A Reaper at the Gates

by Sabaa Tahir

  Gold light spills out into the streets from the inn’s wide, rounded windows, and the taproom is full, with agitated conversation drifting out in bits.

  “If the Shrike can’t stop them—”

  “How the bleeding hells is she supposed to stop them with only—”

  “—city will never be taken, those pigs don’t know how to fight—”

  I keep to the shadows, trying to see into the inn from across the street. It is impossible. I must get closer.

  The inn has a series of smaller side windows, and the alleys around it are quiet, so I skitter across the square, hoping no one sees me, and climb onto a crate, peeking through one of the windows. It offers a decent view of the room, but so far, everyone here is a Martial.

  I peer past the barkeep, through the thicket of serving maids pouring out drinks and lads delivering plates of food. The long bar is crowded with villagers, all of whom seem to be talking at once. How the hells am I supposed to find him in this mess? I’ll have to cloak myself in invisibility. I have no choice.

  “Hello, girl.”

  I nearly jump out of my skin. When the hooded figure appears behind me, when her voice rasps a greeting, all I can think is that the Nightbringer has somehow followed me here, to this tiny village. That he is playing more tricks on my mind.

  But the figure steps forward and lowers her hood to reveal moon-white hair that never belonged on her and midnight-blue eyes too shadowed to be familiar and violently scarred skin that I never noticed was unwrinkled until now. Her fingers are stained a deep, strange titian. Her diminutive height disorients me. All these years, I thought she was tall.

  “Girl?”

  I reach out a hand to touch her and she shies away. How can this be real? How can I be staring into Mother’s face, after so long?

  But of course, it is real. And the Nightbringer somehow knew she would be waiting—why else torment me with her true identity? He could have shown me who she was weeks ago, any time I used my invisibility. But he didn’t. Because he knew this is when it would hit me the hardest.

  Part of me wants to run to her, feel her hands on my skin, hold them in my own. I wish Darin were here. I wish Izzi were here.

  But the part of me that thinks Mother is stifled to silence by the darker part of me that screams Liar! I want to shout and curse at her and ask her every question that has plagued me since the moment I learned who she is. Understanding dawns on her face.

  “Who told you?” Her cold eyes are unfamiliar. “Can’t have been Musa. He doesn’t know. No one does—except Keris, of course.”

  “The Nightbringer,” I whisper. “The Nightbringer told me who you are.”

  “Who I was.” She draws up her hood and turns to the darkness. “Come. We’ll talk on the way.”

  Marrow-deep panic grips me when she turns from me. Don’t leave! I want to follow her. And at the same time, I never want to see her again.

  “I’m not going anywhere with you,” I say, “until you tell me what the hells happened to you. Why didn’t you say anything at Blackcliff? You slaved for Keris for years. How could you—”

  She clenches and unclenches her fists. Just like Darin when he is upset.

  I dip my head but she will not meet my stare. Her face twitches, her mouth curving into a grimace. “Listen to me, girl,” she says. “We have to go. You have a mission, do you not? Don’t bleeding forget it.”

  “The mission. The mission. How can you—” I throw up my hands and walk past her. “I’ll make my own way. I don’t need you. I don’t—”

  But after only a few steps, I turn back. I cannot leave her. I missed her for so many years. I have longed for her from the age of five, when she was taken from me.

  “We’ve a long road ahead.” Nothing about how she speaks sounds like the mother I knew. This is not the woman who called me Cricket, or tickled me until I couldn’t breathe, or promised me she’d teach me how to shoot a bow as well as she did. Whoever she is now, she is Mirra of Serra no longer.

  “There will be plenty of time for you to scream at me on the way. I’d welcome it.” Her scarred mouth lifts in a sneer. “But we cannot delay. The Blood Shrike is in Antium, and Antium is where we must go. But if we don’t hurry, we’ll never get inside.”

  “No,” I whisper to her. “We settle this first. This is more important, and in any case, you must have a dozen ways of sneaking in—”

  “I do,” Cook says. “But there are tens of thousands of Karkauns marching on the capital, and all the sneaking in the world won’t do us a whit of good if they surround the city before we get there.”

  XLIII: The Blood Shrike

  Faris and Rallius are both pale as ghosts when I meet them in Livia’s quarters, rattled by what they have just survived, each bleeding from a dozen wounds. I have no time to coddle them. I need to know what the hells happened out there—and how Keris got the best of us again.

  “It was a Karkaun attack.” Faris paces back and forth across Livia’s sitting room while her women settle her in her bedroom. “Two hundred of those woad-loving demons. They came out of bleeding nowhere.”

  “They were waiting,” Rallius growls as he ties off a bandage on his leg. “Maybe not for the Empress specifically, but for an opportunity, certainly. If Keris hadn’t shown up with her men, we’d have been in a bad spot.”

  “If Keris hadn’t shown up,” I say in irritation, “Grímarr and his hordes wouldn’t have either. She’s working with them. She did this so she could get to Livia. Thank the skies for you and the other Masks. She must have realized she couldn’t kill you all, so she decided to play the hero instead.”

  Devious, true, but just like the Commandant. She is always adaptable. And now the Plebeians in the city are hailing her as a hero for saving the life of the half-Plebeian heir—as she probably knew they would.

  “Go clean up,” I say. “Triple the watch around the Empress. I want her food tasted a day in advance. I want one or the other of you present when it is prepared. She doesn’t leave the palace. If she wants to get out, she can take a walk in the gardens.”

  The men leave, and I go over and over what they have said as I await the arrival of Dex, whom I sent to get Livia’s midwife. When he finally returns—after hours—it is with a different woman from the one I’d personally chosen to tend to Livia.

  “The first one is gone, Shrike,” Dex tells me as the new midwife bustles into Livia’s rooms. “Left the city, apparently. Along with every other midwife I tried to track down. This one only came because she’s a Mariner. Whomever the hells Keris Veturia sent to frighten all those women probably didn’t have a chance to get to her.”

  I curse, keeping my voice low. Keris saved my sister from the Karkauns because it suited her needs—the Plebeians sing her praises. Now she’ll seek to kill Livia quietly. Plenty of women die in childbirth, especially if they are delivering without a midwife.

  “What of the barracks physicians? Surely one of them can deliver a baby.”

  “They know battlefield wounds, Shrike, not childbirth. That’s what midwives are for, apparently. Their words”—Dex winces at my wrath—“not mine.”

  The new midwife, a skinny Mariner with gentle hands and a booming voice that would put any Martial drill sergeant to shame, smiles at Livia, asking her a series of questions.

  “Keep this one alive, Dex,” I murmur. “I don’t care if you have to put a dozen guards on her and live with her in the Black Guard barracks. You keep her alive. And find a backup. This cannot possibly be the only midwife left in the entire city.”

  He nods, and though I’ve dismissed him, I notice his reluctance to leave.

  “Out with it, Atrius.”

  “The Plebeians,” he says. “You’ve heard that they’re rising in support of the Commandant. Well, it’s . . . gotten worse.”

  “How the hells could it get worse?”<
br />
  “The story about her murdering the highborn Illustrians who wronged her has been making the rounds,” Dex says. “The Paters are infuriated. But the Plebeians are saying that Keris stood up to those more powerful than her. They’re saying that she defended a Plebeian man she loved—that she fought for one and took rightful vengeance. They’re saying the Illustrians who died got what they deserved.”

  Hells. If the Commandant now has Plebeian support instead of Illustrian, I haven’t hurt her at all. I’ve just managed to shuffle her list of allies.

  “Let the rumor play,” I say. At Dex’s nod, I sigh. “We’ll have to find another way to undermine her.”

  At that moment, the midwife pokes her head out, gesturing me into Livia’s quarters.

  “He’s strong as a bull.” She beams at me, patting Livia’s belly with affection. “He’ll bruise a rib or two before he joins us, I’d bet my life on it. But the Empress is doing fine, as is the child. A few weeks more, lass, and you’ll be holding your precious babe in your arms.”

  “Should we do anything for her? Some sort of tea or . . .” I realize I sound like an idiot. Teas, Shrike? Truly?

  “Goldrose petals in goat’s milk every morning until her own milk comes in,” the midwife says. “And wildwood tea twice a day.”

  When the woman is finally gone, Livvy sits up, and I am surprised to see a knife clutched in her hands. “Have her killed,” she whispers.

  I raise an eyebrow. “The midwife? What—”

  “Goldrose petals,” Livvy says, “are used when a woman is past her due date. They’re meant to make a baby come more quickly. I’m still a few weeks away. It wouldn’t be safe for him to come now.”

  I call Dex in immediately. When he leaves, weapons in hand, Livia shakes her head. “This is Keris, isn’t it? All of it. The Karkaun attack. The midwives leaving. This midwife.”

  “I’ll stop her,” I vow to my sister. “I don’t expect you to believe it, because all I’ve done is fail, but—”

  “No.” Livia takes my hand. “We don’t turn on each other, Hel—Shrike. No matter what happens. And yes, we must stop her. But we must also keep the support of the Plebeians. If they support Keris now, you cannot speak against her publicly. You must walk that line, sister. We cannot put this child on the throne if the Plebeians don’t see him as one of their own. And they won’t—not if you cross Keris.”

  * * *

  Evening sees me in Marcus’s war room, locked in an argument with the Paters, wanting nothing more than to beat all of them into silence before doing what I wish.

  General Sissellius, who is turning out to be as irritating as his twisted uncle, the Warden, paces before the large map laid out on the table, stabbing at it occasionally.

  “If we send a small force to stop Grímarr,” he says, “we are wasting good men on a lost cause. It’s a suicide mission. How can five hundred—even a thousand—men stand against a force a hundred times that?”

  Avitas, who has joined me in the war room, gives me a look. Don’t lose your temper, the look says.

  “If we send a large force,” I say for the thousandth time, “we leave Antium vulnerable. Without the legions from Estium and Silas, we have only six legions to hold the city. Reinforcements from the Tribal lands or Navium or Tiborum would take more than a month to reach here. We must send a smaller attack force to cause as much damage as possible.”

  It’s such a basic tactic that at first I am stunned that Sissellius and a few of the other Paters resist so much. Until I realize, of course, that they are using this opportunity to undermine me—and, by extension, Marcus. They might not trust the Commandant anymore, but that doesn’t mean they want Marcus on the throne.

  For his part, the Emperor’s attention is fixed on Keris Veturia. When he does finally look at me, I can read his expression as clearly as if he shouted the words.

  Why is she here, Shrike? Why is she still alive? Those hyena eyes of his flare, promising pain for my sister, and I look away.

  “Why is the Shrike leading the force?” Pater Rufius demands of me. “Would not Keris Veturia be a better choice? I do not know if you understand this, my Lord Emperor, but it is highly—” His sentence ends in a yelp as Marcus casually flings a throwing knife at him, missing him by a hair. The sound of Rufius’s squeal is deeply satisfying.

  “Speak to me like that again,” Marcus says, “and you’ll find yourself without a head. Keris was barely able to hold Navium’s harbor against the Barbarian fleet.”

  Avitas and I exchange a glance. This is the first time the Emperor has dared to say a word against the Commandant.

  “The Shrike,” Marcus goes on, “took back the harbor and saved thousands of Plebeian lives. The decision is made. The Shrike will lead the force against the Karkauns.”

  “But my lord—”

  Marcus’s giant hand is around Rufius’s throat so fast that I almost didn’t see him move.

  “Go on,” the Emperor says softly. “I’m listening.”

  Rufius gasps his apology, and Marcus drops him. The Pater scurries away, a rooster who has escaped the stewpot. The Emperor turns to me.

  “A small force, Shrike. Strike and run. Take no prisoners. And do not waste our forces if you don’t have to. We’ll need every last man for the assault on the city.”

  From the corner of my eye, I notice Keris watching me. She nods a greeting—the first time she has acknowledged me since returning to Antium with my sister. My spine tingles in warning. That look on her face—cunning, calculated. I saw it as a student at Blackcliff. And I saw it months ago, here in Antium, before Marcus killed my family.

  I know that look now. It is the look she gets when she’s about to spring a trap.

  * * *

  Avitas arrives in my office just after the sun has set. “All is prepared, Shrike,” he says. “The men will be ready to leave at dawn.”

  “Good.” I pause and clear my throat. “Harper—”

  “Perhaps, Blood Shrike,” Avitas says, “you are considering telling me that I should not go. That I should remain here to keep an eye on our enemies and to remain close to the Emperor, should he need it.”

  I open and close my mouth, taken aback. That was exactly what I was going to suggest.

  “Forgive me.” Avitas looks tired, I notice. I’ve been leaning on him too much. “But that is exactly what the Commandant would expect. She is, perhaps, counting on it. Whatever she has planned, you surviving isn’t a part of it. And you have a much better chance of surviving if you have someone who knows her watching your back.”

  “What the hells is she up to?” I say. “Beyond just trying to take the throne, I mean. I’ve reports that a man of Gens Veturia was seen at the Hall of Records. She’s had the Paters of the three biggest Illustrian Gens over to her villa in the few hours she’s been back. She even had the master of the treasury over. She killed that man’s son and tattooed her triumph onto her own body, Harper. It was ten years ago, but she still did it. Those men should hate her. Instead they are breaking bread with her.”

  “She’s wooing them back to her side,” Harper says. “She’s trying to rattle you. You took her by surprise in Navium. She won’t be taken by surprise again, which is why I should come with you.” At my hesitation, impatience sparks on his face.

  “Use your head, Shrike! She had Captain Alistar poisoned. She had Favrus poisoned. She got to the bleeding Empress. You’re not immortal. She can get to you too. Be smart about this, for the love of skies. We need you. You cannot play into her hands.”

  I don’t consider my next words. They just come out. “Why do you care so much what happens to me?”

  “Why do you think?” His words are sharp, lacking his usual care. And when his green eyes meet mine, they are angry. But his voice is cool. “You are the Blood Shrike. I am your second. Your safety is my duty.”

  “Sometimes
, Avitas,” I sigh, “I wish you’d say what you’re actually thinking. Come along on the raid, then,” I say, and at his look of surprise, I roll my eyes. “I’m not a fool, Harper. Let’s keep her on her toes. There’s something else.” A worry has grown in my mind—something no general would publicly speak of before a battle, but something I must consider, especially after talking to Livia of the Plebeians.

  “Do we have exit routes mapped out of the city? Paths through which we could move large groups of people?”

  “I’ll dig them up.”

  “Do it before we leave,” I say. “Give orders—quietly—to make sure those paths are clear and that we protect them at all costs.”

  “You think we cannot hold back the Karkauns?”

  “I think that if they’re in league with Keris, it is foolish to underestimate them. We might not know what she’s playing at, but we can prepare for the worst.”

  We move out the next morning, and I force Keris and her machinations from my mind. If I can rout Grímarr’s forces—or at least weaken them—before they get to Antium, she’ll lose her chance to take Marcus down, and I’ll be the hero instead of her. The Karkauns are twelve days from the city, but my force can move faster than theirs. My men and I have five days to make life as hellish as possible for them.

  Our smaller force allows us to ride swiftly, and on the evening of the third day, our scouts confirm that the Karkaun force has, as Dex reported, gathered at Umbral Pass. They have Tundaran Wildmen with them—that’s likely how Grímarr figured out the way through. Those women-hating Tundaran bastards know these mountains almost as well as the Martials do.

  “Why the hells are they just waiting there?” I ask Dex. “They should be clear of the pass by now and out into open country.”