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To be ripped apart by a mob of undead, or to suffocate in the unforgiving waves of the Dust Sea? At least with the latter,

I would choose how I died.

The mob was nearly upon me. The terrifying visage of the Deathless King leaned over the ship, raising its massive fist. I

glanced once more down the side of the ship, gathering my shattered courage for the jump. It would be over quickly, I told

myself. After that final gasp that filled my lungs with sand, there would be nothing.

And then Raithe’s horrifying figure lunged through the horde and grabbed me around the waist.

I shrieked, fighting in his grasp. I smelled the death that clung to him, felt the steely tendons locked around me as he dragged me from the edge, back toward the mob.

Desperately, I twisted, pulled my dagger from its sheath and stabbed it at the corpse’s face with all my might.

He jerked his head back and grabbed my wrist with one hand, stopping the blade from slicing his cheek open.

“Sparrow, stop!”

His voice startled me; it sounded so normal. But his rotting, leering face loomed in my vision as he grabbed my other wrist,

pulling me closer. I twisted my head away, fighting to get free, the blade of my dagger held helplessly between us.

“Sparrow, look at me!” He gave me a shake that jolted my head back. “You’re dreaming,” he went on as I staggered and my vision

went fuzzy. His voice suddenly seemed to come from a great distance away. “This is a dream. Open your eyes. Wake up!”

I gasped and opened my eyes.

Raithe’s alarmed, haggard face filled my vision. Normal, living, unrotted. Panting, I looked around, searching for the horde

of the dead. We were on the upper deck of the strider, a few feet from the railing that prevented a sharp plunge into the

Dust Sea. The night was clear and still. The deck, save for the two of us, was empty.

“Sparrow.” Raithe’s voice shook a little. His fingers were still clamped tightly around my wrists, the blade of my dagger

still gleaming in my hand. “Talk to me. Are you here?”

I started to shake. My knife dropped from my hand and clattered to the planks between us as I realized what had almost happened.

How close had I been to dying, to leaping from the strider into the open arms of the Dust Sea?

My legs gave out beneath me. Nothing felt real.

I sagged in Raithe’s grip, my breath coming in short, panicked gasps.

He knelt with me on the deck and drew me close, letting me feel the strength in his arms, the solid thump of his heart against mine.

This was not a dream. This was real, and right now, no nightmares, not even the Deathless King, could touch me.

“You’re safe.” His voice was low and steady, soothing my fractured, spinning thoughts. “Breathe, Sparrow. I’ve got you.”

Gradually, my muscles unclenched, the shaking calmed, and my breath returned to normal. Raithe waited until the trembling

had faded before his arms loosened and he shifted, gazing down at me. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“I... it started as a nightmare,” I began, and to my relief, my voice was steady. “But it was one I’ve had before. And

then I was alone on the ship, and everyone else was dead. But not the kind that stay dead—the kind that get up and come after

you. Even you and Halek. You were all chasing me through the ship.

“I came up here,” I continued, feeling my heartbeat pick up again. “And I saw him . The Deathless King. He was towering over the strider, staring right at me. He told me there was no escape, that I had no

place in his world. And the dead were all here, reaching out for me. There was nowhere to go, except...”

My gaze flickered to the railing. Raithe’s arms tightened around me again.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “This is on my head. I knew something was wrong this evening. I suspected the ma’jhet were looking

for you. I just didn’t expect them to use that kind of magic this soon.”

“That was magic?” I whispered.

Raithe nodded. “Almost certainly. That type of dream spell was common in the age of the kings, so much so that charms and runes were crafted to protect against them. In a dream, they could make a person experience anything. It was a dangerous type of magic that could drive one to self-harm, madness, or even death.” His jaw tightened.

“But it hasn’t been used in centuries. I though that type of magic had died out, but it seems the ma’jhet have kept it alive. And now they’re using it against you.”

I shuddered. Even with an ocean of dust between us, I wasn’t safe from the Circle or the Deathless King. Or Vahn, I realized.

Vahn was still trying to kill me.

Raithe must’ve sensed my dismay, or perhaps he felt the shiver that went through me, for he bent his head close, curling his

body protectively around mine on the deck. “There are things we can do to shield you from the ma’jhet,” he murmured. “My people

are experts on the age of the Deathless Kings and their magic. I will protect you, Sparrow. You have my promise.”

I raised my head and met his piercing gaze.

His expression was intense, relief, anger, regret, and determination shining in equal parts from those pale blue eyes. A thin

stream of blood trickled from a shallow gash across his cheek; I realized with horror that the wound was from me, from the

knife I had stabbed blindly in his direction.

Shame and guilt flared. Before I knew what I was doing, my hand rose and gently touched his face. His eyes closed, a soft

breath escaping his lips, as my fingers traced the side of his jaw, brushing his cheek.

The buzz of wings overhead made me jump and caused Raithe to jerk up his head and scan the sky. With a loud droning, the enormous, bulky mass of Rhyne the rock beetle descended and landed on the deck with a thump.

“Raithe? Sparrow? Are you well?” Kysa peered down at us, worry written clearly across her face. Her spear was clutched in

one hand, ready for action, as she leaped from the saddle, joining us on the deck. “Is the girl hurt? What has happened?”

I rose quickly, and Raithe did the same. “We’re fine, Kysa,” I told her, which made her frown. “I just... had a nightmare,

and...” I faltered, unsure if Raithe wanted me to say anything, not really certain what I would say myself.

“There was an incident.” Raithe stepped forward, drawing the rider’s gaze. “Involving magic, and the ma’jhet. They’re looking

for the Fateless.”

Kysa’s gaze narrowed sharply. “What kind of magic?” she asked.

“Based on what Sparrow said earlier, I would guess some kind of scrying magic,” the iylvahn replied. “They’re not here now,”

he went on, as Kysa looked around warily, “but we need a plan on how we can prevent certain attacks in the future. Where is

Halek?”

“Probably still in the tavern, swindling workers out of their hard-earned wages.” She shook her head.

“It is fortunate that everyone seems to like him—I’ve seen d’wevryn sailors stuff gamblers into empty ale barrels and roll them down the stairs if they lose too often.

” The insect rider rolled her eyes, then sobered quickly.

“If this involves the Fateless, I would like to be a part of it,” she told Raithe.

“I know I am not part of your group, nor am I from Kovass, but this is worrying for me and my people.” She glanced at me, her smooth brow furrowing.

“I also might have a solution for this magic concern, if you will hear it.”

Raithe nodded. “You are welcome to join us, Kysa.”

She turned toward her beetle, who was huffing and tossing his horned head. “I’ve just finished my last patrol, and Rhyne is

an impatient beast,” she told us, swinging into the saddle again. “Let me get him settled and I’ll join you in the tavern.”

With a drone of wings, Rhyne and Kysa took to the air. I watched them fly across the deck, then drop from sight over the railing.

The buzz of wings faded, and we were alone again.

Raithe looked at me, and there was something different in his eyes. A hint of realization that thrilled and terrified me all

at once. The last time someone had looked at me like that, I’d wound up unconscious and tied to a chair, while the person

I thought I knew took a cursed soulstone to the Circle to claim the reward for himself.

I couldn’t deal with that again. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Raithe... right now, in this moment. He had vowed to protect

me, and I believed him, but only because he thought I was the Fateless. That protection and trust would end the moment we

reached the iylvahn city and spoke to the queen. I couldn’t forget that. I had trusted Jeran, too. I’d let down my guard,

let myself think that we might have something special, and ended up with a figurative knife in the back. Raithe was a kahjai.

How much easier would it be for him to slide a very real knife between my ribs from behind?

And still, despite all that, I found myself wishing we could reclaim that moment on the deck before Kysa found us.

“Sparrow,” the assassin murmured, still watching me intently, “are you all right? Were you hurt?”

I shook my head. “I’m fine,” I told him. “Do you think Kysa can really help us when it comes to magic?”

He inclined his head. “The insect riders, particularly the Scarab Clan of the Eastern Wastes, are an honorable people. They’re

also very suspicious of magic. The stories of the rider clans stretch all the way back to the age of the Deathless Kings.

In the war of the kings, millions died, and countless races were wiped out, but it is believed that the riders were among

the first to flee their empire as it was falling. They vanished, and it was thought they had gone extinct, like many other

races. Only within the past hundred years have they returned, and they are very tight-lipped about how they managed to stay

hidden from the world for so long.” He took a step, closing the distance between us, though he didn’t touch me. His eyes were

conflicted as they met mine. “The ma’jhet want you dead, and I can’t fight them if they’re using magic against you. I think

it’s wise that we hear what she has to say.”