He felt her pulse again. Faint but there.

A doctor burst into the tent. He wore an ill-fitting uniform. A protective surgical cloth obscured his face. All that the emperor could see was his eyes, but those eyes quickly assessed the situation. Without a word the doctor knelt next to Liyana and began examining her. She was breathing shallowly. Every few seconds she twitched and moaned.

The emperor paced around them. He picked up the broken statue and turned it over and over in his hands. Spasming, Liyana screamed, and the emperor hurled the statue against the wall of the tent. It smacked against the tarp and tumbled down. In a calm voice he said, “This was an unnecessary waste of a life.”

“She still lives,” the doctor said. “But I must take her to my tent. I have supplies and equipment there that may be of use.” He waved a hand. Three doctor’s assistants, also dressed in blue uniforms with the traditional face coverings, scurried forward with a stretcher. They loaded Liyana onto it.

“Accompany them,” he ordered the nearest soldier. “Ask her name when she wakes. If she answers ‘Liyana,’ return her to me. If she answers ‘Bayla,’ kill her immediately.”

She was carried out of the tent, and he turned away to face his shelves of statues. He touched his cheek. It was damp. Absently he rubbed his tears between his fingers and thumb. Funny that he should mourn the loss of one desert woman while he prepared his army to invade. In the end, though, eliminating the deities would free the desert people. They would see that their best course was to join the empire. In the end they would be grateful.

“Alert my generals,” the emperor said. His eyes were clear. “We move out at dawn.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Liyana felt as if she had swallowed the desert. Sand poured into her body and flowed through her veins. It pressed against her from the inside out until she felt as if her skin might break. She tried to scream. But sand filled her throat.

She knew it wasn’t possible. She wasn’t in a sandstorm, and there was no sand inside the emperor’s tent. It had to be magic. Mulaf! He must be trying to stop her from saving Bayla.

As if she were working magic, she concentrated on her body. She felt her breath fill her rib cage, and she felt her pulse throb through her arteries. She focused on the shape of her skin, the curve of her legs, the length of her arms. Limb by limb she forced out the sand.

The sand changed to water and swept through her body, filling her lungs until she forgot how to breathe. She fought back. There is no water, she thought. There is only me. Breathe! She inhaled and exhaled. She felt how each breath came in through her mouth and flowed down her throat and filled her lungs. She imagined the air dispersing within her, displacing the water. One breath at a time.

Slowly she regained the feel of her body again.

The third assault was air. It whirled inside her, as if it wanted to rip her away. She clung to herself with her memories: how it felt to dance, how it felt to ride for hours, how it felt to sleep protected between bodies, how it felt to kiss Korbyn.

She heard a voice. It echoed as if the speaker were within a vast cavern, and each word were a stalactite plummeting from the ceiling to the floor. You. Must. Cease.

Liyana tried to speak, but her voice wouldn’t obey her. No! she thought at the voice. I will not fail my clan! She would protect this body. It belonged to Bayla, and she would not let it be torn by imaginary wind, or wrecked by water and sand.

Howling, the voice battered her with all the ferocity of a storm. With sheer volume it threatened to overwhelm all other senses, but Liyana was entrenched in her skin.

She tried to open her eyes to see who spoke to her. Her eyelids felt like heavy metal plates, fused shut with fire. She concentrated, bringing all her awareness and determination to bear on her eyes.

Slowly her eyes opened.

She saw Korbyn. He wore a new, ill-fitting uniform, and a blue cloth obscured most of his face, but she’d know his eyes anywhere. Beyond him she saw shelves of labeled jars, stacks of bandages, and a row of cots. She was no longer in the emperor’s tent. She lay on a table. Beside her was a tray of silvery knives, as well as more bandages.

“Is she awake?” Pia’s voice. Anxious.

Korbyn’s eyes bored into hers. Liyana tried again to speak, but her vocal chords wouldn’t respond. She took a deliberate breath. “Still unconscious,” Korbyn said. He cupped her cheek in his hand, shielding her eyes from view.

Liyana closed her eyes. Immediately she was assailed by wind again. This time it screamed through her, erasing all external sound.

Stop! Liyana thought at the wind. Please, stop!

Let me free, the voice said. Strangely, it felt as if the voice were coming from inside of her, not from someone in the tent. Let me live!

A terrible thought bloomed in Liyana’s head. It wasn’t possible. Two souls couldn’t be in one body. . . . I am Liyana, vessel for Bayla of the Goat Clan, Liyana said. Are you . . . Are you Bayla?

All trace of wind vanished.

Silence, then a whisper: This is not possible.

Oh, my goddess. Cringing, Liyana lowered her mental voice to a whisper. Forgive me. She’d been fighting against . . . The thought of it made her stomach churn.

Leave this body, you insignificant speck of sand!

About to apologize again, Liyana hesitated. I am not insignificant, her mental voice whispered. Vessels were cherished by their deities. Their sacrifice was honored.

Bayla did not seem to hear her. I will wreak revenge on he who dared confine me! Liyana felt a cyclone build inside her—sand, water, and wind. You have played your last trick, Korbyn!

She felt pressure in her arms as if her muscles wanted to raise themselves. She knew, though she couldn’t explain how she knew, that the goddess intended to wrap her hands around Korbyn’s throat. Liyana arched her back, fighting to keep her hands pinned down. Her fingers curled, digging into the table.

You say you are my vessel yet you will not relinquish control of this body. Bayla’s voice felt like a lick of fire.

Korbyn is not to blame, Liyana said. He came to save you!

And this is his rescue? A jail of flesh instead of a jail of stone? Bayla’s voice was so loud inside Liyana’s skull that it hurt. I will show you what happens to those who cross a goddess. Suddenly the pressure inside her vanished as if the goddess had left.

Alone in her head, Liyana drew a full breath. She imagined the air spreading through her body, and her arms and legs trembled. “Korbyn,” she said.

“Bayla,” Korbyn breathed into her ear. She felt the tickle of his breath. “Do not move. We are in danger.” She felt his hands on her shoulders, holding her down on the table. She lay still.

“I’m not Bayla. I’m Liyana.” Opening her eyes, she saw his face close to hers. He was bent over her, and behind him she saw a white-clad guard. Quickly she shut her eyes again.

She wasn’t quick enough. The guard pulled Korbyn away from her. “Speak your name,” he ordered. She felt hard coldness on the hollow of her throat.

She opened her eyes again. A sword tip touched her throat. “Liyana,” she croaked. She pressed her back against the table as if she could sink away from the blade.

The guard raised the sword . . . and then returned it to his scabbard. Scowling at her, he grunted. “The emperor wished her to return.”

Korbyn shielded her. “She isn’t well enough to move—”

“Carry her,” the guard said.

“I can walk,” Liyana said. She pushed herself up to sitting—and the wind slammed through her again. She collapsed backward as the world snapped into darkness. This time it felt much worse. Instead of merely Bayla’s soul, she felt the magic of the lake flood into her, and she instantly expanded to feel the tent, the sand, the camp, the plains, the desert, as if she were them and they were her. . . .