A Sky Beyond the Storm (An Ember in the Ashes #4) - Sabaa Tahir Page 0,115

she looks at Laia. “Did you fall?”

“She hit her head on the flagstones.”

Blood trickles from the corner of Laia’s mouth. As I lay her down on the earth, it feels as if a giant fist is trying to squeeze all the blood out of my heart. Please, please. I don’t know what I’m asking for. Or who I’m asking. I only know that when I feel her pulse at her throat, strong and steady, I can breathe again.

I glance over my shoulder, but the Nightbringer has not pursued us. I find I am shaking, not in cold or exhaustion, but in dread. I thought the Nightbringer’s intent was to destroy the Scholars. But if he pours enough pain into the Sea of Suffering, he will unleash it. And it will destroy all human life.

The horror of it is too great, and even through the Mauth-inspired fog in my brain, I can’t bring myself to stand up. Why? Why is he doing this?

He is lost, Soul Catcher. His grief has taken him.

The voice of Death is so soft, I nearly miss it. “Mauth?” I whisper.

Afya and Shan exchange a glance and step away from me.

You have been away too long, Banu al-Mauth, Mauth says, and I feel the pull I have not felt in months, to return to the Waiting Place.

I turn to Afya and Shan. “I’ll come back,” I swear to them. “Tell her.”

The words are barely out of my mouth when I feel myself dragged, inexorably, back to the Forest of Dusk. Mauth speaks again, and this time his words resound in my very core.

It is time to come home.

XLIV: The Blood Shrike

Perhaps the shrieking wind from the north is a portent. Spring is not far, six weeks away at most. And yet the storm out of the Nevennes puts a foot of snow on the ground and howls down the palace chimneys until it sounds as if the place is possessed by ghosts.

“It’s not a bleeding portent,” I tell myself as I lurk near the kitchens. “It was one night. It never has to happen again.”

“Pardon me, Blood Shrike?” A passing Martial servant glances at me, alarmed, but I wave him off. I’ve been here for nearly a half hour, contemplating how to ask for the herbs I need without engendering gossip. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that I do not want children. Ever. Watching Livia give birth taught me that much.

“I was looking for you.” Harper’s voice makes me jump and my cheeks burn.

“It’s going to be difficult to act like nothing’s happened if you blush every time you see me, Shrike.” He holds a cup in his hand, and the smell is familiar. Mamie Rila taught me to brew it when I needed to slow my moon cycle at Blackcliff. Training while suffering cramps was a special sort of hell. The brew also prevents pregnancy.

“This might be what you’re looking for.”

“How did you—”

“You’ve mentioned you don’t want children,” he says. “Once. Or ten times. And I’ve brewed this concoction before.”

I nod and keep my expression bland. He’s had lovers—of course he has. Many, I imagine. Though imagining isn’t the wisest idea.

“The last Blood Shrike didn’t want unexpected heirs,” Avitas says, and the fact that he offers this information with a straight face despite my obvious jealousy makes me want to kiss him.

Instead, I nod emphatically. “Right. Thank you.” I take the cup from him and make a face, remembering how awful it tastes.

Harper’s eyes drift over my shoulder. “If you’ll excuse me, Shrike.” He disappears quickly, and a moment later I understand why.

“Good morning, sister.” Livia comes down the hallway, her guards behind her. And there’s nowhere to throw the damned tea. The only thing to do is drink it as fast as possible, but of course, it’s bleeding hot, and I nearly scald my face trying to get it down.

“Careful there,” she says. “You’ll burn—”

She takes a deep sniff. Her eyes follow Harper leaving.

“You—” she says, a slow smile spreading on her face.

“It doesn’t mean anything.” Two servers emerge from the kitchen holding trays, a Scholar and a Martial. They giggle together, going silent when they see us, curtsying to Livia before hurrying away. I drag Livia away from her guards. “Shut it—”

“Your eyes are glowing,” She hooks my arm in hers and starts marching breakneck toward her apartments. “Your skin is glowing. Tell me everything.”

“There’s nothing to tell!”

“Lies!” my sister hisses. “You dare deceive the Empress Regent? Tell me, tell me, I