Page 90 of A ?Sky Beyond the Storm

“Soldiers rarely enter the Waiting Place,” I tell her. “Especially Martial soldiers. Perhaps because they go to battle prepared for death. In any case, it is suffering the Nightbringer wants. Agony. We won’t give it to him.”

“What do you propose?” Shan asks.

“We fight.” My hands fist and my battle rage stirs, restless in my blood. “We attack in small groups, insurgency style. We aim for their food stores, their livestock, and supplies. We empty out the villages in their path. If Keris’s men are going to walk lands that do not belong to them, we canmake that walk as difficult as possible. And we can do it without creating a glut of new ghosts for the Nightbringer to thieve.”

“Why not empty our cities?” Afya says. “Scatter into the desert and the Serran Range? The Nightbringer wants death, no? We could simply deny him that by hiding.”

“How long will you hide for?” Mamie says. “Keris Veturia will not give up. It might take longer, but she will hunt us down. And not just to kill us.”

Now Shan speaks up. “Her Empire has need of slaves. She killed too many during the Scholar purges.”

“We have a treaty with them—” a voice calls out, but Mamie snorts.

“Keris sold her own city to the Karkauns,” she says. “Do you think treaties mean anything to her?”

“We should fight,” Gibran says. “If the cost of staying in the Tribal lands is too high for the Martials, they’ll leave. Keris has another enemy to the north. The Blood Shrike and her nephew.”

“Yes, but if Keris defeats her,” Afya says, “she’ll send her armies back for us. Then what? Do we keep fighting? Living in canyons and gulches? When will it end?”

The crowd shifts, small conversations and arguments breaking out and echoing off the canyon walls. I am losing them.

Then a dark-haired, gold-eyed figure steps from the crowd into the firelight. She wears an embroidered Tribal tunic that brushes her knees, and her hair is freshly braided.

Fate will always lead you back to her, for good or for ill.

“Laia.” Mamie Rila is by her side instantly. “You should be resting—” But Laia shakes her head, a new sadness rounding her shoulders.

“All this sorrow. This suffering.” Her gold eyes fix on me. “All of it isbecause of the Nightbringer. Afya asks when will it end. It will end when the king of the jinn is dead.”

The Tribes nod and mutter in agreement.

“Killing him is not simple,” she says. “It will require the theft of a weapon he carries, and powerful magic. Until we can get that weapon, we must find other ways to hinder him. Stripping him of his allies is one such way. Keris is his strongest ally. To that end, Elias’s plan is sound. And he knows the Martials. He knows how they think. With him, we have a chance at victory.”

The Tribespeople glance at each other when she uses my old name, though I spot Mamie hiding a smile. I consider correcting Laia, but she has them mesmerized, so I keep silent.

“The Martials crushed my people,” she says. “Keris would do the same to you. And her master, the Nightbringer, would inflict that indignity upon your dead. So do we stand with the Banu al-Mauth and fight them? Or do we roll over like cowed dogs and let them do what they want with us?”

“Tribe Saif will fight.” My foster brother stands, but he doesn’t look at me. “For our land and our dead.”

“Tribe Nur will fight,” Afya says after a nudge from her brother. “If the other Tribes join,” she adds.

“Tribe Nasur will fight.” A silver-hairedZaldarsteps forward. “And if the Banu al-Mauth’s plan works, we will continue fighting. If not...” He shrugs.

The sentiment spreads, and one by one, the Tribes agree to my plan. Laia turns to me, tilting her head as if to say,What next?

“We’ll meet in the morning,” I say. “To discuss the first attack.”

As the group breaks up, Laia approaches. She looks exhausted, covered in scratches and cuts, with a large bruise on the side of her face. I get an odd prickly feeling in my chest.

She puts her hand to it when she sees me looking. “It was a river,” she says. “So unless you strangle a force of nature, you cannot do much. Besides, you’re the one who left me stranded in the desert. If you want to be angry at someone, go find a mirror.”

“I am sorry. But—”

“No.” She puts a finger to my lips. “I am sorrywas the perfect place to stop.”

She stands close enough for me to see the myriad tiny scratches all over her face. I brush my fingers against one lightly.

“The river that did this to you,” I say. “I don’t like it.”

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