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I shook all thoughts of Fate, destiny, and repercussions out of my head.

I couldn’t think like that. I was there, and I had a job to do.

My life—and Vahn’s—depended on it. Besides, what would Vahn say when I came back with a piece of the Tapestry of the World?

Surely this would show him, beyond all doubt, that I was the best.

I’m a thief , I told myself . The teachings say to be the best at what Fate has chosen for you. Well, if Fate wanted me to be a thief, then I’ll be the

best thief anyone has seen and rob Maederyss herself.

I peered from behind the pillar, gazing around the room. As expected during Demon Hour, the temple was empty. No worshippers

were praying to Fate, asking for a better existence in their next life, no priestesses roamed the aisles in their white hoods

and robes, offering comfort and guidance for those discontented with their place. The lack of people would make my job easier,

if only a little bit.

The Tapestry of the World hung a good fifteen feet from the floor, the edges too high for me to reach from the ground. There

was only one way to get to the cloth, and that was to climb atop the statue. Of Maederyss. The goddess of Fate.

I was committing blasphemy after blasphemy today. In my next life I would probably come back as a sand beetle.

Crouching behind another pillar, I observed the statue, searching for the best way to scale it. The stone robes had several

folds and creases that would make for easy handholds, so it wouldn’t be difficult. I had climbed walls that were smoother.

I took a final glance around the room, making sure I was still alone, then sprinted across the floor to the statue and leaped onto its robes.

Without pausing, I scrambled up the carved stone hand over hand, deliberately not thinking about anything to do with Fate.

I reached the goddess’s knees, then carefully made my way over to the cloth draped over her fingers.

Up close, the weave was even more beautiful, the golden and silver threads glimmering as I reached for one of the edges. Because

I wore gloves, I couldn’t feel the texture of the weave, but the fabric was surprisingly light. Reaching into my belt, I pulled

free one of my daggers and raised it toward the shimmering cloth.

My gut prickled. I froze, the tip of my blade hovering over the tapestry, as a shiver went through me and the hair on my arms

stood up. It was the same feeling I got when I was on a job and I could sense a guard’s footsteps approaching. I didn’t know

how I knew, but I never questioned the instinct. Something, or someone, was coming.

Reflexively, I ducked behind the only cover I could see—the dangling edge of the Tapestry of the World. Pressing myself into

Maederyss’s wrist, I peered through the folds of cloth and gazed across the chamber.

A hooded figure dressed in a loose white tunic and cowl appeared in the temple doorway and walked down the center aisle toward

the statue. The guards paid them no mind; I wasn’t even sure they’d seen the stranger come in. Their footfalls made no sound

against the stones, and they moved with an easy, almost predatory grace. My heart pounded, and I went motionless against the

statue, hoping to blend into the stone like a desert chameleon. If I had hesitated a moment longer beside the tapestry, I

would’ve been seen.

Below me, I heard the squeak of a door opening, and then light footfalls padded across the room toward the stranger. “Is that you, kahjai?” came the quiet voice of what had to be one of the priestesses.

Moving as slowly as a rock tortoise, I peered down and saw that the stranger had stopped in front of the statue. They were

tall, though from this angle I couldn’t see any of their features. A curved sword hung at their waist, its copper hilt glittering

in the dim light.

“It is, High Priestess.” The stranger’s voice was low and deep. “Apologies for coming out during... Demon Hour is what

your people call it, correct?”

“Yes, but do not apologize. It is an honor to have one of the kahjai visit us today.”

I couldn’t see the priestess, but her voice was stiff, as if she were reciting something she didn’t really believe. Her footsteps

stopped below the statue, but I couldn’t see her over the stone edge of Maederyss’s knee. The stranger took a step forward,

facing the priestess in front of the statue, though their hood was still drawn up, their face hidden by the fabric.

“Are we alone here?” the stranger asked. “We are not in danger of being overheard?”

“The rest of the sisters are asleep or in meditation,” the Ahsani, the high priestess of the temple, replied, and I imagined

her waving a billowy sleeve toward the back of the chamber. “No one will venture out until after Demon Hour, so our privacy

is ensured.”

“As you say.” The figure raised a hand and brushed back his hood, and I bit my lip to stifle a gasp of surprise.

I had never left Kovass. My entire life had been spent within its limestone walls, and for most people, the city was more than large enough that they never dreamed of seeing the world outside its borders.

Especially since everyone knew what lay beyond.

The wastelands, rocky, barren, and scorching, stretched away to the south until they hit the horizon. To

the north was the great Dust Sea, the endless expanse of roiling, shifting sands that swallowed anything heavier than a scroll.

Great sand ships or huge mechanical walkers known as striders were needed to cross Dust Sea, and they returned with exotic

goods and wild tales of the lands beyond. Stories of people who traveled the desert on the backs of giant beetles, who used

the monstrous insects like we used donkeys and oxen. Of clans whose warriors were half feline, with sharp claws and teeth

and eyes that could see in the dark.

And then there were stories of the iylvahn.

A mysterious, reclusive people, the iylvahn were said to live in a magnificent city across the Dust Sea that no other race

had seen the inside of. They were secretive and long-lived, and they hoarded knowledge like dust mice hoarded seeds. According

to common consensus, the iylvahn were universally graceful, elegant, and beautiful, man and woman alike. They had charcoal

or blue-gray complexions, strange-colored eyes, and pale hair. But their most distinguishing feature was their ears, which

were slender and pointed like a Cyrian dagger.

Below me, the stranger lowered his arms, revealing high cheekbones, twilight colored skin, and slender ears shaped like the curved dagger in my boot.

His short hair was white, almost silver, but the face below was young and shockingly beautiful, just like the stories said.

His eyes were a pale, pale blue and glowed softly, like the nimbus of light around the moon.

“The queen of Irrikah sends her regards,” the iylvahn said, his deep voice sending shivers up and down my spine. “Out of respect

for you and your position, I ask permission to be within the city.”

“It is granted,” said the high priestess, sounding very formal, “as long as your blade does not sever the threads still being

woven.”

I bit my bottom lip, thinking of my mission, and how I still had to “sever the threads” in the very tapestry providing my

hiding spot. I hoped this was simply coincidence and not some sort of omen.

“It is not my place,” said the iylvahn, sounding equally formal. “I am the blade that cuts the blight from the tree and the

weak threads from the Weave. Nothing more or less.”

“Good.” The high priestess’s voice was tight, her facade of politeness fading. “I know the queen believes your work is necessary,

and I will not ask the details of your mission, but I have not seen anything of this darkness she speaks of. The empire that

lies beneath us is naught but dust and bones and sand. The Deathless Kings are long forgotten.”

A chill slid up my back. The Deathless Kings?

What did a children’s faery tale have to do with the iylvahn?

I remembered hearing a story of the Deathless Kings once, long ago, when I was very small.

It had been frightening, so frightening that it had kept me from going to sleep for two nights straight, thinking a Deathless King might slither out from under my bed and drag me down to his dark kingdom.

Vahn had finally explained that the Deathless Kings had once ruled the world, but they had vanished thousands of years ago, and the stories left behind were mostly used to scare naughty children.

I was a child then, so it might’ve been my imagination, but that night Vahn had seemed almost... angry. Not at me, but

at the man who had told the story of the Deathless Kings. My childish fears had faded, though I couldn’t remember seeing that

thief in the guild ever again.

“I do not question the queen’s orders,” the iylvahn said in a voice dead of emotion. “She said a darkness sleeps under Kovass,

and it will rise unless certain threads are cut from the Weave. I am here to make certain it is done.”

The high priestess sighed. “Go, then,” she said. “Do your job quickly and return to your people. A kahjai in Kovass only invites

death.”

Kahjai . I didn’t know what that was, but it was clear the high priestess did not approve of them. Though her tone quickly switched

back to formal. “May your time with us be brief, may your blade cut true, and may you return to the shadows before any realize

you exist.”

The iylvahn bowed. Without answering, he pulled up his hood, then turned as if to walk away.

He paused. Standing with his back to me, he turned his cowled head very slightly, as if listening to something behind him.

I held my breath, wondering if he could hear my heart thudding beneath my tunic, and pressed myself even farther into the

statue.

“Kahjai?” The high priestess sounded concerned. “Is something wrong?”

The hood turned toward the door again. “No,” the iylvahn said. “It is nothing.” Ducking his head, he started walking away.

“May Fate smile upon you, Ahsani,” he said. Then he slipped out the door... and was gone.

I waited until the priestess’s footsteps shuffled across the floor and a door clicked shut behind her before springing to

my feet. That had been entirely too close. If the iylvahn had seen me up there, I didn’t know what he would have done, but

one thing was certain: I did not want to find out. In my seventeen years in the guild, I had seen many dangerous men. Thieves,

predators, brawlers, and toughs. Men who would cut your throat as well as your purse, who stalked citizens though the streets

and back alleys like sand wolves, who felt no remorse about breaking someone’s kneecaps, should the guild give the order.

I knew which guild members I could trust and which to avoid, because regardless of guild law forbidding members to prey on

each other, we were all thieves. Breaking the law was what we did every day. And we were good at it.

But the iylvahn, with his cold, pale eyes and beautiful, almost alien face, was by far the most dangerous creature I had seen.

I knew my fair share of cutthroats and criminals. But there was no doubt in my mind—the iylvahn was a killer.

There was no formal Assassins Guild in Kovass.

Mainly because the Circle existed. Its members controlled the organized crime in the city, and they didn’t tolerate competition.

But there were rumors of shadowy figures from other lands who sometimes appeared in Kovass.

I wondered if the iylvahn were the “shadowy figures” those rumors were talking about.

Unease flickered. First that bizarre request from the Circle, and now a mysterious stranger from across the Dust Sea walking

into the Temple of Fate. I wondered if the two things were somehow connected, though I didn’t like what that implied. The

iylvahn was dangerous. His visit to the temple didn’t feel like a coincidence. Something was going on, and I might be right

in the center of it.

Focus, Sparrow. That’s not what you’re here for, and you still have a job to do.

Grasping my dagger, I placed the blade against the silken edge of the tapestry. For just a moment, I held my breath, wondering

if this was when I would be struck down by Fate. If one of the chains that suspended the chandeliers from the ceiling would snap,

and I would be crushed under candle wax and iron, a freak accident in the Temple of Fate.

But nothing happened, and I drew the blade down the tapestry, easily parting the cloth. I winced at the noise; it wasn’t loud,

but the sound of my dagger cutting through the expensive silk made my hair stand on end. I cut a sizable chunk from the whole,

large enough that the cloth would be easily recognizable, then stuffed the fabric into my leather satchel.

I have it! I have the Tapestry of the World. How many other thieves will ever say that?

Heart racing, I slid down the statue, hit the floor of the temple, and sprinted outside.

The blazing heat of the twins struck me, but I put my head down and kept moving until I had slipped between the buildings across the road and ducked into a narrow alley.

Only then did I pause to evaluate what had just happened.

Just to be sure, I reached a hand into my satchel and touched the fabric. It was still there. I had taken a piece of the Tapestry

of the World.

I hoped it would be enough to satisfy the Circle. And Vahn.

There were several minutes left in Demon Hour, though Solasti was starting to abandon her sister and make her way across the

horizon alone. It would be scorching for another hour, and the rooftops would be thoroughly cooked, a miserable way to travel.

I could probably make my way through the streets without too much notice, as the walkways and sidewalks were still completely

dead. But guard cupolas sat on nearly every corner in the Garden District, and I was carrying a scrap of the Tapestry of the

World in my satchel. Tempting Fate even further, when I had gotten luckier than any soul had a right to, didn’t seem prudent.

I took to the rooftops and started the uncomfortable journey home.