The bird's silver wigs flapped against the harsh wind, the glimmering yellow trimmings across its back winking in the weak sunlight. Its talons were sharp like honed spindles, yet as they rested on the woman's shoulder, they did not seem to hurt her at all.

She smiled. A sorrowful hue dyed her eyes navy as she reached out a finger, tapping the top of the bizarre bird's head. "Don't be afraid, Azrah," she whispered. "The storm will pass."

It was the bird's turn to regard the woman with a doubtful azure eye, brimming with meaning the blurry image could not possibly convey.

A violent shiver shook me awake.d

My eyes cracked open, squinting at the brash sunlight pouring through the cracks of the skylight. Where am I? My head pounded with a force not even war drums could emulate. It felt as if I could hear the people march to my funeral.

I wiped my damp eyes. That was impossible. There was nobody to attend my funeral.

Fragments of my memory spun around my head, mocking my muddled figure. All I remembered was pain, pain, pain. Then darkness, a light, and pain once more. The sharp staccato of my heart tapped sluggishly against my ribcage. My recollection of the incident might have fled my mind, but the panic that accompanied it haunted each breath I took as I struggled to sit up.

And sloshing through a sea of broken memories, the dream I had just jumped out of reigned above with pompous clarity.

My eyes felt fossilized as I glanced around the unfamiliar chamber. I was tucked in a rigid bed pushed to the corner of the room. The walls, the floor; everything was crafted from ancient oak, emitting a pungent odor that drilled into my nose. There was no lavish furniture, just a meager chest and a bedraggled desk and chair. The cause of my nausea became apparent as I found myself blankly staring at the seat before me. It was rocking left and right.

A grave was easy to sneak into. A ship, however, wasn't.

The moments were fleeting. They didn't wait for me — nobody ever did — but for once, I couldn't complain. I leaned against the rigid headboard, glancing out of the narrow skylight. Soft clouds hovered through the metal bars, concealing the shy sky from the sailors' curious glare. It wasn't often that Metsuva hosted a relatively clear sky — even if it did, the piles of freshly woven cloths would have preoccupied me. My confusion seemed to melt before the simple glory of the blue.

I could have stayed there forever. Maybe I would have stayed there forever, hadn't a searing sting suddenly attacked the skin of my throat.

"Saints!" I tried to exclaim. Only a strained croak came out, scraping my throat like a box of needles. How long had it been? Days? Weeks? I kicked the stiff sheet off my body and stumbled to my feet, approaching the mirror's stained glass. My raven hair resembled the beaten nest of a bird, and dark circles shadowed my eyes' every move. Yet most shockingly, a large red scar encircled my neck, like a necklace I could never get rid of.

Despite the agonizing ache in my head and the dread building up in my chest, I gathered the weak sparks of my determination and burst through the cabin's door, taking the flight of stairs immediately to my right.

The clear air of open sea swept by my skin the moment I climbed the last step. It was so intense, the feel, the odor, even the light whoosh it made as it zoomed past my hunched figure. The ocean stretched over the skyline, leaving no room for a harbor, a body of land floating about, any sign that I was still in Metsuva. My pulse picked up as the fresh air started clarifying the situation.

The tavern. The necklace. The wire.

"Everything alright, young gal?"

I swung my heavy head around, regarding the man staring at me with a deep frown. He sat leisurely at a table, a pile of frayed cards spewed across it. His thick accent sounded harsh and foreign. "Where am I?" I asked, my voice scratchy like a blade against stone.

The man gave me a crooked smile, reaching his hand out and smacking the railing of the medium-sized ship. "You, lucky lady, are aboard Lindy."

A nervous sigh rattled my chest as I ran a hand across my greasy black hair. "Where are we going? Why did you drag me here?"

"Woah, woah," the man said, a slight crease appearing on his large forehead. "I'm Atulaji, we are hopefully dropping anchor in Ozelk, and a weird lad dragged you here, not me. Does that answer all your questions?"

I staggered toward the table, dropping on the seat next to Atulaji. My tormented gaze wandered to the horizon. The sun had just risen. No, I wanted to reply, it doesn't. There were so many questions in my mind, the major one of which was befitting but not quite relevant to the sailor before me.

Atulaji cackled, visibly amused by my confusion. "I got some zioniv fresh from Aman back there. Those Ozalkans are going to throw their money at me," he laughed as his eyes wandered dreamily across the sky.

"Why are you tormenting our guest with your fantasies of being stoned to death by pennies, Atulaji?"

I jumped at the voice behind me. It was humorous and light, but the sliver of exhaustion lingering in it didn't escape me. I watched as a man I did not recognize ascended the stairs. His tousled chocolate hair curled into loose locks, complimenting his rust-colored eyes in a deceivingly warm way. The sun bounced off his light brown skin, casting harsh shadows against the distinct twists and corners of his face. Whoever he was, the man looked too cheerful to belong anywhere near my filthy town.

What struck me as odder was his attire. He wore a black shirt with shiny silver buttons running down the center, overlaid by a similarly colored thin-weight coat. Two firm strips of thick fabric coiled around his waist and a pair of equally gloomy pants and boots adorned his lower body. This was something only dukes and counts visiting us would wear.

Once his wandering eyes landed on me, he gifted me with a grin brighter than any desperate man walking the streets of Metsuva could ever bear. He was unmistakably an outsider. A rich outsider.

The slow creaking of the merchant ship was the only sound violating the stifling silence among us. I pushed against the table, standing as menacingly as I could. Judging by the man's unfaltering smile, I didn't do a great job at it. "Are you the one who brought me here?" I questioned, and my wildly pounding heart seemed to leak into my shaky tone.

The man walked toward the table, laying a hand on my shoulder and shoving me back down. I landed on the chair with a yelp. "It is better if you sit," he said calmly and sat on a chair beside me.

"I don't plan on staying long," I exclaimed louder than I had intended. The man turned to look at me with amused eyes. I cleared my throat. "Once we drop anchor in some nearby pier—"

"We are not dropping anchor anywhere but Sisarah."

Sisarah was the grand capital of the empire, a city of miracles, a haven for saints, or any other name credulous people granted it. The residents of Metsuva had a much more fitting name; karihika, lair of evil. Not that I had confirmed this notion myself, although it seemed to be happening sooner than expected.

"Hey, boy," Atulaji protested with a frown. "This is my ship!"

The man puckered his lips, releasing a short laugh. I stared at him, eyes round and mouth ajar. He must have been crazy. There was no other explanation. Atulaji had to drop me off at the closest land — even the open sea seemed like an adequate option with him sitting next to me.

The wooden boards beneath my feet suddenly began to tremble. An earthquake? I shot up from my seat, holding my head in one hand. It was a fragile thing, and considering the weird sensations I was experiencing, I was almost certain it had already become faulty.

Yet Atulaji jumped to his feet shortly after as well. "Saints!" he bellowed, holding the railing of his beloved ship for support. His eyes found the nonchalant man, who was still sitting undisturbed. "What in the world is happening?"

A great tremor rumbled through the ship as a soft azure glow hindered my vision. I yelled in horror and ultimately lost my balance, plummeting to the floor. The creaking got louder, more frequent, stuffing my ears with ear-splitting cracks. This is it. Death is haunting my every move. It wasn't long before I began sliding down the floorboards, despite my desperate attempts to claw at the wood. Terror stripped my body of warmth and turned my blood into ice as realization started settling. The ship was tilting.

For a moment, I was in the air. The breeze had gotten fiercer, blending into the blue mist, ruffling my hair and pushing my limbs into unnatural positions. Atulaji shrieked, his thin hands hugging the post. His eyes were wild, staring at me in horror as I fell and fell and fell. My descent seemed to have no end, no mercy for my anguished body.

I dared to steal a glance at the man. He rested on his seat, examining his wrinkled sleeve. The abrupt slant of the hovering vessel didn't seem to faze him or his body, and his sharp features seemed to scrunch up at the triviality he found in our situation.

Was I not mid air, I would have had time to scowl.

A sharp pain attacked my lower back. My head fell backward, almost touching water, my mouth agape in a silent scream. I couldn't find the voice in my chest to yell or the power in my core to pull myself up. Spikes pierced my flesh, the bones of my back hollering with a monstrous crunch. With what last strength I had, I curled my arms around the railing beneath me, so tightly that I could feel splinters slashing into my skin. Tears prickled the corners of my eyes. For once, I didn't mind. There was nobody to witness my shameful position, and nobody to save me from it either.

The ship returned to its normal position too suddenly. My legs slammed against the wood. Before I could process the situation the ship was back in its place, sailing away into the ocean as if it hadn't just magically flown above the water.

I gasped for a breath, my eyes wild with disorientation. I had never met an enchanter before — or else I would be dead by now — and I always considered myself lucky. Mestuva, despite all its shortcomings, was weirdly immune to the magic users. The people there hated guards, after all, and fewer enchanters meant fewer of the emperor's goons hunting them. In reality, it was no wonder they hadn't deemed the town full of old hags a suitable shelter; I had never heard of an enchanter pass forty years of age. Pouring their soul into magical items in return for those powers of theirs took its toll on them, understandably.

I was always quick to mock them. Now dread wound up my spine, like a vicious serpent climbing the forbidden tree.

I stumbled up to my feet, faltering toward the man. "You—"

"As I was saying," he interrupted, and he had the nerve to turn and beam at me once more, "we are dropping anchor at Sisarah."

"Bloody hell!" Atulaji held his head, toppling back on his chair. "I'm giving shelter to an enchanter?"

The man's brow twitched ever so slightly as he dipped into a dramatic and wholly unnecessary bow. "Erhan of Anthos, specifically." His lips quirked, but this time it was bitter. "You may select which way you want to address me."

I dragged back a chair and collapsed on it. What did an enchanter want with me? Consume my soul? Use my innards as a pendant? The carelessness with which he had revealed his lethal powers only worsened the anxiety brewing in my gut. "Why did you bring me here?" I muttered, shaking my head in stubborn disbelief that didn't seem to want to dislodge itself from my brain.

Erhan waved a dismissive hand at the sailor. He needn't say a word. Atulaji scrambled to his feet and disappeared into the cabins.

The water rippled quietly as the ship moved along the gentle waves of the sea. After minutes of complete silence, Erhan cleared his throat. "I believe some gratitude is in order."

I stared at him with beseeching eyes. Worry that I had previously tucked away started oozing back into my mind, and I needed no more of Erhan's attitude at this time of despair. "I don't understand."

"Well, dear, I saved you from certain death."

Realization struck. How could I forget? That was the only reason I was alive, and the only reason I was here. I didn't know whether to hug or slap the man.

"I have no money to give you," I said. "My life is all I have left."

Erhan's chest rose, a hesitant smile gracing his lips. "So you have something to give, after all."

The wind stopped whistling past the damp deck. The waves stopped splashing against the ship's hull. The entire world hesitated, nudging my intuition with persistent pangs of uncertainty. I struggled to take a labored breath, my lungs stuffed not with the fear of pause, but with the horrifying certainty of what I would have to face once it was over.

Inevitably, Erhan leaned forward. A sour tint filtered his eyes as his smile turned frigid. "Have you heard of the Order, by any chance?"

Disoriented, I shook my head. "The... Order?"

"Azrah. The Order of Azrah."

My stomach abruptly threw itself into a spin. I quickly stood — a mistake from my part. A wave of vertigo engulfed my creaky body, sending my head into a violent spiral and painting my vision with black splotches. My knees bent, shoving my body stumbling toward the railing. I did not know what the Order of Azrah was — somehow, my body did.

Through near death and tilting ships, a few words were the ones to end my stomach's calm. I sucked in a breath, and out came not only a hasty exhale, but what little my stomach contained, too. The bile scorched my throat. A grip on my shoulder yanked me back, hurling me to the wooden boards. The deck howled with the echo of my fall.

Erhan towered above, a crease slicing his brows. "Ah, I see we share the same revulsion for those power-hungry fools." His boot pressed down on my shoulder, squeezing a shriek out of my throat. "I, on the other hand; I simply want one soul."

My eyes bulged as I writhed on Lindy's deck, like a grody worm squirming away from a blackbird's appetite. A shiver rumbled across my torso. One soul. My soul.

As if my dignity was not already dangling from the rudder, my eyes started to dampen. I tilted my head towards the wood, feeling the cold boards rub against my cheek. What had I ever done to deserve this fate?

At last, a sob sprung in my throat. "What do you want from me?" I yelled, choking on my own words. "My soul? Take it!"

Erhan stared, his eyes blurred by something resembling pity — maybe even sympathy. His words diffused such suspicions. "Why in the world would I want your soul?" he laughed, letting his foot slide off my crippled arm. The now familiar blue haze rose once more before I could be offended, as Erhan stretched his hand toward me. Azure sparks danced around his fingers, enticing but not quite persuasive. "I need something more. A strong soul — the strongest one."

I rubbed the moisture off my cheeks. My breaths were shuddering and swallow, only crippling my judgment further. "There's nothing I can do. Please, I—"

"I will make it easy for you," he interrupted my cry. "Bring me the soul, and I shall grant you one wish. Any wish."

"A wish?" My words cracked with weakness as I tried to cough a dry laugh, watered down to a sob by the tempest raging inside me. "I don't need a wish. I need a miracle."

Slowly, Erhan kneeled next to me. His palm still waited, patient, glowing. "I am a man of many wonders," he said, his tone inappropriately light. The rumples of his face had been smoothly ironed out, leaving an unreadable stare behind. "If you help me, I might just bestow one upon you."

I sighed a shaky whimper. "I can't," I whispered, my lips trembling. "I can't take someone's soul."

"Do you not want another chance?"

His words echoed across my soul, ringing every alarm in my skull. Another chance. It was what I always craved; to start over, return to my roots. Now, Erhan was offering me that — all in return for something I knew I could never do.

My body decided before my mind. It was foolish, following signals of another brain; a brain where hope still claimed a part of the heart. Neglecting its violent quiver, I shoved out my hand and squeezed Erhan's palm, feeling the mist tickle my shriveled skin.

"There is a price to failure," Erhan called over the whoosh of the wind. Hope had found itself back into his gaze, too, and so had a smile. "It—"

"I know," I blurted out. He had made his desire for a soul candid enough; my pounding heart would not take another mention of it.

The price was my own life.

For once, he seemed taken aback. "Oh, you do?" His brows soared, a mocking grin stretching his lips. "Then I suppose you are ready."

A wish. Any wish I wanted, in turn for the sacrifice of the morals I fought so hard to retain in the hell that was Ashaba.

This was not simply about me anymore. I would give up my life any day. It was worth nothing. But my family's? My father's and Hai's? I had another chance to save them from the unyielding poverty of Sehira now. They deserved the paychecks I worked so hard for every month. They deserved the world.

I shoved any hesitation left away and gave the crazy man before me a sharp nod, earning an amused sneer in return. "I'm ready."

❧

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