A Sky Beyond the Storm (An Ember in the Ashes #4) - Sabaa Tahir Page 0,127

essentially what it will be if I cannot get to the Nightbringer. And if Mamie cannot find his story.

None of us have slept for the past few nights, knowing now what the jinn king intends to do with all his soul thieving. I shiver, dread crawling over me like a carpet of spiders.

Elias clears his throat and nods to the rock. “Do you mind?”

I shift over quickly, surprised. He always seems like he struggles to even be near me. But I do not ask questions, instead letting myself enjoy the warmth of his body so close to mine.

“It’s a two-month journey to Adisa from here.” He stretches his long legs in front of him. “If we can get ships to take us across the Duskan Sea. If we survive the Commandant’s blockade. And if the weather holds.”

“You could order the Tribespeople to follow you,” I say. “The Banu al-Mauth’s word carries great weight. And they have trusted you thus far.”

“Only to see their cities destroyed—”

“Only to survive,” I say. “If you had not mobilized them, Nur and its people would be ash.”

“You said something to me a few weeks ago,” Elias says. His hands are upturned and he runs a thumb across a callous, worrying at it. “You cannot lead them if you do not understand them. Now I understand the Tribes. I understand their fear. They do not wish to die. And if we go to Adisa to fight, we take them to their deaths. Besides which, I wonder if we won’t be playing right into the Nightbringer’s hands by going to Marinn.”

“You think he’s trying to lure us there?”

“I think we shouldn’t be reactionary,” Elias says. “We need to consider.”

“We can’t consider for much longer,” I say. “Spring is only a few weeks away. In flowerfall, the orphan will bow to the scythe. I think—” I shudder. “I think that prophecy speaks of me—”

I cannot finish the thought. Are there people in the world who still experience happiness? Enjoy it, I want to tell those people. Enjoy it, because soon it might all be gone.

Elias shifts closer, and his arm comes around me. He might as well have transformed into a talking rabbit, I am so surprised.

“You did say to be more human—” He quickly lets go. “You looked sad, so . . .”

“No.” I return his wrist to my shoulder. “It’s fine. Though if you’re going to comfort me, your embrace should be less like a tree branch and more like a—a shawl.”

“A shawl?”

Of course, I had to pick a singularly unromantic word. “Like this.” I let my own arm rest naturally about his waist. “We’re not drunken schoolfellows singing chanties about wanton fishwives. We are—you and I—we—”

I do not know what we are. I search his face, wondering if I’ll ever see the answer there. But he tilts it up to the glittering sweep of the sky, so that I cannot see his expression.

Still, after a half dozen too-swift thuds of my heart, his arm relaxes, muscle by muscle, until it is draped comfortably across my back. His big hand encircles my hip, and when he pulls me closer, it feels as though all the heat in my body has pooled beneath his fingers.

For all that he is the Banu al-Mauth, he still smells of spice and rain. I forget the cold and breathe him in. It is not all that I wanted. But it is not nothing either.

I wait for him to pull away, but he does not. Slowly, the tension eases out of me. With him beside me, I feel more myself. Strong. And less alone.

“Do you think the jinn know?” I ask him. “What will happen if the Nightbringer releases the Sea?”

“They must at least suspect.” The rumble of Elias’s baritone hums through my body. “They are not fools.”

“Then why support him?” I say. “To be imprisoned for a thousand years and then released only to wreak havoc and die—it seems like a terrible waste.”

“Perhaps imprisonment drove them mad.”

But that doesn’t feel right. “It’s not madness that grips the Nightbringer,” I say. “It is intent. He wants to destroy everything. I think he’s hiding that fact from his kin.” I shiver. “Yet he claims to love them. He does love them.”

Footsteps crunch behind us, and we jump away from each other.

“Banu al-Mauth!” Gibran and Aubarit approach, and the latter bows her head in respect and then smacks Gibran, who quickly does the same.

“Dinner’s ready, Laia,” Gibran says. “Afya sent us up to take