Page 126 of A ?Sky Beyond the Storm

But, I shake myself out of my doldrums, love is why I still live. Why, when I look at Elias, I do not see the Mask or the Soul Catcher, no matter how he wishes me to. Love is why the Blood Shrike agreed to march her army hundreds of miles to support us, instead of stealing the Commandant’s Empire out from under her.

Though love will not help me if I do not have the Nightbringer’s story. With the Waiting Place only a day away, we are out of time. I pull my horse aside to wait for Mamie Rila’s wagon. Shan drives it, and she sits beside him, eyes closed, muttering.

“Not yet, child,” she says when I draw up beside her, somehow sensing my presence.

“We do not have much time.”

When she opens her eyes, the whites are reddened, as if she has not slept in days. A depthless well of night beckons from her gaze, and I am dizzy suddenly, grasping the pommel of my mount so I do not fall. It is not until she looks away that I return to myself.

“Not yet.”

“It must be soon,” I tell her. “The moment we enter that forest, he will know. And he will come for us.”

Mamie observes the trees ahead, as if she has just noticed them.

“Come to me in the darkest hour of night,” she says. “When the stars sleep. Come and hear the Tale.” She emphasizes the last word as if it a singular entity, and closes her eyes again. “Though I do not know what good it will do you.”

«««

Rehmat wakes me from a deep sleep just after midnight. A fat half-moon tints the dead grass blue, and lights my way to Mamie’s wagon. Despite the fact that I can see the path clearly, my steps are heavy. I have begged Mamie for the story. But now that it is time to hear it, I do not know if I wish to.

On my way, I see Elias on watch, walking the perimeter of the camp. His whole body shifts as I approach, but not with that tension he had when I walked through the Waiting Place with him. This is different. He is not a wounded thing, avoiding my touch. Instead his tautness is that of an oud string, aching to be played.

“The Blood Shrike will be here by dawn.” He keeps his attention fixed on the rolling hills of the Empire. “It won’t take more than four days to get to the jinn grove.”

The woods appear gnarled and impassable, but Elias senses my skepticism. “The forest will open for us,” he says. “And the jinn grove will hold us.”

I shudder when I think of that place. Rehmat hates it the way I hated Kauf, for it is where her kin suffered. But I hate it because of what I learned there. What I saw and what I heard: my mother killing my father and sister to spare them torment at Keris’s hands. Mother’s song, and the sound of her crime. The soft crack of lives sundered, of her heart destroyed.

I still hear that sound in my nightmares. Often enough that I never forget. Often enough that it lurks at the back of my mind.

“Come back,” Elias says, and I emerge from my recollections and look down in surprise, for his hand is twined with mine.

“I’m with you, Laia,” he says. He spoke those words to me as we fled Blackcliff, what feels like eons ago.

“Are you?” I whisper, for though I wanted this, I am scared to trust it. Scared he will pull away again.

He tucks a curl back from my face. A simple gesture that sets me aflame. “I’m trying.”

The space between us is too great, so I step nearer. “Why?”

“Because—” His voice is low and we are close to—something. Skies know what, but I just want to get there. “Because you are—you are my—”

His head jerks up then, and he steps back, a rueful half smile on his face. “Ah—someone is waiting for you.”

I glance around and spot Mamie vanishing behind a nearby wagon. Internally, I curse.

“One day,” I tell Elias, “we won’t be interrupted. And I expect you to finish that sentence.”

When I reach Mamie’s wagon, I put thoughts of Elias aside. For it is not familiar, loving Mamie Rila waiting for me, but theKehanniof Tribe Saif. She wears eggplant-purple robes with bell sleeves and a severe neck. Theyare hand-embroidered in a dozen shades of green and silver, and edged in tiny mirrors. Her thick hair is unbound and curls magnificently about her shoulders, a midnight halo.

Without a word, she gestures for me to follow her. I look back at the camp, worried it will be visible from above, but the wind efrits have enticed a thick fog to hide it.

“Go,” Rehmat whispers. “They are safe.”

Mamie Rila and I make our way past the sentries and up a hill shrouded in mist. When we reach the top she bids me sit on the damp grass, and settles herself across from me. I cannot see the camp from here. I cannot see anything but Mamie.

“The Tale lives in me now, Laia of Serra,” she says. “It is unlike any that I have told. I am changed. But do not fear. For I will return.”

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