Nebu huddled in the cold, her arms wrapped tight around herself like that might somehow hold her together. The bronze bars of her cell were green with age, slick with patina, and the walls, pressing too close, were clammy to the touch.

  Her legs tingled with the ache of cramped limbs, but there wasn’t room to shift, let alone stretch. A lamp flickered outside her cell, giving up altogether. Worse, the dungeon reeked. Piss, shit. The sweet, sour tang of vomit. No one had thought to burn incense, of course. Why would they?

  Not what you’d expect for a priestess of the Most High. Certainly not a priestess who’d once knelt on sun-warmed stone, hands filled with offerings, before a proper altar under the blue sky.

  She took pains not to look at the prisoner across the way. The poor fool was a mess, punching the walls of his cell until his fists were pulp, howling like an animal one moment, laughing like a madman the next. His voice wasn’t the worst part. That honor went to the one in the cell next door, who rambled on about pomegranates falling from the sky.

  Nebu’s stomach growled. Heavens, she would’ve sold her soul for a pomegranate.

  She hated being alone down here, with nothing but her thoughts. Tolah waited for her and that black-pearled necklace on the other side of the sea. Nebu still hadn’t found it. Better to count her blessings, though, however scant. She sang psalms to pass the time.

  “Does your sword drip with blood, O Lord?

  Why does your sword drip with blood, O Most High?

  Why so sad are you, O Most High?”

  No psalms for now. Nebu needed cheer, something lighter.

  “Speak, you that feast on swans,

  You that feast on swans like me.

  Once I lived in rivers, gentle was I,

  Ere being served in slivers, cooked am I.

  Woe’s me!

  Burned am I now, beak, breast, and—”

  An empty bowl slammed against the bars of her cell, sending a jolt through her bones.

  “Quiet, girl!”

  Nebu gripped the cold metal, leaned out, spotted a horned guard at the end of the hall. His hands were folded over his belly, and the keys on his belt jingled every time he shifted his weight.

  Nebu’s grin stretched wide enough to make her cheeks ache. “You must be one of those renowned Gershen swordsmen. If it’s not too much trouble, could you fetch this one some bread? That’s all Nebu wants. Well, alright, maybe a little more. She also fancies those fig cakes her mother bakes, but that’d take too long, so Nebu’s fine with dates. Sweet and juicy, like… well, like dates, really. You know what I—”

  She couldn’t finish her modest request before the guard pushed to his feet and kicked the bars of her cell.

  He brandished a dagger that looked sharp enough to cleave through bone. “Keep talking, and I’ll take your tongue. Understood?”

  Nebu nodded. She’d rather lose her feet than her tongue. A world without words? That was no world at all. The guard didn’t seem to care much for the logic, though. He scowled, and Nebu could practically feel the storm brewing in his chest.

  Splash.

  The guard glanced around. “What’s that?”

  Nebu didn’t dare speak.

  Another splash. The sound grew louder, more insistent, until it was the only thing that mattered. Something splattered across the guard’s brow. He wiped his face, frowning, then studied his palm. It was white. Goat’s milk, maybe? But it came from the ceiling, dribbling, trickling down the cracks in the stone. Slow at first, then faster.

  The floodgates opened.

  The guard ducked, covering his head as the dungeon filled with white. Prisoners hollered from their cells, confused. Nebu backed into the corner of her cell, hugging her knees, watching as the flood rose higher, colder than winter’s breath. It crystallized on her skin, covering her in a thin layer of frost.

  Tendrils curled around the guard’s legs and yanked him down into the muck. He flailed, but it was no use. The mist, now thick and woolly, drifted over his mouth, suffocating him. His body went limp, his chest rising no more.

  The fleece shrank, pulling together in the shape of a cloud. It shambled across the floor like an unsheared sheep, then stopped before Nebu’s cell. She swallowed, fearing for her own life.

  “Forgive the intrusion,” said the creature, its voice rich, far too cloying for such a dingy place. “Your psalms were beautiful.”

  Nebu shrugged. “For all the good it’s done Nebu, right?”

  “Don’t be so glum. I’m freeing you.”

  Eyes formed from the midst of the cloud. Seven of them. Brown, too human for comfort. What was this thing? A trick of the mind? Nebu couldn’t decide. A tendril stretched out, gleaming with a flash of metal. The guard’s keys. The lock on Nebu’s cell clicked open.

  The door groaned on its hinges, and Nebu shuffled out. “Why’d you free Nebu?”

  The cloud was silent a moment. “Knowing Sidoniya, you didn’t belong in there.”

  “Oh, but Nebu did. This one stole from Her Excellency.”

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  “Be that as it may, I’m freeing everyone. If you were wise, you’d go now. There are some unsavory folks down here.”

  Nebu peeked into the other cells. Eyes gleamed, meaty hands clamped around copper bars. She nodded, turning back to the creature. “But how will Nebu escape? The guards—”

  “Don’t worry about the guards. My friend is causing enough bedlam to keep them busy. Before long, there won’t be a one of them left to stand watch.”

  Nebu licked her lips. “Your friend’s Yasha, right?”

  The creature paused, its seven eyes blinking. “How do you know that name?”

  “Sidoniya said it. Anyway, who is—”

  “You must leave, now. I don’t want you getting caught up in this.”

  Nebu edged around the cloud, then waved goodbye. “Nebu won’t forget this. Thanks.”

  The world was an odd place, full of conjoined twins, unholy queens, and talking clouds.

  Nebu padded through the corridors, her sandals whispering over cold marble. She wasn’t what you’d call a runner. More of an ambler, really. But Sidoniya’s guards? Faster, doubtless. Unimpressed by amblers.

  A murmur, followed by a scrape.

  Nebu froze but then mustered the courage to slip behind a crate. There was a storeroom nearby, and she glimpsed two guards loitering inside, backs turned, thumping the butts of their spears.

  Nebu crept away, rounded a corner, and walked straight into two swordsmen.

  Gershen by the look, lean and grim. One of them had a scar carved across his face. Nebu knew that one. He’d walked her into Sidoniya’s presence with all the delicacy of a man hauling livestock.

  He scowled, raising his spear. “You.”

  “Nebu’s sorry,” she squeaked, already turning.

  She ran, arms flailing, legs protesting. She vaulted over a brazier or maybe tripped over it. Who could say? Vases crashed, broke. Her lungs burned. Her heart pounded like a war drum being beaten by a drunken god. She passed through an archway into a new chamber, then skidded to a stop and wheezed like a bellows.

  Nebu lifted her head.

  The place was a mess, strewn with overturned tables, shattered bowls and cornucopias, broken harps and psalteries. Guards too, their splintered spears lying out of reach. Whores crouched behind footstools, faces smudged with kohl. Looked like a feast had met a riot halfway and decided to elope.

  In the center of it all, calm as a drunk at sunrise, lounged a man. His robe was drab, and his shepherd’s crook looked older than sin. His eyes, though. His eyes glittered like pearls snatched from the bottom of the sea. He smiled.

  Nebu knew not to trust him.

  “Welcome,” he said. “I believe you took a wrong turn.”

  Nebu tapped her nose. “Maybe.”

  “If you were one of Sidoniya’s prisoners, you were meant to be long gone by now.”

  To the right, a donkey let out a pathetic bray. Had to be the Toraphite, judging by the pinched eyes and twisted muzzle growing from his left foreleg. Nebu’s heart went out to him and his conjoined twin.

  She glanced at the man in robes again. “You’re Yasha. The Toraphite’s master.”

  His eyes shifted. “You know Kaleb?”

  “That’s his name? Nebu met him earlier. Did you make this mess?”

  Yasha didn’t blink. “Aye.”

  Sandals slapped against marble. Nebu’s belly tightened. She should’ve escaped instead of dallying! Gershen swordsmen spilled into the chamber, eyes hard, blades drawn.

  Then came Sidoniya, casting around, covering her mouth. “What have you done?”

  “Hard to say,” Yasha said, unapologetic. “The meat chewed like leather, the wine tasted like piss, and the bread could’ve been used to club a man to death. Where’d you find those whores, anyway? They leave much to be desired. It’s bad enough that baboons play better airs than your musicians.”

  Her face twitched, and she clutched her chest like she meant to rip out her own heart. She dragged her fingernails across the faces of onlookers, and they collapsed in her wake, choking, coughing. A pair of whores clung to each other, their skin bubbling into scales. One guard dropped his sword and screamed as fangs burst from his gums, fur from his cheeks. Lizards skittered across the floor. Monkeys swung from scarlet hangings. Beasts beyond count, no escape from the barking and bleating and braying.

  Nebu tried to move, and something rolled under her heel. A spear, the tip gleaming. Sidoniya had her back turned, her guard down. Nebu could do it. She had to do it, to save everyone.

  She hefted the weapon, breathed deep, and ran. A blur appeared at the edge of her sight. Two hands clamped around the shaft.

  Nebu looked up. Yasha again. “Why’d you stop Nebu?”

  “Why kill Sidoniya?”

  “To free everyone, especially the Toraphite.”

  He shook his head, taking the spear from Nebu. “Not how it works, sadly. Only Sidoniya can free them. If she dies, we lose Kaleb.”

  She frowned. “Nebu doesn’t want that. She likes the Toraphite.”

  “As do I, but liking’s never counted for much, has it?”

  “You,” Sidoniya hissed, marching toward Yasha. “I would open the earth’s vaults for you, rain blessings upon you.” She knelt before him, taking his hand like it was a holy thing. “Kings would sing your praises, prophets would write your deeds in verse, and warlords would kiss your feet. Tributes would come from north, south, east, west, and so much gold would adorn you that your enemies would be blinded!”

  Yasha smirked. “Sounds like a debt I didn’t ask for. Besides, what happens when your passion wanes? Has anyone ever survived your wrath?”

  “You’re mine, Yasha. That’s why I’m the Queen of Hezebel. For you.”

  “I was in Toramesh.”

  “That means nothing to me.”

  “Your brother was there.”

  Her face clouded over, and she unhanded Yasha. “You saw Apharoth?”

  He nodded. “He almost killed my disciple.”

  She pushed to her feet. “Where is he now? You should’ve brought him to me!”

  “I was short on time. His army’s been chasing me for many moons.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “I need a ship.”

  “You’re a fool, then,” she scoffed. “Or desperate.”

  “Both,” he said.

  “Take me with you.”

  He shook his head. “Your people need you, Sidoniya. Who protected them from Kergalon?”

  “I don’t need your flattery.”

  “Should I have brought a gift?”

  “You should’ve brought an apology. Ten bloody years, Yasha. Now you return, with more whispers, more riddles. Who are you, really?”

  Yasha exhaled like he’d been punched. He sank down onto a cushion and patted the space before him. “I’ll tell you. In confidence.”

  It hardly looked like she trusted him, but she sat anyway, across from him, knees close. She leaned in. Quiet words.

  Nebu tried to listen, but the sound turned to smoke before reaching her ears. The beasts had quieted, now standing at a distance. Even the lions didn’t breathe too loud. Kaleb slouched among them.

  Yasha stopped talking. Sidoniya rose slow. One black tear ran down her cheek. “That’s the truth?”

  “All of it,” Yasha said.

  “What do you ask of me?”

  Yasha flashed three fingers. “I’ll bring your brother back, but in exchange for three things. First, safe passage across the Great Sea.”

  “You set sail tomorrow,” she muttered.

  “Second, my disciple.”

  Kaleb trotted out from the pack. Sidoniya squeezed a fistful of his flesh until blood surfaced. The donkey brayed. Nebu turned her face, unable to stomach the sight. It stopped. There he was again, the boy from the square. Naked, wheezing, hands clamped over his belly.

  His brother—that odd, tumorous lump of a face—cackled. “Thought we’d be that way forever, eh, Kaleb?”

  Kaleb cast around, then snatched a shawl from one of those cowering whores. He covered himself, glaring at Yasha. “Could’ve warned me about her, no?”

  Yasha shrugged. “Could’ve warned you about every lurking danger. We’d still be in Toramesh, though.” He turned back to Sidoniya, looking greedy. “I have but one more request, Your Excellency.”

  She bared her perfect, gleaming teeth. “Out with it. Before I change my mind.”

  “Give me that girl,” Yasha said, indicating Nebu. “She’s brave, and I could use another disciple.”