A solitary figure emerged from the wreckage, a leather case strapped to her back and a book in her free arm. Her mass of curls obscured her face, but the light from Bahia’s Comet illuminated the silver sheen of her hair.

As Malik watched Princess Karina attempt to crawl to safety, a new feeling welled up beside his magic.

It was the feeling of watching Zirani soldiers raid his house and leave his grandmother sobbing on the floor.

It was the feeling of begging people for aid and receiving nothing but ridicule and threats.

It was the feeling of existing in a world that hated him simply for existing, and there was Princess Karina, the symbol of everyone who had made the world that way. The white-hot rage in Malik grew, and without realizing it he had summoned the spirit blade, his knuckles wrapped in a death grip around its hilt as Nadia’s screams echoed in his ears.

The illusion of the bush walkers now had Princess Karina backed against the edge of the bridge. One more step, and she’d tumble into the dark depths of the gorge below. The creatures had paused, waiting for a signal from Malik over the invisible tether that connected them. Time slowed to a standstill, like the gods themselves were watching to see what would happen next.

Malik steeled his anger into resolve. Princess Karina deserved to die if it meant saving Nadia. She deserved to die for everything the Alaharis had done to his people. She deserved this.

“Go,” he whispered, and the monsters lunged for the princess. She screamed and moved to cover her head, the book tumbling out of her hands and disappearing into the gorge.

But before the illusion could force the princess back, a massive force slammed into Malik. His magic fizzled to nothing, and the recoil knocked him off his feet. On the bridge, the bush walkers vanished.

The last thing Malik saw was the gaggle of wraiths peering down at him with their too-white, too-wide eyes so like his own.

And then the world faded to black.

“You’ve picked quite the place to take a nap, man-pup.”

Malik’s eyes flew open. He tried to sit up, but his body screamed in protest. He groped uselessly around for Nadia’s or Leila’s hand, before he remembered where he was and why.

The bush walkers. Karina at the edge of the Widow’s Fingers. A force larger than his own shutting his magic down.

A chill ran down Malik’s spine. He’d only had his magic back for two days, and yet the thought of losing it once again made him feel naked and small. He tried to make a new illusion, but his focus was gone.

The magic he’d felt had been different from Idir’s or Nyeni’s and certainly wasn’t his own. It had been precise yet strong, and had overwhelmed his own powers with frightening accuracy. Did Karina have a magic user in her entourage? If so, how much did they know about him?

“That’s not what I’d be worrying about right now if I were you.”

The griot Nyeni perched on a flat stone near Malik. She’d grabbed one of the wisps that often followed him around, and was now poking it idly in the stomach. With each poke, the little light spirit let out a gasp of smoke. After grabbing one of the clouds and putting it in her pocket, Nyeni nodded in the direction of Jehiza Square. Over the tops of the buildings, the sky had turned a predawn gray.

“You’d better hurry if you want to move on to the next round. Three of the Champions”—drumbeats filled the air, followed by distant cheering—“four of the Champions have already found their masks.”

Malik’s eyes widened. He’d been so focused on the murder attempt, he’d completely forgotten about the First Challenge. He looked at Nyeni again, who now dangled his poor wisp—Malik wasn’t sure when he’d started considering the wisps his to worry about, but he felt certain now they were—by the leg. Yesterday, the griot had led him to a house covered in masks. He’d thought it a coincidence at the time, but now he was beginning to suspect nothing about this city truly was.

“Can you help me win the First Challenge?” he asked.

Nyeni released the wisp, and it raced shrieking into the sky. “Absolutely. I can do almost anything I set my mind to do. The real question is will I help you, and I haven’t quite set my mind to doing that yet.” Her signature grin returned. “Though perhaps I could be persuaded for the right price.”

Malik paused, painfully aware of the Mark scurrying across his stomach. That was the physical proof of the last time he’d hastily agreed to a deal, and he was not in a hurry to repeat the experience.

“I don’t have any money, and I won’t make a blood oath with you,” he warned.

“Money is boring, and blood oaths are tacky. Besides, if you break a promise to me, I have far more creative ways of making you pay.” Nyeni cocked her head to the side, her tattoos swirling over her cool brown skin as she peered at Malik. “For now, I am willing to defer your payment until after you kill the girl or the end of Solstasia, whichever comes first. But before that, answer me this: What do you have more of the more you give away?”

“. . . Love.”

“I was going to say problems, but that’ll do.” Nyeni reached into her sleeve and pulled out a round wooden mask with an expression resembling a face in mid-prayer. Engraved into its forehead was the one-winged gryphon of the Alahari.

Malik eyed the mask and the griot warily. “Who are you?”

“Someone who’s interested in seeing how your story ends. Now go. Your time is almost up.”

Clutching the mask to his chest, Malik rose to shaky feet. He tested one step, then another, then broke into a sprint. Only minutes remained to sunrise.

Malik was barely conscious when he threw himself against the edge of the stage just as the first rays of the sun burst over the horizon. A soldier pulled him to his feet and hauled him to the end of the line.

“The gods have spoken!” cried a priestess, throwing her hands to the sky. “The remaining Champions are Driss Rhozali! Dedele Conteh! Khalil al-Tayeb! Adetunde Diakité! And Adil Asfour!”

The roars of the crowd were earsplitting, and pure adrenaline kept Malik on his feet. Despite all the odds, he had done it.

He had passed the First Challenge.

And he was no closer to killing Princess Karina than he had been before.

12

Karina

Grand Vizier Jeneba had been beside herself when Karina and her entourage finally limped their way back to Ksar Alahari.

“Do you take me for some kind of fool?” she asked, her voice unnervingly calm. The soldiers who should have been watching the Widow’s Fingers knelt before her, fully stripped of their weapons and armor—the highest disgrace that could be levied on them.

To their credit, neither of the soldiers wept, though one’s shoulders shook badly. Karina couldn’t blame him; the grand vizier never once raised her voice, yet the quiet threat of her anger was beyond terrifying.

Grand Vizier Jeneba circled the guards, her displeasure growing. “You mean to look me in the eyes and tell me that you don’t know how someone let an entire pack of bush walkers loose onto the Widow’s Fingers while you were on watch?”

“I cleared the bridge myself before Her Highness’s arrival,” repeated the calmer of the two soldiers. “Between that time and the attack, I swear no one approached the vehicle.” It was the same story she had given from the moment they returned to Ksar Alahari, and Karina could sense the woman believed it to be true, even if it defied all logic.

“So they just appeared out of thin air?” The grand vizier snorted. “An entire pack of bush walkers just decided to conjure themselves into being at the exact moment our princess was crossing the Widow’s Fingers?”

“The bridge was clear,” said the shaking soldier, his voice trembling as much as his body. “I swear it on my mother’s life. The bush walkers came from the sky. I have never seen anything like it.” The man muttered a quick prayer to Susono.

Karina fought the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose and sigh. This interrogation had been going in circles for the better part of an hour, yet they had no information about the attack to show for it.

Farid squeezed her shoulder, fear lingering beneath the simple touch. He looked like he might drop dead from worry, and had even personally attended to Karina’s minor injuries. As for Karina herself, she was just relieved that Baba’s oud had survived the accident unscathed. Her own body could repair itself, but her most prized possession could not.

However, The Tome of the Dearly Departed had not been so lucky. Just when she had made up her mind about performing the Rite of Resurrection, she had lost her one source of information about the ritual. She hadn’t even had a chance to read the whole book to see if it had more details she might need.

Even if Karina had been in pain, she wouldn’t have felt it—her anger left room for little else.