A Sky Beyond the Storm (An Ember in the Ashes #4) - Sabaa Tahir Page 0,176

tell me twice, and as the girl I love and I tumble into her wagon, as I bash my head on the low roof and curse, as she kicks my feet out from under me and pins me to her bed, laughing, the tension in my heart unknots.

But later, when we stare up at the dark, lace-cut wood of the wagon’s ceiling, I voice the question in my head.

“How do we trust our happiness, Laia?” I turn toward her, and she traces my lips with her finger. “How do we go on if we don’t know if it will be taken away?”

I’m gratified that she doesn’t answer right away, thankful that she understands why I ask. Laia isn’t who she was. Her joy is tempered, like mine. Her heart tender, like mine. Her mind wary, like mine.

“I do not think the answer is in words, love,” she says. “I think it is in living. In finding joy, however small, in every day. We’ll struggle to trust happiness at first, perhaps. But we can trust ourselves to reach for it always. Remember what Nan said.”

“Where there is life, there is hope.”

Her answer is another kiss, and when we break apart, I am surprised to see that she casts me a dark glance.

“Elias Veturius,” she says imperiously, “two years ago, on the night of this very festival, you whispered something quite intriguing in my ear. You have yet to translate it.”

“Ah. Yes.” I rise to my elbows and kiss a trail down her neck, to her collarbone, lazily making my way to her stomach, my desire spiking as she trembles.

“I remember,” I say. “But it doesn’t quite translate.” I glance up at her, smiling as her breath hitches. “I’d really have to show you.”

LXXI: Helene

The dancing begins before the sun has set, and by the time the moon is overhead, Nur’s stages are full and the music is raucous.

Martial and Tribal guards patrol, but I survey the festival anyway, marking exits and entrances through which an attacker could escape. Alcoves and windows where an assassin could hide.

Old habits.

With two Masks at my back, I make my way through the crowds, meeting with a half dozen key Tribal Zaldars before Mamie Rila marches up to me.

“No more politics, Empress.” She jerks a chin at my guards, and when I nod, they make themselves scarce. “Even empresses must dance. Though you should have worn a dress.” She frowns at my armor, and then shoves me toward a slightly disheveled Elias, who has just appeared at the stage himself.

“Where’s Laia?” I look behind him. “I’d rather dance with her.”

“She’s preparing to tell a tale.” He takes my hands and pulls me to the center of the stage. “It’s her first one, and she’s nervous. You’re stuck with me.”

“She’ll be incredible,” I say. “I heard her tell Zacharias a story last night. He was rapt.”

“Where is he?”

“With Tas, eating moon cakes.” I nod to a cart near Mamie’s wagon, where the young Scholar boy, who appears to have grown a foot since I last saw him, grins as my nephew stuffs a cake into his mouth. Musa, keeping them company, hands over another.

“How are you?” Elias steps away from me and turns, holding my hand overhead as I do the same a moment later. I remember when this was all I wanted. To hold his fingers in mine. To feel unfettered. That time feels so far away that it is like looking at someone else’s life.

“There is much to do,” I say. “I have to finish touring the Tribal cities, and then I’ll go to Serra. Blackcliff is nearly rebuilt.”

“Dex is Commandant now, I hear.”

“Commander,” I correct him. “There will not be another Commandant.”

“No.” Elias is thoughtful. “I suppose not. No whipping post either, I hope?”

“Dex said Silvius used it for kindling,” I say. “They’ll welcome our first class of female recruits in a month. Interested in a teaching position?”

Elias laughs. The drums pound a bit faster, and as one, we quicken the pace of our dance. “Maybe one day. I’ve already had a letter from your Blood Shrike.” He raises an eyebrow, referring to his grandfather. “He wants the heir to Gens Veturia back in Serra. With a Scholar wife, if you’d believe it.”

“She’d have to say yes first.” I smile at the way his brow furrows in concern. “But indeed, Quin would say that.” I glance around and find Musa moving through the crowd toward us. “The Scholars have quite the advocate at court