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My pulse drums erratically in my neck. I carry my spear low, refusing to let its bulk slow me down. Vanna was born during the high morn, when the sun was near its zenith. If I were to guess, I have two hours. It’s not easy to tell, with the threads of gray weaving across the sky. A storm is racing me to the city.

I push harder. I must get to Vanna.

For seventeen years, I’ve tortured my imagination with all the ways Angma might strike today. Snapping Vanna’s neck with a swipe of her paws, slitting her throat with a claw, ripping out her heart with those pearl-white fangs….

My worst fear of all? That I am not there to stop it.

I run faster, until my sandals start to fall apart, and my knees are so wobbly I do not feel their pain. The Port of Kimai is long behind me, the sparrow hawks above are squawking about the snake on my back, and the farmers in the rice paddies call out to ask, “Where are you going, girl?” I breeze past them; they cannot see my hideousness, only a girl racing the gathering storm.

I run until I hear the chants of “Princess, Princess!” The ground trembles, and the beat of Vanna’s name vibrates the grass under my feet. The palm trees on either side of me become terra-cotta houses, the trampled grass paths turn into dirt roads, and the wildflowers bloom into people—thousands of them.

I cannot run anymore. It isn’t possible. I’m squeezing through crowds, cutting through alleys. I snatch a fan from someone’s back pocket and use it to cover my face. Firecrackers pop, kites fly, squids sizzle, and peddlers thrust coral necklaces at me, promising they’re giving me the best price. I shoulder through them all, keeping an eye on the sun.

Every time an old woman jostles me, I grip my spear tighter. Angma could be anyone in this crowd. She could be anywhere.

I weave deeper into the city. It’s a maze of red banners and gold-painted windows, flowers on every door. At last I make it to the main arcade, where everyone is gathered to catch a glimpse of my sister. But all I see are scarlet-sashed servants throwing rice and hibiscus petals, and monks in bright orange robes chanting prayers. The crowd is broken into clusters, all the women and men are complaining—“Did you see her?” “No, she was in that palanquin, how could I?” “I saw the veil. That’s all. Pretty veil.”—and I can tell I’ve missed her.

I need to get to the front, closer to the palace.

Toward the middle of the procession, Ukar recognizes a familiar face. Look there—isn’t that—

“Oshli!” I shout.

If Oshli is here, then Vanna must be too. But the shaman doesn’t hear me. I shout again, louder, and at the last moment his brown eyes dart in my direction. He doesn’t see me. Grim-faced, he’s marching in step with the other priests and priestesses.

Finally come sedan chairs—carrying Adah and Lintang! Behind them is a scarlet palanquin carried by servants. Vanna’s light is emanating from within the silk canopy. I glimpse her golden headdress, pink and purple orchids cascading down her cheeks.

I weave through the crowds, following as the procession approaches the palace gates. Once the royal party enters the imperial grounds, I’ll lose my chance.

Desperation grants me courage, and I push through the tight gathering of onlookers until I am on the road. “Vanna!” I shout, chasing after her palanquin. “Vanna!”

The priestesses trailing Vanna block my path, and guards immediately descend upon me. Their swords flick toward my throat, but I don’t stop. I shove one of the priestesses into their path and scrabble away.

“Vanna!”

She doesn’t hear me. The closer to her I get, the more fanatical the mobs. They spill into the road, throwing betel flowers from their baskets at her for good luck and a good future with her husband.

“Happiness to our prince! Happiness to the new princess!”

She’s passing through the gate. I’m about to lose her. “Vanna! Vanna!”

There’s no use shouting. She can’t hear me. And if I show my face, it’s the crowds that will see me first. They’ll turn on me, rather than let me through.

Someone grabs my arm from behind. The gesture is so sudden and unexpected that my hand goes immediately to my dagger, and I whirl, ready to fight.

It’s Oshli.

He drapes his orange scarf over my head as a veil. His grip on my arm is firm, and as people swarm us, he pushes me toward Vanna’s palanquin, waving his ritual staff.

“Let her through!” he commands.

The guards hesitate, but only for an instant. That instant is enough, and Oshli—who’s never been helpful to me before—shoves me through the gate, right before it closes.

I bolt toward Vanna. Before I can cry out her name, a hard blow catches the back of my legs, and I fly forward.

The drumming stops. Footsteps pound in my direction—a group of guards with raised swords. I’m halfway up on my palms when I realize I’ve lost my spear. It’s rolling under a wagon, far out of reach.

Channi, watch out!