She heard applause from the entrance to the tent. Korbyn walked inside, clapping. “I should have waited and let you speak with the elders. That was masterful.”

Liyana couldn’t help the smile that blossomed over her face. “You’re all right! Are you all right?” She tried to rise again, but her arms shook so badly that she collapsed backward.

Ignoring Fennik and his knife, Korbyn knelt beside Liyana. “You were the one who was stabbed and yet you ask about me. Again you surprise me.”

“I know how I am. You’re the unknown. You healed me, didn’t you? Have you recovered?” Healing her sand wolf gashes had knocked him out for hours. This had to have been far more serious. She studied his face and saw his eyes were sunken with deep lines as if he hadn’t slept.

“After three days, yes, I am well.”

Three days! She shot up to sitting. Her head spun. She cried in pain, and Korbyn helped her lie down. She felt his arms around her, warm and comforting.

“You would heal faster if you would lie still,” Fennik commented.

She ignored him. “Three days?”

“I expressed my displeasure at the chief’s actions,” Korbyn said mildly.

“You what?”

“He attacked my father and his guards,” Fennik said, glaring at Korbyn. “Broke my father’s ribs, sliced one guard’s leg, and nearly cracked the skull of another. Other clan members joined in until the trickster god was subdued.”

“Korbyn!” Liyana said. “Did they hurt you?”

Korbyn stretched and twisted to demonstrate his fitness. “Afterwards, it took a while to heal you, the chief, his guards, and myself. In apology, the chief has offered us horses to help speed our journey and compensate for the lost time, though the damage may already be done.”

She lay against the pillows with the words “three days” reverberating inside her. She didn’t know what that time loss would mean to the other vessels . . . or to Bayla.

“My father’s actions were necessary,” Fennik said.

Korbyn barely looked at him. “Who’s golden boy?” he asked Liyana.

“He’s Fennik, the vessel of Sendar and the son of our esteemed hosts.” She wished she had her sky serpent knife to bat that blade out of his hands. Her scar was not necessary. Nor was the loss of three days. She glared at him as if it were his fault.

In response to her introduction, Fennik inclined his head. He waited for a similar show of respect in return, but Korbyn did not oblige him. Instead he sniffed and then asked Liyana, “What do you think of him? Will he make a decent traveling companion?” Doubt infused his voice.

Outrage blossomed on Fennik’s face.

Liyana shrugged and then winced from the movement. “He seems strong. You never know when we might need to lift something heavy.”

“True,” Korbyn said seriously. “There are many rocks in the desert. If memory serves, the hills of the Scorpion Clan are particularly rocky.”

Fennik growled. “You mock me.”

Korbyn’s face was innocent, like Jidali’s after he sneaked a cookie from Aunt Sabisa. “I would never mock such an illustrious personage,” Korbyn said.

Liyana felt a twinge of guilt. This couldn’t have been easy for Fennik either. After all, he had suffered a failed summoning ceremony as well. “I am sorry, Fennik. It isn’t your fault that your father stabbed me.”

“He acted in the best interests of the clan,” Fennik said stiffly. “In his place, I would have done the same. And I am still prepared to do so, should the need arise.”

All her sympathy for him evaporated.

Faster than her eyes could track, Korbyn’s fist darted out. It slammed into Fennik’s solar plexus as his other hand snatched the knife away from him. With a roar, Fennik lunged for him. Korbyn dodged. Skipping across the blankets and pillows, he evaded Fennik’s fists. Liyana struggled to sit, searching around her for anything to use as a weapon.

After another failed lunge, Fennik halted. Still holding the knife, Korbyn waited. Liyana felt a wave of tiredness wash over her. “Enough,” she said. “Either you believe us or you don’t. Either you come or you don’t. Just decide so I can sleep.” This was the decision that the chieftess had meant, she realized. “Also, I want my knife back.”

“You heard the lady,” Korbyn said. She heard amusement in his voice, but she noticed that his eyes tracked Fennik’s movements. He was ready to spring if necessary.

“Exactly who is in charge here?” Fennik asked.

“Does it matter?” Korbyn asked. “She’s correct. You have the opportunity to save your god. It is up to you whether or not you take it.”

Fennik’s eyes narrowed. “Is it?”

“No,” Liyana said. Her eyes flicked to Korbyn for confirmation.

Korbyn sighed. “Bayla would be upset with me if I allowed Sendar’s clan to die because of the stubborn stupidity of a father and son. You will be coming with us.”

The Horse Clan supplied them with eight horses: one for each of them as well as the other vessels they hoped to find, plus two spare horses so they could rotate mounts. To Liyana’s shock, she saw that several large water containers had been loaded onto the horses. She remembered the silty taste of the water and knew their well had to be low. To donate this much water was an extraordinary gesture. The clan also loaded them with food pouches, grain for the horses, pots and pans, a larger tent (in place of Liyana’s travel tent), and six different kinds of bows for Fennik to use.

“Do you really need six?” Korbyn asked as the bows were strapped to a horse.

“Different game requires different tools,” Fennik said. “You wouldn’t ask me to use a mallet for the same task that needs a knife, would you?”

“They’re bows,” Korbyn said. “You fit an arrow; you release it.”

Fennik shook his head as if Korbyn were an object of pity.

Liyana skirted the edge of their miniherd. She’d ridden once or twice, a treat from the clan’s hunters before she had become a vessel. She wasn’t convinced she could ride for miles on end without falling off and humiliating herself in front of the god and the horse warrior. She wished Korbyn would abandon this plan to ride so she could keep her feet firmly in the sand. And she wished it were still only her and Korbyn.

Fennik leaped onto his horse’s back without touching the stirrups. He waved his hand to his clan, and they cheered. He was decked out as the departing hero with sky blue robes of the finest weave and a headcloth with gold tassels.

Beside him, Korbyn slid up into his saddle with such grace that it looked as though he’d merely stepped onto a ladder. He didn’t preen; he merely waited. Fennik continued to play to the crowd, prancing his horse in front of Korbyn and Liyana. Taking a deep breath, Liyana grabbed the saddle with both hands and put her foot into the stirrup. She pulled her body up, and pain from her scar shot through her torso. She let go.

“Allow me,” a voice said behind her. She was tossed gently and easily into the saddle. She looked down to see the chief beside her. Instinctively she shied back. Responding to her, the horse sidestepped away.

Coming up beside her husband, the chieftess pressed a pouch into Liyana’s hand. “Herbs for the pain. Mix a few with your water each time you stop. It won’t eliminate the hurt altogether, but it should allow you to keep riding. There are more in the packs.”

“We picked a horse with a smooth gait for you,” the chief said. “According to our traditions, you may name her.”

Liyana managed a polite nod. She couldn’t bring herself to voice the words “thank you.” Her scar ached. She watched the chief and chieftess say good-bye to Fennik. Bending down, he embraced each of them. They pressed their foreheads together and talked softly. Each parent kissed him multiple times on his cheeks.

Liyana wished she’d had that kind of good-bye with her parents. She missed her family with an ache that matched the pain from her wound.