by Sabaa Tahir
“Retribution!” Cook says. “That bitch of a Commandant is here, and by the skies, I’ll—”
“You’d trade vengeance on Keris Veturia for thousands of lives?”
“Getting rid of her would save thousands more. I have waited years for this. And now, finally—”
“I don’t bleeding care,” I say to her. “Whatever your vengeance is, whether it works or not, it is not as important as the Scholar children who will die if there is no one to help them. Please—”
“We’re not gods, girl. We can’t save everyone. The Scholars have survived this long. They’ll survive a bit longer. The mission is all that matters. Come now. There’s little time.” She nods to a building ahead. “That’s the Black Guard barracks. The Shrike will be arriving within the hour. When that happens, you’ll know what to do.”
“What—that’s it? How am I supposed to get in? How do I—”
“You need a plan that the Nightbringer can’t pick out of your head,” she rasps. “I’ve just given you one. There’s a stack of clean uniforms in a basket outside the gates. Take it in and up to the laundry closet on the second floor. Watch the hallway from that closet. When the time comes, you’ll know what to do. And if the Shrike threatens you, tell her I sent you. Go.”
“You—why would I—do you know her?”
“Move, girl!”
I take two steps, then turn back. “Cook.” I look in the direction of the Scholar neightborhood. “Please, just tell them—”
“I’ll be waiting here for your return.” Cook grabs my daggers from me, including the one Elias gave me, ignoring my protests as she glances about furtively. “Hurry up, or you’ll get us both killed.”
Uneasy without my blades, I go around to the front of the barracks. What does Cook have planned for me? How will I know what to do? I spot the basket of clean laundry and balance it against my hip. Taking a deep breath, I pass through the front gates and across the cobblestone courtyard.
The ground rumbles, and across the street, a projectile slams into a building, leveling it in seconds. The two legionnaires who guard the barracks entrance take cover, as do I. When it’s clear no more missiles are coming this way, I make for the door, hoping the legionnaires will be too distracted to notice me. No such luck.
“You there.” One of them holds out a hand. “We need to search the basket.”
Oh skies.
“No idea why we even need uniforms,” the other legionnaire says. “We’re all dead anyway.”
“Shut it, Eddius.” The legionnaire finishes searching the basket and waves me on. “Go on, girl.”
The central room of the barracks is lined with cots, perhaps for men to sleep on while taking shifts at the wall. But they all stand empty. No one in the entire damned city is sleeping through this.
Though it’s clear the barracks are almost entirely abandoned, I skirt the cots carefully and skulk up the stairs, unnerved by the silence of the place. At the top of the stairs, a long hallway stretches into darkness. The doors are shut, but from behind one, clothing rustles and someone gasps in pain. I keep walking and get to a laundry closet. The cries continue. Someone must be injured.
After half an hour, the cries transform into screams. It is definitely a woman, and for a moment I wonder, is it the Shrike? Has Cook injured her? Am I supposed to go into the room and take the ring while she lies dying? I creep out of the laundry closet and inch down the hall toward the cries. A male speaks, and it sounds like he’s trying to soothe the woman.
Another scream. This time I cock my head. It doesn’t sound like someone who is injured. In fact, it sounds like—
“Where is she?” The woman wails, and a door in the hallway slams open. I bolt back into the laundry closet just after catching a glimpse of a woman pacing the room. At first, I think she is the Blood Shrike. But she has no mask, and she is very pregnant.
In that moment, I understand the sounds that came from the room. I understand why Cook asked me if I’d met Nelle. Nelle taught me remedies for moon-cycle pain and ways to prevent pregnancy—but she also showed me tricks for relieving pain during childbirth and afterward. I had to learn them because delivering babies was one of the very first things Pop taught me, one of the main things he did as a healer.
And I understand, finally, how I am going to get the ring from the Blood Shrike.
L: Elias
As I come up over the wall, as I force myself to ignore the havoc wreaked by the possessed Karkauns, I hear the lupine snarls of a group of Martial soldiers tearing at each other, completely possessed.
I have always loathed the city of Antium. Everything about it screams Empire, from the high, forbidding walls to the streets architected in levels to repel attack. For the first time, I am glad that the city is so quintessentially Martial. Because the forces arrayed against it—and within it—are great, and the defenses are terrifyingly flimsy.
I windwalk down the wall, racing toward the stairs that will take me to the ravening masses of possessed Martial soldiers below. There are hundreds of ghosts to be found, magicked, and set free.
The stairs disappear two by two under my feet, and I am nearly at the bottom when I recognize a head of blonde hair ahead of me, battling through the possessed soldiers. Her face is dark with ash, streaked with tears as she swings a great war hammer, trying to knock her countrymen aside. From the west, a great groan sounds, the splintering of wood and warping of metal. The Karkauns are nearly through the gates of the city.
“Stop!” My voice, amplified by Mauth’s magic, explodes across the area beneath the wall. The possessed turn to me as one, my magic drawing them in like a cobra’s gaze draws a mouse.
“E-Elias?” the Blood Shrike whispers, but I do not look at her.
“Come to me,” I order the spirits forward. “Release those you have possessed.”
These ghosts are more feral, and they resist, curling away from me. My anger rises, and I find my hands are on my scims. But Mauth’s magic takes hold, and an unnatural calm settles over me. No, part of me scrambles against the intrusion of the magic, which is more aggressive than before. Mauth is controlling my body. My mind. This isn’t right.
But isn’t it? I must join with the magic to become the Soul Catcher. First I needed to release my attachments to the human world. And now I must let go of myself. My identity. My body.
No, something deep within screams. No. No. No.
But how else will I move so many ghosts on? Their presence here is my fault. The suffering they’ve brought about is my fault. I can never undo it. All the deaths they have caused will be on my conscience until the day I pass from this earth. But I can stop it. And to do that, I must surrender.
Take over, I tell the magic. Become me.
“Release the humans you’ve possessed.” The ghosts shy back at my order, so bewildered at their own deaths that they seek only to hold, hurt, love, feel once more. “There is nothing for you here. Only pain.”
I draw them all close with the magic. Mauth sinks into my very soul with every second that passes, becoming irrevocably bonded to me. The Blood Shrike and Faris gape, and they do not see their friend Elias Veturius. They do not see the man who escaped Blackcliff, who broke his vows, who defied the Commandant and the Emperor to break into Kauf Prison. They do not see the boy they survived Blackcliff with.
They see the Soul Catcher.
The ghosts sigh and release the bodies they have possessed, passing on from this world. First dozens, then, as I let the magic take over, hundreds. The chaos fades as this small group of soldiers, at least, returns to themselves.
“You came.” The Blood Shrike weeps openly now. “You heard me, and you came. Elias, the Karkauns on the wall, they’re killing us. They’re about to break through.”
“I did not come for you.” It is my voice she hears—the merciless monotone of a Mask. And yet it is not me. It is Mauth. Stop!
I scream at him in my mind. She is my friend.
But Mauth does not listen. “I came,” I hear myself saying, “because it is my sworn duty to protect the world of the living from the realm of ghosts. Leave me to my work, Blood Shrike, and I will leave you to yours.”
I windwalk away from her, moving swiftly to the next group of possessed soldiers. Why did I do that? Why was I so cruel?
Because it is necessary. I know the answer almost before I ask the question. Because I must pass the ghosts. Because my duty must come first.
Because love cannot live here.
I skim over the wall of the city looking for the next group of wayward ghosts, nothing but a flash of darkness to the human eye. Just outside Antium’s eastern gate, the Karkauns gather and march forward with a battering ram the size of a Mariner trade vessel. They punch through the ancient gates of Antium like a fist through a paper screen.
No one mans the wall. No pitch comes pouring down. No archers fight back. The Martials have withdrawn. A familiar, pale-skinned figure makes her way from the battle, a group of men at her back. Keris Veturia. She appears calm as she allows the gate to fall.
A great groan echoes through the air, louder than the screams of the dying and the cries of those who still fight. Wood splinters, metal screeches, and a hair-raising howl of victory rises from the ranks of the Karkauns.
The eastern gate sags open, and the Karkauns pour in. The city of Antium, founded by Taius the First, seat of the Imperator Invictus and Pearl of the Empire, is breached. The lives of its people are forfeit.
I turn away. For it is no concern of mine.
LI: The Blood Shrike
I can hear Livvy screaming from the barracks doors and I fly up the stairs. She might be dying. The baby might be dying. Skies, what do we do—
When I shove the door open, I find my sister doubled over, Rallius’s large hand clenched in hers. Every muscle in my friend’s huge body tenses, his dark face turning grim.
“Empress,” I say. “Livia, I’m here.”
“He’s coming, Helly.” Livia pants. “Rallius tested my tea this morning, but it tasted funny. I don’t know what to do. I don’t—I don’t feel right—”
Oh hells. I know exactly nothing about childbirth. “Maybe you should sit down.”
A knock on the door.
All of us—Rallius, Faris, Livia, and I—go silent. No one but Marcus is supposed to know she’s here. But I arrived in such a rush with Faris that though we took pains not to be followed, we might very well have been.
My sister stuffs her fist to her mouth and groans, clutching her belly. Her dress is wet from where her waters have broken, and her sweat-soaked face is sickly gray. Rallius extricates his fingers from Livvy’s and approaches the door, scims drawn. I shove Livvy behind me while Faris swipes a crossbow from the wall and points it at the door.
“Who goes there?”
A female voice answers. “I . . . I need to speak to the Blood Shrike. I . . . can help.”
I do not recognize the voice, though something about it is strangely familiar. I gesture for Rallius to open the door. In less than a second, he has his scims at the throat of the hooded figure in the doorway.
She doesn’t need to lower her hood for me to recognize her. I spot her golden eyes peering out at me from the shadows.
“You!” I snarl, but she raises her hands, and the sheaths at her waist are empty.
“I can deliver the baby,” she says quickly. “Cook sent me.”
“Why the hells would that old bat send you?” I say.
Livia screams again, unable to stifle the sound, and Laia looks over my shoulder.
“She’s close,” she says. “She’ll have another contraction in only a few moments. The child is coming.”
I do not know how in the burning skies she got here. Perhaps it is an assassination attempt. But why would Laia of Serra risk such a thing when she knows that hurting my sister would result in her immediate death?
“I have no wish to harm her,” she says. “Fate led me here, Blood Shrike. Let me help you.”
“If my sister or the babe die,” I say to her as I stand aside, “so do you.”
A grim nod is the only response. She knows. Immediately, she turns to Faris, who squints as he looks at her.
“Hang on a minute,” he says. “Aren’t you—”
“Yes,” she says. “Hot water, please, Lieutenant Faris—two pots of it. And clean sheets from the laundry—a dozen of them. Towels too.” She goes to my sister, taking her by the arm.
“Let’s get you out of these clothes,” she says, and there’s a gentleness to her voice, a sweetness that immediately calms Livia. My sister sighs, and moments later Laia unlaces her dress, ordering Rallius to turn away.
I shift from foot to foot. “I don’t know if this is appro—”
“She’s giving birth, Blood Shrike,” Laia says. “It is hot, difficult work, and she shouldn’t be trussed up for it. Bad for the baby.”
“Right,” I say, knowing I sound like an idiot. “Well, if it’s bad for the baby . . .”
Laia glances at me, and I can’t tell if she’s irritated by me or laughing at me.
“Once Lieutenant Faris returns with the water,” she says, “pour it into the basin, please. Wash your hands well, with soap. Remove your rings. You can leave them there.” She nods to the basin and helps a now scantily dressed Livia settle herself at the edge of my simple wooden desk chair.
Faris comes in, takes one look at Livvy, and turns bright red before I take the water from him and he asks, in a choked voice, where Laia wants the sheets.
“Stand watch, Lieutenant Faris,” Laia says as she takes the sheets. “There were only two guards outside and they barely searched me. If I got in here with relative ease, so can your enemies.”
The drums thunder, and I hear the panic in the order given out. All units to the second-level gate immediately. Breach imminent. Bleeding hells, has the first level been breached? “I should go,” I say. “The city—”
“I cannot do this alone, Shrike,” Laia says quickly. “Though I’m sure your man here”—she nods to a wild-eyed Lieutenant Rallius—“would help if ordered, the Empress is your sister, and your presence will bring her comfort.”
“The city—the Karkauns—” But Livvy screams again, and Laia curses.
“Shrike, have you washed your hands yet?”
I do it quickly, and Laia grabs me and yanks me over to Livia.
“Push your fists into your sister’s hips, like so.” She points to just below the small of my sister’s back. “Every time she screams, I want you to push there,” she says. “It will give her relief. In between, rub her shoulders, pull her hair out of the way, and help keep her cool.”
“Oh skies,” Livia says. “I’m going to be sick.”
My stomach sinks. “What’s wrong?”
“Feeling sick is good.” Laia’s tone is soothing, but she gives me a look that very plainly asks that I keep my mouth shut. “It cleanses the body.”
The Scholar girl gives my sister a bucket and continues to speak to her in low, calm tones as she scrubs her own hands and arms, over and over until her gold-brown skin is red. Then she comes back and feels between my sister’s legs. I look away, uncomfortable. Livia shudders again—it’s only been minutes since the last time she cried out. I dig my fists into her hips. Immediately, she relaxes.
“How—how many times have you done this?” Livvy asks Laia.
“Enough to know that you’re going to be just fine,” Laia says. “Now breathe with me.”
For the next two hours, with the Scholar girl’s calm voice guiding her, Livia labors. Sometimes she walks, sometimes she sits. When I suggest Livvy lie in the bed at one point, both women turn on me with a unified “No!” and I cease.
Outside, the drums grow more frant
ic. I need to get out there—I need to help defend this city. And yet I cannot leave Livia. I must see this child born, for he is our future. If the city falls, I must see him to safety. I am torn, and I pace back and forth, not knowing what the bleeding skies I’m supposed to do. Why is childbirth so damned messy? And why didn’t I learn anything about it?
“Laia,” I finally say to the Scholar when Livia is resting between one of her contractions. “The city—it’s about to be breached. I can hear it from the drums. I cannot be here. Rallius can—”
Laia yanks me aside, mouth thin. “It’s taking too long,” she says.
“You said everything was fine.”
“I’m not about to tell a pregnant woman she’s not fine,” she hisses. “I’ve seen it happen before. Both times the child died, and the mother did too. They are in danger. I might need you.” She gives me a significant look. I might need your healing.
BREACH, MAIN GATE. ALL UNITS TO SECOND-LEVEL GATE. The drums thunder frantically now as message after message is passed through, so that troops might know where to go, where to fight.
Livia screams, and this time there is a different quality about it. I turn back to my sister, hoping to the skies that the drums have it wrong.
Laia drapes sheets over the chairs, on the floors. She orders me to bring more buckets of water, and when she asks me to lay a towel on the bed, my sister shakes her head.
“There’s a blanket,” she says. “It’s—it’s in the bureau. I—I brought it with me.”
I grab it, a simple pale-blue-and-white square that is soft as clouds. I realize suddenly that this child will be my kin. A new Aquilla. My nephew. The moment deserves more than the thunder of Karkaun missiles and my sister’s screams. Mother should be here. Hannah.
Instead it is only me. How the hells did it all go so wrong?
“All right, Livia,” Laia says. “It’s time now. You’ve been very brave, very strong. Be brave a bit longer and you’ll be holding your baby, and I promise that you won’t much care about the pain.”
“How—how do you know—”
