On one end of the sprawling family room, Chief Taroom perched erect, fingers fluttering an irregular rhythm on the chair's arms. On the other side, King Makapu leaned back, hands draped casually over the armrests and one leg crossed over the other. Meager early morning light drizzled through the dark curtains of two high windows.

In the middle of the circle of armchairs, an assortment of toys scattered a rug of stitched-together animal pelts. Karoo scooted forward on his hands and knees, plucked up a black wooden panther, and popped it in his mouth. Prince Makari toddled after him with a huff.

"No, Karoo!" Makari wrenched the toy from Karoo's grasp. "Mine!"

Karoo crawled off toward another toy. Makari groaned and hurried after him once more.

"Good morning, Epsa," the King's warm bass rumbled. "You look ready for today's adventure."

I fingered the hilt of the blade strapped to my waist. "I will set out to face the Trogolese as soon as Pim arrives, Your Majesty."

"Would you like to join us until then?"

I hesitated, glancing at Chief Taroom. "I am not interrupting anything?"

"No, not at all," said the King. "In fact, we have reached a bit of an impasse. I wish to form this nation in the image of our Goddess, and Chief Taroom believes the colorless barbarians should be allowed to insult the one true Goddess without consequence."

"I see," I said as I lowered myself onto the armchair nearest the King.

The Chief's fingers stopped drumming, and he swallowed. "Your Majesty, I believe the term 'colorless barbarians' could be offensive. Perhaps 'Northerners' is a more apt description?"

The King chuckled. "What a silly thing to take offense over. I have nothing against the colorless as long as they do not worship the Lesser Gods. Why, I have a colorless on my own Royal Guard—a devout follower of Goddess Rashika, of course."

I stiffened as I remembered Pim's silver Acrador necklace. What would happen if the King knew Pim still wore emblems of Lesser Gods?

King Makapu twisted to flash me a weary smile, as if to apologize for the absurdity of the question he was about to ask. "Epsa, is Pim offended by anything I say?'"

With an effort, I returned the smile. "No, Your Majesty, of course not."

King Makapu tipped his head to the Chief. "Well, there you have it."

"Bad Karoo! Stop eating my toys!"

The shrill whine brought our attention back to the children. Makari fumbled with the dozen toys already trapped between his arms and chin as he struggled to rescue a galloping stallion from Karoo's mouth.

Princess Paranila stomped into the room, clutching her temples. Her fluffy curls were clipped back and twisted in the process of braiding.

"Your Majesty." Her voice was tart—too tart for one addressing the King. "What is this racket?"

The King tilted his head toward the children. "Your son is playing with Joop's son, Paranila."

She crossed her arms across her chest, propping up hefty breasts. "Well this playing is giving me a headache. Have Makari returned to the nursery, please."

The King sighed. "As you wish." He reached back to the table behind his armchair and lifted a delicate golden bell.

As the bell chimed, Paranila flounced out of the room. A moment later, Honey entered. Her gold collar, bronze skin, and white teeth sparkled in the dim natural lighting as she swept into a curtsy.

"How may I serve you, Your Majesty?"

King Makapu raised a palm toward Makari, who was still wrestling with the mounting pile of toys in his arms. Smile unwavering, Honey picked her way across the toy-strewn rug to pluck up the small child. Makari screamed a protest as the toys tumbled from his arms, and he continued screaming and kicking while Honey carried him out of the room.

The galloping stallion slipped from Karoo's fingers to plop down among the other toys on the carpet. He stared at the now empty doorway with a trembling lower lip.

Chief Taroom hummed a bemused reaction. "Your slave has a beautiful smile, King Makapu."

King Makapu tsked. "Only the desert states have slaves, Taroom. Honey is a Claimed."

"Ah," said the Chief. "And could you remind me of the difference, Your Majesty?"

Irritation bit my chest at hearing this veiled criticism of the King, but I held my tongue. The King released a sigh of exasperation and leaned back a bit farther in his chair.

"I did not buy Honey from some slave trader. I spared her when her tribe challenged Rakim."

The Chief tapped his fingers against his armrests once more. "I have heard the Claimed are whipped quite brutally."

Now the Chief had gone too far. Though I myself sometimes fought spurts of misplaced discomfort when watching the Claimed, I could not tolerate the accusation in the Chief's tone.

"Chief Taroom," I ground out, "Rakim began Claiming back when Najila was only a collection of nomadic tribes. King Makapu upholds this cherished tradition in the kindest way possible."

King Makapu smiled, dimpling his left cheek. "Quite right, Epsa. Honey was only whipped during her initial training to free her from any previous attachments. Now she lives in comfort and luxury."

Chief Taroom gave a slow nod. "Well, she certainly appears happy..."

"Oh, yes," said King Makapu. "She couldn't be happier."

* * *

"How was your second attempt with Izra? As bad as the first time?"

I huffed a humorless laugh as I swung up onto the horse beside Pim. "Worse."

"Because of the Day of Blessings?" 

I nudged my heels into the horse's sides, and both horses broke into a trot. Several minutes passed with only the sound of gravel crunching and skittering beneath the hooves of our horses.

Then Pim said, "If you don't want to talk—"

"Yes, because of the Day of Blessings." I swallowed a knot in my throat. "Someone was burning crisps, and I... I broke down. Izra saw it all."

"Ah," he said softly—almost a sigh. "I wish I could have been there for you. That's not something you should go through alone."

The memory of my time in Izra's tent washed over me with such vivid clarity that goosebumps rose along my skin. Warm breath, an alto hum, gentle fingers tracing my back...

"I wasn't exactly alone."

Pim raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth, but I spoke again before he could.

"Pim, is it true Rakim is experiencing a famine?"

"Ah, yes," he said with a deep nod. "Because of the drought."

"Why did no one think to tell me this?"

"Maybe because everyone already knows?" I shot him a pointed look, and he sighed. "You really never leave the palace, eh?"

"Did you ever farm through a drought back when you lived with your family in Busk?"

He sideglanced me, and I could see the carefully-contained spring of hopefulness rising inside him. "Yes..."

"Can you tell me about—"

"Yes!"

Without further ado, Pim launched into his first story. As we cut off the road to wind through spattered trees and overgrown shrubs, he began a second. I divided my attention between harvesting useful information from his convoluted tales and observing my surroundings. Now that I knew about the drought, I was unsure how I had ever missed the signs. Shrubs withered, trees twisted, and grass faded to pale yellow patches among fields of brown.

The ride to the forest was seven stories long.

At the edge of the forest, we dismounted and roped the horses to trees. As I squared my shoulders toward the thick expanse of trees, a jolt of anticipation sparked through me. Unlike with the Coupling, this was what I had trained for over the last eight years.

Unlike with the Coupling, I would not fail.

I made it two steps before a hand clamped over my shoulder. "Epsa, wait."

I raised my eyebrows at Pim. "What?"

"Before we embark on this dangerous mission, I just want to thank you for these years of friendship."

"Pim..."

He threw a hand over his heart. "And if I die, please send a letter to my family in Bund. Tell my mother I love her, and tell my brother I still hate his guts."

"Pim, I won't let you die."

He broke into a grin. "Oh, I know. I'm just building dramatic tension."

I rolled my eyes and spun back toward the woods.

We started into the forest side-by-side. Birds chirped high in the trees above, and sunbeams shafted through the web of spindly branches like arrows piercing a target cloth. Dry leaves and twigs rustled and crunched beneath our boots.

I ducked tree branches and hopped fallen logs, continually scanning my surroundings. Numerous times, I whirled around just to watch another small critter scamper into the underbrush. After just ten minutes, my shoulders knotted, my fists clenched, and my jaw ached.

Then an irregularity caught my eye—a white gleam among the yellow and brown. I seized Pim's right arm and yanked him to a halt, and he followed my gaze. A gnarled stick skewered a half-eaten rodent, mangled flesh spotted with patches of fur and glimpses of spinal cord. Beside the rat, a few sparks still danced over a smoldering log.

"People have been here recently," I whispered.

He shuddered, gaze still fixed on the rodent. "Not people. Trogolese."

Then somewhere ahead of us, a stick snapped.

Hand on the hilt of my blade, I slowly rotated toward the sound. Behind a towering oak tree, movement flashed—and then disappeared. I craned my neck toward Pim and spoke under my breath.

"Enemy spotted, northeast. I go. You stay and cover my back."

Pim inclined his head and turned to scan the area. I drew my blade and picked my way through scattered rocks and shrubs toward the tree.

I stepped over a log about ten feet away from the tree and then paused, eyes pinned to the spot where the flash of movement had disappeared. Sword still grasped in my left hand, I dipped down and closed my right hand over a rock.

Then I shot to my feet and chucked the rock at the tree.

The rock smacked the trunk with a dull thud and a flurry of dry bark. Less than a second later, the man behind the tree charged forward. I caught only a blur of chestnut fur before I swung my sword forward to meet his.

The blades collided with enough force to push me back a step. This Trogolese man was as brawny and audacious as Pim. 

But I could beat Pim.

With a careful hop backwards, I cleared the log behind me. He tore after me, planting a foot on the log to spring into the air. His sword whipped forward as his feet thumped the ground, and I leaped left to dodge the singing blade. Then I sprung forward and jabbed at his chest.

As I had hoped, he parried with a bit more force than required. I thrust out again—once, twice, thrice—as he staggered back and thrashed wildly.

Then his foot caught on the base of the tree trunk, and he pitched over backwards.

His arms flailed in a desperate attempt to maintain his balance, but it was too late. The sword slipped from his grasp and sliced into a tangled underbrush as his back smacked the ground. White space circled his irises for only a moment before my blade plunged up under his ribcage, and then his eyes rolled up in his head.

As I wiped blood from my face with my left forearm, sticks and leaves crackled behind me. Before I could turn, Pim hollered a warning.

"Ambush!"