Liyana checked Gray Luck’s bridle, and then she patted her again before handing the reins to Fennik. She joined Korbyn, Raan, and Pia, and followed their guide across the camp.

When they reached the chief and chieftess’s tent, their guide halted. Korbyn strode inside without pause. The vessels followed.

Inside the tent, three people were seated around the cooking fire—an ancient man with a necklace of bird skulls and a man and woman who wore feather headdresses and ornate multicolored robes. A silver kettle warmed over the fire. The man with the skulls fetched a tray of silver cups. He laid them on a carpet and then poured tea in each.

“Welcome to our clan,” the chieftess said. She was a soft-spoken woman with thick coils of black and gray hair wound tightly against her scalp. Her headdress consisted of three rows of falcon feathers that dangled over her cheeks. “Share the water of life with us, steeped in the food of health.” Ceremonially she raised a cup of tea to her lips and sipped.

Korbyn sat cross-legged in front of her. “We thank you for your hospitality and bring greetings from across the desert, as well as from the Dreaming.” He selected a cup and sipped the tea. Liyana watched the ancient man’s eyes widen at the mention of the Dreaming. She guessed that that was not part of this clan’s traditional greeting. “I am Korbyn, god of the Raven Clan. My companions are Liyana, vessel of Bayla of the Goat Clan; Pia, vessel of Oyri of the Silk Clan; and Raan, vessel of Maara of the Scorpion Clan. Our companion, Fennik, vessel of Sendar of the Horse Clan, tends to our mounts.”

The chieftess’s hands shook. She laid her teacup on the tray, and she folded her hands in her lap as if to disguise the way they trembled. Liyana noticed that the old man’s eyes had widened so much that he resembled a horse about to bolt.

“Why have you come to us?” the chief asked.

“Five of the desert deities have been stolen from the Dreaming,” Korbyn said. His voice was even, and his face was expressionless. Liyana had an urge to hold his hand as if he needed comforting. She stayed behind him and didn’t speak. “We seek to return them to their rightful clans. Your god, Somayo, was one of them, and so we have come to ask your vessel to join us.”

The chief rose to his feet. Without speaking, he left the tent. The man with the bird skull necklace covered his face with his hands. The chieftess blanched but did not move.

Liyana felt a sick knot form in the base of her stomach. Please, no.

“How . . . how long ago was it?” Raan asked. Her voice was hushed.

The chieftess lowered her eyes and stared into the teacups. “Two nights ago.”

Oh, goddess, two nights! If she’d learned magic faster, if Pia’s tribe had believed them faster, if Raan hadn’t wasted time with her escapes, if Fennik’s father hadn’t stabbed Liyana . . .

“We didn’t know.” The old man’s voice was low and husky. “I should have. . . .”

“I do not understand,” Pia said.

Raan laid her hands on Pia’s shoulders and hauled her back toward the tent flap. “We’ll explain outside, princess. Liyana, help here?”

“I’m not a princess,” Pia said. She dug her feet into the carpets and resisted. Liyana grabbed her other arm, and together she and Raan propelled Pia out of the tent. “Ow, ow, ow! But the vessel!”

Outside, Liyana whispered in her ear, “They killed him.”

Pia gasped.

“Keep your face calm,” Raan ordered in her other ear. “We need to get out of here before it occurs to these people to blame us.”

“But we didn’t—” Pia began.

“It’s what people do, princess,” Raan said. She plastered a smile on her face and waved at the people who had gathered around the tent. Liyana did the same. “Better get Korbyn before they decide that any god will suffice.”

Pia gasped again. “They wouldn’t!”

“Return to Fennik,” Liyana said. “If Korbyn and I aren’t with you in three minutes, ride the horses through camp past this tent.” Releasing Pia, she walked back inside.

Inside, the chieftess was openly crying. Korbyn held her hands, trying to comfort her. The old man looked as if he’d been punched in the gut. He huddled on a cushion, holding his knees to his chest and looking at the roof of the tent with wild eyes. Liyana wondered if he was the vessel’s magician—or if he had been his executioner.

Liyana took a deep breath, marched across the tent, and pried the chieftess’s fingers off of Korbyn’s hands. “My clan is in Yubay,” she told the chieftess. “I recommend you join them there. Together, you can pool your resources until we rescue the deities.” She wondered what Korbyn had been telling her and hoped she hadn’t contradicted it. She decided she didn’t care. With Korbyn, she backed out of the tent.

Outside, men and women milled between the tents, filling the spaces. Their stares felt like arrows. Pulling Korbyn by the elbow, Liyana strode in the direction of the horses.

A woman with a baby in her arms rushed toward them. “Please, help my baby. She’s sick!” She thrust the baby at Korbyn. Korbyn stumbled as he caught the child.

As if the woman had ignited a spark inside the crowd, others pressed forward. “The well is nearly dry,” one man said. “A few more months, that’s all we need.”

“The birds . . . The eggs won’t hatch right. Please . . . If you help them . . .”

“I broke my leg. Can’t work.”

“My husband is ill. . . .”

“Can’t find our usual prey. Hunting has gone bad. The drought . . .”

They clustered closer. The mother of the baby was pushed toward the back of the crowd, and in Korbyn’s arms, the baby began to cry soft mewling sounds like a hurt kitten. A few began to push and shout as requests switched to demands. Liyana tried to force her way through.

She heard hoofbeats. “Get ready,” she told Korbyn.

The crowd broke apart as the horses thundered through. Fennik grabbed Liyana’s waist and yanked her up in front of him. Clutching the horse’s neck, she shot a look behind them to see Korbyn swing himself onto one of the other riderless horses. With a tight grip on the reins, Raan led Pia’s horse as Pia clung to her mare’s neck. They pounded through camp and burst out the other side. Men and women chased after them.

Several miles away, at Fennik’s signal, they slowed, and then stopped. Fennik dismounted and began to care for the horses. All the horses had foam around their mouths. Sweat glistened on their sand-coated hides, and their sides heaved. Dismounting also, Pia soothed them, cooing to them as she stroked their necks.

The baby whimpered.

“You have a baby!” Pia cried.

“Her mother said she was sick,” Korbyn said. He held the baby away from his body as if he were afraid that the baby would bite.

“You have to help it,” Pia said.

“Did you think I planned to leave it for the sand wolves?” Korbyn said. “Of course I’ll help it.” He slid off his horse. A dried-out cactus crunched under his feet.

“You should have given it back,” Liyana said. She tried not to look at it, tried not to care, but at the baby’s cries, she felt herself twist inside. She thought of the babies in her clan, of the ones who needed Bayla.

The baby cried louder. Her face squished and reddened.

Pia scooped the baby out of Korbyn’s arms. “Let me.” Pacing in a circle, she sang a lullaby. The baby quieted and then began to utter a string of nonsense syllables, as if she were singing with Pia.

Korbyn lowered himself to the ground. “Give it to me.”

“We don’t have time for this,” Liyana said. But she didn’t say it with any conviction. If Korbyn didn’t heal this baby, no one would. The baby’s god wasn’t coming.

Still crooning, Pia lowered the baby into Korbyn’s arms. Immediately the child wailed louder than before. Pia scooped her up again and sat close to Korbyn. “Will this work?” Singing, she calmed the baby. Her tiny, pudgy fingers wrapped around Pia’s white hair.