As the warriors whirled, singing a rousing hymn about honor and war and love, I looked up into Linaza’s formidable face. Sightless, she stared down at me, as empty and inanimate as the gnarled trees behind her. But right when I pulled my gaze away from her sandstone eyes, the tips of her wings fluttered.

Just once.

And though it didn’t make any sense, any sense at all, I swore my new scorpion pendant twitched against my throat in response.

“ARE YOU NERVOUS, Simti?”

My friend and I knelt in front of a looking glass, making final touches to our faces.

“A bride always feels nervous on her wedding day.” She flashed me a wobbly smile, but her eyes were shining.

A circlet of copper sat on her black hair. When she moved, the dangling leaves shimmered in the light from the tallow candles spread on low tables around the tent.

The wedding would begin at dusk. Simti’s bride price had been paid—a plot of land and a chest of coins. The dowry had been settled, too. Now? We would feast, and once she and Ilu spent their first night together, lost in one another’s arms, the marriage would be complete.

Happiness flooded through me, but so did a nagging sense of worry over Mirrum, the Koru warrior who had yet to recover.

“All will be perfectly fine, my friend.” I squeezed her clammy hand, trying to pour some reassurance into her, but whether it was more for me or for her was unclear.

Scratching my nose around the colored pastes and powders Nanaea had painted on me, I wrestled with my own nerves. I felt absolutely itchy. I hoped that Mudi was doing what I’d asked. Three drops of the tincture every thirty minutes. That was it. Not too difficult. But as Mudi rarely did anything I wanted her to, only time would tell if she followed my directions. For Mirrum’s sake, I hoped she did.

It had been four days since I’d received the scorpion necklace, and Mirrum had still not recovered to full health. She was sitting up and even taking in some broth, but I wasn’t satisfied. I’d been over to the sickroom constantly to heal her, and had only left her this evening to witness my friend becoming the bride she’d always wanted to be.

Only this time, Simti’s groom was very much alive. Since we’d all escaped the tomb in Alu, she was free to marry whomever she wanted instead of a dying lugal.

“Kammani, you’re not messing up my handiwork, are you?” Nanaea squawked from the corner of the tent. She knelt, a threaded needle between her lips, wrestling with the hem of Iltani’s tunic.

A difficult task, since Iltani was currently in it.

“I wouldn’t dream of ruining your efforts, Sister.”

“Good. It’s been nearly impossible to find more face paint in the Libbu. The merchants are carrying hardly any.” She plucked the needle from her mouth and wriggled it into the fabric.