A Sky Beyond the Storm (An Ember in the Ashes #4) - Sabaa Tahir Page 0,137

when I look at the Blood Shrike’s bare, scarred face, the past overwhelms me. She is not just the Shrike. She is Helene Aquilla. Friend. Warrior. Comrade-in-arms. We did violence together. We survived together. We saved each other from death and madness and loneliness in those long years at Blackcliff.

Not seeing her made it easy to ignore the memories Cain gave me. Now that she stands before me, those recollections hit like one of her scim attacks—swift and painful.

“Hail, Shrike.”

“Hail, Banu al-Mauth.” We regard each other, wary as two eagles meeting over a dead antelope.

Then she quirks an eyebrow at me. “Didn’t want to start without me?” she asks.

“Didn’t want to listen to you whining about it, more like.”

A collective exhale from both sides, and then everyone is dismounting and greeting each other. Laia steps past me and pulls the Shrike into a hug.

“Where’s my favorite tyrant?” Laia asks, but gently, for the wights brought news of Livia’s death. A shadow passes over the Shrike’s face.

“Zacharias is at a safe house,” she says, “with Tas and Uncle Dex and a full complement of Masks. Thought it was wiser than bringing him here.” Pink shadows nest beneath her eyes. “Another war. Will it ever end, Soul Catcher? Or will this be the legacy I leave my nephew?”

I have no answer for her, and she turns to greet Darin. Laia seeks out Musa, putting her hand against the tall Scholar’s face, speaking quietly with that sweet smile of hers. Though I had nothing against the man a moment ago, I suddenly find his face vexing. Laia spots me and grins.

“By the skies, Soul Catcher,” she says as Musa moves away. “Is that jealousy?”

“Do you want it to be?” Stop it, I tell myself. You idiot. But the old me, who appears to be cheekier by the day, shoves that voice into a bin.

“Still flirting at inappropriate times, I see.” Strong hands pull me around. My grandfather, Quin Veturius, regards the rows of Tribespeople behind me. If haughtiness could wither, both armies would collapse into dust. “At least you’re leading an army. Good at it too, I’d wager. Runs in the blood.”

As I meet his gray eyes, a mirror of my own, I consider walking away. We’re about to fight a battle, and even if we win, I’ll have to return to the ghosts and forget all of these faces once more. Even if I can persuade the jinn to return as Soul Catchers, Mauth made it clear that doing so would not mean my freedom.

But Grandfather pulls me into a bear hug, nearly breaking my ribs.

“I missed you, my boy,” he says, and my arms rise, for there is comfort in hugging one of the few people I know who is bigger than me. Stronger than me.

“I missed you too, Grandfather.”

“Right.” The Blood Shrike steps away from Mamie. Her face is stricken from whatever Mamie said to her, but she pulls herself together. “How do you plan to get nearly ten thousand troops, and their horses, wagons, and supplies, through that?” She nods to the gnarled forest.

“Getting through it isn’t the problem,” I say. “It’s what happens once we’re inside.” I look past her toward her massive supply train. “Did you bring the salt?”

“Wasn’t bleeding easy,” she says. “But we have a dozen carts’ worth.”

“Set extra sentries around it,” I tell her. “We’ll need every last bit.”

We reach the Waiting Place an hour later. Wary conversation dwindles to silence as we close in on the wall of trees. Low brush chokes the space between the trunks. I urge my skittish mount forward and bid the trees to open a path. The forest is reluctant, so I push harder. Mauth. This army is essential to my cause.

A shimmer in the wood and then, ever so slowly, it shifts. Where there was naught but a deer trail, there is now an earthen road, wide enough for ten wagons. When I attune myself to the map of the Waiting Place, all is as it usually is, just compressed, as if to make room for us.

For most of the day, we pass through the forest swiftly. I do not need to warn the army to be silent. The trees loom oppressively over the road, vines shifting and twisting just out of sight, as if considering whether they should make a meal of a passing human.

The place has never felt emptier. I fear for Karinna for a time, worried the Nightbringer has taken her too, until I