Page 110 of A ?Sky Beyond the Storm

“Don’t leave us,” I whisper to her, because I understand now that she’s too far gone. That I cannot heal this. “Livia, please don’t leave us alone.”

Her blue eyes drop from mine to her son’s. She smiles at him and touches his small fingers with her own. His cries fade into whimpers.

Then her hand goes slack, and my baby sister, my Livvy, closes her eyes and does not open them again.

XLV:Laia

I drift in and out of consciousness for days after stealing the scythe. By the time the Tribes take shelter in a canyon a hundred miles north of Nur, I am able to stay awake for longer stretches. But my recovery is slow. I am like a cat with no whiskers, unable to walk ten yards without lurching.

All I want is to remain in Mamie Rila’s wagon, nursing my aching head. Unfortunately for me, Rehmat is not one for brooding. A week after I face off with the Nightbringer, when Mamie leaves the wagon to prepare dinner, the jinn queen appears.

“You think you can simply cut the Nightbringer’s throat.” Rehmat hovers on the opposite end of the wagon, keeping her distance from the scythe—which has not left my side. “But he will be ready for that. You must surprise him. Outwit him. And for that, you need his story.”

“I believe you.” I curl into the knit blanket Mamie gave me. “I’m the one who wanted his story in the first place. But we have to fight a war, Rehmat. Can you at least tell me how his story will help us win?”

“War is like the sun. It burns away all the softness and leaves only the cracks. The Nightbringer has been at war for a long time. Learning his story will teach us his weaknesses. It will help us exploit the cracks.”

I hoped for something more specific. “You know his weaknesses,” I say, frustration taking hold. “But you won’t tell me what they are.”

“The magic will not allow—”

“But have you tried?” I ask. “Tell me something small about your life with him. Anything.”

“He and I—we—” Rehmat’s gold form flickers. “We were—” Her voicechokes off and she screams—a bloodcurdling sound. Her color fades so rapidly that I think she will disappear entirely.

“Stop!” I stand. “Forget it—”

The jinn queen is a pale shadow now, her vitality leached away by the magic that binds her. “I told you,” she whispers. “The blood magic will not allow me to speak of my life with him. You must ask theKehanni.”

A few minutes later, Mamie Rila spots me emerging from her wagon. She glares at me from where she is stirring a pot of squash stew and brandishes her spoon.

“Get back into bed, child. You’re still recovering—”

The fire makes her shadow massive on the canyon wall behind her. Shan looks up from the stone where he’s rolling out flatbread and grins.

“Says the woman who was driving our wagon the day after leaving a Martial interrogation.”

I wince as I sit on the earth beside Mamie, head throbbing, body shivering from the sound of Rehmat’s scream. The scythe is slung in a sheath across my back, unwieldy, but too precious to leave unattended.

All along the canyon, fires have sprung up. Their glow is cleverly hidden beneath overhangs and vented tarps. The scent of roasting leeks and buttered flatbread has my mouth watering.

“I thought you might want company,” I tell Mamie. “And I’m—a bit lonely.”

TheKehanni’s face softens, and she hands me the spoon so I can stir the stew as she sprinkles a pinch of cinnamon into it, followed by a handful of dried cilantro. The omnipresent desert wind whistles down the canyon, muting the quiet talk of thousands of people, and the fires spark and dance.Efrits walk beside Tribespeople. High above on the canyon’s rim, guards patrol.

“Mamie,” I begin. “I was wondering—”

Horses’ hooves sound behind me, and I turn to see Afya and her little brother, Gibran, dismounting near their own caravan.

“Anything?” I call out to theZaldara, but she shakes her head.

“Not so much as a forgotten shoe,” she says. “Rowan was with us for most of the trip.” She nods to the sand efrit, drifting to a group of his kin who have gathered on one side of the canyon. “He sensed no magic. They’re gone.”

Mamie ladles out a bowl of squash stew for me and another for Afya. When the latter protests, theKehannigives her a dark look, and she sits.

Gibran drops beside his sister, lured by the scent of stew as well as the fluffy stack of flatbread Shan has produced. “They might be headed for Taib,” he says. “Though by now, they should know it’s empty.”

“At least we have time to recover,” I say. “And to plan our next move.”

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