Malik’s eyes flew open. He was in a room that smelled of fresh herbs and that was lined on both sides with beds. A man sat on a stool beside him, laying a cool rag on Malik’s forehead. Malik tried to sit up, but the man gently pushed him back down.

“Your body hasn’t adjusted yet to the changes you’ve forced on it. It’s best not to overexert yourself while you get used to the presence you’re now hosting.”

Malik had met this man before, he was sure of it. This was Farid Sibari, the palace steward who had greeted him when he’d arrived at the Azure Garden and who had declared Karina a murderer during the Closing Ceremony.

The man who also bore the Mark of the Ulraji Tel-Ra, which meant he had magic like Malik’s. Despite the steward’s calm demeanor, a volatile energy rolled off him, much like the violent anger he’d displayed during the Closing Ceremony. This man was dangerous, perhaps even more than Idir had been.

And for some reason, Farid had chosen to save him.

“How am I not dead?” Malik’s voice was hoarse and dry, as if he hadn’t used it in years. There was an ache in his chest where the spirit blade had lodged into his heart—no human being was meant to survive a wound like that.

“The heart survives for a few minutes after a direct strike. In that time, I slowed your magic to induce a form of coma, and our healers were able to stem the bleeding and treat the wound. You’ve been resting for the last few days.”

The last few days? What had happened to Nadia and Leila while he was gone? Did they know he wasn’t dead? Malik struggled to sit up once more, and Farid pushed him down again with more force.

“Why are you doing this?” Malik asked weakly.

Wiping the rag across Malik’s forehead, Farid replied, “I sensed what you were when we first met, but I wasn’t sure until the Second Challenge. Where everyone else saw a quaint trick, I saw a powerful enchantment that takes years to master. In all my decades of studying ulraji magic, I have never seen such a naturally gifted storyweaver.” Farid shook his head. “To think, I’ve been looking for another descendant of the Ulraji Tel-Ra all my life, and then two just walk into my city of their own free will.”

Malik took a sharp breath, then immediately regretted it for the pain. “Where’s my sister?”

“Here at the palace. I’ll send word to her now that you’ve awoken. I apologize for putting you both in captivity before the Closing Ceremony, but I wanted to make sure you were somewhere safe where we could keep an eye on you.”

This man’s idea of somewhere safe was a prison? Was he hearing himself?

“The ivory chains that stopped my magic,” said Malik, the pieces slowly clicking together. “You made those. And during the First Challenge, a force stifled my powers.”

Farid nodded. “That was me as well. Your magic manifests as illusions; mine lets me pull on the threads of nkra that bind us all, especially threads of magic. I needed Karina alive in order to obtain the king’s heart for the Rite of Resurrection, but I couldn’t reveal myself to you quite yet. I always hoped that other descendants of the Ulraji Tel-Ra had survived the destruction of Kennoua, but you and your sister are the first ones I’ve found so far, and you’re the only ulraji.”

Farid’s tone was so normal, as though they were discussing the weather and not ancient sorcery. Malik forced himself to hold the man’s gaze even as the familiar panic began to well inside him.

Farid gave him a smile dripping with untold secrets. “Your Zirani is quite good, but you have the hint of a western accent—Eshran, I assume? Did your people not have their own gods before Ziran forced the patron deities on you?” His eyes filled with disdain as they traced the lines of the Moon emblem in his palm. “Our ulraji ancestors challenged the idea that the elements deserved to be worshipped as deities, and they were rejected by their zawenji counterparts for it. They then went on to found Kennoua and turn it into the greatest empire this world has ever seen.”

Farid lowered the rag. “Malik, you and I have the power to bend reality as we see fit. Between your illusions and my mastery of nkra, we could tear this world apart and rebuild it better. We can make it so that no one can take the people we love from us ever again. This is why I sought out Idir and taught myself everything there was to know about magic. And I can teach it to you.”

Malik didn’t know what to say. Nkra? Zawenji? The patron deities weren’t really gods? It was too much to process, especially when all he wanted to do was find his sisters. When Malik didn’t reply, Farid smiled and rose to his feet. “Of course, I don’t expect an answer now. I will return later to check on you and see what your thoughts on this matter are then.”

Farid left, and Malik stared at the ceiling, far too weak to do anything more. He took in the intricate designs around him and wondered if Ksar Alahari was still Ksar Alahari with no Alaharis present.

Well, that wasn’t quite true. There was one Alahari left.

The lich is no kin of mine, Idir roared. The obosom shook his bindings, and Malik’s body shuddered involuntarily, though he regained control quickly. He lay there for several scary minutes, too scared to fall asleep lest the Faceless King take over his mind once more, until a second person entered the infirmary.

Leila ran to Malik’s bedside but stopped several feet from it, regarding him with the kind of concern one might have for a chained lion.

Currently subdued but always a threat.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

There were many answers to that question. Scared of Farid and of what his life would be like now that he was sharing his mind with Idir. Curious about the truth of his powers. Remorseful that he hadn’t done more to stop the spirit when he’d had the chance.

“Fine,” Malik lied.

Leila nodded. “And what about . . .” She didn’t have to finish her sentence for Malik to know what she meant: If Malik had control of Idir, what did that mean for Nadia?

Where is she? Malik asked the obosom. He could feel the spirit thrashing inside him, like a splinter lodged too deep into his skin to pull out.

Figure that out for yourself, Idir snapped back. Numbness spread through Malik’s fingers as the spirit struggled to free himself, but Malik fought back. With the last of his energy, Malik sifted through Idir’s thoughts, pushing aside a thousand years of rage and grief to more recent memories of a small figure wandering alone in an empty world. He called on Idir’s power—no, it was his mind and his power now—to break through the boundary between realms.

“Nadia,” he called, reaching his arms wide. This was going to work—it had to work, because Malik would not be able to go on if it did not.

And just like that, Nadia was back, her small head tucked beneath Malik’s chin. Leila let out a sob, wrapping her arms around her younger siblings as Malik felt truly whole for the first time in a week.

“I knew you guys would come,” Nadia said sleepily. Her small hand clutched the fabric of Malik’s shirt as if she might fall if she let go.

But she wouldn’t. And even if she did, they both knew Malik would be there to catch her.

The three siblings wrapped a cocoon of blankets around themselves like they used to back in Oboure. Malik and Leila recounted to Nadia all the details of Solstasia, minus the portions not appropriate for a six-year-old—yes, the princess really had silver hair, and yes, you really could buy a lemon pastry the size of your head.

One day, they’d tell her the full version of their week apart. But not yet.

By the time Malik began recounting the Final Challenge, Nadia had fallen asleep, drool forming in a pool near her head. From there, he and Leila discussed Farid’s offer, going over the pros and cons of staying in Ziran. Eventually, Leila too succumbed to sleep, grasping one of Nadia’s small hands in hers. Malik watched the two of them sleep, feeling not quite at peace but better than he had in a long time.

He slid back on his pillow, surprised to see the Mark slither over the back of his hand as he did so. He’d expected the tattoo to disappear once the blood oath had been fulfilled, but it seemed this was another one of the many ways Solstasia had changed him forever.

Speaking softly so as not to wake his sisters, Malik wove a single dandelion into existence, bright as the ones that had populated their farm. One by one, the petals vanished, though the sweet scent lingered.

Storyweaving. That was what Farid had called the illusions Malik created.

Already Malik could picture the terrible ways Farid could manipulate him and his abilities. There were reasons the Kennouans were universally loathed for the enslavement and terror they’d unleashed upon Sonande.

But he also couldn’t forget the pure joy on the faces of those who listened to his stories, how much peace using his power brought him. Perhaps there was more to ulraji magic than the stories had claimed.

If Malik had been able to create such a spectacle as he’d done during the Second Challenge with only minimal practice, what could he do once he’d undergone Farid’s training?