A Sky Beyond the Storm (An Ember in the Ashes #4) - Sabaa Tahir Page 0,61

So slowly I am hardly moving, I reach for the scroll. Then I bend my head into my knees, as if shielding my eyes.

I dare not give myself more light, so it takes me a minute to read the cramped writing. And once I’ve read it, I am baffled. I’d expected instructions on how to get the Mask’s lock picks. The outlines of a plan to break free.

But of course, he couldn’t give me that. The jinn ordered him not to help me. Still—this makes no sense.

No blade forged by human or efrit, wight or ghul or wraith, nor any object of this world may kill us. No matter how badly you want us to die, we cannot.

What do the words mean? Why would he—

The memory comes rushing back so quickly that I am dizzy from it. She spoke these words to me before—and ordered me to forget them. But the Mask was listening too, and she gave him no such order.

The jinn is still among the soldiers, so I read the scroll one more time to commit the words to memory, and then let the wind carry it away. The second part of what she said is a lie. Jinn can be killed. I saw it with my own eyes.

The Nightbringer killed Shaeva with a blade. And she was at least as old as the jinn locked in the grove. Perhaps older.

I close my eyes and try to remember what the blade was. A black sickle that glittered like diamond, wickedly curved and attached to a short hilt. It was a strange metal—one I hadn’t seen before.

But I have seen it since, I realize, staring down at the glittering chains binding me.

No blade forged by human or efrit, wight or ghul or wraith, nor any object of this world may kill us.

Jinn-forged then. Created out of a metal only they can access.

Or perhaps the sickle has no special properties. Perhaps the Nightbringer used a weapon to stab Shaeva, but magic to kill her.

But no—at the very least, these chains suppress my magic, and I am a mere human. What would they do to jinn, who are born of magic?

I am so consumed with thoughts of the sickle that I do not notice the storm has passed until the jinn kicks me and orders me to my feet.

It is early evening when I spot the strange dark splotch on the horizon. It looks to be a large lake of some kind, its currents flashing silver in the fading light. Then the wind carries the sound of horses, the smell of leather and steel. And I understand that it is not a lake but an army, that the flashes are not waves but weapons.

The city of Aish is under attack.

The jinn gives Novius orders to lead us toward the city before putting boot to flank and ranging ahead. A moment later, a whisper tickles my ear.

“Laia.” Rehmat does not appear, but it sounds as if it is right next to me. “Let us get you free of those damnable chains.”

“I thought you could not help,” I whisper back.

“Khuri goes to speak with her kin. We have a few moments. First, you need your weapon—”

“How do you know her name?”

“I know many things you do not, child. Novius has your blade. Once you are invisible you can take it from him. Now—these chains. I think you can—”

“The Nightbringer”—I cut Rehmat off—“used a sickle to kill Shaeva. Do you know anything of it?”

“I know what lives in your memories.”

I flush, thinking about the other things it’s probably seen in my memory, but then push my embarrassment aside. Rehmat’s answer was . . . careful. Too careful.

“Did Shaeva die because of the blade?” I ask. “Or the Nightbringer’s magic?”

“The blade.”

The Mask glances over and I realize I probably look mad, gabbling to myself. I lower my voice. “If all you know of the blade is what’s in my memory, how do you know it can kill jinn? And why the skies did you not tell me about it?”

“The weapon will be impossible to take from the Nightbringer, Laia,” Rehmat says. “And it is not guaranteed to destroy him.”

“But the sickle can kill other jinn.” I want to shout, but settle for a furious whisper. “The ones rampaging across the Tribal desert, leaving death and terror in their wake. The ones out there.” I nod toward Aish and the army inching ever closer to it.

“Laia.” Rehmat flickers in agitation and I wonder if the creature