“Remember when Haissa Sarahel held court the day after her parents died? Yet one small accident, and the princess shirks her responsibilities,” whispered one courtier to another.

“I bet you ten daira she’s drunk and passed out in a stable somewhere.”

“Fifteen daira says it’s a back alley.”

The courtiers cackled wickedly, and the sound made the food turn over in Malik’s stomach. What had the princess done to earn so much vitriol? It was clear why he and his people disliked her, but he’d thought the courtiers were her allies. His understanding of the inner workings of Ziran was tenuous at best, and it was becoming more and more difficult to disentangle the web of who supported who and why.

Unable to listen to the courtiers’ mockery any longer, Malik turned his attention to a dancer dressed in flowing scarves who twirled effortlessly through a series of hoops suspended from the ceiling. He and the other Champions, along with the majority of the court, were having dinner in the main hall of the Azure Garden, and the entertainment tonight was an acrobatic reenactment of the history of the Odjubai Desert.

The actors moved with spectacular grace, reciting their lines while flipping and twisting across the hall. They had begun with an extensive portrayal of life in the desert before Kennoua’s rise. This part had fascinated Malik; Kennoua had conquered the original tribes of the Odjubai so thoroughly that virtually nothing remained of their history.

But the true star of the show was the Faceless King. In the grand tradition of never depicting the man with a human face, his actor wore a mask that could only be described as a cross between a goblin and a very ugly pig. They had reached the point in the story where Bahia Alahari discovered it was her own husband who had allowed the pharaoh’s army into Ziran.

“But why, my love?” cried Bahia, executing a rather impressive backflip as tears ran down her face. “Why would you betray me so?”

“I never loved you. The only thing I love is . . . POWER!” The Faceless King threw his hands into the air, and black mist poured down from the ceiling as a drum pealed like thunder. Despite the exaggerated tone of the production, there had always been something beautifully tragic about the story of Bahia and the Faceless King, and it was one of Malik’s favorite tales.

If only Nadia were here to see this. She probably would have convinced the actors to let her try the different bars and ropes, though Malik would never have let her near them.

“This story never gets old, does it?” said the courtier nearest him.

Malik nodded, unable to look the man in the eye. Each of the Champions had been given their own table for dinner, and the members of the court circulated around them so they could speak with all five. There was a noticeable lack of Moon-and Earth-Aligned people in attendance, which was unsurprising; as the first two Alignments eliminated from the competition, the loss was too fresh to allow for celebration.

The majority of people in attendance were Sun-Aligned, and they crowded around Driss’s table like bees around a hive. All except his mother, Mwani Zohra, who had sat herself down at Malik’s table from the start of the meal and had not moved an inch since.

“Wasn’t that lovely?” she said, clapping as the performance ended.

Malik nodded shyly and stared into his bean soup, appalled at how poor his social skills were. At times like these, it felt like every other person in Sonande had been given a guide on how to interact like a normal human being, and his had never arrived.

Dinner might have been easier to get through if he had any idea where Leila was. But despite what she’d promised the day before, his older sister had yet to come to the Azure Garden, and he could barely speak for the worry crowding his insides.

“I’m sure you’re eager to leave and prepare for the Second Challenge,” said Mwani Zohra. “Rumor has it there’s been major construction near the stadium. There usually aren’t two physical challenges in a row, which is unfortunate for my dear Driss as that’s where he excels, though I’m sure it’s good news for you.”

Was that a compliment or an insult? Malik was still puzzling through it as Mwani Zohra continued, “It’s such a shame your family couldn’t be here to celebrate with us. What is it they do again?”

“They sell spices!” he blurted out. “I mean, they sold spices. When they were alive. Which they aren’t anymore. Because they’re dead. Which is why they can’t sell their . . . spices.”

Malik groaned inwardly. Any second now, he was going to say something so foolish they’d kick him out of the Azure Garden for sheer stupidity.

“. . . I see. Spices.” Mwani Zohra picked up the teapot and refilled Malik’s glass in a perfect, unbroken arc of mint tea. “What were their Alignments?”

“My mother was Water-Aligned, and my father was Fire.” He supposed there was no reason to lie about that.

“Water and Fire? Quite the unusual combination.”

Unusual was one way to describe his parents’ relationship. Leila had often wondered aloud what their calm mother had seen in their brash father, but Malik had chosen to see their union as a sign that opposites really did attract. It had given him hope that one day he too might find someone who could balance out the worst parts of himself, though that possibility seemed to dwindle the older he became.

“They must have been wonderful people to raise you into the fine young man you are today, especially one worthy of being chosen by a goddess. I’m sure they are looking down at you with pride for all you’ve done.”

Pride? What pride was there in letting a spirit kidnap your younger sister and failing miserably to complete the one task that would set her free? He had never been the kind of son his parents could be proud of, and the reminder of this upsetting fact made his chest tighten.

Malik stood abruptly, and a hint of annoyance passed on Mwani Zohra’s face. “Is something the matter, Champion Adil?”

If Malik had any doubts before that Driss’s mother was trying to intimidate him, the contempt in her voice cleared them away. And to his utter humiliation, it was working; if he sat there any longer thinking about how much of a failure he was, he was going to burst into tears.

“I have to—I must—I’m sorry.”

Malik bolted from the hall, even as a voice inside him screamed, Go back! Do something that will help Nadia!

But he didn’t stop running until he had reached the Azure Garden’s main courtyard, nearly tripping over one of the albino peacocks and passing beneath the ancient staircase that led to the prayer rooms. Taking a deep breath, he approached the guard beside the entrance.

“I’m so sorry to bother you again, but has my sister come by yet?” Malik asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“She has not. As I said before, Champion Adil, we will send word to you as soon as she arrives.” The guard’s tone was polite, but Malik could sense the annoyance rolling off him. Malik thanked the man profusely and left before he could say something to upset him further. Leila had said last night that she’d come to the Azure Garden by nightfall. It was nightfall now, and there was no sign of her. What was going on?

Cold night air bit Malik’s face as he climbed the stairs to the Azure Garden’s rooftop terrace. No trace of Leila. He walked from one end of the terrace to the other, then back, then the other way again. Now was his chance to sneak out while everyone was in the main hall, perhaps explore the palace grounds and find out where Princess Karina lived.

But what if Leila was hurt? Malik stopped at the top of the stairs. What if the Sentinels had discovered she wasn’t who she claimed to be and were now torturing her for information she didn’t have? He had to find her.

Bile burned Malik’s throat. Even if he went looking for Leila, where would he start in a city as massive as Ziran? And his sister wasn’t a fool. She had survived months in the desert with only her wits to keep the three of them safe.

But what if she were injured? Or bleeding out in the street with no one to help her? What if both his sisters needed his help, and there was nothing Malik could do for either of them?

Malik tried to walk, but his legs wouldn’t move. Though he was outside in the open, he was drowning again, the world squeezing in on him too fast.

Breathe. Was he breathing? His mouth was moving, but he couldn’t feel the air in his lungs. Leila had to be all right. He couldn’t live with himself if she wasn’t.

Stay present. He was present, but where was here? Here was—the Azure Garden. Yes, he was on the roof, looking for Leila. He had to . . . Where in the name of the Great Mother was his satchel? He reached for it, but all he found were his own arms. His nails bit into the soft flesh, and the pain brought him back for a moment, but then the sight of his own blood made him dizzy and he was falling, falling—