A bell rang a happy tune when Arran stepped into the healer's shop. Dust motes floated in the dim rays of sunlight that seeped through the boarded windows. The dry air sent Arran into another coughing fit, the third severe one that day. He rested one hand on the shop's counter while his body heaved until his eyes watered. He felt a warm hand on his back, moving in steady strokes.

"It's suffocating in here," Inna complained, glancing around the shop. Bottles containing leeches and other strange insects filled the racks behind the counter, as well as jars and vials with green, blue and red potions. A single oil lamp burned on the far side of the counter, spreading its faint orange light around a cramped room stuffed with carpets, divans and ottomans.

At last, Arran's lungs calmed down. He sucked in a deep breath and winced when the pain of a dozen needles pinched his chest. "Rachid!" he called out, his voice little more than a hoarse whisper. "Air your goddamn shop."

A beaded curtain was pushed aside and showed a middle-aged man with sparkling eyes and tousled black hair. He bowed before Arran and Inna. "The dark helps me concentrate, Your Majesties," Rachid said, his tone betraying not the slightest hint of an apology.

He reached behind the counter and pulled out a hookah. Several powders swirled into the transparent vase, mixing with the water. Arran watched the healer work in silence as he added coals to the tray and lit them. When everything had been put in place, Rachid shoved the hookah in Arran's direction. "Here, this will help with your cough."

Grateful, Arran grabbed the mouthpiece and inhaled. The smoke tasted sweet, like dates or berries. At once, the strain on his lungs diminished. "Thanks," he rasped.

"It's gotten worse, hasn't it?" An observation, not a question.

Arran met the healer's gaze. Despite his quirky habits, he had liked Rachid from the first time they shook hands. Not once in the two weeks since Arran had started visiting the healer's shop in the afternoon had Rachid asked him about how he had acquired his curse. Of course, Arran saw the questions in his eyes, but his discretion prevented him from uttering them out loud. Instead, Rachid had dedicated his time to examining Arran's aura time and again, to screening his vitals with healing magic, in an attempt to determine the curse's deathly nature. He brooked no nonsense, though, and had always been open with Arran about his chances of finding a cure—which were quite slim, to be honest.

"Have you made any progress with the treatment?" Inna asked, her words a flicker of hope wrapped in casual curiosity. She already knew what the answer would be. They both did.

Rachid's face turned grim. "I've tried everything I could. If anything, the curse only spreads faster each time I try to fight it with magic or medicine."

Arran's expression was blank despite the turmoil of anger and fear inside him. Inna's fingers brushed his, and he leaned into her almost unconsciously. She drew herself up. "So what do we do now?"

Arran barely heard the healer's answer over the beelike buzz in his ears. "We hope for a miracle."

"A miracle?" He scoffed, his head dropping until his chin touched the high collar of his coat. "Wouldn't count on it, if I were you."

"There must be something else we can do," Inna said, her voice hitching. She turned to him. Her eyes widened with a determination that bordered on desperation. "I won't let you die, Arran."

He lifted a hand to stroke the graceful line of her jaw. Her skin was softer than silk and her perfume, sweet like honey, made him heady. She stilled, lips slightly parted.

In a softer voice, he replied, "If even the servants of the goddess Narashtuh can't help me, there's only one person left who can break the curse. And he's a bit cross with me."

She slapped his hand away, her cheeks reddened with anger. "Then I'll find one of Onshra's priests to pray for you. Maybe we should've done that in the first place. You know what, let's go to the temple right now."

She started for the door. Started, because she swayed on her feet and her eyes rolled back in their sockets. Arran caught her by the waist before she could fall to the ground, his jaw set with concern. "Inna? Are you all right?"

"I ... I'm not feeling very well all of a sudden," she stuttered. Her caramel complexion had paled to a sickly hue. Her body was limp in his arms, lacking the strength to stay upright.

Rachid rushed to her side and laid a hand on her forehead to measure her temperature. "She's burning up."

"A fever?" Arran cradled Inna's head as it lolled against his shoulder.

She shook her head, panting. "No. Not a fever." Her fingers fumbled with something inside her pocket. "It's ... a vision. She wants to ..." She cringed.

"What vision?" he asked in an urgent tone. "Who are you talking about, Inna?"

"She's having a seer's seizure," Rachid concluded. "Don't resist it, princess. It will only prolong your suffering."

"But I ..." Inna moaned. Her fingers clutched Arran's coat like a lifeline.

An electric shock jolted through his veins as a foreign power flowed into him. He shivered, eyelids fluttering. He had experienced a similar connection only once before, when he had wrapped his own aura around Inna's to hide them from the palace guards. Ira ha suntsuk.

His vision wavered and blurred at the edges; a flash of silver, compelling him to listen. Vaguely, as if he had stepped outside of his own body, he registered an arm snaking around his waist and guiding him to a velvet-clad divan. A heavy weight knocked the breath out of his chest. His lips moved to form Rachid's name, but his tongue was too thick. He forgot what he had wanted to ask.

In the blink of an eye, Rachid's shop had vanished and he stood in a moonlit desert. The sandy plains colored pale blue against a sky made of black silk and stars like glittering diamonds. Inna's hand was still clasped in his. He darted a sidelong glance at her and his breath caught in his throat. Her hair fell over her shoulders in waves of solid midnight. An inner fire illuminated her skin and golden eyes. She was every bit as magnificent as the desert around them, proud like a goddess.

"I see you have brought a friend this time."

His head whipped around to the source of the low, entrancing hum. A woman stood on a sand dune not too far away. Her hair had the same color as Inna's, though it shifted to emerald green as it cascaded down her back. Her eyes reflected the moon's silver, two perfect mirrors without pupils to disrupt their depth. In them, Arran saw the infinite wisdom of endless generations, a knowledge so vast it encompassed the world.

"Why did you call to me?" Inna asked. Her voice was steady, yet slight tremors of fear leapt from her hand to his. She squeezed so hard his fingers had gone numb.

The woman angled her elegant head, exposing a tattoo on the left side of her neck. A sequence of runes, their meaning unbeknownst to him. "To warn you, princess Serafina. They are coming."

"Who's coming?" This time, he did hear a light quaver in her words.

The woman's heart-shaped mouth curled into the smallest of smiles. "Why do you ask questions which you already know the answer to?"

Arran let out a shaky sigh. "When will they be here?"

She turned her attention to him; the weight of her stare shook his bones. "They are a mere hour away from Rasir's city gates."

"Gods." Inna let go of his hand and began pacing back and forth. "We'll never make it out of the palace in time. We can't walk away without bidding the Shah farewell, lest we start a diplomatic war between our nations. And your father, Arran ..."

She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't need to. Arran's throat cramped awkwardly at the thought that this might be the last time he would ever see his father.

"You intend to travel to Afthar The Sane's pyramid," the woman interrupted them. She studied them with restrained curiosity, her eyes flitting from one to the other. "What do you hope to find there?"

Inna met her gaze. "Answers."

An orange gleam caught Arran's eye. It was a small amber stone, spinning between Inna's fingers. He had seen it before, in Zohra's house after he had stolen the Amulet; she had told him it was a soulstone.

The silver-eyed woman gazed at it too. Emotion rippled beneath the smooth, moonwhite skin of her face, though so fast Arran wondered if he had imagined it. She gave a single, stiff nod. "The snake will guide you. Keep her close," was all she said.

Inna's brows knitted together. "The snake? Do you mean Zazi?"

The sand started swirling around their feet, higher and higher until the woman was nearly obscured from view. Inna called out to her, to wait, but the sandstorm swept in their faces and made their eyes water. Arran bowed his head and shielded his eyes, feeling around the air for Inna's hand.

The last thing he heard was the mysterious woman's low voice, a whisper in his mind rather than actual words, "The Sphere is not the answer, Serafina."

The world collapsed in on itself and dragged both Arran and Inna into oblivion.

***

Arran woke enveloped by Inna's smell, one hand buried into silken softness while the other rose and fell with the rhythm of another person's breathing. He forced his eyes open and peered through the slit. He lay on a divan, still in Rachid's shop, with Inna sprawled on top of him. Zazi's reptile head hovered above his own. When she noticed that he was awake, her tongue flicked out once.

With a loud groan, he propped himself up on his elbows. Inna stirred and raised her head, her eyes widening as she became aware of the intimacy of their current position. His cheeks flushed in response. She scrambled upright and ran a distracted hand through her long hair.

"This is not good."

He couldn't help himself. "The vision or the fact that you fell asleep hugging me?"

She glowered at him. "I did not hug you."

"In fact, princess, you refused to let go of him when I moved you to the divan," Rachid cut in, wiping an invisible speck of dust off his shirt. "I know it's probably not my place to ask, but you're not really brother and sister, are you?" Arran gave him a meaningful look, and the healer nodded. "I see. Your secret is safe with me."

"That's great, because we have to leave," Inna grumbled. She reached for Arran's hand and pulled him to his feet. Her eyes bore into his with regal authority. "Now."

They hurried to the door. Arran spoke a quick goodbye to Rachid over his shoulder before Inna dragged him out, back into open, fresh air. The heat, however, burned his lungs while they crossed the street to the carriage waiting for them. As soon as they were seated and well on their way back to the royal palace, he relapsed into another coughing fit which lasted for several minutes.

Inna stared out of the window, her forehead creased in thought. "It's a good thing I carry this thing with me," she said, patting the pocket of her long-sleeved, wine red dress. It showed the contours of an envelope. "I was afraid a servant would find it if I hid it in my room."

"I thought the plan was to smuggle it into the post office, but it's a bit too late for that now, isn't it?" Arran sighed despondently. Part of him hated that they had to leave again. He would miss Rasir's court, his father and Rachid, and the four-poster bed he had been sleeping in for the past two weeks.

"I'll improvise."

The carriage rolled through the palace's gates and came to a halt at the Tower's front door. Inna hopped out before the coachman could walk around the carriage to help her. She strode inside with energetic steps, making full use of her long legs. She stopped at the center of the hallway. "Can someone tell me where Hashim is?" she asked, her voice loud and clear.

A passing servant pointed in the direction of the long, winding stairs. "He's in the throne room with His Majesty the Shah."

"Perfect."

They ran up the stairs taking two steps at a time. The doors to the throne room had been thrown wide open and a soft murmur drifted into the hallway. Several groups of nobles stood or sat scattered in the grand room, sipping tea and sharing gossip. The Shah perched on his throne, listening to the plea of a richly dressed merchant. Inna walked the carpet to the throne to wait for her turn to speak with him, keeping a respectful distance. Her face was serene, her hands folded in front of her, yet the space between them nearly sizzled with impatience. This had better not take long. Each second wasted on diplomacy provided their enemies with more time to close in on them.

Nevertheless, the Shah must have detected the urgency on their faces, for he wrapped up his conversation with the merchant with simple words of indulgence. Inna stepped forward and made a swift bow. "Your Majesty. I am afraid we bring ill news."

The Shah curled his beard around a finger. "Oh? And that on a fine day like this. Well, what is this ill news?"

Inna handed him the envelope she kept in her pocket. "We received word from Primsharah, Your Majesty. We intercepted the messenger on our way back to the palace. Our father has contracted a serious illness and asks for our immediate return. Our sister and Prince Rabyatt's wedding has been postponed until he is fully recovered, but the healers speak of long-term rehabilitation. I am sorry, Your Majesty."

The Shah heaved a deep sigh. Rubbing his brow with his thumb and index finger, he scanned the contents of the letter. "This is unfortunate, indeed. I hope your father gets well soon. You have my support in these grave times, Your Majesties."

Arran and Inna both bowed their heads. "We ought to leave at once, Your Majesty," Inna said, a regretful note woven through her words. "I cannot bear the thought that my father's condition might worsen while we're on the road."

The Shah nodded, disappointed. "Of course. Hashim will take care of your luggage and arrange a carriage to take you back to Primsharah. I suppose my son will inform me as soon as preparations for his wedding resume."

Inna extended her hands with the palms facing upward. "Thank you again for your hospitality, Your Majesty. My brother and I have had a wonderful time at your court."

A small smile danced across the Shah's lips as he waved away their gratitude, though it didn't reach his eyes. "May you reach your home swiftly and safely." He glanced at Hashim, who stood next to the throne. Arran hadn't even seen him move. "Do not make them wait."

The butler bowed to his Shah and left the room. Inna and Arran followed his example. When they had crossed the threshold and left the noise in the throne room behind them, the pressure on Arran's chest finally lessened and he cracked a careful smile at Inna.

"That went considerably well, didn't it?"

The princess had stopped beside a large window to look out over the oasis. "That was only stage one," she answered, biting her lip. She pointed at the sky outside. Arran followed her gaze. Dark gray thunderclouds amassed in the distance, approaching the southern city gates at a disconcerting pace. Forked lightning flashed in the air. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end; all color had drained from his face. Several people stopped in the middle of the hallway to stare at the unnatural phenomenon. When had been the last time it had stormed in the middle of the Orabi Desert?

"It's them, isn't it?" he asked, swallowing past the lump in his throat.

Inna gritted her teeth. "Yes. And it seems they've brought reinforcements."