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"What? No, no, no. I said Burning Man. Never mind. It's Earth shit."

"I'm not sure whether to be curious or concerned."

As we descend toward the encampment, people begin to notice our approach. Children point excitedly, and adults hurry towardthe edge of the settlement. Our leader calls out in their language, his voice carrying strong and clear across the distance.

"We're about to become the main attraction," Jackson says.

The gryphs gently lower themselves, allowing us to dismount. A crowd has gathered to receive us, and we're quickly surrounded on all sides. They aren't at all shy about their curiosity. Hands pat and prod at us, and a few omegas have come to Jackson and are clearly interested in knowing about his pregnancy. At first, he's patient with them, but the moment someone touches his belly, he swats their hand and holds up a reprimanding finger.

"Hey," he snaps. "Uh-huh. No touch."

The crowd only seems to get bigger and more intense. It's difficult to read their intentions. They could easily become a mob if the wrong words are spoken. I quickly move closer to Jackson and hook my arm around his. I can't let us be separated. Then, the leader's voice rises up over the noise of the crowd, and from his string of words I once again hearshalkek.There's a gasp, and everyone takes a step back. He's telling everyone about us, accentuating every word with a hand gesture or arm movement, and ends his speech by picking up a palmful of dirt and tossing it into the air. The group murmurs, and eyes turn back to us filled with awe. He speaks again, waving his hand above his head, and a pathway opens through the crowd. The leader motions for us to follow him.

Jackson's eyes constantly scan our surroundings. "So, have we figured out what exactly we're fated for? Because that can mean a lot of different things. We could be fated for human sacrifice."

"Burning men?" I suggest, partially joking.

We reach a large tent near the center of the settlement, and the leader pulls back the heavy fabric door and motions for us to enter. The inside is dimly lit by a few oil lamps and a hole at the pinnacle that lets in a shaft of waning sunlight. The air is spiced with incense drifting from an impression dug into the sand, and there's a small fire pit where a few embers glow softly.

"Wood is hard to come by," I tell Jackson. "Many of the desert tribes only use it in the most sacred of spaces."

"How do they do their cooking?" he asks.

"It's said that the sand gryph's excrement makes an excellent fuel."

"No shit?"

"Yes, shit."

Patterned carpets cover the ground in overlapping layers, and I recognize the common motifs of several nearby cities, including some that must've come from as far as Athenos. And on the far side of the room, almost invisible in the low light and haze of drifting smoke, is a robed figure seated on a plush cushion. Asmy eyes adjust to the darkness, I see that it's a woman with a tattooed face and long hair wrapped up in a tight braid on the top of her head like a crown. The rider speaks from across the room to her, his voice measured and respectful. He's telling the same story he'd told the crowd, but without any of the bravado. She listens quietly to him, but her gaze is fixed on us the entire time. As he finishes, she motions with her hand, and we're brought to sit in front of her.

Up close, I see she's neither young nor elderly, but the experience and aura of a respected alpha matriarch are plainly written on the story of her face. Her eyes are sharp and inquisitive, but also troubled. Something has happened to her people. That's why we're here.

Looking over at Jackson, I get the sense that he also sees what I'm seeing. He sits straight, hands resting calmly in his lap, chin raised slightly with a confident yet respectful air. How fortunate it is that he is a Chosen omega.

"Azin tells me you doused yourselves with our water," the woman says to us. "Is it true?"

"You speak our tongue," I say, surprised.

"And you do not speak ours. I thought the priests of Gnosis were supposed to be clever." She sees the surprise on my face and smiles slightly. "Just arrogant, it seems. Yes, I know of Gnosis. I recognize your colors and your symbols. I am called Niah."

"Actually, I've studied twenty dialects of the western desert," I say defensively, then immediately wince at my own pretentiousness. "But not this one, obviously," I add with a self-deprecating smile. "I am Airos. This is Jackson. We did use your water, yes, but we were desperate. We only used what we needed."

"You splashed." Niah makes a gesture with her hands, mimicking splashing water onto her head.

Jackson and I wince. "I apologize," I say. "We didn't mean to offend."

She lets us stew in our discomfort for a moment before speaking again to me. "Azin tells me you commanded theUthur."

"I don't know this word."

She plunges her hand into a gap between the carpets and pours sand into a pile in front of her legs. "He says it followed your hand like an obedient servant. Does he speak the truth, priest?"

I hesitate. These are my Phoenikos abilities, and revealing them to a stranger is not something I'm accustomed to doing lightly. But I don't think I have a choice.

"He does," I confirm.

"Show me."