“Are you trying to make a point?” Liyana asked. “If so, we get it. You don’t want to be with us. Well, we don’t want to be with you either, but we aren’t about to condemn your entire clan because of your personality flaws.”

“My clan could find another way to survive,” Raan said.

“They won’t, though,” Liyana said. “None of our people will leave the desert.”

“You don’t know that. If you”—she glared at Korbyn—“hadn’t given them false hope, maybe they would. If I return, they’ll know hope is gone, and they’ll find another way. Maybe a better way!”

“There is no other way!” Liyana said. Her fists clenched, and she had to fight the urge to shake Raan. “We can’t survive the Great Drought without the deities!”

“If we leave the desert, we could escape it! We wouldn’t need the deities!” Raan said. “Why should we follow them? Why follow him?” She pointed at Korbyn.

He smiled coldly. “Because you don’t have a choice.” He then walked away from them. They watched his silhouette fade into the blackness of the desert night.

In a panic-filled voice, Pia asked, “Did he leave us?”

“He’ll return,” Liyana said. “I don’t think he has a choice either.”

Golden grasses snapped beneath the emperor’s feet. Holding his horse’s reins, he surveyed the plain. Already his soldiers spread throughout the grasses. With expert precision, they sliced the stalks to store for later—he’d been told they made adequate horse feed, though humans could not consume them. Other soldiers scurried behind, establishing rows in which to erect the tents.

Beyond the plain, the land sloped up into a ridge that ran north-south. A few twisty black trees crowned the peak of the nearest hill. Leaving his horse, he strode toward it. His guard followed him.

He nodded to soldiers as they passed, and they paused to bow to him. He heard voices, cheerful, around him. The mood was light—the march was, for now, finished—and they’d camp here until they had collected enough supplies to proceed. He kept his face pleasant to maintain the mood around him, but was grateful when he’d passed the last of the working men and women. His stomach was a hard knot inside him, and his heart thudded fast within his chest. He climbed the hill, and then he stood on top of the ridge.

He was here, the border of the Crescent Empire, the border of the desert.

The emperor gazed across the sands.

Brittle plants pockmarked the sand, bumps of brown and deep green in a spread of tan. Groves of leafless trees huddled in spots closer to the border. But beyond . . . the desert spread and stretched. He felt his hands begin to sweat as he absorbed the enormity of it all.

Far in the distance, the mountains seemed to crack the sky. He fixed his eyes on them. The lake was there. He could feel it deep inside with the kind of certainty that he normally reserved for proven facts. In the middle of this barren wasteland was his people’s best hope for survival.

His two best generals climbed onto the hilltop beside him.

“Hostile,” General Akkon observed.

“It is a wonder that anyone survives such an environment,” General Xevi agreed.

“And it is the source of that wonder that will save us,” the emperor said.

The two generals studied the desert and the outline of the mountains with him. “The desert people will not take kindly to our invasion of their land,” General Xevi said.

“Hence the army,” the emperor said dryly.

“They are rumored to be a highly superstitious people,” the general continued, as if the emperor hadn’t spoken. “To them, those are the forbidden mountains.”

The emperor knew this far better than the general did. But the general never spoke without purpose so the emperor allowed him his speech.

“You must be prepared for resistance,” General Xevi said.

“You think I am not?” the emperor said. “Again, I did bring an army.”

“I think you are young,” General Xevi said bluntly. “And the scouting party has not returned.”

The emperor switched his gaze from the mountains to his two generals. “We have not yet crossed the border. Do you believe that we should turn back? Turn away from the only hope, faint as you may believe it to be, that we have seen for the past three years? Return without the miracle our people need?”

“I believe that your miracle will come with blood,” General Xevi said. “And you must be ready to both spill it and have it be spilled.”

The emperor kept his face impassive, as always. “You believe I am not.”

General Akkon snorted. “You are not.”

The emperor studied the desert again. “I will be,” he said.

Five days later, shortly after dawn, they rode into the camp of the Falcon Clan.

Liyana breathed in the stench of rotted meat. Three falcons tore apart a carcass in front of a tent. The birds didn’t budge when Liyana and the others rode past.

Unlike the birds, the people of the Falcon Clan did notice them. Drawn from their tasks and their tents, the men, women, and children of the Falcon Clan emerged to stare at Liyana and the others. Liyana blinked, surprised to find tears in her eyes, as a boy about Jidali’s age ran past them. He clutched a leather ball in his arms. A mother called to the boy with the ball, and he ran to her. He peeked out at them with frightened eyes. His clothes hung loosely on his body.

All the people had feathers in their hair and sewn into their clothes. Most of the men and women wore thick, leather wraps around their wrists, shielding against sharp talons. The birds themselves were everywhere, perched on the tents and on twisted branches that had been driven deep into the sand.

Korbyn dismounted first and called out a greeting. Liyana, Fennik, Pia, and Raan followed suit. Fennik loosened the saddles and curried away the worst of the sweat and sand. More people drew closer to stare at the new arrivals.

“I don’t like this,” Raan said softly.

Liyana tried to smile at the boy with the ball. His mother hid him behind her skirt. Liyana noticed that he was one of only a few children. Surely, the clan had others. “At least they aren’t pointing arrows at us.”

“Something’s wrong here,” Raan said.

“What do you mean?” Pia asked, her voice as high as a mouse’s squeak.

Korbyn pressed his lips into a thin line. “We must be certain before we leave.”

“But we just arrived!” Pia objected.

Liyana studied the faces around them. Their eyes were hostile, their cheeks sunken, and their shoulders hunched. She wondered what they were thinking, if they saw them as more mouths to feed.

“We must speak with your vessel!” Fennik called to them.

As if his words were a knife to flint, the men and women of the Falcon Clan burst into whispers. Several of them ran toward the center of camp—presumably to spread word of their arrival and their request. At the sudden activity, one falcon shrieked a cry. It fanned its wings, but it was tethered to its perch.

“We have at least piqued their curiosity,” Korbyn murmured.

Liyana patted Gray Luck’s neck. The mare shifted from hoof to hoof as if she could sense the unease that permeated the air. These people were clearly uncomfortable with strangers.

Shuffling through the crowd, a man approached them. He bowed low. “We would be honored if you would share tea with our chief and chieftess.”

“See, that did not sound hostile,” Pia said softly.

Raan snorted.

“I’ll stay with the horses,” Fennik volunteered.

“Wise idea,” Korbyn said, and Liyana saw Fennik’s eyes widen at this compliment. She realized this was the first time that Korbyn had ever complimented Fennik. Perhaps Korbyn had finally quit seeing Sendar in Fennik.

Under her breath Raan added, “You might want to keep them ready.”