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to be polite. We of the Scarab Clan no longer fear the outside world. We wish to welcome other cultures and people into our

village, not shun them. The age of hiding ourselves and alienating any not from the clan is over. If you cannot remember that,

perhaps you do not need to be here.”

Surprisingly, the large, armored man bowed his head, conceding, and the hive mother turned back to us. “My apologies, strangers,”

she said. “You are the first set of outsiders to visit the Scarab Clan—well, in my lifetime, anyway—and we are still learning

how to be diplomatic. Allow me to properly introduce us. I am Hive Mother Myrrka Nas’Senna. This is War Chief Vorkyth Rol’k,

and Lore Keeper Adynna Na’Devyss. The three of us make up the council of the Scarab Clan. Many important decisions are debated

at this table, but we must all be in agreement before any can come to pass.”

“Like an outsider being granted the ritual tattoos of a warrior,” said a soft, new voice that made me glance up.

The third figure had come forward, walking slowly around the table to stand before us.

Reaching up, she stripped away her shawl to reveal a smooth face covered in elegant swirls of ink.

They decorated her cheeks and brow and trailed a path down her neck until they vanished into the folds of her tunic.

Her arms were also covered in ink runes all the way to her fingertips.

Like the rest of her clan, she wore sturdy boots, but I suspected the markings continued to the tops of her feet and beyond.

“I am Lore Keeper Adynna,” the woman said. Her dark gaze eyed each of us in turn, sharp and assessing. “Human, Fatechaser,

kahjai,” she murmured. “An interesting combination. Tell me, which of these is the Fateless?”

“The girl,” Kysa replied, glancing in my direction. “They call her Sparrow.”

“I thought so.” The figure beckoned to me with long fingers, and I stepped forward warily. “Young,” she muttered, looking

me up and down. “Very young for an outsider. Our warriors begin training from the time they can hold a stick, but that is

not the case for those who live the soft life of the cities.” She gave me a scrutinizing look, then glanced at Kysa, standing

beside me. “And this is the outsider whom you wish to receive the markings of the warrior?”

“No,” War Chief Vorkyth said immediately. “Absolutely not. The ancient markings are granted only to the strongest, to those

worthy of riding the rock beetles. It is a sacred rite of passage for Scarab Clan warriors. An outsider has never been allowed

such a privilege.”

My stomach twisted, but neither the lore keeper nor the hive mother seemed to react, so maybe this wasn’t going as terribly

as I thought. “What is your calling, girl?” the lore keeper asked me. “What is your place in Maederyss’s tale?”

I bit my lip. For a brief moment, I wondered if I should lie, but decided that might sabotage any chance we had to convince them.

Besides, Raithe, Halek, and Kysa were right there; they would all know I was lying, and I couldn’t face that.

The thought of their disappointment was even harder to bear than Vorkyth’s disdain.

I took a deep breath and answered with the truth. “I was a member of the Thieves Guild in Kovass.”

“A thief.” Vorkyth made a noise of contempt. “An honorless parasite,” he went on, waving a dismissive hand. “This is a waste

of time. I don’t even know why we are having this conversation when the answer should be clear.”

“Council.” Raithe moved up behind me, his quiet presence giving me the courage not to flee the room. “If I may.” He did not

continue immediately, but waited until both the hive mother and the lore keeper nodded for him to go on. “I was sent to Kovass

to end the threat the ma’jhet represented,” he began. “I failed, and the ma’jhet were able to bring the Deathless King back

into the world. Sparrow and I fled the city as it was falling, and we have been traveling to Irrikah ever since.

“When I first met her,” Raithe continued, “I thought she was just a thief. I regret that assumption. Sparrow has proven her

bravery and her resourcefulness time and time again. I understand now, why she is the Fateless.”

“Yeah,” Halek echoed, nodding his head. “I’m a Fatechaser. I’m pretty sure I was supposed to die twice since I met her.” He

glanced at me with a grin. “If anyone can change what Fate or destiny has decided, it’s Sparrow.”

“She is still an outsider,” Vorkyth insisted. “Granting her the tattoos means that she becomes part of the clan. That has

never been done before.”

“Times are different, War Chief,” Kysa replied softly.

“The clan no longer hides from the rest of the world. And a Deathless King has risen across the Dust Sea to begin the conquest of all the kingdoms.” She nodded at me.

“His foul blood mages have relentlessly targeted this girl. She has already been the victim of several magic attacks. Why would a Deathless King want one single human girl dead? Because she is Fateless. Because she can change the course of what is to come.”

“The Deathless King.” The hive mother let out a long sigh. “Then it is true. I was hoping it would not come to this.” Her

jaw tightened, and she glanced at the doorway behind us. “If a Deathless King has truly returned, we will have to leave this

place,” she said. “It is not very defensible. We must venture into the steppes, rally the rest of the clans, and hope that

they will listen to us. But first...” She sighed again and turned back to me. “The legends of the Fateless are scattered

and inconsistent,” she murmured. “But if you truly are Fateless, then you might be the only one who can stand against the

Deathless King. My choice is that we grant her the protection she needs to make that possible.”

War Chief Vorkyth made another sound of disgust. The lore keeper continued to watch me, searching for something I couldn’t

place. “If I am to grant her the markings,” she said at last, “she first must understand where they come from. She must know

the history of the Scarab Clan and the Deathless Kings.”

The hive mother gave a solemn nod. “Yes,” she said. “Agreed. That is the way of the Scarab Clan. We must all know the history

of how we came to be, lest we return to it.”

The lore keeper, apparently, was not waiting for any approval or objection from the war chief.

“Long ago,” she began, “before we became insect riders and masters of the Barren Steppes, we served a Deathless King. His name has been lost to time, but the king created our ancestors for one purpose—to hunt down and kill the servants of rival kings. We were not warriors, we were not protectors... we were assassins.” Her gaze went, very briefly, to Raithe, before turning back to me.

Her arms lifted, wrists turned up, displaying the swirls of ink down her skin.

“These markings were given by the Deathless King’s own ma’jhet, to hide us from the magical sight of the other courts, and over the years, we learned how to craft them ourselves.

“When the War of Kings began,” the lore keeper continued, “instead of fighting for our land and ruler, our ancestors abandoned

their Deathless and fled into the wastes. For centuries, we hid ourselves not only from the eyes of the king, but from everyone.

We knew that should the Deathless King find us again, his wrath would be terrible. We relied on the markings, on the tattoos

we took from the ma’jhet themselves, to remain hidden and safe. For eons, our people were invisible, alienated from the rest

of the world. We learned to survive the steppes, and we learned to harness the giant beetles, who for millennia were our only

company. We did not want to return to an existence of slaughter, where our only purpose was to kill.

“Eras passed,” the lore keeper went on. “Gradually, the age of the Deathless Kings was mostly forgotten, and when we emerged once more, we had changed. We had become the Scarab Clan, famous for our relationship with the giant beetles of the Barren Steppes. We no longer needed to hide. The tattoos that once protected us from the eyes of the Deathless King’s servants have become a rite of passage for our warriors, marking them as part of the elite.

Those worthy to be partnered with the rock beetles.

But...” She raised her arms again, wrists turned out, to show the full effect of the markings down her skin.

“We lore keepers do not forget. We inscribe the history of the clan into our skin and hearts, so that we may always remember where we come from.

And what we could return to, should the worst come to pass.

“Now you know the history of the Scarab Clan.” The lore keeper looked me straight in the eye. “And the true nature of the

runes. They are not simply markings of water and ink. They carry the weight and the legacy of the entire clan. If you are

willing to bear that burden, I will inscribe them onto you, and you will become one of us.”

“And this will hide her from the magic of the ma’jhet,” Raithe said, even as I had to catch my breath with the weight of the

decision.

The lore keeper nodded. “A Deathless King has risen again,” she said. “But with these markings, neither he nor his servants

will be able to find you with magic. The marks will not keep you safe from death,” she warned, raising a thin finger. “Nor

will they shield you from an attack, should the king turn his wrath onto you directly. But he will have to find you first.

And the tattoos will make that difficult.”

“You speak as if the decision is already made,” Vorkyth growled.

We all looked at him, and he crossed his arms. “Unless the rules have changed, all three of us must be in agreement,” he said stubbornly.

“And I’m still not convinced this thief deserves to be part of the Scarab Clan, much less an honored warrior. ”

“Vorkyth,” the hive mother began, but at that moment, a tremor went through the air, and the smell of decay, rot, and death

drifted into the room. My insides twisted, writhing in fear, as a voice echoed overhead, droning and terrible, and completely

familiar.

“I have come for the Fateless .”