies.” The emperor sounded amused. He was younger than she’d expected, at most only a few years older than she was, but he had a presence that filled the tent. He held himself with a power and stillness that reminded her of carved stone.
“I ask you to leave because we belong to the desert, not to your green lands,” Liyana said. “We have no wish to join your empire.”
The emperor plucked another date from the tray and held it up as if contemplating its color in the candlelight. He let the silence stretch. Liyana kept herself still and silent as well. She knew this was a tactic—Mother wielded silence as a weapon too. Finally he asked, “How do you know that is why we are here?”
She chose a date from the platter to show she was not afraid. “You have an army camped at our border,” she said. “I assume they are not here simply to enjoy the heat.”
His mouth twitched.
She wondered if she had almost made him smile. “Of course I would be delighted if there were another explanation.” Feigning casualness, she bit into the date.
“It is my hope that your clans will join my empire without bloodshed.”
The sugar tasted sour in her mouth. She swallowed, forcing it down, as she tried not to imagine this vast army overwhelming her clan. “When the people of the turtle were born, many of them died in the harsh desert—these were the first deaths in this new world. Unfortunately, there was no place for the dead souls to go, so they wandered through the sky. This annoyed the stars, who loved their quiet and solitude. And so, one of the stars sacrificed himself and fell. He hit the desert with such force that he ripped a hole in the world. Flocking to this hole, the souls left our world—and discovered, or some say created, the Dreaming.”
“You may leave us,” the emperor said to the guards.
One of the soldiers looked as if he wished to object.
“If she assassinates me, you have full leave to declare war on the desert clans and exterminate every man, woman, and child you find.”
Liyana felt as if water, cold from a deep well, had been poured into her veins.
The soldiers bowed and filed out of the tent.
“Continue,” he said.
She clasped her hands together to hide their shaking. “The souls were happy in the Dreaming, but when they looked back at their desert home, they saw suffering. So they created the gods out of the magic of the Dreaming, and they sent the gods’ souls to walk among their people and help them live in their waterless world. Because of this, because of our deities, we of the desert are strong and free. And so we will remain.”