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E SME SHOULD HAVE heeded the wisdom of her Chanaryn elders. As she waited in an upper hold of the huge ship, she eyed those gathering with her. She had not expected to be struck so soon by the doom predicted by the neey auguran, the bad omens that this dragon-helmed ship portended.

Worse, if I had known what lay in the larger hold beneath this one, I would never have boarded this accursed vessel.

Earlier, Jace had allowed her to peek at what nested there. He had tried to get her to enter that hold, promising she would be safe. But she had balked at getting any nearer to those winged beasts. Five had been smaller, shaggier, but the true monster shadowed deeper in the hold. It was the same brute she had spotted carrying two riders. She wanted nothing to do with such beasts, especially knowing the Chanaryn sagas about winged daemons.

To Esme, only one creature aboard this ship made any sense. Crikit tapped back and forth behind her, expressing his nervousness. He chirped quietly, clearly anxious to escape this ship, too.

She understood his dismay. She stared over at the line of five sailrafts at the rear of the hold, all stanchioned in launch brackets positioned before the stern door. The vessels were used to evacuate a crippled wyndship. Esme wished she could flee aboard one of them. But at the moment, that was an impossibility. The stern door abutted tight against the sandstone, making it impossible to open.

Resigned to her fate, Esme studied the others in the group. She fixed on the gruff-faced knight, whose demeanor was as hard as his scarred face. Graylin had asked her to lead this excursion across the ruins to reach the Bhestyan warship. She didn’t know if she could scout such a path, but she would do her best.

But that wasn’t the main reason I agreed.

She watched Graylin nod, while another member of their party gestured with hands and expressions. “We’ll be underway shortly, Vikas,” he assured her.

Esme tried not to gawk at this mountain of a woman, one incapable of speech. Out in the desert, such a child would’ve been abandoned as a babe, left to the sands to scour away such a taint. Such was considered mercy, not cruelty.

Esme had come to doubt that, having witnessed others far more afflicted in Seekh who fared well, who thrived amidst the sandy ruins. It was one of many lessons she had gained from her years foraging the necropolises.

Another was how to properly outfit oneself while traversing the ruins.

She had shared the knowledge with the others. Upon her recommendation, the group had outfitted themselves in desert whites, which consisted of a belted tunic over loose breeches. Hard boots had been exchanged for leather-soled sandals, flexible enough for surefooted climbing. She had taught them how to wrap a scarf about their heads, leaving a scrap hanging to pull over mouth and nose when the sand blew hard.

Which it certainly was now.

The hollow roar of the ishuka penetrated down into the hold. The entire ship shook and jolted. Muffled shouts marked the crew’s fight to keep them in place.

A rushed trampling of feet drew her attention to the stairs behind her. A thin, squat figure burst off the last step and hurried over, breathless and red-faced. She didn’t recognize the man, but from the gear he wore, he was the last member of the group.

“About time, Rhaif,” Graylin scolded him. “Grab a pack. We need to be off. We’ve delayed long enough.”

The newcomer patted a satchel belted at his hip. “Got everything I need. Lockpicks and files, oils for hinges, mirrors for spying. All a thief needs to sneak aboard a warship and bring her down. Who needs cannons and ballistas?”

Jace approached, shifting his shoulders to balance the broad-ax across his back. “I’d take both if we could carry them.”

“We’ll have enough to haul as it is.” Graylin herded everyone to a stack of packs. The bags held ropes, climbing gear, hand picks, and shovels. “Everyone load up.”

As they obeyed, Jace caught Esme staring quizzically at the last of the group. “That’s Rhaif hy Albar, a thief out of Anvil in the Guld’guhl territories. His skills may prove as vital as yours.”

“If we can get there,” Graylin muttered to the side, having overheard them.

The ship’s navigator, Fenn, hauled a pack over his shoulders. His skin had drawn tight over the bones of his face, his complexion pale to the point of translucency.

Esme recognized that familiar hollowed-out look of fear and worry. She had seen the same expression on many boys headed into the desert to start their manhood trials. Except her brother, Arryn, who had simply looked excited as he set off to prove himself amidst sand, water, and rock.

As Esme watched Fenn, she understood what terrorized the navigator. She had heard his story from Jace, a tale of betrayal and murder, and now a sister imprisoned, threatened by death.

For Fenn, this trek was more about rescue than sabotage. Still, he seemed to accept which was more important, having expressed as much earlier. The warship had to be crippled. But from his countenance, she wondered how truthful he had been. Still, they needed him. Someone with the face of a Bhestyan might prove critical when invading one of the kingdom’s warships.

Esme shook off such speculations.

None of it matters.

She hauled up one of the packs and carried it to Crikit. She quickly and expertly harnessed it to his back. Another bag already burdened her friend, snugged down on the far side of his carapace’s central ridge. As a scout, Esme needed her arms and legs free to quickly explore and scramble a path forward, leading the others through the ruins.

Jace joined her. “Do you need any help?”

“Crikit will manage.” She checked the straps one final time. “He can easily keep up with me.”

Or so I hope.

She tried not to stare at the pack on the far side. Jace smiled at her, his manner so genuine, so good-natured, so unlike those who dwelled in Seekh. Guilt panged through her, knowing her plan.

She had to remind herself.

This is not my battle.

While readying for this trip, Jace had fleshed out the others’ stories: of a girl awakened by poison in the swamp, of prophecies of pending doom, of wars being fought on the far side of the Crown, and of a far more ancient battle among undying gods. It was all madness. After her years in Seekh, she had her fill with the deluded and the foolish. Plus, the words of Aelder Hasant still haunted her, of the dark portent of such a ship.

Earlier in the day, she had not heeded his warning.

But now I will.

While this ship had promised a chance to cross into the deep desert, to aid in her search for Arryn, she recognized now that it came with too much risk. She should have stuck to her original plan.

Knowing this, she could not stop herself from eyeing the first pack she had tied to Crikit’s back. Inside, she had hidden the treasure she had recovered from the ruins, an artifact worth a king’s ransom, enough to buy her passage out to the Barrens.

I do not need to shoulder this group’s burdens.

Boarding the ship had been a rash act. She intended to correct that mis take. Once out in the ruins, she would take off with Crikit, abandoning the others to their own mischief. From there, she would make her way to another village, one not overrun by Peck and his ilk, and sell this treasure to the Guilders, funding her own trek into the Barrens.

Still, her stomach churned at this choice. She knew she had to be as harsh as the desert. While she didn’t like this betrayal, she would learn to live with it. Shame could be dealt with. The sun would eventually bake it out of her.

Graylin waved everyone toward the starboard side of the hold. “Let’s be off.”

Before they could step away, loud footfalls drew their attention back to the stairs. Wood groaned under a heavy tread. From the sound, Esme expected someone even more massive than Vikas to appear.

Instead, a tall, lissome woman swept elegantly into the room. A long robe brushed her calves. She entered with such easy grace, Esme wondered if she was from some noble line, a lost lineage of ancient queens.

Rhaif hurried toward her.

Jace shifted closer to Esme, his brow crinkled with worry. “I’m sorry. I should’ve warned you sooner…”

The thief reached the stately woman. “Shiya, what are you doing here? Did you get the coolers running?”

“No,” she intoned, turning the one word into the first note of a song.

Esme found herself mesmerized.

The woman—Shiya—continued, “As a precaution, I’ve sealed each chamber, to keep sand and dust away. We dare not risk any damage.”

Rhaif took her hand. “Then why…?”

She smiled at the thief. Her expression was so warm and appreciative that Esme found herself mirroring the same affection for this thin man. “I came to see you all off.”

Shiya drew the man into a brief embrace.

Jace took Esme’s hand, his palm slick with the same worry as before. “I had hoped to brace you first. Give you more time to acclimate, especially after your reaction to Bashaliia and the raash’ke. I didn’t want to overwhelm you.”

“Why?” she whispered, unable to turn her gaze from the woman. “Who is she?”

Shiya stepped closer, nodding in greeting to Graylin.

“She is a ta’wyn, ” Jace said.

Esme frowned, struggling for a breath to understand—then she did. She had heard that word before, when trapped between Peck and the strangers. It was a term used to describe the treasure she had pulled from the sand.

By now, Crikit had crossed over and danced around the woman with plain curiosity, his eye-stalks high. Upon his back, he carried a limb from the same being.

A ta’wyn…

Esme stumbled away, supported still by Jace, but no strength of limb could anchor her. She finally recognized that the woman’s skin was not richly sun-kissed but was made of bronze—only this metal appeared warm and malleable as any flesh.

How could this be?

Even the curls of the figure’s hair shimmered a darker sheen, as if tarnished, composed of filaments so fine that they begged to be brushed aside. The cheeks blushed through hues of pink and darker red. The lips gathered the latter colors, creating a rosy aspect that accentuated the bow of her mouth.

Esme touched her forehead. “I must be going mad.”

But as she stared into the figure’s eyes, their brightness burned away any doubt.

Esme tore her gaze from the impossible figure and faced Jace. “Your stories… all of them… they were true.”

“As best I can attest,” he said softly, clearly wounded for causing her this pain.

Esme let all those wild tales flow through her. She wanted to dismiss them again, especially the apocalypse at the center of it all. But she could not.

The truth shone in bronze before her.

Graylin stepped before Esme. “I’m sorry. But we must be going. Are you all right to continue?”

I’ll never be all right.

“Can you guide us to the other ship?” he pressed her.

Off to the side, Fenn cranked open a hatch, lowering the door to form a bridge out to the ruins. He was plainly anxious to be underway, to reach his sister.

Behind Graylin, the ta’wyn woman gave the thief a brief hug, then headed away, with her own duties to attend.

But what of my own?

The grizzled knight stared at her, waiting for an answer.

Esme’s neck had stiffened, harder than any bronze. She forced her head to nod. “I will… I will try my best.”

“Thank you.” Graylin headed toward Fenn.

Esme turned to Jace, who still held her hand. She gave his fingers one squeeze, then freed herself. “We should go.”

As they headed toward the hatch, trailed by Crikit, Esme glanced to the shadowy doorway where the miracle had departed. Facing forward, she pic tured the tarnished limb hidden inside the crab’s pack, a treasure that could buy her freedom.

She considered her plan, once certain, now less so.

This is not my battle, she reminded herself.

Upon reaching the bridge that led off into the ruins, she stared into the familiar shadows. They offered more comfort than the strangeness of this ship. As she headed out, her promise to Graylin echoed in her head.

I will try my best.

She had spoken the truth, but what had she meant? To do her best to escape with Crikit… or to help these others? She still didn’t know.

She headed toward the ruins.

I will only discover my answer out there.