Inna's head throbbed with the insistent rhythm of a thousand drums. She grunted, confused, and used one weak arm to prop herself up on an elbow while she waited until the world stopped spinning. Her eyelids fluttered open to a crack, her vision nothing but white, blinding light for the first few seconds.

Then a face materialized, hovering in front of her own. She screamed and lashed out with a fist.

The woman—old, wrinkled, dark all over except for the silver strands of her hair—merely chuckled as Inna's body froze mid-movement. "Now, now, let's not start off on the wrong foot here."

A tickling feeling coursed through Inna's arm and broke through the paralysis before she had a chance to lift up the spell herself. Intimidated by this stranger's fast spellcasting, she leaned back to create as much distance between them as physically possible. "Who the hell are you?"

"Oh, I'm just a humble fortune teller, my dear," the woman answered in a much too casual tone.

Inna narrowed her eyes. She had her doubts about this witch's claim to be "just a humble fortune teller".

"My name is Zohra," she continued with that spurious cheerfulness that was starting to get on Inna's nerves. "This is my shop."

"Really? Lovely place." Inna never took her eyes off Zohra.

The other woman let out another chuckle, although Inna failed to see what was so goddamn amusing. "Of course, I don't have to ask you who you are, princess. There aren't many women in this city whose appearance matches yours in beauty, especially not in this district."

"Do you think flattering me will help you get out of this situation unscathed?" Inna growled, balling her hands into fists. Her blood boiled and burned until red flares of anger streaked her vision. "You sedated me! You attacked me!"

For the first time since their conversation had started, the kind, patient expression on Zohra's face faltered. "To be fair, you were the one harrassing my protégé. Forgive me my curiosity, Your Highness, but what were you doing at Primsharah's black market?"

Inna pressed her lips into a thin line. The events leading up to this point returned to her—well, the parts she could remember. Her gaze scanned the room, searching for the tall, young thief with dark brown hair and turquoise eyes she had met outside the black market. Arran was nowhere to be found.

"Where is he?"

"Who?"

She bit her tongue not to lose her patience and snap at the fortune teller. "Your protégé."

"Arran?" Zohra angled her head. "How should I know? I'm obviously not his mother." She circled her face with a hand and grinned. "He'll show up when he feels like it."

Great. She cursed Isha, the goddess of fortune, in silence for abandoning her in this crucial moment. For all she knew, Arran had dumped her here with this crazy old hag to get her out of the way until he had finished robbing Onshra's temple.

"You do know that harboring and protecting a criminal is a felony, right?"

Zohra laughed, a cold, joyless sound that sent shivers down Inna's spine. "And what proof do you have of Arran's crimes?"

"I will have plenty of proof to put him behind bars for an eternity as soon as he returns with the Amulet of Doom."

Zohra gaped at her, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. Her face darkened in a way that would probably have daunted a less arrogant person than the crown princess of Primsharah. "And I've always heard people say you're such an intelligent girl."

Inna ground her teeth. She fought hard not to scream, because that would damage her credibility even more. She was already walking on thin ice with this woman. "I don't have to account to you for my actions. You'll discover I'm speaking the truth in time, although it will already be too late by then." She sighed. "You've known Arran for a long time, am I right?" Zohra nodded, so she went on, "Can you honestly tell me that he's not capable of doing something as utterly stupid as stealing from a god's temple if it benefits his own goals?"

The woman's prolonged silence was all the confirmation Inna needed. "That's what I thought."

"Look, princess ... I'm not going to justify what he's done, or what he's about to do." Zohra's shoulders sagged as if a heavy burden weighed them down. She stared at one of the rings on Inna's fingers, her eyes glazed over. "But you must know that Arran and his family have lived a hard life. They belong to the district's poorest households, and their situation didn't improve when Arran's father ... died ... when Arran was only eight. Or nine, I can't remember."

"That sounds awful, but—"

"Ever since he grew old enough to understand the severity of his situation, Arran has worked to escape poverty," she interrupted, oblivious to the princess's irritation. "His motives aren't completely selfless nor do his methods always lie within the boundaries of the law, but he has a good heart. If what you're saying is true, which doesn't imply that I believe you, he's been tricked into making a terrible mistake. Arran's relationship with the gods may be colder than the mountains on the northern continent"—she snorted and made a face—"but he'd never disrespect them like that unless someone's dangling bait in front of his nose that he can't refuse."

Her words echoed in the air long after she had finished talking. Inna slumped back into the sofa she was sitting on and stared off into the distance. As if she didn't carry enough problems on her shoulders already, this woman had to ruin her determination to bring a thief to justice by making him look sympathetic. Like someone whose misery had beaten the crap out of him for so long he'd strike any deal, good or rotten, to make it stop.

Zohra's dark eyes flicked to hers, filled with a kind of sadness that crushed bones and turned blood to ice. "Arran doesn't need punishment, princess. He needs help."

Inna scrubbed a hand over her face. "I have been trying to convince my father and his council to address Primsharah's problem with poverty for years. But I guess advocating a better life for all citizens is one thing, and developing a strategy for an actual solution is another." She shook her head as the last stubborn remnants of her anger flushed away. "If Arran succeeds in stealing the Amulet, facing the court won't be his greatest concern, though. The Amulet belongs to a god. Onshra will protect that which belongs to him."

"I'm not sure whether Arran is aware of that." Zohra's fingers fidgeted with a jaguar-shaped charm attached to her bracelet. A talisman, judging by the protective energy it contained.

"I have to find him." Inna jumped up from the sofa and started for the door, but Zohra grabbed her wrist to stop her. The grave look on the elderly woman's face kept her from wrenching her arm free.

"Don't bother, child." She pointed a crooked finger at a small window.

From the looks of it, at least one hour had passed since the moonrise. Gods, how long had she been unconscious?

"Whatever target he's chosen tonight, temple or otherwise, he's already there," Zohra said. A wry, lopsided smile distorted her lips. "He left two hours ago through the tunnels. You will never reach him in time."

"Then it's all been for nothing!" Seven days she'd had to wait to sneak out of the palace and find Arran, and she had come too late. Inna threw her arms up in frustration, yet paused when she noticed the lack of a counterweight on her shoulders. "Where's Zazi?"

Zohra raised an eyebrow. "I suppose you mean that green snake that was holed up in your hood when we found you? She's over there." She gestured at a thick, soft cushion stowed in a corner of the cramped room. Zazi's long body lay draped over it, sound asleep. Inna checked for spells, but it seemed the snake had decided to take a well-earned nap on her own. She breathed out a sigh of relief.

"So you're telling me we can do absolutely nothing but sit here and wait for everything to go to hell?"

Zohra rolled her eyes. "If it comforts you, Arran has plenty of magical potential, but he has no practical knowledge of the matter. The worst he can do is to inspect the Amulet's energetic aura and discover the magnitude of its power. Perhaps it will cause the boy to remember he has a brain and he'll put the damn thing back in its place. Do you even know what it can do?"

Inna opened her mouth to retort, though clapped it shut again a moment later, embarrassed to admit that she didn't. The Amulet was a World Artifact, so it had to possess immeasurable power, but that was the only real information she had about it. She doubted even her father knew its nature.

"In fact," Zohra continued without waiting for Inna's response, "I'd be more worried about the intentions of Arran's employers. Nobody who wants to get their hands on a magical object like that, but who is unwilling to retrieve it themselves, can possibly have noble goals. They're using Arran for their own benefit." She frowned, scratching her chin. "Now that I think about it, I recall Arran telling me about people in black cloaks who had been stalking him during another ... job." At the last word, she cast a wary glance in Inna's direction, but the princess pretended not to have noticed. "Mind warpers. They had enchanted him. I could still sense their foul magic on him."

"Mind warpers?" Inna's knees buckled and she fell back into the sofa's plush cushions.

"Yes." Zohra gave a solemn nod. "My gut says they're the ones he's working for."

Inna buried her face in her hands. "Gods. What did I get myself into?"

A humorless chuckle resounded close to her ears. Zohra leaned forward and cradled Inna's head in a surprisingly comforting manner. Inna looked up and read the unspoken question in the other woman's eyes. "You wonder where I get my information from, don't you?" Zohra gave no answer—she didn't have to. "Let's just say I have an excellent source whose trustworthiness is unquestionable."

"The kind of source that is capable of seeing the future?"

"Well, yes." Inna bit her lip and squinted at the woman's face. For the moon's sake, she was such an idiot. While she had been chatting with Zohra, she had overlooked one particular, essential detail. The rage she had felt when she'd woken up returned tenfold. "You knew."

"Excuse me?"

"You're a fortune teller," Inna murmured, her voice deceivingly calm. She slapped the woman's gentle hand away. "You saw Arran's future, didn't you? You saw what he was going to steal."

Zohra merely returned her gaze, relaxed and composed. Zazi lifted her head at the growing hysteria in Inna's tone, her eyes wide with concern.

Inna rocked back and forth in her seat, her lungs puffing with quick, shallow breaths. "You stalled me on purpose! You want Arran to steal the Amulet. Why?"

Zohra sighed. "Contrary to popular belief, the future is never truly set. It alters depending on the choices we make. I care a great deal for Arran; he's the son, or more accurately the grandson I've never had. I've seen many futures for him, and all but one end in tragedy. Only one, princess." A sob choked those last few words, and the fortune teller wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her worn, white qamisa. "For that future to take place, he has to steal the Amulet, because that will bring him to you. You're his only chance of surviving past his twenty-fifth birthday."

Zohra's disquieting confession rendered Inna speechless. Her hands trembled, so she hid them in her lap. What did this woman expect her to do? To help a poor thief from the Copper District whom she'd only met today because of some ominous vision about his future? Because of a possible connection between the two of them? There were, without doubt, hundreds, if not thousands of people in this neighborhood whose lives would be cut off too soon for all kinds of reasons. Of course she'd want to help all of them if it lay within her power to do so, but Inna suspected that Zohra had been talking about more than just a potential friendship.

Would Inna be able to live with herself if she walked away now, knowing what future lay in store for a boy who had made the sole mistake of being born into the wrong house?

"This is emotional blackmail," she stammered, her voice little more than a hoarse whisper. "Why should I even believe one word you say?"

Zohra leaned forward in her chair, her fingers hesitant when they wrapped themselves around Inna's hands. "Your heart longs for love, princess. A love so passionate and intense it will sweep you off your feet. Arran can give you that, if you let him. He can give you what no suitor has been able to offer you so far."

Inna's heart pounded with the force of a blacksmith's hammer. She shuddered when Zazi's cool scales grazed her skin, and she sought comfort in her friend's yellow eyes. "It's not fair of you to bribe me with my heart's secrets whereas you have no business at all knowing them."

"No, that's true," Zohra agreed, squeezing Inna's hands so hard she bit her tongue to stifle a pained moan. Then the woman let go of her just as abruptly and sank down on her knees, resting her head against Inna's shins. "But I'm begging you to help him, Your Highness. Please. I beg you."