Page 132 of A ?Sky Beyond the Storm

It stretches for acres, flat as the Great Wastes, with only the occasional burned-out tree breaking the empty sweep. In the center, a great dead yew reaches its charred limbs to the sky, a chain hanging from the lowest branch.

“It feels haunted.” Laia shivers as we urge our reluctant horses out onto the field.

“It is haunted,” the Soul Catcher says. “But it’s big enough for the army. And”—he nods to a valley visible beyond the rim of the grove—“there lies Sher Jinnaat. The City of the Jinn. This is the best, most defensible place from which we can launch an attack.”

I dismount and walk toward the rim. It slopes sharply down a dozen feet.

“We can position our pikemen here.” The Soul Catcher comes up beside me, and we look over the valley. It is massive, hemmed in by the river to the east and south, and forest to the west. “Then archers and catapults.”

“It’s unlike Keris to attack from below,” I say. Despite the sun shining above me, the valley is cloaked in thick mist, similar to what seeped into ourcamp last night. “It’s unlike her to give us any advantage. Even if her forces outnumber ours.”

“She has jinn,” the Soul Catcher says. “They will bring fire to take out the pikemen and the trebuchets. It will be an ugly battle, Shrike. All we’re doing is buying time for Laia.”

“In all our years at Blackcliff,” I say, “I never imagined this was how you and I would draw swords. Fending off our old teacher while a Scholar hunted a jinn.”

“There is no one I’d rather have at my back, Blood Shrike,” he says, and there is a fierceness to his voice that makes my heart ache, that reminds me of all we have survived. “No one.”

Tents are erected, horses picketed, fires lit, and latrines dug. When it’s clear that everything is well in hand, I disentangle myself from the war preparations and make my way into the trees.

I head north, away from the Sher Jinnaat and the jinn grove. Spring has come to the wood, and the green of unending pines is broken by the pink-wreathed branches of the occasional Tala tree. An hour from the encampment, I reach a small stream. I sit. And then I sing.

It is a quiet song, for I do not want to draw the attention of creatures that will harm me. The song is one of healing. Of mothers and daughters. Of my own mother and her quiet love, which bathed me like the rays of the sun for as long as she lived.

A shiver of air against my neck. I am no longer alone.

Ever so slowly, I turn, and catch my breath. There she is, a wisp of a thing, just like the Soul Catcher said. She watches me and I do not speak.

“My lovey is close,” she whispers. “But I cannot reach her. Do you know how I can reach her?”

Elias’s warning echoes in my mind. “I do know your lovey,” I say. “But—she’s a bit—a bit different.”

“There is only one lovey.” Karinna sounds angry. “My lovey. My little one.”

“Tell me of her,” I say. “Tell me about your lovey.”

Karinna turns away from me, as if to leave, and I think of what the Soul Catcher said. To be patient. To offer her something to talk about.

“I just want to help you get to her,” I say. “My—my mother is gone.” My heart clenches in sorrow, an emotion that has chased me for far too long. An emotion I hate letting myself feel. “My sisters too,” I say. “My father. I know loss. I know pain.”

“Yes.” Karinna turns back, tilting her spectral head. “I feel it in you like I feel it in the other.”

“The other?” I reach for my scim, and the movement startles Karinna. She rears back, and I lift my hands, keeping my voice low. “What—what other? Who else have you been talking to?”

“A spirit.” Karinna flutters past me, and I think I feel her hands along my hair. “Haunted like you.”

She shifts behind me now, and I’m afraid to move, worried that when I look, she will be gone. But she returns, drifting in front of my face.

“Come, little broken bird,” she whispers. “Walk with me. I will take you to the other ghost. I will tell you of my lovey.”

LV:Laia

“Have you eaten yet?”

Darin finds me among the Tribespeople, where I am tending those still struggling with injuries from the wraith attack. Aubarit just joined me, her intrinsic understanding of the body making her an excellent partner. I look at my brother, dazed. I have not had time to eat. I have not had time for anything besides trying to help the wounded.

“She hasn’t. Nor have I.” Musa, his long hair pulled into a knot on top of his head, carries my supplies—mostly to irritate the pretty Martial, he’d chuckled to himself.

“Go on, both of you.” Aubarit takes my bag from Musa. “You’ve been at this for hours. Gibran can help me.” She glances from under her eyelashes at the handsome young Tribesman trailing Darin.

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