A Torch Against the Night (An Ember in the Ashes #2) - Sabaa Tahir Page 0,139

She takes my arm like an old friend would. “Welcome to the Waiting Place, the realm of ghosts. I am the Soul Catcher, and I am here to help you cross to the other side.”

CHAPTER FIFTY

Helene

Avitas and I arrive in Antium just as Rathana dawns. As our horses clatter through the city gates, stars still glint above and sunrise has not yet graced the jagged mountains to the east of the city.

Though Avitas and I scoped out the land around the capital, we saw no sign of an army. But the Commandant is clever. She might have slipped her forces into the city and hidden them in multiple places. Or she might be waiting until nightfall to unleash her attack.

Faris and Dex join up with us as we enter the city, having spotted our approach from one of the watchtowers.

“Hail, Shrike.” Dex clasps my hand as he steers his horse to fall in with mine. He looks like he hasn’t slept in a year. “The Masks of the Black Guard are deployed and await your orders. I had three squads secure the Emperor. Another squad is out scouting for the army. The rest have taken over the city guard.”

“Thank you, Dex.” I am relieved he doesn’t question me about Elias. “Faris,” I say. “Report.”

“The girl was right,” my big friend says. We weave through the wagons, men, and animals entering Antium at this early hour. “There is an army. At least four thousand men—”

“It’s the Commandant’s,” I say. “Harper can explain.” When we clear the traffic, I kick my horse into a gallop. “Think carefully about what you saw,” I call to Faris. “I need you to bear witness before the Emperor.”

The streets are starting to fill with Mercators out early to stake out the best spots for the festivities of Rathana. A Plebeian ale merchant trundles through the city with extra barrels of his goods to supply to the taverns. Children hang up blue and green lanterns that symbolize the day. Everyone seems so normal. Happy. Still, they clear the way when they see four Black Guards galloping through the streets. When we reach the palace, I leap off my horse, nearly mowing down the groom who comes to take the reins.

“Where is the Emperor?” I snap at a legionnaire on gate duty.

“In the throne room, Shrike, with the rest of the court.”

As I hoped. The leaders of the Empire’s Illustrian Gens are early risers, particularly when they want something. They’ll have begun lining up to petition the Emperor hours ago. The throne room will be packed with powerful men, men who can bear witness to the fact that I saved the throne from the Commandant’s predations.

I have spent days planning my speech, and as we approach the throne room, I go over it again in my head. The two legionnaires guarding the throne room doors attempt to announce me, but Dex and Faris step ahead of me, shove them out of the way, and open the doors for me. It’s like having two walking battering rams at my side.

Black Guard soldiers line the room at intervals, most standing between the colossal tapestries that depict the deeds of past Emperors. As I make for the throne, I spot Lieutenant Sergius, the Black Guard who was stupid enough to address me as Miss Aquilla the last time I was here. He salutes respectfully as I pass.

Faces turn toward me. I recognize the Paters of a few dozen Mercator and Illustrian Gens. Through the enormous glass ceiling, the last stars give way to daylight.

Marcus sits on the ornately carved ebony throne, his usual sneer replaced by a look of cold wrath as he listens to a report from a courier who looks fresh from the road. A circlet of sharp points, patterned with Blackcliff’s four-sided diamond, adorns his head.

“—pushed past the border and are harassing the villages outside Tiborum. The city will be overrun if we do not get men out there immediately, my lord.”

“Blood Shrike.” Marcus notices me and waves off the legionnaire giving his report. “It is good to lay eyes upon you again.” He flicks his glance up and down my form but then grimaces and puts a finger to his temple. I am relieved when he looks away.

“Pater Aquillus,” he says through gritted teeth. “Come and greet your daughter.”

My father emerges from the rows of courtiers, my mother and sisters trailing. Hannah wrinkles her nose when she sees me, as if she’s smelled something foul. My mother