by Sabaa Tahir
“You will not ride with us?” Laia pulls me toward the trees, for though Rehmat is gone, Laia’s magic remains. Some part of the jinn queen still lives within her—within Musa and the Blood Shrike. Enough that most of the ghosts leave them be.
“The spirits call.” I want to take her hands but restrain myself. Nothing will make this easier. There’s no reason to make it more difficult. “Even with Talis, there are too many ghosts to pass.”
I reach into my pocket. The armlet that she returned months ago is still with me, though far more intricately carved than before, as I’ve been working on it in every quiet moment I’ve had. Do I give it to her? Will she reject it? It’s not done yet. Perhaps I should wait.
“Laia—”
“I do not—”
We speak at the same time, and I gesture for her to go first.
“I do not want you to grieve what we have, Elias.” She lifts her hand as a Tala blossom drifts into it. “You are alive. Wherever I am, I will know that somewhere in the world, you exist, and that you are at peace. That is enough for me.”
“Well, it might be enough for you,” a voice rasps from the shadows of the forest, “but it’s not enough for me.”
Laia and I both stare for long moments at the figure that emerges from the shadows, small and white-haired, with ocean-blue eyes that are hard as agate, but that soften at the sight of her daughter.
“How—” Laia finally manages to choke out. “The Karkauns—”
“Didn’t bother checking my body,” Mirra of Serra says. “And I touched the Star, remember? We’re tough to kill.”
“But why did you not come to me?” Laia says. “Why would you not try to find me?”
“Because revenge mattered to me more than you,” Mirra says. Laia, stunned, steps back. “I was never a good m-m-mother, girl. You know that. I knew no one would have a shot against the Bitch of Blackcliff unless she wasn’t expecting them. Her spies told her I was dead. So I stayed dead. The only ones who knew I lived were Harper, who gave me a place to sleep in Antium, and the Blood Shrike.”
At the outrage on Laia’s face, Mirra holds up her hand. “Don’t go getting angry at her now,” she says. “Helped her in the tunnels of Antium, but she didn’t know it was me. She didn’t know I was alive until the night before the battle. After I’d had a little chat with Karinna.”
“I didn’t sense you—” I begin, and Mirra laughs.
“There were thousands of humans in this forest, boy,” she says. “What was one more? I could trust Harper to keep his thoughts to himself. Had a mind like a steel trap, that boy did. As for the Shrike, I ordered her to keep her mouth shut—to not even think my name, lest the Nightbringer pick it out of her head.”
“I believe your exact phrasing was ‘If you breathe a word of this to anyone, girl, I’ll gut you first, then wear your skin as a cape.’”
The Blood Shrike appears behind us. “I’m sorry.” She looks worriedly at Laia, as if expecting her anger. “It was the only way to kill Keris.”
Laia throws herself at her mother, who rocks back, surprised, before lifting her hands and holding her daughter close.
“I’m not alone.” Laia buries her face in her mother’s hair. “I thought I was all that was left of us.”
My eyes get hot, and the Blood Shrike looks away, rubbing her hand against her cheeks and muttering about mud in her lashes.
“You’re not alone,” Mirra says, and her voice is gentler now. “And if I have anything to do with it, you never will be again.” She detaches herself from Laia and turns to me.
“Soul Catcher. Can you call your master?”
“Call?” I say. “Mauth?” I should stop using single syllables. The mother of the woman I love probably thinks I’m dim.
“Yes.” Mirra speaks slowly. “The jinn queen mentioned a certain vow you made to Mauth.”
“You knew Rehmat?” Laia says.
“A moment, cricket.” Mirra holds up a hand, gaze fixed on me. “Rehmat told me of the vow. Something about serving Mauth for all eternity. I’d like to speak with him about it. Call him.”
Mauth? I reach out with my mind, and when there is no answer, I shake my head. Mirra snarls with such force that Laia, the Shrike, and I all flinch.
“Don’t you ignore me, you pretentious brute,” Mirra says to the forest. “I’ve walked the edge of your realm more times that I can count. I’ve stared into the Sea. You told the boy he will not be free of his vow until a human takes his place. Well, here I am. Ready to take over. And you don’t even have to bring me back to life.”
A long silence, and then Mauth’s ancient rumble. Do you know what it is you ask for, Lioness?
Laia looks between Mirra and me, for she cannot hear Mauth. But before I can explain, Mirra answers.
“A few months of training from my future son-in-law—” She shoves me in the chest, and I nearly choke. Laia’s cheeks turn red, and the Blood Shrike smiles for the first time in an age.
“The occasional argument with our fiery friends down in the Sher Jinnaat. A lot of excellent Tribal food, since I’ll be their Bani al-Mauth. And an eternity in this forest, passing on ghosts to the other side.”
“Wait,” Laia says frantically. “Just a moment. You cannot—”
“You want me in the world of the living instead?” Mirra asks. “Weighing it down with my hate? I killed Keris Veturia. Slid a dagger through her throat and watched her die. But all I dream about is raising her from the dead so I can do it again.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “I am haunted, girl. By your f-f-father’s eyes. Your sis-sister’s voice. Dar—dar—” The Lioness shudders. “Your b-brother’s laugh,” she finally says. “I do not belong among the living. To be a Soul Catcher is to feel remorse, the jinn queen said. I am made of it. Let me go. Let me do some good.”
Lioness. Mauth speaks before Laia can. Will you, like the Banu al-Mauth, seek to hold to who you were? Or will you release your past, so that you might pass the ghosts more easily?
“Just free the boy, Mauth. I’ll do whatever you bleeding want.” Mirra considers. “Except forget her.” She nods to Laia.
You are her mother, Lioness. No power in the universe could wrest her from your heart. She is of you. Very well. Mirra of Serra, kinslayer and Lioness, hear me. To serve the Waiting Place is to light the way for the weak, the weary, the fallen, and the forgotten in the darkness that follows death. You will be bound to me until another is worthy enough to release you. Do you submit?
I notice that he does not threaten to punish Mirra for leaving the forest. Nor does he call her the ruler of the Waiting Place, as he did me.
Perhaps she won’t be bound for an eternity after all.
“I submit,” Mirra says.
Her vow is unlike mine, for Mauth does not need to bring her back to life. Still, her body goes rigid, and I know what she feels—the power of Mauth passing into her as he gives her a touch of magic that he can never take away.
A moment later, the Lioness shakes herself and turns to me.
“Right, then,” she says. “You best start telling me what I need to know. And since you won’t be Soul Catcher for much longer, don’t mind me if call you Elias.”
“The Mother watches over them all,” I say. Cain and his bleeding prophecy. “I thought the Augur was talking about the Commandant. But it was you. You’re the Mother.”
“That I am, Elias.” The Lioness takes her daughter’s fingers in one hand and mine in the other. “That I am.”
LXIX: The Blood Shrike
Duty first, unto death. I learned those words at the age of six from my father, on the night the Augurs took me to Blackcliff.
Duty can be a burden, my daughter. My father knelt before me, his hands on my shoulders. He brushed his thumbs against my eyes, so the Augurs would not see my tears. Or it can be an ally. It is your choice.
After the battle in the Waiting Place, duty carries me through the negotiations with Keris’s generals and the surrender of what is left of her forces. It keeps me flinty-eyed when Elias thanks and dismisses his army of Tribespeople and efrits, and asks me to take mine from the forest.
Duty gives me a straight back when Musa, his own eyes red at the loss of Darin, finds me and takes me to a line of bodies to be buried in the jinn grove.
But when I look down at the still form of Avitas Harper, duty does not hold me up. It offers me no comfort.
My knees sink into the mud on which he lies, though I do not remember kneeling. His face is as serene in repose as it was in life. But there is no mistaking that he is dead. Even with a cloak pulled over the vicious gash delivered him by Keris, he is blood-spattered, cut and bruised in a dozen places.
I reach out my hand to touch Harper’s face, but pull it back at the last moment. Not long ago, he drove the chill from my bones, from my heart. But now he will feel cold, for Death has my love and all his warmth is gone from this world.
Damn you, I shout at him in my head. Damn you for not being faster. For not loving me less. For not being locked in some other battle so you didn’t have to risk yourself in mine.
I do not say those things. I look into his face and seek—I do not know. An answer. A reason for all that has happened. Some meaning.
But sometimes, there is no reason. Sometimes you kill and you hate killing but you are a soldier through and through so you keep killing. Your friends die. Your lovers die. And what you have at the end of your life is not the surety that you did it for some grand reason, but the hard knowledge that something was taken from you and you also gave it away. And you know you will carry that weight with you always. For it is a regret that only death can relieve.
I put my hand on Harper’s heart, and lift his to mine.
“You got there first, my love,” I whisper. “I envy you so. For how will I endure without you?”
I hear no answer to my question, only his eyes that will remain forever closed, the stillness of his body beneath my hand, and the rain falling cold upon us.
* * *
«««
It takes three days to get the army out of the forest—and another two and a half weeks to make our way across the rolling green hills of the Empire to the Estium garrison, tucked into a curve of the River Taius.
“Camp is set, Shrike.” Quin Veturius, impeccable as always, finds me in my tent in the middle of the encampment. “Do you wish to have quarters readied in the garrison?”
I wish to be left alone, but my tent is full. Laia arrived first, bringing with her a tin of mango jam she dug up from skies-know-where. She’s been spreading it on flatbread, with a soft white cheese on top, quietly handing it to whoever comes into the tent.
Musa is here too, gesturing with the flatbread while flirting with Afya Ara-Nur. The Tribeswoman is still pale from her injury, wincing even as she laughs. Mamie looks amused while Spiro Teluman watches with a dark glare. The smith shouldn’t worry. Musa’s heart is as shattered as mine.
“Blood Shrike?”
I bring my attention back to Quin, pulling him away from the others so they aren’t disturbed. “No need for quarters in the garrison,” I tell him. “Has everyone arrived?”
“We wait only on the Emperor,” Quin says. The old man is a bit paler than before, having barely survived a brutal fight with his daughter.
“I have something for you,” he tells me, fishing a silver object out of his cloak. He opens his hand to reveal a mask.
“Elias’s,” he says. “You gave it to me last year. It will join with you, I think. The way it never joined with my grandson.”
I reach out to touch the living metal, warm and pliant. What a comfort it would be to wear a mask again, to remind all who encounter me of what I am.
“I thank you, Quin.” I run a finger along the pale slashes that mark my cheeks. “But I’ve gotten used to the scars.”
He nods and pockets it, before taking in my mud-spattered armor, my scuffed boots. About the only part of me that’s neat is my hair, and only because Laia insisted on re-braiding it while I was eating.
“A bit of mud on my armor won’t hurt, Quin,” I say. “It will remind the Paters that we just won a battle.”
“Your call,” he says. “The Emperor is en route and will be here within the hour. We have a pavilion ready for you and him in the garrison’s training grounds. Keris’s generals are chained and waiting to swear fealty there. I’ve had the troops form up, as you requested.”
Laia and the others join me, and we make our way through the empty camp, toward the vast training grounds, wide enough to accommodate the army: three thousand Martials and Scholars, and another two thousand Tribespeople—some of whom will settle in Estium while the Empire helps rebuild the cities of the Tribal desert.
A viewing area overlooks the grounds, and I make for a black canopy slung over a dozen chairs. Only a few yards away, Keris’s allies kneel in a row, chained to rings in the earth.
The clatter of hooves breaks up the buzz of conversation. A column of Masks led by Dex enters the grounds, with a carriage following. When it rolls to a stop, Coralia and Mariana Farrar emerge, Zacharias held to Coralia’s shoulder. He is fast asleep. Tas pops out afterward, and when he sees Laia, he runs straight for her.
“You’re alive!” He nearly bowls her over with the force of his hug. “Rallius owes me and Dex ten marks. Rallius—” The boy runs back to the big Mask, who shifts uneasily under Laia’s flinty gaze.
I’m inclined to run to my nephew, but I merely quicken my step, meeting him at the pavilion. Mariana murmurs a greeting, while Coralia drops into a half curtsy.
“Hail, Blood Shrike,” she says. “He was in a bit of a mood when he fell asleep.”
“Likely he’s as excited as I am about sitting through this.” I kiss my nephew gently on the head, hoping he’ll sleep through what will no doubt be a great deal of gibbering and groveling from Keris’s former allies.
Coralia winces when Zacharias shifts, fearful he will wake. But to my surprise, Mamie steps forward and takes the child with firm hands. He opens his eyes, looks around, and scowls, his tiny nose red.
“He should not be in such thin clothing.” Mamie glowers at Coralia and Mariana, and holds a hand out to Laia. The Scholar offers her cloak without a moment’s hesitation. Mamie wraps Zacharias in it, offering him her brilliant smile. He stares at her as if she is the most fascinating person he’s ever seen. Then he smiles back.
“Do not worry for the child.” Mamie dismisses Coralia and Mariana with a wave. “I will make sure he does not disturb you.”
“Blood Shrike.” Musa settles into a seat behind me and looks to the other end of the grounds. “Your audience has arrived.”
I follow his gaze to the half a hundred Scholars in attendance—many familiar from Antium. Close by, hundreds of finely dressed men and women file into the viewing area. Paters and Maters from all over the Empire. Some are my allies, and some were Keris’s. There are as many Mercators and Plebeians as there are Illustrians. All told, they represent nearly five hundred of the Empire’s most powerful families.
Quin glances over and I nod approvingly. When those Paters and Maters witness Keris’s most stalwart allies on their knees, they will know to never challenge our emperor again.
The Tribal Zaldars appear soon after, and once they are seated, Quin steps out from the pavilion.
“Paters and Maters, Scholars and Tribespeople—I beg your attention.” Quin’s voice booms across the training field and up the terraced seats.
“Five centuries ago,” Quin says, “Taius was named Imperator Invictus for his prowess in battle. In time, he was named Emperor. Not because of his family. Not because he ruled by fear. And not because a group of white-haired mystics decided they knew what was best for the Empire. Taius was hail
ed Imperator Invictus because when our people suffered, he saved them. When they were divided, he united them.”
I frown at Quin and glance at the Scholars. “United them” is a rather inaccurate way of saying “decimated and enslaved our enemy.” This was not the speech he and I agreed upon.
“Like Taius, Helene Aquilla fought for our people—”
I start. Quin did not call me Blood Shrike. Instantly, I understand his intention.
“Quin,” I hiss.
But the old man thunders on. “Helene Aquilla could have left Antium to suffer the yoke of Karkaun rulership,” he says. “Instead, she rallied her troops and liberated the city. Helene Aquilla could have fallen to despair when her sister, the Empress Regent, was killed. Instead, she called up her army to seek revenge on the greatest traitor the Empire has ever known—Keris Veturia. Helene Aquilla could have stolen back the Empire for her nephew. Instead, she fought for all of the living—Scholars, Tribespeople, and Martials alike.”
“Gird your loins, Shrike.” Musa gives me a sidelong glance. “You’re about to get quite the promotion.”
“We have been torn asunder by civil war,” Quin goes on. “A fourth of our standing army lies dead. We betrayed and destroyed cities in our own protectorate. Our Empire stands on the brink of dissolution. We do not need a regent. We need an Imperator Invictus. We need an empress.”
He turns and points at me. “And there she stands.”
At that moment, the sun, drifting in and out of the clouds all morning, breaks through, washing the training ground and the river beyond in pale light.
“Witness!” Quin isn’t one to waste a moment of drama. “Witness how the skies crown her!”
The sun hits my braid and the crowd titters in awe. A part of me wishes Laia hadn’t re-braided it, for if my hair was a mess, perhaps this nonsense would end.
“Empress! Empress!” The chant begins with the Martial army. It spreads to the leaders of the Plebeian Gens. Then the Illustrians. The Mercators.
The Scholars remain silent. So do the Tribespeople.
