A Sky Beyond the Storm (An Ember in the Ashes #4) - Sabaa Tahir Page 0,175

her mien that has slowly replaced the vitriol.

Together with Talis, we walk Keris and Karinna down to the river, stopping to let the young ghost crouch in the woods and watch a spider build a web.

When we finally reach the Dusk, its banks are lush with greenery, and its waters run crystalline. Young Keris peers at it suspiciously, holding tighter to her mother. Then she glances back at Mirra.

“Are you coming?” she asks.

Mirra drops to her knees. “No, Keris,” she rasps. “I have work yet to do.”

“Do not fear, lovey.” Karinna has a joyful glow to her now, for that which she waited for has finally come to pass. “I am here.”

My grandmother looks back at me, and for the first time, I see her smile. “Until we meet again, little one,” she whispers.

Then they step into the river, holding tightly to one another, and disappear. For a moment, the three of us listen to the water whisper in silent reverence. A step sounds behind us.

It is Azul, braiding her long black hair with flowers. Two months ago, she arrived at Mirra’s cabin with Talis to break bread with us. That first time, she only observed. But within a few weeks, she began to walk again among the ghosts.

She nods to the southern woods. “A ship went down near Lacertium,” she says. “The ghosts await us.”

We make to follow her, but as we do, a voice speaks.

Banu al-Mauth.

We all stop in our tracks, for Mauth hasn’t communicated with us since Mirra took her vow. Talis and Azul exchange a glance, but the Scholar watches me. I know then that he’s already spoken to her.

I thank you, my son, for your service to me. The Lioness is ready. I release you from your vow. You are Banu al-Mauth no longer.

I expect to feel different. To not be able to see the ghosts, or to not sense that low tingle of magic in the earth that lets me know Mauth is near. But nothing changes.

You will always have a home among the spirits, Elias. I do not forget my children. I leave you your windwalking as a remembrance of your time here. Perhaps one day, long years from now, you will serve again.

With that, the voice falls silent, and I turn to look at Mirra, feeling stunned, a touch sad, and uncertain of what to do.

“Well, boy, what are you waiting for?” She smiles her crooked smile and gives me a shove. “Go to her.”

* * *

«««

Nur’s streets spill over with traders and merchants, acrobats and jugglers, hawkers selling moon cakes, and children roaming in joyful packs. The thoroughfares are strung with multicolored lanterns, and dance stages gleam in the sunlight. A storm lurks along the horizon, but the people of Nur ignore it. They have survived worse.

Though there are still remnants of Keris’s assault, the Empress sent two thousand troops to assist with rebuilding. Nur’s structures have been repainted and restored, debris has long since been carted away, and roads have been repaved. The oasis thrums with life. For tonight is the Scholar Moon Festival. And the people mean to celebrate.

At the Martial garrison where Laia and I faced the Meherya, Helene’s banner snaps in the warm summer wind. She has arrived, then.

Tribe Saif’s wagons sit in one of Nur’s many caravanserais, and for a long time, I simply watch the bustle.

True freedom—of body and of soul. That is what Cain promised me, so long ago. But now that it is here, I do not know how to trust it. I am not a soldier or a student or a Mask. I am not a Soul Catcher. Life stretches ahead of me, unknown and uncertain and full of possibility. I do not know how to believe that it will last.

A whisper of cloth, and the scent of fruit and sugar. Then she is beside me, pulling me close, her gold eyes closing as she rises up on her tiptoes. I lift her, and her legs are around my waist, her lips soft against mine, hands in my hair.

“Oi!”

Mid-kiss, something smacks me on the back of the head and I wince and put Laia down, flushing as Shan steps between us.

“That is our Kehanni-in-training.” He glares at me, before his face breaks into a grin. “And she will be telling her very first story tonight. Show some decorum, Martial. Or at the very least”—he nods to a brilliantly painted wagon at the edge of the caravanserai—“find a wagon.”

He does not have to