“The Gods created the daiva, the daiva birthed our ancestors, and our ancestors birthed us. So it goes.” There was a low, singsong quality to his voice that reminded her of the way she had spoken to Arwa, once upon a time, about the daiva. Here is a story, his voice seemed to say. An old story. A true story. “And here we are, mortal men and women, with immortality in our blood. Seek out the immortality inside you, and you will find the place where the Gods sleep. You are an Amrithi; it is your right.”

“A speck of immortality,” Mehr muttered. “It can’t be more than that.”

“A speck is enough,” Amun said.

Mehr breathed. Breathed. Curled her hands into helpless fists. “I don’t know where to look,” she said.

“Look to the part of you that dreams,” Amun said.

Mehr shivered. Snatches of last night’s dream flickered through her head, as blurred as candle flame. Golden eyes. Arwa crumbling to ashes. She was glad she could remember no more than that.

Dreams were a strange place. Often dark and terrible, but at least the pain they inflicted was easily lost. Easily forgotten.

Mehr sucked in another deep breath. Tried again.

Once more. Once more.

KAMAL

Kamal

It was an unfortunate day for bartering. The heat was blistering, the sun fat and unforgiving in the sky. As a result, the village was full of Irin who were by turns irritable and listless. Kamal—who’d volunteered for this job, curse it—was struggling to exchange his blood for anything useful.

“It’s worth more than that,” he protested unwisely to one villager, who promptly narrowed her eyes and cursed him colorfully.

“You take what we offer,” the villager said finally, “or I tell the tax collector your kind are near here. See how long your clan lasts then.”

The threat kept on irritating him like a sore tooth, long after he’d accepted the villager’s paltry trade and started making his way back out to the desert proper. As he reached the outskirts of the village, a child threw a rock at him and ran away shrieking with laughter, which only served to sour his mood further. Gods curse the lot of them.

He wished one of his clan had come with him. Sohaila, maybe, who always knew how to make him laugh even when he was in the blackest moods. But Kamal was alone, and wouldn’t see his clan for days yet.