A Sky Beyond the Storm (An Ember in the Ashes #4) - Sabaa Tahir Page 0,148

place, that ineffable crossroads of pain and pleasure, together as one at last.

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Hours later, as we lie on our backs, both drawing in draughts of air like water, she rises up on her elbows and looks at me sternly. “We have to win,” she says.

“Why?”

“Because this cannot be the only night we spend together.” Her fingers are light as she traces lines on my skin, but her voice is fierce. “I want a life with you. Adventures. Meals. Late nights in front of fires. A thousand rainy walks. You talking me out of my clothing in inappropriate places. I want ch—” She stops, sadness in her eyes, though she hides it quickly. But I know what she was going to say. Because I want children too, perhaps not now, but one day. “I want more,” she says.

I smile, but it fades quickly when I remember that she wishes to destroy the jinn. That I do not. And that if, by some miracle, the Nightbringer is defeated and the jinn are restored to their place as Soul Catchers, there is still no future for us. You are sworn to me until another human—not jinn—is seen fit to replace you.

“What is it?” She folds her arms across my chest and rests her chin there, so I can only see her eyes. “What is eating at you?”

We can never have a life, she and I. No adventures. No meals. No late nights. No rainy walks. No talking her out of her clothing in inappropriate places.

No children.

This night is all we get. As soon as Mauth is restored to his full power, he will pull me back. And Laia will fade away once more.

Even as I search for the words to answer her question, the light changes. The night flees as the cabin, warm and gold-brown only moments ago, now fades to blue.

Far to the south of us, the army will be waking, the soldiers readying themselves. Beyond, near the river, the Nightbringer prepares to unleash an apocalypse upon us all.

I pull Laia to me and kiss her once more, putting all of my love and hope and desire into that kiss. Everything I wanted to give her in a lifetime together.

She senses what I’m doing, and I taste salt on my lips.

“Elias—” she whispers. “Don’t—”

But I shake my head. “Soul Catcher,” I say. “It’s Soul Catcher.”

She nods and straightens her shoulders. “Of course,” she says. “We should go.”

We find our clothing, dry now from a night beside the fire, and don it silently, sliding on boots and weapons and armor. When Laia pulls on the scythe, she sighs, as if weighed down. She walks out the door first, waiting for me in the clearing, her back turned.

I close the cabin door firmly, taking a breath as I am hit with a premonition as strong as any Augur’s, that she and I will never return here together again.

LVII: The Blood Shrike

As I emerge from the forest, forever altered, I do not think of the words I heard. I do not think of what I saw. I cannot risk a jinn—any jinn—picking the thoughts from my mind.

Instead, I think of Avitas Harper. His calm, his warmth, the way he looks at me like I am the only thing in the world that matters.

It is deep night when I return, and the army camp is quiet. I find him pacing outside my tent, brow furrowing when he sees me.

“I know,” I say, for I have his You cannot wander off, you are the Blood Shrike speech memorized. “But I had to attend to something alone.”

“Tell me—”

“I cannot.” I dismiss the guards near the front of my tent. “All things depend on my silence.”

“Blood Shrike—”

“Helene,” I whisper to him. “Tonight, call me Helene.”

He observes me for a moment before flashing that half smile that drives me mad. Then he pulls me into the tent, his hands in my hair, his lips on mine before the flap has even closed. I drag him toward my cot, and we topple onto it silently, frantic for each other, not even bothering to fully undress until after we’ve sated our desire.

Later, in the wee hours of the night, I wake, a chill running through my body.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, arm flung over my hips, still half-asleep.

“Nothing,” I say. “Go back to sleep.”

“You should too.”

“I will.” I kiss him and let myself look at his dark lashes, his scim-sharp cheekbones, the way his skin ripples as he sits up.

“Harper,” I