A Torch Against the Night

by Sabaa Tahir

  If it's going to die anyway, might as well be useful. Laia's words.

  The same applies to me, I realize.

  Kauf is more than a thousand miles away. By wagon, it will take two months, true enough. The Empire's couriers, on the other hand, regularly make the journey in two weeks.

  I won't have access to fresh horses every dozen miles, the way the couriers do. I cannot use the main roads. I'll need to hide or fight at a moment's notice. I'll need to hunt or steal everything I consume.

  Even knowing all of that, if I head to Kauf alone, I can make it in half the time that it would take the wagons. I don't wish to leave Laia--I will feel the absence of her voice, her face, every day. I already know it. But if I can make it to the prison in a month, I'll have enough time before Rathana to break Darin out. The Tellis extract will keep the seizures at bay until the wagons get close to the prison. I will see Laia again.

  I rise, coil my bedroll, and make for Afya's wagon. When I knock on the back door, it takes her only a moment to answer, despite it being the dead of night.

  She holds up a lamp, raising her eyebrows when she sees me.

  "I usually prefer to get to know my midnight visitors a bit better before I invite them into my wagon, Elias," she says. "But for you . . ."

  "That's not why I'm here," I say. "I need a horse, some parchment, and your discretion."

  "Escaping while you still can?" She gestures me inside. "I'm glad you've come to your senses."

  "I'm getting Darin out alone." I step in the wagon and drop my voice. "Faster and safer for everyone that way."

  "Fool. How will you sneak north without my wagons? Have you forgotten that you're the Empire's most wanted criminal?"

  "I'm a Mask, Afya. I'll manage." I narrow my eyes at the Tribeswoman. "Your vow to me still stands. You will get them to Kauf."

  "But you'll get him out yourself? There will be no need for Tribe Nur's assistance?"

  "No," I say. "There's a cave in the hills south of the prison. It's about a day's hike from the main gate. I'll draw you a map. Get them there safely. If all goes well, Darin will be waiting there when you arrive in two months. If not--"

  "I won't just abandon them in the mountains, Elias." Afya bristles, offended. "They have taken water and salt at my table, for skies' sake." She gives me an appraising look, and I don't like the sharpness in her eyes, like she'll cut the truth of why I'm doing this out of me if she has to.

  "Why the change of heart?"

  "Laia wanted us to do this together. So it never occurred to me to do it alone." That part, at least, is true, and I let Afya see that in my face. "I'll need you to give Laia something from me. She'll put up a fight if I tell her."

  "She will indeed." Afya hands me parchment and a quill. "And not just because she wants to do this herself, though you both might tell yourselves that."

  I choose not to dwell on that particular comment. A few minutes later, I've finished the letter and drawn a detailed map of the prison and of the cave where I plan to stow Darin.

  "You're sure about this?" Afya crosses her arms as she stands. "You shouldn't just disappear, Elias. You should ask Laia what she wants. It's her brother, after all." Her eyes narrow. "You're not planning to leave the girl high and dry, are you? I'd hate if the man to whom I made my vow was without honor himself."

  "I wouldn't do that."

  "Then take Trera, Riz's bay. He's headstrong but swift and cunning as a north wind. And try not to fail, Elias. I have no desire to break into that prison myself."

  Silently, I make my way from her wagon to Riz's, whispering to Trera in soothing tones to keep him quiet. I snatch flatbread, fruit, nuts, and cheese from Vana's wagon and lead the horse well beyond the camp.

  "You're trying to get him out on your own, then?"

  Keenan materializes out of the darkness like a bleeding wraith, and I jump. I didn't hear him--didn't even sense him.

  "I don't need to hear your reasons." He keeps his distance, I notice. "I know what it is to do things that you don't want to for a greater good."

  On the surface, the words are almost sympathetic. But his eyes are as flat as polished stones, and my neck prickles unpleasantly, as if the second I turn around, he'll stab me in the back.

  "Good luck." He offers a hand. Warily I shake it, my other hand drifting to my knives almost unconsciously.

  Keenan sees, and his half smile doesn't reach his eyes. He lets go of my hand quickly and fades back into the dark. I shake off the uneasiness that has stolen over me. You just don't like him, Elias.

  I glance up at the sky. The stars still sparkle above, but dawn approaches, and I need to be well away before then. But what about Laia? Am I really going to leave with only a note to say goodbye?

  On cat feet, I make my way to Gibran's wagon and open the back door. Izzi snores on one bench, her hands folded beneath her cheek. Laia is curled in a ball on the other, one hand on her armlet, fast asleep.

  "You are my temple," I murmur as I kneel beside her. "You are my priest. You are my prayer. You are my release." Grandfather would scowl at me for sullying his beloved mantra so. But I prefer it this way.

  I leave and head toward Trera, waiting at the edge of the camp. As I climb up into the saddle, he snorts.

  "Ready to fly, boy?" He flicks his ears, and I take it as a yes. Without another look back at the camp, I turn toward the north.

  XXIV: Helene

  He escaped. He escaped. He escaped.

  I pace a groove into the stone floor of the garrison's main room, trying to block out the rasp of Faris sharpening his scims, the low murmur of Dex giving orders to a group of legionnaires, the tapping of Harper's fingers on his armor as he watches me.

  There must be some way to track Elias. Think. He's one man. I have the might of the entire Empire behind me. Send out more soldiers. Call in more Masks. Members of the Black Guard--you're their commander. Send them out after the Tribes Mamie visited.

  It won't be enough. Thousands of wagons poured out of the city while I put down a staged riot after letting Elias walk away from me. He could be on any of those wagons.

  I close my eyes, wanting desperately to break something. You're such an idiot, Helene Aquilla. Mamie Rila played a tune, and I tossed my arms up and danced to it like a mindless marionette. She wanted me at the storytelling theater. She wanted me to know Elias was there, to see the riot, to call for reinforcements, to weaken the cordon. I was too stupid to realize it until it was too late.

  Harper, at least, kept his head. He ordered two squads of soldiers assigned to quell the riot to instead surround Tribe Saif's wagons. The prisoners he took--including Mamie Rila--are the only hope we have of finding Elias.

  I had him. Damn it all. I had him. And then I let him go. Because I don't want him to die. Because he's my friend and I love him.

  Because I am a damned fool.

  All the times I lay awake at night, telling myself that when the time came, I needed to be strong. I needed to take him. It was nothing in the face of seeing him again. Of hearing his voice and feeling his hands on my skin.

  He looked so different, all muscle and sinew, like one of his Teluman scims brought to life. But the greatest change was his eyes--the shadows beneath and the sadness within, like he knew something he couldn't bear to tell me. It gnaws at me, that look in his eyes. More than my failure to catch and kill him when I had the chance. It frightens me.

  We both know I'm not long for this world. What did he mean by it? Since healing him in the Second Trial, I've felt a bond with Elias--a protectiveness I've tried not to think about. It's born of the healing magic, I'm certain. When Elias touched me, that bond told me that my friend was not well.

  "Don't forget about us," he said to me in Serra. I close my eyes and allow myself one moment to imagine a different world. In that world, Elias is a Tribal boy, and I am a jurist's daughter. We meet in a market, and our love isn't tainted by Blackcliff or by all the things he hates about himself. I hold myself in that world, jus
t for a second.

  Then I release it. Elias and I are finished. Now, there is only death.

  "Harper," I say. Dex dismisses the legionnaires, turning his attention to me, and Faris sheathes his scims. "How many members of Tribe Saif did we capture?"

  "Twenty-six men, fifteen women, and twelve children, Blood Shrike."

  "Execute them," Dex says. "Immediately. We need to show what happens when you harbor an Empire fugitive."

  "You can't kill them." Faris glares at Dex. "They're the only family Elias ever--"

  "Those people aided and abetted an enemy of the Empire," Dex snaps. "We have orders--"

  "We don't have to execute them," Harper says. "They have other uses."

  I catch Harper's intent. "We should question them. We have Mamie Rila, yes?"

  "Unconscious," Harper says. "The aux who took her was too enthusiastic with the hilt of his sword. She should come around in a day or two."

  "She'll know who got Veturius out of here," I say. "And where he's heading."

  I look at the three of them. Harper has orders to remain with me, so he cannot stay in Nur to question Mamie and her family. But Dex might kill off our prisoners. And more dead Tribesmen are the last thing the Empire needs while the Scholar revolution still rages.

  "Faris," I say. "You'll handle the interrogations. I want to know how Elias got out and where he's going."

  "What of the children?" Faris says. "Surely we can release them. They won't know anything."

  I know what the Commandant would say to Faris. Mercy is weakness. Offer it to your enemies and you might as well fall upon your own sword.

  The children will be a powerful incentive for the Tribespeople to tell us the truth. I know this. Yet the idea of using them--hurting them--makes me uneasy. I think of the ravaged house in Serra that Cain showed me. The Scholar rebels who burned down that house showed no mercy to the Martial children who lived there.

  Are these Tribal children so different? In the end, they are still children. They didn't ask to be a part of this.

  I catch Faris's eye. "The Tribesmen are already restless, and we don't have the men to put down another riot. We'll let the children go--"

  "Are you insane?" Dex shoots a glare first at Faris then at me. "Don't let them go. Threaten to throw them into ghost wagons and sell them into slavery unless you get some bleeding answers."

  "Lieutenant Atrius." I flatten my voice as I address Dex. "Your presence is no longer needed here. Go and divide the remaining men into three groups. One goes with you to search east, in case Veturius makes for the Free Lands. One with me to search south. One stays here to hold the city."

  Dex's jaw twitches, his anger at being dismissed warring with a lifetime of obeying the orders of a superior officer. Faris sighs, and Harper watches the exchange with interest. Finally, Dex stalks out, slamming the door behind him.

  "Tribesmen value their children above all else," I say to Faris. "Use them as leverage. But don't hurt them. Keep Mamie and Shan alive. If we can't run Elias down, we might be able to use them to lure him in. If you learn anything, send me a message through the drums."

  When I leave the barracks to saddle my horse, I find Dex leaning against the stable wall. Before he can tear into me, I turn on him.

  "What in the bleeding skies were you doing in there?" I say. "It's not enough that I have one of the Commandant's spies questioning my every move? I need you plaguing me too?"

  "He reports on everything you do," Dex says. "But he doesn't question you. Even when he should. You're not focused. You should have seen that riot coming."

  "You didn't see it coming." Even to my own ears, I sound like a petulant child.

  "I'm not the Blood Shrike. You are." His voice rises, and he takes a level breath.

  "You miss him." The edge in his voice fades. "I miss him too. I miss all of them. Tristas. Demetrius. Leander. But they're gone. And Elias is on the run. All we have now, Shrike, is the Empire. And we owe it to the Empire to catch this traitor and execute him."

  "I know that--"

  "Do you? Then why did you disappear for a quarter hour in the middle of the riot? Where were you?"

  I stare at him long enough to make sure my voice doesn't shake. Long enough for him to start thinking that he might have crossed a line.

  "Begin your hunt," I say quietly. "Don't leave a single wagon unsearched. If you find him, bring him in."

  We are interrupted by a step behind us: Harper, holding two scrolls with broken seals.

  "From your father and sister." He doesn't apologize for the fact that he's clearly read the missives.

  Blood Shrike,

  We are well in Antium, though autumn's chill does not agree with your mother and sisters. I work to solidify the Emperor's alliances but find myself thwarted. Gens Sisellia and Gens Rufia have put forth their own candidates for the throne. They attempt to rally other Gens to their banners. The infighting has killed fifty in the capital, and it's just begun. Wildmen and Barbarians have intensified their border attacks, and the generals on the front are in desperate need of more men.

  At least the Commandant has dampened the fire of the Scholar revolution. When she was done, I am told, the River Rei ran red with Scholar blood. She continues the cleansing in the lands north of Silas. Her victories reflect well on our Emperor, but better still upon her own Gens.

  I hope to hear news of your success in tracking down the traitor Veturius soon.

  Loyal to the end,

  Pater Aquillus

  P.S. Your mother asks that I remind you to eat.

  Livvy's note is shorter.

  My dear Hel,

  Antium is lonely, with you so far away. Hannah feels it too--though she'd never admit it. His Majesty visits her nearly every day. He also inquires after my welfare, as I am still in isolation with a fever. Once, he even attempted to bypass the guards and visit me. We are lucky our sister is marrying a man so dedicated to our family.

  The uncles and Father try desperately to keep the old alliances strong. But the Illustrians do not fear His Majesty the way they should. I wish Father would look to the Plebeians for aid. I believe His Majesty's greatest supporters may lie there.

  Father calls for me to hurry, or I'd write more. Be safe, sister.

  With love,

  Livia Aquilla

  My hands shake as I roll the parchment up. Would that I'd received these messages a few days ago. Perhaps I would have realized the cost of failure and taken Elias into custody.

  Now, what Father feared has begun. The Gens turn against each other. Hannah is that much closer to marrying the Snake. And Marcus is trying to get to Livia--she never would have mentioned it if she didn't think it was significant.

  I crush the letters. Father's message is loud and clear. Find Elias. Give Marcus a victory.

  Help us.

  "Lieutenant Harper," I say. "Tell the men we move out in five minutes. Dex--"

  I can see from the stiff way that he turns to me that he's still angry. He has a right to be.

  "You'll handle the interrogations," I say. "Faris will search the desert to the east instead. Let him know. Get me answers, Dex. Keep Mamie and Shan alive in case we need them as bait. Otherwise, do what you must. Even . . . even in regard to the children."

  Dex nods, and I quash the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach at speaking the words. I'm Blood Shrike. It is time to show my strength.

  *

  "Nothing?" The three squad leaders fidget under my scrutiny. One stamps his foot in the sands, antsy as a penned stallion. Behind him, other soldiers in our encampment, some miles north of Nur, watch surreptitiously. "We've searched this blasted desert for six days, and we still have nothing?"

  Harper, the only one of the five of us not squinting from the punishing desert wind, clears his throat. "The desert is vast, Blood Shrike," he says. "We need more men."

  He's right. We must search thousands of wagons, and I have only three hundred men to do it. I sent messages to Atella's Gap, as well
as to the Taib and Sadh garrisons requesting backup--but none has soldiers to spare.

  Strands of hair whip around my face as I pace before the soldiers. I want to send the men out once more before nightfall to search whatever wagons they find. But they are too exhausted.

  "There's a garrison a half day's ride north in Gentrium," I say. "If we push hard, we'll make it by nightfall. We can get reinforcements there."

  Evening nears as we approach the garrison, poking up over the top of a hill a quarter mile to the north. The outpost is one of the largest in the area and straddles the forested lands of the Empire's interior and the Tribal desert.

  "Blood Shrike." Avitas shifts a hand to his bow and slows his horse when the garrison comes into view. "Do you smell that?"

  A western wind brings a whiff of something familiar and sour-sweet to my nose. Death. My hand goes to my scim. An attack on the garrison? Scholar rebels? Or a Barbarian sortie, slipping through the Empire unnoticed because of the chaos elsewhere?

  I order the men forward, my body coiled, blood rising, yearning toward the battle. Perhaps I should have sent a scout ahead, but if the garrison needs our aid, there's no time for reconnaissance.

  We clear the hill, and I slow the men. The road leading to the garrison is littered with the dead and dying. Scholars, not Martials.

  Far ahead, beside the garrison's gate, I see a row of six Scholars kneeling. Before them paces a small figure, instantly recognizable, even at a distance.

  Keris Veturia.

  I nudge my horse forward. What in the bleeding hells is the Commandant doing all the way out here? Has the revolution spread so far?

  My men and I pick our way carefully through the bodies left in haphazard piles. Some wear the black of Resistance fighters. But most do not.

  So much death, all for a revolution that was doomed before it even began. Anger flares as I stare at the bodies. Didn't the Scholar rebels understand what they would unleash when they revolted? Didn't they realize the death and terror the Empire would rain down upon them?

  I swing down from my horse at the garrison gate, a few yards from where the Commandant observes her prisoners. Keris Veturia, her armor splashed with blood, ignores me. So do her men, who flank the Scholar prisoners.

  As I draw myself up to reprimand them, Keris plunges her scim into the first Scholar prisoner, a woman who crumples to the ground without so much as a whimper.