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Chapters (58)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright
  3. Dedication
  4. Part One
  5. Chapter One
  6. Chapter Two
  7. Chapter Three
  8. Chapter Four
  9. Chapter Five
  10. Part Two: Three Months Later
  11. Chapter Six
  12. Chapter Seven
  13. Chapter Eight
  14. Chapter Nine
  15. Chapter Ten
  16. Chapter Eleven
  17. Chapter Twelve
  18. Chapter Thirteen
  19. Chapter Fourteen
  20. Chapter Fifteen
  21. Chapter Sixteen
  22. Chapter Seventeen
  23. Chapter Eighteen
  24. Chapter Nineteen
  25. Chapter Twenty
  26. Chapter Twenty-one
  27. Part Three
  28. Chapter Twenty-two
  29. Chapter Twenty-three
  30. Chapter Twenty-four
  31. Chapter Twenty-five
  32. Chapter Twenty-six
  33. Chapter Twenty-seven
  34. Chapter Twenty-eight
  35. Chapter Twenty-nine
  36. Chapter Thirty
  37. Chapter Thirty-one
  38. Chapter Thirty-two
  39. Chapter Thirty-three
  40. Chapter Thirty-four
  41. Chapter Thirty-five
  42. Chapter Thirty-six
  43. Chapter Thirty-seven
  44. Chapter Thirty-eight
  45. Chapter Thirty-nine
  46. Chapter Forty
  47. Chapter Forty-one
  48. Chapter Forty-two
  49. Chapter Forty-three
  50. Chapter Forty-four
  51. Chapter Forty-five
  52. Chapter Forty-six
  53. Chapter Forty-seven
  54. Chapter Forty-eight
  55. Epilogue
  56. Acknowledgments
  57. About the Author
  58. Keep Reading for a Sneak Peek at Umbertouched

“Dineas, son of Youtab and Artabanos. Welcome back from the dead.”

Chapter Three

I stand in the midst of a storm.

Soldiers march in from all directions. They line up as they arrive, rigid with imperial precision. From a distance, they appear to be the same imperturbable military machine, but I can see the whites of their eyes, the way they take care not to touch each other.

Word spreads. People from my village come by, take in the scene, and rush back to the bonfire to tell others. Doron walks in front of the line of soldiers, holding a torch to each man’s face and searching him for signs of rash or fever. The air around us is thick with fear, and it infects me too, sliding up my arms and settling, cold and damp, on my skin. For a long time, I’m paralyzed, but finally I cast it aside and take a step toward Doron. I don’t know what I aim to do, just that I need to help.

Kaylah grabs my arm and pulls me back. “Not yet,” she says.

She follows Doron with her eyes, as if staring would grant him the power to cure the illness. Her whisper is urgent in my ear. “Remember. Rose plague is deadly, but its essence is heavy. It clings to the patient and doesn’t travel easily through the air. You must not touch the sick if you can help it. Wear plague gloves, wash your hands and face to rid yourself of any essence you pick up.” She stops. “You can make it through this, Zivah, if you’re careful.”

I don’t remind her that she’d tested me on this knowledge this very morning. Her words aren’t meant to teach. They’re meant to reassure, to kindle courage, and they’re meant for both of us.

Tal, our village leader, soon orders this part of the village to be set aside as a quarantine and hospital for the soldiers. The paths fill with families hurriedly packing their belongings, strapping them to the backs of household goats. The pack animals pick up on the tension, and the air echoes with their bleating.

As the villagers clear out, I run back and forth between the quarantine area and Kaylah’s supply hut, gathering herbs, tinctures, buckets, and washcloths. As I carry a pail of water around a corner, I glimpse my father talking with Kaylah. Something about his expression makes me tuck back out of view.

His voice carries through the air, angrier than I’ve ever heard it before. “She’s too young for this,” he says. “You send Zivah in there to attend the soldiers, you send her to her death.” The desperation in his voice breaks my heart.