Page 45 of A ?Sky Beyond the Storm

The ghost shudders. She holds too tightly to her suffering. I let my magic curl around her like smoke and try to ease her pain from her. But she will not let it go.

“It was vast. And hungry. It wanted to devour me.”

“When did you see this?” If she did get a glimpse of the storm, she will be the first ghost to mention it other than Karinna. My neck prickles. “Where?”

“When the Nightbringer came for me. He lifted his scythe. OurKehannisaid if you look into a jinn’s eyes, you see your future, so I tried not to look. But I couldn’t help it. Is that what will happen to me when I cross over? I will be devoured?”

“No,” I say. “It’s not.” But I do not speak with conviction. Before, I knew in my bones that the ghosts were moving on to something better. Now I am not so sure.

“Something took the other spirits,” the ghost says. “But I escaped. I don’t know where they went. I don’t know why.”

“You don’t have to worry about that anymore.” I force myself to believeit, for if I do not, how will she? “The other side waits for you, and with it, peace.”

She goes, finally, and when the next ghost appears, it, too, is from the invasion of Sadh. “I don’t want to go,” it screams. “Please—it’s waiting for me. It will devour me!”

For the next three days, every ghost who passes through speaks of the maelstrom. I expect more spirits, for it is clear Keris Veturia takes no prisoners. But then, Tribal ghosts have always been rare in the Waiting Place. TheirFakirsusually pass them on without any intervention from the Soul Catcher.

Those ghosts who do enter the wood grow progressively more difficult to handle. Day after day I hear the same story. I hold and painstakingly extract the same terror. A sinking feeling creeps over me—that I am doing something terribly unjust by passing the spirits.

Then, after passing a boy who is far younger than the Nightbringer’s usual victims, I go to swim in the River Dusk, to cleanse my mind of worries.

And I find that the rot has spread.

It smells worse than before, like the aftermath of a battle. The trunks of dozens of trees are crumbly with decay. The earth is raw and smoking, as if scorched, and dead fish lay stinking along the river’s banks. I taste the river water and spit it out almost in that same instant. It savors strongly of death.

Laia was right. Something is deeply wrong with the Waiting Place. And I can ignore it no longer.

XIX:The Blood Shrike

We try to keep word of the massacre in the kitchens from leaking out. But it’s impossible. Within a week, the news is all over Delphinium.

“If she can get to the kitchens, she can get to anyone.” Pater Cassius paces the throne room. Sleet hammers the roof, and though it’s early afternoon, the storm clouds are so thick it looks as if night has fallen. We’ll have snow by morning. I can smell it.

A dozen men nod or grunt in agreement with Cassius—nearly half of our advisory council. Musa and Darin, here to represent the Scholars, exchange a glance.

“She hasn’t yet gotten to the Emperor.” Livia straightens upon the ornate seat that serves as a throne. “Not even close.”

“Because she’s distracted by her campaign in the Tribal lands,” Cassius says. “We must consider a truce. Ask for clemency—”

“There will be no clemency from the Commandant,” I say. “I trained with her for fourteen years. She doesn’t understand mercy. If we give in, we die.”

“Do you not remember what she did to Antium?” Darin, quiet until now, stares down Cassius. “Thousands of your people were slaughtered. Thousands of mine too.”

“Silence, Scholar! You think because that fool Spiro Teluman trained you—”

“Do not invoke his name.” The steel in Darin’s voice reminds me of his mother. “Spiro Teluman was ten times the man you are. As for silence—we are done being silent. Without us, you can’t hope to ever take the Empire back from Keris. You need the Scholars, Pater. Keep that in mind.”

Cyrus Laurentius, a diplomat like my father, steps in. “Keris betrayed Antium to the Karkauns. She is the real enemy, Cassius. Skies only know what our people are suffering.”

“And what have we done to help them?” Pater Cassius glares at me.

His censure rings in my head as the argument rages. I circle the room, ignoring the Paters.And what have we done to help them?

Zacharias must take the throne. But he is a child with no power, and there is nothing any Martial respects more than power. Keris wields hers like a blade. It is why she insisted she be hailed as Imperator Invictus, instead of merely as Empress. It is why she is fixated on conquering and plundering the Tribal lands.

We need a victory just as resounding. One that will send a message of strength not only to the Paters of the Empire but to our people.

“Blood Shrike,” Harper murmurs from my shoulder. “What are you thinking?”

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