by Sabaa Tahir
Zacharias must take the throne. But he is a child with no power, and there is nothing any Martial respects more than power. Keris wields hers like a blade. It is why she insisted she be hailed as Imperator Invictus, instead of merely as Empress. It is why she is fixated on conquering and plundering the Tribal lands.
We need a victory just as resounding. One that will send a message of strength not only to the Paters of the Empire but to our people.
“Blood Shrike,” Harper murmurs from my shoulder. “What are you thinking?”
I answer him loud enough that the room can hear. “Pater Cassius is right about one thing. Our citizens in Antium have waited for liberation long enough.”
“How the hells do we take on the Karkaun army when we barely have enough men to hold Delphinium?” Pater Cassius asks. “I thought you studied war theory, Shrike.”
“We don’t use the army we have. We recruit the one in the city. There are fifty thousand Karkauns in Antium.” The shape of a mission coalesces as I speak. “To quell a population of well over four times that. Many women and children yet live. I know our people, Paters. If we can remind them that they are not alone, they will rise up. And if we take back the city, we can show Keris’s allies our strength—and win them over to our side.”
Pater Mettias, who until now has observed the proceedings from beside the fire, looks at me askance. “How can women fight against those monsters? How will you arm them?”
“Have you forgotten that the Shrike is a woman, Mettias?” Livia examines the young Pater with enough asperity to make him fidget. “Do not bore us with old prejudices. You are a better man than that.”
“We have weapon caches hidden in the city.” I glance at Dex, who nods. “Our spies tell us that Grímarr’s men have not discovered them all. And Darin here can make Serric steel.”
A scuffle at the door has all of us turning at once. A guard flies into the room, and scim rings against scim. I grab Livia, shoving her down beside the throne as the Paters close ranks in front of us.
“Don’t you dare tell me I need to prove my identity to you, boy,” a voice rings out. “I was wearing Karkaun finger bones for a necklace before your dog of a father ever made eyes at your mother.”
A tall, broad-shouldered figure marches into the throne room, and I release my weapon. His armor gleams, he has not a hair out of place, and he looks as if he’s just come from a military inspection instead of what was likely a multi-month trek.
“Greetings, Shrike.” Quin Veturius strolls toward me, nodding imperiously at the other Paters. “What’s this I hear about stealing allies from my daughter?”
* * *
«««
The Paters are skeptical of my plan. But in the end, I give them no choice. We won’t take the capital back in a day. But this mission is a first step. It will allow us to let the people know that we have not forgotten them. That they must be ready to fight.
As I leave the meeting chambers, Harper follows me out, jogging to keep up as I stride through the busy hallways toward my quarters.
“Bring me the spy reports out of Antium,” I say. “And get word to our people in the city. I leave in three days.”
“Will we go via the Nevennes?” Harper asks. “Or the Argent Hills?”
“The Nevennes. A small force. Very small. Find me two men—your best. And get Musa—”
“I’m already here, Shrike.” The tall Scholar has followed us out. “I needed to speak to you a moment.” His handsome face is taut—strange, as he usually appears to be laughing at everyone else. “I sent a score of wights to Marinn to keep an eye on things,” he says. “They have not returned. Not a one.”
“Well, it is a long journey—” Harper begins, but Musa shakes his head.
“They can make that journey in a day. Two days if they get distracted. I sent them the moment we arrived in the Empire. Weeks ago now. Do you have spies in the kingdom, Shrike?”
“A few,” I say. “But they’ve been quiet. I’ll have Dex check in. We’ll get you some answers. In the meantime, I could use you in Antium.”
He looks between me and Harper, eyebrows raised. “Don’t you have a second for that?”
“Harper will remain here to protect the Empress Regent.” I ignore Harper’s stiffening posture, the disbelief rolling off him. “Scholars should be represented on the mission. Laia says you’re handy with a blade. And your little friends might be helpful.”
Musa assents with a nod, and the moment he’s out of earshot, Harper turns on me. “My place is with the Blood Shrike—”
“The situation here is too precarious, Harper.” I resume my quick pace, through a courtyard and into the dim stone hall that leads to my quarters. Not a moment too soon. I need to get away from him. He’s too close. Too angry. I like emotionless Harper. Cold Harper.
Fiery Harper—the Harper who looks at me like I’m precious to him—that’s the Harper I need to avoid.
“I need someone I trust guarding the two most important people in the Empire.”
“You trust Dex. You trust Quin. You trust Faris.”
“Dex will remain too. The Empress Regent requires her steward. But Faris will come with me. I need his brawn. And Quin will insist on accompanying us.”
Harper steps close enough to me that I am forced to stop. I glance up and down the hall, but there is no one. Even if there was, I doubt he would care. He is clench-jawed and furious, fighting to keep control.
For the thousandth time, I wish for my mask back. Its presence would have made facing Harper so much easier.
“Why don’t you want me to come, Blood Shrike?” His voice is low and dark, the way I have never heard it. When I meet his green eyes, they flash with frustration, yes, but something deeper that strums a chord within me.
I step back from him and he shakes his head.
“You are the Blood Shrike,” he says. “And I am sworn to protect you.”
“I’ll assign you somewhere else,” I say, but my words lack anything resembling conviction. We both know I don’t trust anyone as much as him. “I don’t need . . . this.”
“I know what you need, Shrike.” He runs a hand up my arm, so careful despite his anger. “I want you to ask for it.”
I need you to disappear. To never leave. I need to have never met you or felt you. You. You. You. I need you.
“I need you to stay here,” I say. “And keep my sister and the Emperor alive.”
I back up to my door and slip in, then close it in his face. For a long moment I am frozen, staring at it. He’s just there on the other side. Maybe his heart thuds like mine. Maybe his hands shake like mine.
Or perhaps I’ve finally driven him away for good. I know which one I’d prefer. And I hate myself for it.
* * *
«««
Ten days later, I enter Antium to find it a broken city. I know it from the sights—the shattered streetlamps and chug of pyre smoke that hovers over everything. I know it from the sound—a horror-struck silence punctuated by the occasional scream. And I know it from the stench. Rot and refuse and burning flesh.
But it is still my city. The Karkauns can befoul the streets but they cannot bring down those massive granite walls. They can rage and kill and torture, but they cannot crush my people.
Quin, Musa, Faris, and I all crouch in the ruins of an old market, silks and pots and satchels scattered as if a tornado ripped through. The moon is bright above us, and I scowl at it. Under normal circumstances, I would never conduct an assassination mission on a night so bright.
But this cannot wait. Grímarr is one of Keris’s strongest allies. He is the monster behind the despair in this city. He must die.
Behind us are the Masks who Harper picked to accompany us. Ilean Equitius is a decade older than me, and cousin to my old friend Tristas, skies rest his soul. Septimus Atrius is from Dex’s Gens, and ar
ound Musa’s age. Neither of them so much as twitch at what they see. They both survived the Karkaun siege. They know the cost if we fail tonight.
I do not have to give them orders. We have gone over the plan—along with the backup plans Quin insisted on—a hundred times in the week it took us to trek here.
Deep in the city, a bell tolls twice.
Quin, Ilean, and Musa rise. The old man turns to me. “Fifth bell,” he says, and then the three disappear, leaving Faris, Septimus, and me to wait.
And wait.
What if they can’t clear the guards? What if we were betrayed? We have few sources in the city. Trusting them is a risk. They might have been tortured into giving our plan away. Or Quin, Ilean, and Musa might have been overwhelmed. In my mind, each scenario is worse than the last, until I am clutching the hilt of my scim, knuckles white.
“It’s Quin Veturius, Shrike,” Faris whispers. “That old bastard will outlive us all. Having him at our side is almost like having Elias back again.”
A barn owl hoots from the street beyond the market. The signal. Faris and Septimus follow me out through Antium’s Mercator Quarter and into its red-light district.
Here, the streets offer some of the only signs of life in the city. For all their hatred of “heathens,” the Karkaun swine still want their whores.
Grímarr is no different. Our spy, Madam Heera, who ran one of the finest brothels in Antium, told us as much in her coded missives. In the months that Grímarr’s been in the city, he’s murdered six of her girls.
He kills them slow, in Taius Square. He chooses the nights with a full moon, so everyone can see. One person from each household must attend, or the entire household pays the price.
I grit my teeth at the sounds coming from the brothels and move quickly. The cool night wind muffles our footfalls. Soon enough, we stand across the street from Madam Heera’s. Nothing’s left of the Karkaun guards but a few bloodstains on the cobbles.
The brothel is dimly lit. An upper window hangs open. Within, someone weeps. Underlying the sound is an eerie chanting that can only be the Karkauns.
Faris, Septimus, and I scuttle across the street and make our way to the side of the building, toward a window that should be unlocked.
I wedge my blade beneath the sill and angle up. The window does not budge.
The chanting above intensifies, a low droning that raises the hair on my arms.
“Ik tachk mort fid iniqant fi. Ik tachk mort fid iniqant fi.” Dex never found a translation—though he did share far too much about the Karkauns’ chilling blood rites.
“Break the window,” Faris whispers. “We don’t have a choice, Shrike.”
I nod and wait long moments for the third bell. When it rings out, I wrap my hand in my cloak and punch through the window.
The glass shattering is the loudest sound I have ever heard, even with the bells. I wait for a warning cry, but it does not come. The only sound is that infernal chanting.
When I’m certain no one has heard us, I shimmy through the window and into a dirty room with stains on the walls and a sagging bed.
“Come on—” I hiss at Faris and Septimus, but the window is too small for them.
“Back door,” I whisper. “I’ll unlock it.”
“Shrike,” Faris hisses. “This isn’t the plan.”
But I’m already through the room and in the hallway beyond, slipping along the darkened corridor. I unlock the door Faris and Septimus will use and move past a refuse-strewn staircase.
“Sh-Shrike.”
I jump at the whisper, and scan the darkness to see a figure hunched against the side of the stairwell. Heera. Her hands rest limply on either side, each in a bowl filled with liquid.
Blood for the Karkauns’ rites.
I am at her side instantly. “It’s okay, Heera.” I glance behind me, my nerves screaming a warning. She’s the madam of the house, the woman who can procure their pleasure for them. The Karkauns would not kill her unless they wanted her—or her body—to be a message.
“He knows, Shrike,” Heera whispers. “Grímarr. He knows you’ve come to kill him. He wants you. Your blood. Your bones. He’s—he’s waiting—”
If she says more, I don’t hear it. To my right, from behind a closed door, a board creaks.
Then the door bursts open, and an army of Karkauns pours out.
XX: Laia
The jinn is hooded and cloaked, but I can tell it is not the Nightbringer. The air around the creature is not curdled or twisted. The humans who ride with it do not cringe away.
My mind races. Nothing blocks their line of sight and the sun rises from the sea at my back. A shout of alarm confirms that they have seen me. Skies only know how they found me.
Rehmat’s voice sounds from beside me, though the creature does not manifest. “Why do you stand there like a moonstruck doe, child?” it demands. “If they catch you, they will kill you.”
“They are in bow range. If they wanted me dead, they’d shoot me.” I consider the advancing soldiers, and though my courage falters when I spot the silver glitter of a Mask, I remind myself that if I need to disappear, I can. “What if I let them catch me? There’s a jinn with them. I could trick it into giving me information about the Nightbringer.”
“You cannot trick a jinn.” I hear a long sniff. “And I smell devilry in the air.”
“I need to learn about the Nightbringer,” I say. “What better way than from his kin?”
“I cannot help you if you are with the jinn,” Rehmat warns me. “I cannot be discovered.”
Rehmat hasn’t mentioned this before. “What happens if they discover you?”
But the soldiers crest the rise of a nearby hill and thunder toward me. The jinn, cloaked and hooded with her face in shadow, leads.
If I just stand here, she will realize something is amiss. So I run. The Nightbringer has likely told the jinn I cannot use my invisibility around their kind. If she tries to kill me, or if I fail to get information from her, I can simply disappear. The Tribal lands are not far, and there are plenty of gullies and gulches to hide in.
I call on my magic and then let it falter, as if it is beyond me. The jinn surges forward eagerly—my deception worked. As the soldiers close in, I turn west, toward the grassy foothills that slowly flatten into the Tribal desert.
“Spread out!” The jinn’s voice is as crisp as the first breeze of winter, and instantly, the soldiers obey. “Do not let her past.”
I drop low to the ground, do my best to look terrified, and make a run for it. A blast of heat singes my back and a burning hand closes on my arm, tighter than a Martial torture cuff.
The jinn turns me around to face her. Despite the wind, her hood remains low, and all I can make out are the flames burning in her eyes.
“Laia of Serra,” she says. “The Meherya will be pleased to see you, vermin.”
The jinn nods to the Mask, who pulls chains from a pack mule. They are made of some glittering black metal I do not recognize. When the Mask claps them on me, an unpleasant tingle runs up my arms.
I smell devilry in the air.
On a hunch, I try to conjure my invisibility. But despite Rehmat’s assurances that its presence has strengthened my power, the magic does not respond.
“An extra precaution.” The jinn rattles my chains. “One cannot be too careful around humans.” She curls her lip at the last word and turns away.
My plan to mine information from her suddenly seems like the scheming of an idiot child. I do not even know what she can do. The Nightbringer is the first jinn, and thus possesses a panoply of powers: riding the wind; foretelling the future; reading minds; the manipulation of air, water, fire, and weather. This jinn might possess all of those skills—or a type of magic I have never heard of.
Whatever her power, I am now vulnerable to it. Rehmat said the jinn cou
ld no longer use their powers to tamper with me. But it said nothing of magic-suppressing chains.
“You were right,” I whisper to Rehmat. “I was wrong. Please help me get the hells away from here!”
But Rehmat does not reappear.
“Where are you taking me?” The jinn remains silent and I wish I had something to throw at her. Ultimately, all I can do is glare. I turn to the Mask. “Where are we going?”
“We’re heading—”
“Silence, Martial,” the jinn says, and her animosity for him is no less than it is for me. To my surprise, the Mask ceases speaking, though his glare is a soliloquy unto itself.
“You too.” She glances over, and though a retort hovered on my lips, I find I cannot say it. Oh skies. This jinn’s power, it appears, is compulsion. And I have no defense against it.
Panic licks at my mind, for if she has stolen my magic and laid me bare to her own, I am lost. I can get no information from her. I can only serve her until she is satisfied.
Fear is only your enemy if you allow it to be. Think, Laia. The jinn’s power must have limits. For instance, can she control the animals we ride? Or only humans?
I watch her from the corner of my eye as we turn southeast toward the Tribal lands. The brown mare she rides moves as if it’s part of her, calm and fluid. When drums thud out a message from the nearby garrison, hers is the only animal that doesn’t even twitch.
I drive my legs into my horse’s flanks, to see if it will react. It jerks, but continues at a steady pace. The jinn glances back.
“Stop it, girl,” she says. “The creature will not obey.”
The Mask rides at my side, stone-faced. He’s a lean, dark-skinned man who looks a bit older than the Commandant. The fine cut of his shirt and intricate plating of his armor indicate that he’s high up in the Martial pecking order. But he grips his reins as if they are his only purchase on this world.
I open my mouth to ask him if he has ever broken free. But when I do, no sound comes out. She has silenced my voice too.