“Very well,” Pia said. “I shall.”

Guards closed in on Liyana and Korbyn, and suddenly Liyana wished she hadn’t spoken. She lost sight of Pia through the wall of guards.

Ilia pulled a strip of white cloth from her pocket, and she tied it over Korbyn’s mouth. He didn’t protest. Liyana flinched as Ilia raised a cloth to her mouth. “Is this necessary?” she asked.

“You have submitted to judgment,” Ilia said. “This must be.”

Korbyn squeezed her fingers as if to reassure her, and then he released her hand and held out his arms so that the guards could bind his wrists with rope.

I trust him, she reminded herself. The Silk Clan goddess will not come.

Opening her mouth, Liyana let Ilia gag her. Mirroring Korbyn, she held out her arms so that her hands could be tied as well. She met Korbyn’s eyes. His eyes were warm on hers, as warm as an embrace, as if he saw only her.

They were led to Fennik. Hands on their shoulders pushed them down to their knees. She knelt on the hard salt-sand between Fennik and Korbyn. Fennik’s eyes were wild, and she could smell his sweat. On her other side, though, Korbyn seemed calm.

She thought of the accusations of the Horse Clan and the Silk Clan. He may be known as the trickster, she thought, but his tricks helped the desert clans. She knew a story about him, one of Jidali’s favorites, that said he was responsible for giving the clans fire. Once, long ago, only gods could start fires. Each clan treasured their fire, carrying it from camp to camp with greatest care. If the fire was lost before the clan’s deity returned, the result was disaster. This happened to the Raven Clan—a sandstorm wiped out their fire. So, on his next visit to the desert, the raven stole a chunk of flint from the mountains of the sky serpents and gave it to his clan so they would always be able to make fire for themselves. He then stole flint for each of the other clans. The sky serpents were furious that every clan now had a piece of their mountains, and they guarded their territory even more jealously against intruders. But the raven’s trick was done, and he never returned to face their wrath.

She wondered how much truth there was in the stories. Staring into his eyes, she decided she didn’t care. Oyri, goddess of the Silk Clan, would not come. She had to believe that for Bayla’s sake, if not her own.

Drums started across the circle. Surprised, Liyana tore her gaze away from Korbyn. She’d expected a delay. Pia must have people to say farewell to. Parents. Siblings. Friends. A teacher. But instead she spoke to no one. Alone in the center of the sand, Pia affixed silver bells to her ankles. She was barefoot, and her skirt was composed of strips of silk that fluttered around her like feathers. Her arms were bare to expose her tattoos. She reached up toward the night sky. “Begin!” Pia cried.

Ilia began to chant. In the circle, Pia twirled and leaped. As she danced, she sang a soaring tune that repeated the summoning words. She looked and sounded like a wild bird.

She’s magnificent, Liyana thought—and a tendril of fear crept into her heart. Pia was what a vessel should be. It did not matter that she was blind. She flowed and soared with effortless beauty. Every movement was perfect, and she danced with transcendent grace. She was the wind itself. As the drums beat louder, Pia leaped higher and spun faster. Her white hair whipped around her, and the silk skirt swirled and flowed. Her silver bells rang out, echoing across the desert.

Liyana thought of her bells, the ones she had left behind for her family. She’d worn those bells with such pride. She had believed that she’d molded herself into the ideal vessel. But now, seeing Pia . . . This was what she should have been. Maybe Bayla had deemed Liyana unfit.

Barely breathing, Liyana waited for the moment when the goddess would take Pia’s body. Pia danced faster and faster, and her voice cascaded from impossibly high notes. With each moment, Liyana became more convinced that this would be the moment.

Suddenly Pia fluttered her arms down to her side like a bird settling her wings. She raised her head, and the drums stilled. Ilia fell silent.

“Untie our guests,” Pia said. Her voice was crystal clear. The clan was silent. “I will accompany them and henceforth be dead to you.” Her final words fell like stones into water, and ripple-like, their effect spread through the clan. The men, women, and children of the Silk Clan bowed low with their fists over their hearts, and then one after another, they turned their backs on the center of the circle.

Alone, Pia swept into a tent. Liyana noticed that she raised her arms only once, to feel for the tent flap. Otherwise she moved with a smooth surety that no one and nothing would be in her way.

Liyana felt a blade slice through the ropes. Fingers untied the gag. She spat the cloth out into her hands, and she felt as if her insides were churning. Korbyn was right! She’d been right to trust him! Their deities truly were trapped. Oh, she’d believed it before in her heart, but now . . .

Beside her, Fennik’s ropes were cut, and he fell forward into the salty sand. She knelt by his side. “Fennik? Can you hear me? Are you all right?” She kept her voice low. Backs still turned, the men and women spoke only in hushed murmurs.

Fennik raised his head and crowed, “She was glorious!”

Shushing him, Liyana examined his wrists. The ropes had bitten into his skin. Fresh blood oozed at her touch. “You’ll need bandages until Korbyn can heal you. What did you say to them?”

“Only the truth,” he said. “But that girl—she commands! Did you hear her voice, how they obey? We have no one like her in the Horse Clan. No wonder her clan so reveres her.”

She helped him stand, and she turned to Korbyn. She wanted to ask how soon they could leave. Each day they delayed, Bayla was imprisoned longer. But Korbyn had crossed the circle to speak to Ilia. “We were right to trust him,” Liyana said, “but he needs to start trusting us, too. This should not have happened.”

“He’s a god,” Fennik said. “They aren’t used to needing humans.”

“They need our bodies,” Liyana said. “If he’d share information, we could help. We can do more than get ourselves tied to stakes.” Whatever Korbyn believed, they were not like the injured horses. Perhaps it was sacrilege to think so, but they could be partners . . . if he shared what he knew.

“This was not my fault.”

“Exactly.”

With Korbyn, Ilia crossed to them. “Judgment has been made,” she declared. “You will share our vessel’s fate. May the blessings of the divine Oyri be upon you in your quest.”

Craning his neck, Fennik strained to see the tent that Pia had disappeared into. “Can we speak to the vessel?” He sounded like an eager puppy.

Korbyn leveled a look at Fennik and said to Ilia, “We honor your judgment and thank you for the blessings.”

Ilia clapped her hands. Two men and one woman scurried forward. “Lead them to tents and see to their needs,” she ordered the three servants. To Fennik, she said, “No one may speak to the vessel within our hearing. She is now dead to us.”

“Our quest is urgent,” Liyana said. “If we could—”

“You will accept our hospitality,” Ilia said.

Liyana looked to Korbyn. She didn’t want to waste time with “hospitality.” They still had two more clans to reach—and that was before the true rescue mission could begin. She didn’t know how far they would have to journey for that. “But—” Liyana began.

After tossing a smile at her, Korbyn was escorted away by one of the men, and Fennik by the other. The smile was clearly meant to reassure her, and Liyana tried to feel reassured. She told herself that it was unreasonable to expect to leave instantly. They had to wait until dawn’s light to travel. And the horses had to recover from their ordeal. But still, after seeing the summoning ceremony fail . . .