by Sabaa Tahir
But she appears serene and composed, as if she’s been settled here for ages. Rain drums on the roof, washing away the Karkauns’ filth. The muted light filtering through the throne room’s high windows illuminates her face just so. She looks every inch the Empress Regent.
I stand behind her, flanked by Rallius and Harper. When the latter fidgets, I almost look at him. Since we took Antium, I’ve been finding excuses to. And I don’t like it. Avitas Harper is a distraction.
He was a distraction as I oversaw the cleansing of the palace, which the Karkauns degraded into a nightmare pigsty. He was a distraction as I sent troops into the city to help the citizens rebuild.
And he is a distraction today in the throne room, as Livia welcomes our first potential ally from the south.
I fix my attention on the advisory council—including Teluman, Musa, and Darin—all of whom are gathered in front of the throne. Lord Kinnius’s gaze falls on the Scholars—standing equal to the Martials and armed with Serric steel blades. He scowls.
My sister offers him a brilliant smile in return. “Welcome to the capital.”
“Or what’s left of it.” Kinnius glances around the throne room, pointedly not using Livia’s title, and I stiffen at his insolence.
Harper quells me with a look. We need allies, he seems to be saying. Winning over Gens Kinnia, with its grain stores and barges and gold, is more important than pride or titles.
Livia’s smile does not shift, but her blue eyes are cold.
“The city stands, Lord Kinnius,” Livia says. “As do its people, despite the traitorousness of Keris Veturia.”
“You mean despite the failure of the Blood Shrike.”
“I did not expect a man of your intellectual caliber to be taken in by the usurper’s honeyed words,” Livia chides him, and I stifle a laugh. Intellectual caliber indeed.
“There are thousands in Antium who witnessed Keris’s betrayal,” my sister says. “You may speak to them if you wish.”
Kinnius snorts. “Plebeians. Scholars.” He looks Darin up and down before turning to Quin. “If I’d known you were so desperate for men, Veturius, I might have sent a platoon or two.”
Thank the skies Livia is Empress Regent, because if I were, Kinnius would be attempting to reattach his head right now.
“But you didn’t send a platoon, did you?” Livia’s smile vanishes, and I am reminded that she survived the murder of our family. She survived Marcus. She survived giving birth in the midst of a war.
“Instead,” she says, “we won Antium with the aid of the Scholars, who conducted themselves with far more bravery than you. Do not mistake me, Kinnius. We are not so desperate for allies that we will tolerate the insults of a man too weak to fight for his people. If you wish to discuss your support for Zacharias, the rightful emperor, then remain. If your fear of Keris is so great that you’d rather spout horse dung, my Blood Shrike will escort you to the city gates.”
And you can crawl back to your bitch of an empress, I don’t add.
“I hear, Shrike, that the people hailed you as Imperator Invictus.” Kinnius turns to me. “Could it be that you wish to take your nephew’s throne for yourse—”
I have a knife to Kinnius’s throat in two seconds. “Go on.” I draw a bit of blood. “Finish that sentence, you cowardly pissant.”
“Shrike,” Livia says sweetly. “I’m certain Lord Kinnius regrets his hasty tongue. Don’t you, Kinnius?”
Kinnius opens his mouth and closes it, nodding frantically. I step back, and Livia levels her smile at him again. I see it hit him like a punch in the face. She steps down from the throne and takes his arm.
“Walk with me, Kinnius,” she says. “See the city. Speak with the people. Once you learn the truth of what happened here, I believe you’ll have a different opinion.”
My hands shake, even as Livia guides Kinnius to the door. Quin gives me a long look, and he is not the only one. I remember what the jinn said to me weeks ago.
You do not love the child. He is your blood, but you’ll see him dead and yourself upon the throne.
But I’d die before I let anything happen to my nephew. That is a truth I know in my marrow, and nothing will change it.
Harper remains in the palace, and I follow Livia and her guards out, trailing them through the city.
Despite the rain, the bazaars are full, and children run past with barbecued kebab skewers and bread slathered with honey and ice plum jam. Dozens of merchants who have returned to the city call out their wares. Scores of people greet Livia and me with flowers and smiles, while glaring at Kinnius with hard suspicion. He has the decency to at least look chagrined.
When I’m certain Livia has the man well in hand, I return to my quarters in the palace. They are small and east-facing, unlike Livia and Zacharias’s expansive rooms, which, though only a few minutes away, face the Nevennes. The drop from their windows is a sheer fifty feet, while I’m on the ground floor. But my doors are unguarded, while Livia has four Masks outside hers.
“Why,” Dex says when he finds me a few minutes after I arrive, “do you not have guards at your door?”
“We need city patrols,” I say. “And the Empress Regent requires a full complement. I can handle myself. What news?”
“Our spy has returned from Adisa,” Dex says. “He’s outside, waiting to deliver a report. And this arrived from the Tribes.” He hands me an envelope. “Also, Darin of Serra has requested a private audience.”
“Send him in,” I say. “And find Musa. I promised him if I heard from Adisa, he’d be the first to know.”
Darin enters after I’ve heard from our spy and read the message from the Tribal lands.
“Laia contacted me,” he says. “She needs aid, Shrike. And I’m going to her.”
I briefly consider protesting—we still require more weapons. Armor. But the glint in Darin’s eyes tells me that he will not be swayed.
“I requested that you wait until we had taken Antium,” I say. “You waited. I won’t stop you. But I will ask that you go with the troops I’m sending.” I hold up the missive I’ve just received. “I heard from Laia too. The Tribes have agreed to support Emperor Zacharias in exchange for a renegotiation of their tithes and our military support. Five hundred men and two Ankanese sappers.”
“That’s quite an escort, Shrike.”
“If anything happens to you, it’s my throat your sister will tear out.”
Darin laughs. “She will indeed.” I wish suddenly that we had met when we were younger. That he could have been a brother to me too. He is, I think, a good brother.
“Give her my best,” I tell him. “And tell her I hope she’s practicing her bow.”
After he leaves, I congratulate myself on resolving the issue so neatly. But then Musa of Adisa arrives. He’s followed by Corporal Tibor, the spy we sent to the Mariner capital who has already given me his report.
“I could not get through to Marinn,” Tibor says. “And I couldn’t reach our people inside. No one can get in. I took the northern route, past Delphinium and out through Nerual Lake. As soon as I got to the Mariner coast, the weather was so bad I had to turn back.”
“Was it bad up until that point?” Musa’s chiseled face is as tense as I’ve ever seen it, and Tibor shakes his head.
“Gray skies, a bit of snow. Typical for late winter. But the seas raged near Adisa. I tried to get through. But I ran into a dozen others who said their ships couldn’t so much as approach the coastline. I thought it was more important to tell you than to keep trying and failing.”
When Tibor has left, I turn to the Scholar. His arms are crossed to hide his clenched fists.
“Does Marinn usually have storms so bad that the kingdom is completely cut off?”
“Never. And I’ve tried to spy on the Commandant, to see if this is the Nightbringer’s handiwork. But there are j
inn all over the south, and the wights refuse to go near them.”
“My spies are more afraid of me than they are of jinn.” I rise, because if I’m going to rally five hundred troops to travel south, I must tell the Empress. Musa follows me out the door and into the busy hallway.
A window stands open and I breathe in Antium’s scents. Rain and mountain pine, roasting meat and clay-oven flatbread drizzled with butter and cinnamon. I glance out at the gardens, where a dozen Masks patrol. Amid the drizzle, Dex walks with Silvius, their shoulders touching as they pass a cup of some steaming drink back and forth. The wind carries the sound of Dex’s laugh, rich and joyful.
What would it be like to walk with Harper that way? To share a mug of cider. To touch him without feeling like I will come apart?
“Shrike?”
I snap back to Musa. “I’ll send my own spies south to infiltrate Keris’s network,” I say. “We’ll get news soon. I promise. I hate unsolved puzzles. I have too many as it is.”
“More?” Musa says. “Do tell.”
“Just the blather the Karkauns were spewing. Ik tachk mort fid iniqant fi. Haven’t been able to get a translation of it, but—”
“‘Death wakes the great sea,’” Musa translates, nodding a greeting to a group of Scholars as they pass. “Or—no, wait. ‘Death feeds the great sea.’”
I stop in the middle of the hall, ignoring the irritated grunt of a Mask who nearly runs into me. “Why didn’t you tell me you spoke Karkaun?”
“You didn’t ask.” Musa keeps walking, and now I am trying to keep pace with him. “The Mariners used to trade with the barbarians, before Grímarr became their high muckety-muck. The crown felt that Nikla’s prince consort should speak the languages of her trading partners.”
“Is that how you learned to fight too?” I ask. “Because Quin Veturius gives out compliments once a decade or so. If he’s feeling generous.”
“Perhaps that’s why I like him.” Musa stares off thoughtfully. “My grandfather taught me to fight. He was a palace guard. Saved old King Irmand’s life when he was a boy. Got a beekeeping estate for his trouble. My father became a healer, but I spent more time with the bees. I think they both thought training would toughen me up.”
“Did it?”
“I’m still alive, aren’t I?” He grins suddenly, and I turn to see Harper coming down the hallway. His sleeves are rolled up, and there’s rain in his hair and glistening along his cheekbones. No distractions, Shrike. Do not stare at his forearms—or his face—
“Shrike, Musa.” He doesn’t slow, or even meet my eyes, and then he’s past. After he turns the corner I realize two things: First, that my heart is thudding so loud, I’m stunned people aren’t turning to stare at me. And second, that Musa is staring at me.
“You know—” he begins, but I wave him off.
“Do not,” I say, “give me some sad story about love and loss and your broken heart.”
Musa doesn’t laugh as I expect him to. “I saw your face,” he says. “During the attack on Cardium Rock. When Harper went down. I saw.”
“Stop talking,” I say. “I don’t need advice from a—”
“Go on, insult me,” Musa says. “But you and I are more alike than you know, and that’s not a compliment. You’re in a position of great power, Shrike. It’s a lonely place to be. Most leaders spend their lives using others. Being used. Love isn’t just a luxury for you. It’s a rarity. It’s a gift. Don’t throw it away.”
“I’m not throwing it away.” I stop walking and pull the Scholar around to face me. “I’m afraid, Musa.” I don’t mean to blurt the words out—especially to a man whose arrogance has vexed me from the moment I met him. But to my relief, he does not mock me.
“How many in Antium lost those beloved to them when the Karkauns attacked?” he asks. “How many like Dex, who hide who they love because the Empire would kill them for it?” Musa runs a hand through his black hair, and it sticks up like a bird’s nest. “How many like Laia, betrayed and then left to claw her way through her pain? How many like me, Shrike, pining for someone who no longer exists?”
“There is more than love of another,” I say. “There is love of country—love of one’s people—”
“But that’s not what we’re talking about,” Musa says. “You are lucky enough to love someone who loves you back. He is alive and breathing and in the same vicinity as you. By the skies, do something about it. For however long you have. For whatever time you get. Because if you don’t, I swear that you’ll regret it. You’ll regret it for all your years.”
XXXIX: Laia
The Martial army is smaller than I expected. After Aish fell, I imagined tens of thousands of soldiers. But Keris has managed to take much of the Tribal lands with a mere ten thousand men.
“Three hundred of whom are Masks,” Elias says to the Tribespeople he’s appointed as platoon leaders for our first mission. We’ve gathered atop a small butte in the rugged lands between Taib and Aish. The Martial army is sprawled a half mile away, their outermost sentries moonlit glimmers beneath a cloudless night sky.
“It’s the Masks who walk the perimeter of Keris’s army,” Elias says. “I’ll take care of them. At my signal—”
He goes through each leader’s duties, and they buzz with adrenaline and anticipation. But I feel numb with anxiety for everyone here: Afya standing beside her little brother, Gibran; Mamie Rila’s younger son, Shan, and his group of Saif Tribesmen; Sahib, Aubarit’s uncle and the taciturn Zaldar of her tribe.
The rest of Aish’s survivors, including Mamie Rila and Aubarit, have decamped to a labyrinthine cave system a few miles to the north. We cannot fail them tonight. We cannot fail those in Taib and Nur, who will suffer Keris’s violence if we do not slow her and her army down.
Out in the darkness south of us, the Martials’ fires light up the horizon. Ten thousand is not so many, I tell myself.
But one hundred—the size of our force—is even less.
Focus, Laia. Elias assigned me a duty for this raid, but I have my own mission to carry out. The Nightbringer will likely be with the army. Which means the scythe will be there too.
A gold glow at the corner of my vision stiffens my spine. Though I am at the back of the crowd, I slip deeper into the shadows.
“Well?” I ask.
“The Nightbringer is in the camp with Keris,” Rehmat says. “I wish you would not seek him out, Laia. There are Kehannis in these lands. Seek stories instead.”
But all of the Kehannis who escaped Aish walked away the moment they heard what I wanted. Only Mamie Rila was brave enough to speak with me.
We draw our stories from the deep places, Laia. I sat in the lamplit warmth of her wagon, but the air grew cold as she spoke. They are not just words. They are magic. Some are potent as poison, and strike you dead upon speaking them. The woman you met in Marinn—the Kehanni of Tribe Sulud—she knew this. It is why she could not tell the Nightbringer’s story right away. It is the reason the wraiths killed her. I fear the words you seek, Laia, Mamie whispered. I love life too much to utter them.
“If the story kills the Kehannis,” I tell Rehmat, “then it isn’t worth it.”
“The weapon alone will not defeat him.”
“Laia. Laia!” Afya pokes my side. The entire group stares at me. Elias, arms crossed and head tilted, meets my gaze, bemused. I flush under his regard.
I realize we’re reviewing the plan of attack. “I’m to poison the food stores. Without being seen.”
Everyone turns back to Elias, perhaps waiting for encouragement. But despite my warning to him that he is too cold, he only nods. “Midnight, then,” he says, and cuts through the crowd toward me.
“A word?” When we stand apart, he looks down, brow furrowed. “The jinn may be among the soldiers,” he says. “And when I first suggested the mission, you seemed reluctant to use your magi
c. Will you be able to hold your invisibility?”
I have been reluctant. Ever since I found out who Rehmat really is, my magic has felt unknowable. Like it belongs to someone else.
“I’ll be fine.”
“No detours.”
“You sound almost worried about me, Elias.”
“Soul Catcher,” he corrects me, sounding so much like a Blackcliff Centurion that I want to kick him. “Your skills are important for the success of other raids, Laia. Get in, get the job done, and get out without getting distracted.”
Afya strolls to me as he walks away. “What a charmer,” she says, and at my glower, she shoves me. “I told you not to fall in love with a ghost-talker,” she says. “But did you listen? Forget about him for a moment. Your armor is no good.” She glances critically at the hodgepodge bits of protection I’ve collected over the past few months and steers me toward the horses. “Let’s fix it before we have to leave.”
Two hours later, I follow Shan through the desert with ten other fighters from Tribe Saif. All my concentration is fixed on cloaking us with my magic—not easy when there are so many and we are spread out. Finally, Elias calls a halt in a shallow depression within spitting distance of the sentry line. I sigh in relief when he signals for me to drop the invisibility. His gaze fixed on the sentries, he windwalks away.
“I cannot get used to that,” Shan says to me. “No matter how many times Mamie tells me he is gone, I still see my brother.”
I know so little about Shan. But I remember Elias speaking of him when we traveled to Kauf Prison. They spent the early years of their lives together. Perhaps Elias must be reminded of that.
“You should tell him,” I say. “He needs to hear it.”
Shan glances at me in surprise, but before he can speak, a hoot drifts through the night. The sentries—patrolling only seconds ago, are nowhere to be seen. The Tribesman rises.
“That was quick,” he mutters. “Skies speed your way, Laia of Serra.”
I close my eyes and reach for my invisibility. It comes reluctantly, but once it is on, penetrating the camp is simple enough. The fires are low, for which I am thankful. The shadows will aid us this night.