“Are you sure we should ride west?” Kaleb asked, reins in hand, tunic plastered to his sweaty back.

  “Yes,” Yasha said, seated behind him. “You’ve asked six times now.”

  “I’ve worried six times now. We’ve nothing to eat, nowhere to go.”

  “There’s always somewhere to go.”

  “Not always something to eat, though. You don’t seem to remember your way around Toramesh.”

  “We can’t take the highway. Too many Kergalonians.”

  Their camel pushed deeper into the waste, sand crunching underfoot, the only sound for leagues. Not only reeked of piss, did the beast, but he walked with a lopsided gait. Kaleb swayed in the saddle, coarse fur chafing his ankles. Worse, Yasha helped himself—and only himself—to wine.

  “Give me some,” Kaleb said.

  “Not while you’re holding the reins.”

  The sun climbed higher, warping the air. A palm tree rose from the earth, spreading green fronds. Dates hung in purple clusters, begging to be eaten.

  And eat I will.

  Kaleb rode on, but the mirage faded, damn it, leaving him more famished than a moment ago. Grim, what lay beyond. Animal skulls littered the desert floor, their eye sockets staring at nothing, the end of everything.

  The air stank of rot, of death, of worse besides, and limestone cliffs loomed imposing on either side. Hyenas lurked up there, drooling like they’d never known full bellies. Their laughter made the hairs on Kaleb’s neck stand.

  He licked his cracked, bleeding lips. “How does hyena taste?”

  Jaspeth gnashed his teeth, sending a twinge up Kaleb’s arm. “Quit squeezing the reins. Your sweat’s getting in my mouth.”

  “You two could stand to be a little friendlier,” Yasha muttered.

  “Quiet,” Kaleb said.

  Easy enough for Yasha, but not Jaspeth. He never ran out of complaints. “This itch needs scratching! There’s sand in my eyes, Kaleb! Wine, Yasha!”

  Jaspeth’s lot in life hadn’t taught him humility. He made everything unbearable. Though, he did ask one good question: “Are we wandering aimlessly, Yasha, or do you have somewhere in mind?”

  “Hezebel,” Yasha said.

  Kaleb shifted in the saddle. “Hezebel?”

  “Heard of it?”

  “Everyone has. What’s that saying? ‘The charms of Hezebel will hold you fast, and none can break the spell that makes them last.’”

  “Can’t argue with that, not after ‘going Zebeline’ myself.” Yasha chuckled, nudging Kaleb. “Though, one can always do that outside of Hezebel, eh?”

  Kaleb had other concerns. “What are you looking for?”

  “A ship,” Yasha said.

  “Why?”

  “One day at a time, Kaleb.”

  “Aren’t the Zebelines related to the Kergalonians?”

  “Indeed, but they’ve never belonged to Kergalon.”

  “Give it time, then.”

  “Don’t be so sure. Kergalon already tried its luck with Hezebel. Seven years ago, from what I remember. Eight hundred soldiers breached the walls, stormed the city, expecting a fierce fight. They found something else.”

  Kaleb glanced back.

  “Paradise. They were welcomed not as enemies, but honored guests. Waiting for them was beer and honey, silver and gold, balsam and incense. And, of course, the sultriest whores on this side of the Great Sea. Who’d fight that? It was enough to disarm the Kergalonians. They dropped their swords and sated their hungers.”

  “What then?”

  “No one knows, for those brave souls never returned to Kergalon. Hezebel, seeking peace, sent a tribute in place of them—eight hundred rare beasts. A train of apes, lions, giraffes, and more besides marched all the way to Kergalon.”

  “Hezebel is the closest city to Toramesh,” Kaleb said. “My father could be there.”

  Yasha nodded. “That he could.”

  At sunset, the sky shaded to a harsh scarlet that burned the eyes. Before long, stars blinked into view. The air bit at Kaleb’s skin, made him prickle with cold. His camel worsened along the way, wheezing, blundering on unsteady legs.

  Yasha sighed. “Your friends gave us a lame camel.”

  “They didn’t mean to.” Kaleb dismounted, then caressed the whimpering creature. “Let’s stop for now. No need to push him.”

  “Nothing but dead weight,” Jaspeth hissed. “We’ll buy a stronger camel in Hezebel.”

  “He’s a sunrunner,” Kaleb said. “Can’t get much stronger than that, and I don’t know how to ride dunehides. Maybe he’s older than we thought.”

  “Eat him. At this rate, we’ll be faster on foot.”

  “He’s a keepsake from our tribe. He needs a name.”

  Jaspeth tsked. “Fine. I name him Haggeb.”

  “I’m not riding a camel named Haggeb. I like Gezreb.”

  “Wasn’t that Baqareb’s wet nurse?”

  “Name him Eber,” Yasha chimed in.

  Kaleb scratched his jaw. “I like Eber. Where’s it from?”

  “An old friend.”

  Ah, that reminded Kaleb. “Apharoth said something back there. About your father, I think. You’re running from him?”

  Yasha set his staff across his lap. “I feared you’d ask about that. I’ve made many mistakes in the past, one of which was seeking out my father.”

  “At least you found him.”

  “He wasn’t the man I thought he’d be. Foolish, right? I should’ve known better. Why else would my mother take me away, if not to keep me from him?”

  “That’s why you’re running from the Scorpions? Your own father sent an army after you?”

  “Crossing him may have been my gravest mistake. Bear this in mind when searching for your father, Kaleb. You might loathe the man you find. Is it really what you want?”

  “Yes,” he said without thinking. “I want answers, and if I don’t like those answers, if I don’t like the man he’s become, well, I doubt he’ll be worse than your father.”

  Yasha laughed. “Not one to mince words, eh? But aye, yours can’t be worse than mine.”

  “Eber,” Jaspeth growled, still stuck on that. “Too good a name for that wretch.”

  Yasha glanced around, nursing his wineskin, keeping his palm on the stopper. “Hopefully no one finds us out here.”

  Kaleb crossed his arms to stave off the cold. “Why worry? I’ve seen you do things that shouldn’t be possible. What are you, some kind of god?”

  Yasha snorted out another laugh. “Heavens, no. We’re not so different, you and I.”

  “How do you—”

  “Tohu.”

  “Tohu?”

  “You fought Gilgamites, right? Remember their blood?”

  “Like none I’d ever seen,” Kaleb said. “Thick, black. Reminded me of pitch.”

  “That’s Tohu.”

  “Their blood?”

  “Indeed. Tohu can be found elsewhere, though, sometimes seeping up from the earth.”

  “It grants you powers?”

  “Tohu is chaos given form. Think of it as text on a scroll, and that scroll is the world itself. Once you learn Tohu, you’ll be able to rewrite whatever you thought possible.”

  Kaleb leaned back against Eber. “You’ll teach me?”

  Yasha gripped his staff. “As my disciple, you must learn Tohu.”

  Good, but sleep sounded better tonight. Kaleb tore branches from a thornbush and dug a deep pit. He kindled a fire, pleased with its warmth, then curled up beside Eber. Yasha settled too, snoring before long. Kaleb lowered his guard for the first time in a long while, his mind slipping into darkness…

  Whispers rose from the shadows, brimful of venom.

  “Stone her, the witch!”

  “She carried demons in her womb!”

  “Offer her unto the Most High!”

  Kaleb’s mother appeared, standing before him in rusted manacles. Like Sachareb. A baying mob encircled her, loading mean-looking stones into slings.

  Heavens, it can’t be. Not Mother.

  Stones flew. Bones broke. Joints exploded. Kaleb stood there, unable to move, unable to help his mother. He opened his mouth, tried to scream, but made not a sound.

  He woke.

  The small of his back ached, more from his bricklaying days than one restless night. He struggled to take in the lightening sky with his bleary eyes. Not much to see aside from sand, grit, and rock, everything wan, dead, and ugly. His stomach growled. Jaspeth’s earlier suggestion didn’t sound so cruel now. Maybe they ought to eat Eber.

  Kaleb woke Yasha. They mounted up and departed in silence. What needed to be said? They’d nothing in common, anyway.

  The day marched on.

  At noon they slogged through foul-smelling mustard weeds. Wild camels fed on yellow flowers. Eber snorted, veering off course more than once to join them. Kaleb yanked the bridle each time.

  Another league passed. Eber climbed up a limestone ridge, his padded feet meeting rock with a brittle clatter. Kaleb shifted his weight, and his mount halted after topping the rise. Kaleb now saw it from this vantage.

  Hezebel.

  Enclosed in thick walls, the city was a maze of angles and shadows, ziggurats rising above glazed-brick buildings, glittering like so many pearls. Beyond the outer wall lay endless fields of wheat, so tall, so gold, arrayed in neat squares, fed by wide, gushing canals.

  “Your eyes don’t lie,” Yasha said.

  Kaleb hoped not, for indeed he’d found paradise.

  He descended the ridge and fell in with a merchant train. Oxen plodded ahead, weighed down by goods and bundles. The wagons that trundled alongside were driven by figures wrapped in scarfs and skins. They had eyes like flint. Dark, suspicious. Nothing to say, or maybe the desert had taken their tongues.

  “Zebelines?” Kaleb asked.

  “Puntamites,” Yasha said. “Maybe Sheelamites. Nomads earn their shekels in the markets.”

  The outer wall rose higher than Kaleb had imagined, its bricks glazed blue and pink, with gold marking decorative lions, eagles, and aurochs that stood out in low relief.

  Kaleb squeezed his reins. “I hope you know what’s on the other side.”

  “I do,” Yasha said.

  “Can’t be worse than Toramesh, right?”

  Past the gate, Kaleb slipped into a corridor built within the wall. It reeked of spice, sweat, and something sour, maybe blood. Blue-flamed sconces lined the path, casting shadows that made the space feel underwater. Musicians sat cross-legged in alcoves, tootling on flutes, banging on drums. You couldn’t tell the men from the women. They tossed garlands to passersby.

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  Yasha donned one, then passed another to Kaleb. “Wear it. Makes you easier to trust.”

  He slipped it over his head. “Makes me look like a bloody fool.”

  But as he entered Hezebel, his annoyance gave way to awe, and he nearly slipped from his saddle. The city had been impressive enough from afar.

  Up close, it swallowed him whole.

  Hard to believe that anyone could’ve built such a place, the roads flagged with pink limestone, wide enough for ten wagons to ride abreast, the roadsides gushing with groves and gardens, fountains catching the sun and spilling it like liquid gold. There was nothing humble about it, nothing to remind Kaleb of home.

  “Not like Toramesh, eh?” Yasha asked.

  Not like anything, anywhere.

  Kaleb passed shrines and storehouses, finding only the choicest craftsmanship—doors of red bronze, walls of green alabaster, steps of purple porphyry. Honeybees swarmed overbright flowers that smelled like a woman’s hair. Fig trees rustled whenever the wind blew, dropping ripe, dark windfalls into waiting hands. Those who caught them wasted no time stuffing their cheeks.

  Drumrolls echoed in the distance, guiding Kaleb along, and the gentle plunks of harps lulled his senses. Life-size statues stood on plinths, each hewn in the likeness of a woman with full breasts and wide hips. Ninush, a goddess also worshipped in Kergalon.

  Kaleb shook his head. “I’m not sure about this place.”

  “Can’t chide you for being cautious,” Yasha said. “Do you see whips and yokes, though? Does blood stain the roads?”

  “Some things are too good to be true.”

  Such as the Zebelines.

  Looked like statues themselves, their skin an unblemished ocher, their black hair riddled with baby pearls and whorled seashells. Lissome more oft than not, like gazelles, gliding with each step.

  They’d many admirers, too. Long ramps led to terraces where all kinds of hungers were sated. The men sating those hungers resembled the nomads from earlier. Hairy, big-boned brutes. That said, their hosts gladly obliged them.

  Anyone’s tastes could be found among the Zebelines. Plump, matronly women bedight with armlets and anklets. Sloe-eyed catamites whose skin was painted with henna. Lovers endowed with vulvas as well as male members. Bodies contorted in ways that didn’t seem possible, all thrusting, writhing, beaded with sweat and oil.

  Kaleb grimaced. “Back home you’d be put to death for rutting out in the open.”

  “Not every god is like the Most High,” Yasha said. “Ninush rather enjoys all the rutting.”

  “What about that ship?”

  “Patience, Kaleb. We need more shekels to secure passage.”

  “Know anyone here?”

  “I once knew Queen Sidoniya herself.”

  Kaleb choked on his saliva. “The queen here?”

  “I doubt she’d remember me after all this time.”

  “You never know. Let’s ask her for a ship.”

  Yasha leaped down from Eber. “We’d never get an audience. We’ll find another way.”

  Kaleb turned in his saddle. “Going somewhere?”

  “To my favorite hot springs,” he said, cracking his neck. “Near the postern gate. Care to join me?”

  “I’ll find you later. I should look for my father.”

  Yasha turned away. “Just don’t get into any trouble. You’re meant to enjoy Hezebel.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” Kaleb said. “I don’t see any threats.”

  Not everyone was made for Hezebel’s merrymaking. There lay in some corners foreigners who’d imbibed too much wine, fingers curled nerveless around empty goblets. Others hadn’t escaped with their lives, sprawled sunburnt in puddles of their own making. Kohl trickled in black streaks from their lifeless eyes. Vultures tore into their throats, ripping out bloody sinews.

  “Count the dead,” Jaspeth said. “We can take their valuables.”

  Kaleb closed his hand. “Didn’t you hear Yasha? No trouble. We need to find Father.”

  Jaspeth forced himself open. “We needn’t do anything. Father’s not here, and you shouldn’t give a damn about Yasha.”

  “I’m his disciple.”

  “You’re his slave.”

  Kaleb gripped his wrist, staring daggers at his brother. “Say another word. I’ll stitch your mouth shut.”

  Jaspeth quieted then, and Kaleb was able to ride in peace. Nothing stood out along the way. More of the same. Lovely gardens, lovely people. No sign of his father, though. He wasn’t here, was he? Jaspeth was right, and nothing was more irksome than that abomination being right.

  At sunset, Kaleb rode into a square paved with red granite. Lily petals floated atop scented pools, and beneath the still surfaces, the pools teemed with milk-white eels that’d look delicious on skewers. Ninush loomed nearby, eight cubits tall, her turquoise eyes blazing from a handsome marble face.

  Aside from the goddess, the square was empty. Strange. Zebelines weren’t known for retiring early, or maybe they needed to nap before another night of lewd reveling. Kaleb nudged Eber forward, but the camel didn’t take three steps before bumping into something. Kaleb leaned over to see what’d fallen.

  A girl, no older than twelve or thirteen. She scrambled to her feet, dusting herself. “No, no, this won’t do! No one else should be here, only Nebu!”

  Kaleb set his jaw. “Watch yourself, girl.”

  “Who, this one?” She struck a strange pose, arms outspread, and almost fell again. “Sorry, didn’t see you there!”

  Her hair was wild, unkempt, and she had the eyes of a dreamer. She wore a shawl of fine-woven linen, the tassels at the hem swaying like the tongues of overeager priests. “Greetings, friend! Looking for something, or perhaps someone?”

  “Aye, someone,” Kaleb said.

  “Very good! Nebu can help you.”

  He cast around. “Nebu?”

  The girl pointed to herself with a startling flourish. “This one is Nebu!”

  He blinked. “Right. Do you know anyone named Zohar?”

  She furrowed her brow. “Zohar? Never heard of him. Who’s Zohar?”

  He turned to leave. “My father. Never mind.”

  The girl shuffled in front of him. “You don’t want Nebu’s help?”

  He sighed, patience thinning. “You’ve never seen my father. How could you help?”

  “Kaleb,” Jaspeth whispered. “Listen, Kaleb.”

  He turned away from the girl.

  “She must be a halfwit,” Jaspeth said. “We could rob her blind.”

  She wasn’t lacking in wit, Kaleb judged. Perhaps she had too much for her own good. Still, she might have a few shekels tucked away, and maybe she was feeling charitable. Instead of waiting for Yasha to find a ship, Kaleb should prove himself as a disciple.

  “We’re not robbing her,” Kaleb said. “She can join us, but only if she pays for our voyage. Once we reach land, we’ll leave her behind.”

  “Fine,” Jaspeth muttered.

  Kaleb turned, and then the girl, Nebu, appeared before him again. Her eyes were locked on Jaspeth. She wasn’t supposed to see that, damn it. When she grinned wider, Kaleb couldn’t help but be taken aback.

  She shuddered, her teeth chattering, then burst into giggles. “How curious! How unholy! Nebu’s never seen such a thing!”

  Kaleb rubbed his brow, exhausted.

  “What a queer blessing,” she continued, clasping her hands in mock prayer. Then she ruffled Eber’s mane. “And who’s this fine fellow, hmm?”

  “Eber,” Jaspeth said. “He’s lame, won’t live much longer. Where can we find another camel?”

  She poked the camel’s side. “Why, he’s perfectly healthy! Look at these haunches! Why give him up?”

  “I’ll let you ride him,” Kaleb said. “For a price, that is. Any shekels?”

  “Yes, Nebu has some.”

  Jaspeth licked his lips. “Loosen those purse strings, then.”

  She shook her head. “Nebu couldn’t possibly ride your camel. It would be such an imposition!”

  Kaleb clicked his tongue, pushing past her. “So be it.”

  She shuffled after him. “Wait! What about your father?”

  “You’re no help,” Kaleb snapped. “Get lost.”

  “Nebu has nowhere to go!”

  He glanced back over his shoulder. “You really are a halfwit, aren’t you? How do you manage to lace your sandals?”

  “Rude,” she tutted, puffing out her cheeks. “No need to insult Nebu. She can lace her own sandals, and yours too. There’s not a pair of sandals she can’t lace!”

  Kaleb spat. “You wouldn’t last a day in Toramesh.”

  Her eyes widened, suddenly glistening. “Toramesh? You’re a Toraphite? How joyous! You share blood with Nebu, practically family!”

  “How’s that?”

  “Nebu’s a Baphomite, of course, descended from Azavel the Wise! Like you!”

  “I need shekels, not stories.”

  “Nebu knows how you can get shekels, yes. Lots of shekels. Easy, really.”

  Kaleb squinted. “Oh?”

  “Nebu will show you. Leave your camel behind, though. He’ll make too much noise.”

  “Fine,” Kaleb said, tying Eber’s reins to Ninush’s marble fist. He followed Nebu, doubtful but curious. “Lots of shekels, eh?”

  She led him down an alley, its glazed-brick walls shimmering in the fading daylight. Before he could round the next corner, she latched onto him and covered his mouth.

  He sputtered, his voice muffled. “What’re you doing?”

  She hushed him. “Careful! Make sure no one’s there. Peek around that corner first.”

  He did. There stood a temple with columns taller than neighboring buildings. Two oxen were yoked to a nearby wagon, its bed covered by a shroud.

  Kaleb’s tongue flicked across his lips. “What’s under there?”

  “Ingots,” Nebu said, nodding sagely. “Gold, silver, copper. All the shiny things.”

  “Out in the open?”

  “Careless, right? Happens every afternoon. Soldiers transport those ingots, but they always stop here for the temple prostitutes. Sure are beautiful, those Zebelines.”

  He squinted at the wagon. “Those ingots must be going somewhere important.”

  “Straight to Queen Sidoniya. Get your hands on those, and you could buy a whole ship. Nay, three ships!”

  “I just need passage on one.”

  “Oh? Wherever are you going, Toraphite? Off to sea to chase storms, or maybe find a leviathan to wrestle?”

  He shrugged. “Ask my master.”

  She clasped her hands together. “A master, a loyal camel, and a brother as well? Oh, that Nebu could have such companions on her lonely, wayward journey. Friends to keep her counsel, bear her burdens! Speaking of which, Toraphite, what’s your—”

  “I’m taking those ingots,” Kaleb said, starting.

  Nebu stomped. “All of them? They’re heavy!”

  “Don’t worry about Kaleb,” Jaspeth said. “Not five nights ago he killed a Gilgamite with his own hands.”

  “Truly? How righteous! Mighty Toraphite!”

  “Come,” Kaleb said. “You’re carrying two—no, three.”

  “Nebu’s not very strong, you know, still growing. But you’re strong, oh yes, stronger than an ox!”

  Kaleb peeled away the cloth, and before him gleamed gold and silver, like sunlight and moonlight had been captured and fashioned into gleaming bars, eight rows stacked ten high. He passed two silver ingots to Nebu.

  “Don’t let yourself be seen,” she said, cradling them like they were fragile, precious things. “Wouldn’t that be mortifying? Nebu knows all about mortifying. She’s a priestess, you see, and in the temple, it’s all too easy to embarrass oneself. One day, three years ago, Nebu desperately needed to relieve herself, but the only thing in sight was a basin outside the Holy of Holies. This one did what she had to do, but then—oh, oh, the other priestesses walked in on her! She was just sitting there, and all she could do was pray for the earth to swallow her whole. For shame!”

  Kaleb turned a golden ingot in both hands, testing its weight, determining how many he could carry. “Keep that to yourself.”

  “Bah! Nebu can’t keep secrets. If you’ve got any, never confide in Nebu.”

  “Good to know,” he said, squeezing three ingots to his chest, their weight grounding him. “Where can we trade these for shekels?”

  “At one of the temples,” Nebu said. “But certainly not this one.”

  Kaleb paused. “You’re not a halfwit, are you?”

  “Nebu’s glad you see that.”

  “Why’re you here, though? Anyone else with you?”

  “Not a soul. Nebu’s friend back home needed a gift, and this place—well, it was the only place to find it, you see?”

  “What? You traveled all this way for a—”

  Heavy footfalls. Kaleb spun around, and someone emerged. Crack! A club landed into his skull. He dropped the ingots, cracking the flagstones beneath, and crumpled to his knees.

  He woke to a red, throbbing sky. He stared up at the unblinking eyes of the goddess Ninush. Eber was still bound to the statue’s outstretched hand. The camel shifted, restless, drooling globs that darkened the ground.

  Kaleb was back in the square, but now it was swarming with guards. They wore horned helmets and tunics of padded linen, their bronze swords gleaming in the dying light. Kaleb had never seen their like before. Not Zebelines.

  Nebu gave him a nudge on the shoulder. “Thank heavens you’re awake! Nebu thought you’d gone and joined the spirits. How cruel that would’ve been, leaving Nebu all alone in this wicked world.”

  “Give it a rest,” he groaned. “Why’re we back here?”

  “We have our own questions, boy,” said a voice that sounded like the rustle of sackcloth.

  The horned guards parted like a curtain, revealing three figures. Their hoods were drawn low, casting their faces in shadow, and clamped over their ears were wooden wheels. A crone led them, hunched and wizened, leaning on a bronze scepter, her every step a pitiful scuttle.

  “Who’re they?” Kaleb asked.

  “The Artificers,” Nebu said gravely. “Terrible people, believe Nebu.”

  “You know them?”

  “Of them.”

  The crone narrowed her eyes at Kaleb. “What possessed you to act so foolishly? Those ingots belong to Her Excellency Sidoniya, Queen of Hezebel.”

  “Forgive me,” he said. “It won’t happen again.”

  She shook her head, gripping the scepter with gnarled, liver-spotted hands. She beat it against the ground. “You misunderstand, boy. The Artificers of Silver and Gold are more than the lifeblood of Hezebel. We nourish many cities, many lands. By stealing those ingots you’ve stolen bread from babes, water from the weary. Your fate now lies in Her Excellency’s hands.”

  A deafening blast of trumpets rang through the air, maybe two blocks away. Kaleb straightened.

  “Here she comes,” the crone muttered, squinting through her cataracts. “May she be in a merciful mood.”

  Nebu’s grin returned. “How thrilling! This one has never seen Queen Sidoniya in all her glory!”

  “Me neither,” Kaleb said.

  Five columns of camels surged into the square. Swiftwinds, their riders clad in bronze breastplates. Behind them, trumpeters on donkeys continued blaring their fanfare. A riot of banners, streamers, and fluttering petals followed, glittering like a cloud of dragonflies. A chariot appeared, pulled by horned oxen so white, so oiled, they gleamed like living clouds. The eight-spoked wheels creaked to a halt, and Kaleb shuddered. He felt the same heavy presence he’d felt from Yasha.

  A woman alighted from the chariot, her steps sure, measured, as if the earth itself bent to her will.

  Her headdress rattled, a whimsy of gold chimes and silver rosettes. Would’ve looked wrong on anyone else, but not her. She had huge, dark-lashed eyes that never blinked, and her cheeks were flushed with red ocher. She wore a filmy scarlet sheath that gave her the aspect of a poisonous flower, adorned with totems and fetishes. Kaleb smelled her from ten paces away, sharp, heady.

  If she’s not the most beautiful woman on earth, strike me dead.

  No sooner had the queen stopped than the crone from earlier hobbled to her side. “Welcome, Your Excellency. A pleasure to see you again.”

  Sidoniya glared at Kaleb and Nebu. “Who are these urchins?”

  “Thieves, Your Excellency. They targeted the ingots.”

  “How droll,” Sidoniya sneered, lifting her chin. “They find themselves in paradise yet still see fit to sin.”

  Nebu trudged closer on her knees. “This one has dreamt of meeting you, Queen Sidoniya. Please, let Nebu kiss your feet. If you don’t want that, Nebu can be your cupbearer or even your footstool! Anything will do for—”

  Sidoniya slapped Nebu, sending her to the ground. Is that all it takes to silence her? “I shouldn’t deign to touch you. What are you? A Puntamite? A Sheelamite?”

  “She’s neither,” Kaleb said, rising to his feet. “But I’m a Toraphite. You know how fierce we are, so let’s forget this ever happened.”

  Sidoniya raised her hand before the guards could move. “Toraphite? Am I to fear a slave?”

  “I’m no slave, and I’m not here to fight. Give me a ship, and I’ll be on my way.”

  “Why give you a ship?”

  “I’m here with Yasha. He’s your friend, right?”

  At that, she shuddered. “Yasha? Did you say that name?”

  “You heard right. I’m Yasha’s disciple.”

  Sidoniya’s mouth twitched, as though she’d something to say, but nothing came. The crone beside her took a step back. The guards stood frightened, gulping.

  “Yasha,” Sidoniya said again, stepping closer. “Sweet Yasha?”

  Kaleb shifted. “He didn’t think you’d remember him. Let me fetch him. I’ll—”

  She swiped the garland off his head, then grabbed his wrist, her strength beyond human. “Quiet, boy. You bray like a donkey.”

  He tried to pull free, but her grip was unbreakable, her nails biting into his skin, drawing blood in slow, thick beads. Then, as quickly as it’d come, her hold loosened and she stepped back. A chill crawled up Kaleb’s arm.

  Jaspeth’s voice trembled, barely a rasp. “Kaleb, I… I feel sick.”

  So did Kaleb. He swallowed, tasting something sour, like wormwood. His stomach churned, and the world tilted with a nauseating lurch. He dropped to his knees, clutching his belly.

  Pain crackled through his wrists, and his skin burned. The hairs on his arms blanched, thickened, until they bristled like a beast’s pelt. His tunic strained against his changing form, the seams bursting. The space between his eyes widened, and the world lost color. He dropped lower, his spine arching unnaturally, and for a moment, he didn’t know who he was anymore. His hands—no, his hooves—scraped the ground. Wait, had he always been hoofed?

  When he tried to scream, the only sound that escaped him was, “Hee-haw, hee-haw.”