A Sky Beyond the Storm (An Ember in the Ashes #4) - Sabaa Tahir Page 0,73

need to,” Darin says. “I know we need weapons for the Scholars, but she’s my sister, Shrike.”

I cannot lose him now. We need his smithing skills—not to mention the fact that if he leaves and Keris gets to him, Laia will murder me. “Darin, give me until after we take Antium—”

“What if something’s happened to her?”

“Your sister,” I say, “is tough. Tougher than you. As tough as me. Wherever she is, she will be all right. I’ll have my spies in the south keep an eye out for her.”

As it happens, I already sent Laia a message, asking her to tell the Tribes that we’ll offer support in their fight against Keris if they swear fealty to Zacharias. “When I get word of her—and I will get word of her—I promise, I’ll let you know.”

The Scholar is about to protest again, but if I have to argue further, I might lose my temper. “Musa.” I grab the Beekeeper by the arm and walk him out of the forge. “Come with me.”

“Now, Shrike.” Musa follows me reluctantly. “While I do like my women tall and bossy, and while I know this face is difficult to resist, sadly, my heart belongs to another—”

“Oh, shut up.” I stop when we’re far from the courtyard. “You’re not that pretty.” He bats his eyelashes at me, and I wish he were just a bit uglier. “I need eyes in Antium, Scholar. Mine have all gone to ground.”

“Hmm. Humans are sadly unreliable.” Musa pulls an apple from his cloak and pares off a slice. Its sweet scent cuts through the damp, and he hands me the piece. “What do I get for helping you, Blood Shrike?”

“The thanks of the Emperor and his Blood Shrike,” I say. At the distaste on his face, I sigh. “What do you want?”

“A favor,” he says. “At a time and place of my choosing.”

“I can’t promise that. You could ask for anything.”

He shrugs. “Good luck taking back your capital.”

Of course. He wouldn’t make things easy. Then again, if it were me in his shoes, I’d ask for the same. “Fine,” I say. “But nothing . . . untoward.”

“I wouldn’t dare.” Musa shakes my hand with only mildly exaggerated solemnity. “In fact, I’ll offer you a little tidbit right now. Captain Avitas Harper is on his way here. He’s in the northwest corridor, passing that very ugly statue of a yak, and moving rather quickly.”

“How—” I know how he does it. Still, the specificity is uncanny.

“Ten seconds,” Musa murmurs. “Eight—six—”

I stride swiftly away, wincing at the pain lancing up my leg. But I’m not fast enough.

“Blood Shrike,” Harper calls in a voice that I cannot ignore. I curse Musa as he walks off, laughing quietly.

“Harper,” I say. “You wouldn’t happen to know where Quin is, would you?” I keep walking through the dark stone halls of the keep, fast enough that he has to jog to catch up. I am lightheaded—despite my swift healing, I’m not recovered from what happened in Antium. “I need to ask him if—”

Harper steps in front of me, grabs my hand, and pulls me into a side hallway with a force that surprises me.

“I know you’re angry at me,” he says. “Maybe I deserve it. But you’re also angry at yourself. And you shouldn’t be. Faris—”

“Faris knew what he was doing.” I yank my hand back, and the fleeting hurt in Harper’s expression makes me look down. “Faris was a soldier. Faris gave me a fighting chance.”

“But you’re still angry,” Harper says softly.

“And why shouldn’t I be,” I snarl at him. “You know what they’re doing to us in that city. The city I lost, Harper. The city I let Keris betray—”

“You didn’t—”

“It was so quiet,” I say. “All our people cowering because they are desperately afraid. Not of death or torture. They’re too strong for that. No, they’re afraid of being forgotten, Harper.”

Harper sighs, and it feels like he can see right into me, into those moments I mourned Faris, those moments I spent staring into the eyes of a child’s skull, thinking death had finally come.

He steps near enough that I can smell the cinnamon and cedar of his skin, the steel at his waist. Snow has melted in his black hair, cut so close that it looks like the feathers of a raven.

“That is a terrible thing, Shrike,” he says. “But it’s not why you’re angry. Tell me why you’re angry.”

That hollowness that has gnawed at me since waking expands, and I cannot stop