It isn’t a foolish thing to wonder. Corayne bit her lip, trying to fight down her own trepidation. Across the floor, Andry frowned. We’ve made enough mistakes so far. Will trusting two criminal strangers be another?

Sorasa’s eyes flashed, a warning. “Then they abandon the Ward to ruin, and themselves to doom.”

“Cheerful to the last, Sarn,” Charlie said, wrenching open the door. It spilled light so bright Corayne winced. Sigil’s silhouette flared across the floor, a giant behind her.

“Either way,” Corayne muttered, “we don’t have much choice in the matter.”

Sorasa slammed the door behind them, scowling. “That’s the spirit.”

They wouldn’t last much longer in the cellar. Sigil was right: it was only a matter of time before the Ibal patrols or some criminal element discovered their ragtag band. Even a common thief wouldn’t balk at turning them in, should he manage to escape Sorasa’s blade. So Sorasa led them east, through a damp, muddy passage that surfaced in an overlooked alleyway strewn with hung laundry. To Corayne’s dismay, Sorasa was jumpier than a rabbit, double-checking every corner, avoiding alcoves and sewers like they might snap shut on her body.

“Is it just me, or is Sorasa Sarn scared?” Andry murmured.

“Terrified,” she answered.

“There’s an entire sea between us and Taristan, his army, the other Spindle.” He adjusted his steps, matching her stride. “What could she fear?”

“Her own,” Corayne said, coming to realization even as she spoke.

A fallen Amhara, forsaken, broken. Osara. It must also mean doomed.

Corayne’s blood chilled, her skin prickling even in the dry, desert heat of Ibal. She licked her lips, tasting sweat and salt. Not long now. Dusk approached, the sky overhead going hazy pink. We’ll meet Charlie and Sigil. We’ll have horses. We can leave this place and those posters behind. There aren’t any patrols in the dunes. There isn’t anyone at all.

Sorasa’s caution got them through the alleys without trouble, her internal compass winding them away from the hustle and bustle. It took hours of careful navigation, avoiding patrols and crowded markets, but eventually the buildings grew sparse. The causeway overhead sloped downward, its arches lower and lower until it ran into an avenue of paved stone. Almasad bordered the Great Sands and had no use for walls beyond the port. No army could assault the city from the desert. The roads and streets simply disappeared, swallowed by ever-shifting dunes. Even the scent of flowers grew weak, replaced by the smell of hot, dusty sand and the underlying drift of some herb Corayne couldn’t name.

The ruins of Haroun were not a temple, as Corayne had suspected, but a massive tower at the edge of the city, fallen like a tree broken in half. All that was left was a hollow column, a single spiral stair reaching up the middle like a spine, leading to nothing. The crown of the fallen tower was missing, torn from the rough sandstone.

“Stolen,” Sorasa said, following Corayne’s gaze. Her fingers fumbled at her arm, loosing her sleeve. “Haroun’s Eye was taken before the tower fell, when the Cors defeated ancient Ibal. The rest, the bronze cap, was cut up piece by piece after the tower collapsed. Melted into weapons, coin, jewelry. Northerners do not honor the past as we do in the south.”

Corayne furrowed her brow, looking over the ruins again. She tried to imagine it long ago. “Why would they build a lighthouse this far from the sea?”

“Well seen,” Sorasa said, baring her forearm. The black lines on her fingers continued over her wrist, forming the lashes of an open eye halfway to her elbow. The pupil held the moon and sun, a crescent fitted around flame. “It wasn’t for sailors. Haroun’s Eye blazed night and day, guiding caravans home across the Sands.”

“I wish I could have seen it,” Corayne replied, a lament all too common in her life.

Sorasa covered up her tattoo again. Another flashed on her inner arm, some kind of bird. “Let that wish go, Corayne. It won’t do you any good.”

If only it were that easy.

“It’s past dusk,” Dom grumbled. He glared at the sky, the light waning into purple. “Your priest better get those horses. I can walk the desert to hunt Spindles, but can any of you?”

“Of course, go ahead,” Sorasa snapped, waving her hand at the dunes. “We’ll catch up.”

Again, Valtik plopped onto the ground. She traced her nails in the sand, drawing Jydi spirals and knots. “Sand and rain, salt and grain, much to lose, much to gain,” she chanted.

“Valtik, please,” Corayne sighed, her nerves fraying.

The first star gleamed directly above, straight out over the desert. Corayne tried to name it and found she could not. I don’t know the stars here. I don’t know the way forward. I don’t even know the way back.

If she squinted, the dunes could be the Long Sea, their rolling backs like waves. She tried to picture the cliffs of Siscaria, Lemarta in the distance, the cottage behind. Her mother’s ship on the horizon, returning. How fare the winds? Corayne thought, her lips moving without sound. The breeze that played in her hair was nothing like what she remembered, too hot and dry. Still, she could pretend. Fine, for they bring me home.

Andry kept his distance, pacing, wearing tracks closer and closer to the collapsed ruin of the tower. She was glad for the space, oddly comforted by the gap between them. Through long weeks on the road, Corayne had never been truly alone. She wasn’t now either, but felt better than being loomed over night and day.

Oddly, the Spindleblade seemed lighter. Or at least she took less notice of the giant sword on her back. It wasn’t any more comfortable, and she sweated where the leather pressed against her clothes. But somehow it felt less. More like a limb than a piece of metal. She reached back over her shoulder, fingers grazing the hilt. It was still worn to her father’s hand, the grooves fitted to a dead man. They will never fit me, she thought, pulling back.

The sun disappeared completely, the disc of gold slipping beneath the western horizon to leave smudges of red and purple. Though the day had been hotter than any Corayne could recall, the night was almost immediately cold, the sand quickly losing its warmth. Blue and then black came, like a blanket drawn from one end of the sky to the other, pinpricked with more stars. As they winked into existence, Corayne breathed a sigh of relief. There is the Dragon. There is the Unicorn.