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“Magic nightmares.” Halek shook his head, furrowing his brow. We were in the tavern once more, sitting at a corner table in

the nearly empty room. “That sounds unpleasant. So the Circle are playing dirty, eh? What do we do? How are we going to protect

Sparrow?” He glanced at me, a faintly evil grin crossing his face. “I guess we could always tie her to the bed.”

I smirked back. “And then you’ll have to explain to Tahba how you ended up with a knife in the groin.”

He winced. Kysa rolled her eyes and turned to Raithe, who sat quietly at the end of the table with his fingers laced below

his chin. “Tell me about this magic,” she said in a practical voice. “You mentioned that you recognized it.”

Raithe uncurled his fingers and sat straighter in the chair. “The Deathless Kings weren’t the only creatures with magic,”

he explained to us. “They were undoubtedly the most powerful, and the most destructive, but all magic comes from the same

source.”

“Life,” Kysa said solemnly.

Raithe nodded. “Yes. You can’t create something out of nothing—the magic has to come from somewhere.

The Deathless were able to take it from the world around them, whether from plants, insects, or their own subjects.

But some members of the ma’jhet figured out a way to work small magics by sacrificing living creatures.

Sometimes animals, but usually people, trading that life to fuel their power, if only for a short time. ”

“Blood magic,” Halek muttered, wrinkling his nose. “I’ve heard of these so-called sorcerers. There’s a reason magic is banned

in nearly all civilized societies. Like Raithe said, it has to come from somewhere.”

I shivered. The thought that something had been sacrificed because of me turned my stomach. I could see Vahn standing over

the altar, knife in hand, ready to end the life of whatever was below him. I hoped to the goddess that it hadn’t been another

human.

“To cast a scrying spell like the one that was probably used on Sparrow,” Raithe continued, “you have to have something belonging

to that person. Commonly, a strand of hair, or a piece of clothing. Even a single drop of blood might be enough to find them.”

My insides did another cartwheel. “Everything I owned was in my room in the guild warehouse,” I said, recalling my private

collection. My nest of treasures. Even those were being used against me. “Vahn has no shortage of things that were mine.”

Kysa’s lips thinned. “Then we are running out of time, indeed,” she murmured into the grim silence. “I might have a solution,

if you would hear it. It would require drastic measures.”

“If it keeps away nightmares and stops me from sleepwalking off the edge of the strider, I’m more than willing to hear it,”

I said.

Kysa nodded. “One moment,” she said, and reached across her body with one arm, sliding her fingers underneath the shoulder of her armor. There was a click , and the chitinous shell came loose from shoulder to wrist. Laying the armor aside, she placed her arm on the table, wrist

up. Vivid green tattoos covered every inch of her bared skin in elegant, swirling runes. They were written in a language I

did not recognize, and swept up her arm in an almost hypnotic pattern.

“When our warriors complete their initiation,” Kysa began as we stared at the mesmerizing swirls of ink on her skin, “they

are expected to travel the world for a year. Among my people, this is a fairly new development. We were hidden and isolated

for so long, our paranoia and fear of outsiders nearly destroyed us. Thankfully, a few wise elders realized we could not hide

from the world forever, and now we wish to learn as much as we can to make up for those centuries of isolation. These”—she

traced the runes on her arm with one slender finger—“are meant to protect our warriors from evil. To keep them safe, even

when they are far from home.”

I gazed at the swirling tattoos, my mind spinning at the thought that magic existed, and that I was being targeted by such

power, at least according to Raithe. “Do they work?” I asked Kysa. “Can they shield you from magic as well?”

“It is mostly tradition now,” Kysa told me.

“Long ago, every member of the clan was inscribed with these tattoos. It has been many centuries since that era, however. Now only our warriors receive them, to prove they have been found worthy of being a rider. But... yes.” Her dark eyes met mine over the table.

“They are for protection against evil magic. Whether they would work for you, I am not certain,” she said, pulling her arm back.

“Nor am I certain if our lore keeper could inscribe them onto an outsider, or if the clan would even allow it. But I am willing to ask. We are only a few days out from Damassi. I could send a message to my clan tonight and hopefully have an answer before we reach the city.”

Suspicion reared its ugly head. “Why are you doing this, Kysa?” I asked. “You’ve only known us a few days.”

She cocked her head at me. “Is that a reason not to help someone?” she asked. “If you see a traveler sinking into devouring

sand, do you try to get to know him before pulling him out?”

“Well, no,” I stammered. “But this is different.”

“Not so much,” Kysa said. “It is a warrior’s duty to offer aid to those in need. Besides,” she continued softly, “things are

happening in the world. A monster appeared that was extinct for centuries. A Deathless King has apparently returned from legend.

And I keep hearing you referred to as ‘Fateless,’ over and over again.” She glanced at Raithe, who raised an eyebrow but didn’t

respond.

“I suspect that, willing or not, you are going to be embroiled in the center of whatever is happening,” Kysa went on, watching

me with dark, appraising eyes. “There is a storm coming, and you seem to be the catalyst. My people need to know of it, lest

they be swallowed themselves.”

“I don’t have any money,” I told her. “I won’t be able to pay for any of this.”

Her eyes narrowed. “We would not ask you to pay,” she said in a slightly offended voice.

“This is not a service we offer to outsiders. As I said, only our warriors are inscribed with the protection markings. However, receiving the tattoos would mark you as a warrior of the Scarab Clan. If the clan agrees, you will have to go through the warrior’s initiation to prove yourself worthy. ”

I swallowed. “What kind of initiation is it?” I asked.

“I cannot say.” Kysa’s gaze darkened. “It is forbidden for me to tell outsiders the rites of our clan. But if you wish to

receive the tattoos, you will have to pass the test.”

I looked at Raithe. “What do you think?” I asked him.

He regarded me seriously before answering. “If the Guildmaster is truly the one using magic against you, I think it’s a good

idea to have as much protection as you can,” he replied. “But it’s your decision, Sparrow. I don’t know what the tattoos will

do, if they do anything. Ultimately, the choice is yours.”

I swallowed. I didn’t like asking for help. And if this test was dangerous, I didn’t know if I would be able to pass. I wasn’t

a warrior like Kysa or Raithe. But I couldn’t fight magic. I couldn’t run from my own dreams. Vahn had all he needed to turn

my dreams against me every night. If I wanted to make it to the iylvahn city alive and sane, I had to fight back somehow.

I couldn’t do this alone.

Glancing at Kysa, who waited patiently, I nodded. “All right,” I told her. “Yes. If your clan is willing, I will undertake

this test of theirs.”

She gave a solemn bob of her head. “I will send a message now.”

“Quick question,” Halek broke in, raising a finger. “How are you going to send a message, exactly? We’re in the middle of the Dust Sea—it’s not like there are any courier huts around.”

The rider’s lips twisted in a faintly mocking smile. “Courier huts,” she repeated, somewhat disdainfully. “I don’t know why

the cities use such ponderous creatures to send missives. Our messenger bugs are ten times faster, and they have wings.”

“I’ll come with you,” Halek offered, pushing back his chair. “I want to see these amazing messenger bugs you speak of.”

“Just don’t put your fingers too close to their cage,” Kysa warned as they left the table. “You might lose them.”

I glanced at Raithe and found him watching me, his expression caught between relief and concern. The intensity in his pale

blue gaze made my stomach flutter. I forced a grin. “You know, I haven’t had the best luck with giant insects lately. I hope

their test isn’t something like ‘tame a wild rock beetle naked.’?”

Raithe blinked, and it might’ve been my imagination, but his cheeks seemed to color slightly. It was hard to tell. “Just make

certain you want to do this,” he said, choosing to ignore my previous comment. “The Scarab Clan live in a harsh environment,

and many of their people are warriors. This test might be very difficult, Sparrow.”

I nodded. “I think I have to try,” I told him. “I can’t hide from Vahn and the Circle if they’re using magic to find me. And

I know Vahn—he won’t stop. The Circle will continue to come after me, which puts the rest of you in danger, too. If Vahn knows

where we are, the Deathless King knows, as well. Based on that... I’ll risk whatever this test is to keep us safe.”

From across the room, the d’wevryn bartender caught my eye with a frown. “Oy, are you two nearly done?” he called gruffly. “Contrary to popular belief, we’re not open all night. I’d like to close up sometime before suns rise.”

I glanced at Raithe and smirked. “I think we’re being kicked out.”

“It would appear so,” he agreed, and rose gracefully from his chair. “I’ll walk you to your room.”

“I don’t need an escort,” I protested as we left the tavern. “I doubt there are any assassins of the Circle waiting for me

in the corridors.”

He raised a brow, which made me instantly regret my statement. If someone like Raithe was after me, they wouldn’t let an ocean