A Reaper at the Gates

  Darin cries a warning, but I stride forward into the clearing, caution overcome by rage. Elias's armored form is pinned against a tree, every muscle straining against invisible bonds. He thrashes, an animal in a trap, fists clenched as the whole of his body leans toward the center of the clearing.

  Shaeva kneels, black hair brushing the ground, skin waxy. Her face is unlined, but the devastation emanating from her feels ancient.

  The Nightbringer, cloaked in darkness, stands above her. The sickle blade in his shadow hand glows, as if made of poison-dipped diamonds. He holds it with light fingers, but his body tenses--he means to use it.

  A snarl erupts from my throat. I must do something. I must stop him. But I find I can no longer move. The magic that ensnares Elias has gripped Darin and me too.

  "Nightbringer," Shaeva whispers. "Forgive my wrong. I was young, I--"

  Her voice fades to a choke. The Nightbringer, silent, brushes his fingers across Shaeva's forehead like a father giving his benediction.

  Then he stabs her through the heart.

  Shaeva's body seizes once, her arms windmilling, her body jerking up, as if yearning toward the blade, and her mouth opens. I expect a shriek, a scream. Instead, words pour out.

  One piece remains, and beware the Reaper at the Gates!

  The sparrows will drown, and none will know it.

  The past shall burn, and none will slow it.

  The Dead will rise, and none can survive.

  The Child will be bathed in blood but alive.

  The Pearl will crack, the cold will enter.

  The Butcher will break, and none will hold her.

  The Ghost will fall, her flesh will wither.

  By the Grain Moon, the King will have his answer.

  By the Grain Moon, the forgotten will find their master.

  Shaeva's chin falls. Her lashes flutter like a butterfly's wings, and the blade embedded in her chest drips blood that is as red as mine. Her face goes slack.

  Then her body bursts into flame, a flash of blinding fire that fizzles into ashes after only seconds.

  "No!" Elias shouts, two streaks of wet on either side of his face.

  Do not make the Nightbringer angry, Elias, I want to scream. Do not get yourself killed.

  A cloud of cinders swirls about the Nightbringer--all that is left of Shaeva. He looks up for the first time at Elias, cocks his head, and advances, dripping sickle in hand.

  Distantly, I remember Elias telling me what he learned from the Soul Catcher: that the Star protects those who have touched it. The Nightbringer cannot kill Elias. But he can hurt him, and by the skies, I will not have anyone else I care about hurt.

  I hurl myself forward--and bounce back. The Nightbringer ignores me, comfortable in his power. You will not hurt Elias. You will not. Some feral darkness rises within me and takes control of my body. I felt it once before, months ago when I fought the Nightbringer outside Kauf Prison. An animal cry explodes from my lips. This time when I push ahead, I get through. Darin is a half step behind, and the Nightbringer flicks his wrist. My brother freezes. But the jinn's magic has no effect on me. I leap between the Nightbringer and Elias, dagger out.

  "Don't you dare touch him," I say.

  The Nightbringer's sun eyes flare as he looks first at me, then at Elias, reading what is between us. I think of how he betrayed me. Monster! How close is he to setting the jinn free? Shaeva's prophecy answered the question moments ago: one piece of the Star left. Does the Nightbringer know where it is? What did Shaeva's death gain him?

  But as he observes me, I remember the love that roiled within him, and the hate as well. I remember the vicious war waged between the two and the desolation left in their wake.

  The Nightbringer's shoulder ripples as if he is unsettled. Can he read my thoughts? He shifts his attention over my shoulder to Elias.

  "Elias Veturius." The jinn leans over me, and I cringe back, pressing against Elias's chest, caught between the two of them: my friend's pounding heart and despair at Shaeva's death, and the Nightbringer's eldritch wrath, fueled by a millennium of cruelty and suffering.

  The jinn doesn't bother looking at me before he speaks. "She tasted sweet, boy," he says. "Like dew and a clear dawn."

  Behind me, Elias stills and takes a steadying breath. He meets the Nightbringer's fiery stare, his face paling in shock at what he sees there. Then he growls, a sound that seems to rise out of the very earth. Shadows twist up like vines of ink beneath his skin. Every muscle in his shoulders, his chest, his arms strains until he is tearing free of his invisible bonds. He raises his hands, a shock wave bursting from his skin, knocking me on my back.

  The Nightbringer sways before righting himself. "Ah," he observes. "The pup has a bite. All the better." I cannot see his face within that hood. But I hear the smile in his voice. He rises up as wind floods the clearing. "There is no joy in destroying a weak foe."

  He turns his attention east, toward something far out of sight. Whispers hiss on the air, as if he's communicating with someone. Then the wind snatches at him and, as in the forest outside Kauf, he disappears. But this time, instead of silence to mark his passing, the ghosts who fled to the borders of the Waiting Place pour into the clearing, swarming me.

  You, Laia, this is because of you!

  Shaeva is dead--

  Elias is condemned--

  The jinn a breath from victory--

  Because of me.

  There are so many. The truth of their words breaks over me like a net of chains. I try to stand against it, but I cannot, for the spirits do not lie.

  One piece remains. The Nightbringer must find only one more piece of the Star before he is able to free his kin. He is close now. Close enough that I can no longer deny it. Close enough that I must act.

  The ghosts tornado around me, so angry I fear they will tear off my skin. But Elias cuts through them and lifts me to my feet.

  Darin is beside me, grabbing my pack from where it has fallen, glaring at the ghosts as they ease back into the trees, barely restrained.

  Before I even say the words, my brother nods. He heard what Shaeva said. He knows what we must do.

  "We're going to Adisa." I say it anyway. "To stop him. To finish this."

  IX: Elias

  The full burden of the Waiting Place descends like a boulder dropping onto my back. The Forest is part of me, and I can feel the borders, the ghosts, the trees. It's as if a living map of the place has been imprinted on my mind.

  Shaeva's absence is at the heart of that burden. I gaze at the fallen basket of herbs that she'll never add to the korma that she'll never eat in the house she'll never step foot in again.

  "Elias--the ghosts--" Laia draws close. The usually mournful spirits have transformed into violent shades. I need Mauth's magic to silence them. I need to bond with him, the way Shaeva wanted me to.

  But when I grasp at Mauth with my will, I feel only a trace of the magic before it fades.

  "Elias?" Despite the shrieking ghosts, Laia takes my hand, her lips drawn down in concern. "I'm so sorry about Shaeva. Is she really--"

  I nod. She's gone.

  "It was so fast." Somehow, I am comforted by the fact that someone is as stunned as I am. "Are you--will you be--" She shakes her head. "Of course you're not all right--skies, how could you be?"

  A groan from Darin pulls our attention away from each other. The ghosts circle him, darting close and whispering skies know what. Bleeding hells. I need to get Laia and Darin out of here.

  "If you want to get to Adisa," I say, "the fastest way is through the Forest. You'll lose months going around."

  "Right." Laia pauses and furrows her brow. "But, Elias--"

  If we speak more of Shaeva, I think something inside me will break. She was here, and now she's gone, and nothing can change that. The permanence of death will always feel like a betrayal. But raging against it when my friends are in danger is the act of a fool. I must move. I must make sure Shaeva didn't die for nothing.

>   Laia is still speaking when I take Darin's hand and begin to windwalk. She goes quiet as the Forest fades past us. She squeezes my hand, and I know that she understands my silence.

  I cannot travel with Shaeva's swiftness, but we reach one of the bridges over the River Dusk after only a quarter hour, and seconds later, we're beyond it. I angle northeast, and as we move through the trees, Laia peeks at me from beneath the wing of hair that has fallen over her eye. I want to speak to her. Damn the Nightbringer, I want to say. I don't care what he said. I only care that you are all right.

  "We'll be there soon," I begin, before another voice speaks, a hateful chorus that is instantly recognizable.

  You will fail, usurper.

  The jinn. But their grove is miles away. How are they projecting their voices this far?

  Filth. Your world will fall. Our king has already thwarted you. This is just the beginning.

  "Piss off," I snarl. I think of the whispers I heard just before the Nightbringer disappeared. He was giving these fiery monsters orders, no doubt. The jinn laugh.

  Our kind are powerful, mortal. You cannot replace a jinn. You cannot hope to succeed as Soul Catcher.

  I ignore them, hoping they'll shut the hells up. Did they ever do this to Shaeva? Were they always bellowing in her head, and she just never told me?

  My chest aches when I think of the Soul Catcher--and of so many others. Tristas. Demetrius. Leander. The Blood Shrike. My grandfather. Are all those who get close to me fated to suffer?

  Darin shivers, gritting his teeth against the onslaught of the ghosts. Laia's skin is gray, though she walks on without a word of complaint.

  In the end, they will fade. You will endure. Love cannot live here.

  Laia's hand is cool and small in mine. Her pulse flutters against my fingers, a tenuous reminder of her mortality. Even if she survives to be an old woman, her years are nothing against the life of a Soul Catcher. She will die and I will abide, becoming less and less human as time passes.

  "There." Laia points ahead. The trees thin, and through them I spot the cottage where Darin recovered from his injuries at Kauf, months ago now.

  When we reach the tree line, I release the siblings. Darin grabs me and pulls me into a rough hug. "I don't know how to thank you--" he begins, but I stop him.

  "Stay alive," I say. "That'll be thanks enough. I'll have enough problems here without your ghost showing up." Darin offers a flash of a smile before glancing at his sister and prudently heading for the cottage.

  Laia twists her hands together, not looking at me. Her hair has come free from its braid as it always does, in fat, unruly curls. I reach for one, unable to help myself.

  "I . . . have something for you." I rummage around in a pocket and pull out a piece of wood. It is unfinished, the carvings on it rough. "You reach for your old armlet sometimes." I feel ridiculous all of a sudden. Why would I give her this hideous thing? It looks like a six-year-old made it. "It's not finished. But . . . ah . . . I thought--"

  "It's perfect." Her fingers brush mine as she takes it. That touch. Ten hells. I steady my breath and crush the desire that thrums in my veins. She slides the armlet on, and seeing her in that familiar pose, one hand resting on the cuff--it feels right. "Thank you."

  "Watch your back in Adisa." I turn to practicalities. They are easier to speak of than this feeling in my chest, like my heart is being carved out of me and lit on fire. "The Mariners will know your face, and if they know what Darin can do--"

  I catch her smile and realize that, like a fool, I'm telling her things she already knows.

  "I thought we would have more time," she says. "I thought we'd find a way out for you. That Shaeva would release you from your vow or . . ."

  She looks like I feel: broken. I need to let her go. Fight the Nightbringer, I should say. Win. Find joy. Remember me. For why should she come back here? Her future is in the world of the living.

  Say it, Elias, my logic screams. Make it easier for both of you. Don't be pathetic.

  "Laia, you should--"

  "I don't want to let you go. Not yet." She traces my jaw with a light hand, her fingers lingering on my mouth. She wants me--I can see it, feel it--and it makes me desire her even more desperately. "Not so soon."

  "Neither do I." I pull her into my arms, reveling in the warmth of her body against mine, the curve of her hip beneath my hand. She tucks her head beneath my chin and I breathe her in.

  Mauth tugs at me, harsh and sudden. Against my will, I sway back toward the Forest.

  No. No. Ghosts be damned. Mauth be damned. Waiting Place be damned.

  I grab her hand and pull her toward me, and as if she was waiting for it, she closes her eyes and rises up on her toes. Her hands tangle in my hair, drawing me tightly toward her. Her lips are soft and lush, and when she presses every curve into me, I nearly lose my feet. I hear nothing but Laia, see nothing but Laia, feel nothing but Laia.

  My mind races forward to me laying her down on the Forest floor, spending hours exploring every inch of her body. For a moment I see what we could have had: Laia and her books and patients, and me and a school that taught more than death and duty. A little one with gold eyes and glowing brown skin. The white in Laia's hair one day, and the way her eyes will mellow and deepen and grow wiser.

  "You are cruel, Elias," she whispers against my mouth. "To give a girl all she desires only to tear it away."

  "This isn't the end for us, Laia of Serra." I cannot give up what we could have. I don't care what bleeding vow I made. "Do you hear me? This is not our end."

  "You've never been a liar." She dashes her hands against the wetness in her eyes. "Don't start now."

  Her back is straight as she walks away, and when she reaches the cottage, Darin, waiting outside, rises. She goes past him quickly, and he follows.

  I watch her until she is just a shadow on the horizon. Turn around, I think. Just once. Turn around.

  She doesn't. And perhaps it's just as well.

  X: The Blood Shrike

  I spend the rest of the day in the Black Guard barracks, reading through spy reports. Most are mundane: a prisoner transfer that could guarantee the loyalty of a Mercator house; an investigation into the death of two Illustrian Paters.

  I pay closest attention to the reports out of Tiborum. With the approach of spring, the Karkaun clans are expected to come pouring out of the mountains, raiding and reaving.

  But my spies say the Karkauns are quiet. Perhaps their leader, this Grimarr, committed too many forces to the attack on Navium. Perhaps Tiborum is uncommonly lucky.

  Or perhaps those blue-faced bastards are up to something.

  I request reports from all the northern garrisons. By the time the midnight bells ring, I am exhausted and my desk is only half-clear. But I stop anyway, forgoing a meal despite the rumbling in my belly, and pulling on my boots and a cloak. Sleep will not come. Not when the crack of Livia's bones still rings through my head. Not when I'm wondering what ambush the Commandant will have waiting for me in Navium.

  The hallway outside my quarters is silent and dark. Most of the Black Guard should be asleep, but there's always at least a half dozen men on watch. I don't want to be followed--I suspect the Commandant has spies among my men. I head for the armory, where a hidden passage leads into the heart of the city.

  "Shrike." The whisper is soft, but I jump anyway, cursing at the sight of the green eyes shining like a cat's from across the hall.

  "Avitas," I hiss. "Why are you lurking out here?"

  "Don't take the armory tunnel," he says. "Pater Sissellius has a man watching the route. I'll have him taken care of, but there wasn't time tonight."

  "Are you spying on me?"

  "You're predictable, Shrike. Any time Marcus hurts her, you take a walk. Captain Dex reminded me that it's against regulations for the Shrike to be unaccompanied, so here I am."

  I know Harper is simply carrying out his duties. I have been irresponsible, wandering the city at night without any guar
ds. Still, I'm vexed. Harper serenely ignores my discontent and nods to the laundry closet. There must be another passageway there.

  Once we're inside the narrow space, my armor clanks against his, and I grimace, hoping no one hears us. Skies know what they would say at finding us pressed together in a dark closet.

  My face heats thinking of it. Thank the skies for my mask. "Where's the bleeding entrance?"

  "It's just--" He reaches around me and up, rummaging through uniforms. I lean back, catching a V-shaped glimpse of the smooth brown skin at his throat. His scent is light--barely there--but warm, like cinnamon and cedar. I take a deeper sniff, glancing up at him as I do.

  To find him staring at me, eyebrows raised.

  "You smell . . . not unpleasant," I say stiffly. "I was simply noticing."

  "Of course, Shrike." His mouth quirks a little. Is that a bleeding smile?

  "Shall we?" As if sensing my annoyance, Harper pushes open a section of the closet behind me and moves through quickly. We do not speak again as we wend our way through the secret passageways of the Black Guard barracks and out into the chill spring night.

  Harper drops back when we are aboveground, and I soon forget he is near. Hood pulled low, I ghost through Antium's lower level, through the crowded Scholar sector, past inns and bustling taprooms, barracks and Plebeian-heavy neighborhoods. The guards at the upper gate do not see me as I pass into the city's second tier--a trick I play to keep my edge.

  I find myself toying with my father's ring as I walk, the ring of Gens Aquilla. Sometimes, when I look at it, I still see the blood that coated it, the blood that spattered my face and armor when Marcus cut Father's throat.

  Don't think about that. I spin it round, trying to take comfort from its presence. Give me the wisdom of all the Aquillas, I find myself thinking. Help me defeat my foe.

  I soon reach my destination, a wooded park outside the Hall of Records. At this hour, I expected the hall to be dark, but a dozen lamps are lit, and the archivists are still hard at work. The long, pillared building is spectacular for its size and simplicity, but I take comfort from it because of what is within: records of lineages, births, deaths, dispatches, treaties, trade agreements, and laws.