“Why are you asking, Soul Catcher? Do you know of it?” Laia says, and at his silence, she leans forward. “You’ve seen it too. Where?”

But the Soul Catcher shakes his head. “In dreams,” he murmurs.

“You must know something,” I say. “Or why ask us the question?”

He joins us before the fire, putting a good distance between himself and Laia. “The Augur spoke of it,” he finally says.

“Augur?” I say. The Augurs haven’t been seen since the jinn were released. “Cain? What did he say? Is he here in the Waiting Place? Has he been here all this time?”

“He’s dead,” the Soul Catcher says. “The Augurs are all dead. The Nightbringer killed them when he set the jinn free—all but Cain. He died a few days ago. I . . . was there.”

“Dead?” I cannot fathom it. The Augurs are immortal. As much as I loathe them, their power is staggering.

But if they are dead, what does it mean for Zacharias? The Augurs named Marcus the Foretold—the Greatest Emperor, scourge of our enemies, commander of a host most devastating. They legitimized his dynasty. Their support was vital.

“Why would the Nightbringer kill them?” I ask.

“Because of what Cain—and the Augurs—did to the jinn.”

At mine and Laia’s twin looks of confusion, the Soul Catcher considers us. Then he tells of Cain’s invasion and betrayal of Shaeva. Of the Nightbringer’s desperation to protect his kind. That part of the story is so familiar that I clench my fists in sympathy. I know what it is to fail my people.

When the tale is over, my questions flee my mind. All I can think of is what Cain said to me before Antium fell.

The Nightbringer is no monster, child, though he may do monstrous things. He is cloven by sorrow and thus locked in a righteous battle to amend a grievous wrong.

“So the Augurs were Scholars.” Laia sounds as numb as I feel. “The first time I met Cain he told me—but I did not understand. He said he was guilty. That all of the Augurs were guilty.”

“He knew he was going to die,” I say. “The time to atone for our sins approaches, he said. I remember because I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

“Jinn speak prophecy at death.” The Soul Catcher lifts his hands to the fire, and I find I’m surprised. I wouldn’t think he’d feel the cold.

“When the Augurs stole jinn powers, the theft backfired,” he says. “The Augurs were left in a state of living death. They could not sleep or rest or die. But they could see the future—far more clearly than the jinn ever could. In those visions, there was only one path to freedom.”

“Freedom for them,” Laia says. “What about the rest of us? He called you and me embers in the ashes, Soul Catcher. He said the Shrike was—”

“A torch against the night. If I dared to let myself burn.” Skies, I was naive. “Lies. For them, we were just a means to an end.”

“Perhaps,” the Soul Catcher says. “In any case, the Augur had a message for you. For both of you.”

Laia’s dark brows shoot up. “When were you planning on telling us?”

“I’m telling you now.” The Soul Catcher’s composure is grating and Laia’s nostrils flare.

“Before he died, Cain, too, spoke prophecy,” the Soul Catcher says. “It was never one. It was always three. The Blood Shrike is the first. Laia of Serra, the second. And the Soul Catcher is the last. The Mother watches over them all. If one fails, they all fail. If one dies, they all die. Go back to the beginning and there, find the truth. Strive even unto your own end, else all is lost.”

He speaks like a scribe reading off a page, like he isn’t delivering the last words of a creature that helped to cause untold destruction and death.

“That was all,” he says after a pause. “He died just after.”

“The first—the last—?” Laia shakes her head. “It makes no sense.”

“The Augurs are not known for their perspicuity,” the Soul Catcher says. “Before . . .” He shrugs. “I could never make sense of them.”

“Curse them,” Laia spits. “The jinn are murdering innocent people. The Nightbringer has a fleet headed for Sadh under Keris’s flag. The Tribal lands will fall unless they are stopped. We do not have time for Augur riddles. Though—” She considers. “He did get one thing right. I will strive to the end. I will not give up. Not until the Nightbringer is dead.”

“The troubles of the human world are not my concern,” the Soul Catcher says, and the finality of his words is chilling. “The Augur asked that I relay the message. He was dying, and I didn’t wish to deny his last request.”

He rises and makes for his bunk, carelessly stripping off his shirt as he goes. I’m silenced at the sight of him, at that stretch of golden skin, the planes of hard muscle, the ridges and runnels of scars across his wide shoulders, a mirror of my own.

If he was still Elias, I’d have thrown a pillow at his head for being so obvious about showing off his attributes. Now the sight just makes me sad.

Beside me, Laia plucks at the knots on her bedroll, then dashes her hand against her eyes. What can I say to her? It is torment to love someone hopelessly, with no chance of requital. There is no salve for it, no cure, no comfort.

I undo the knots and lie down with my back to her, so she can mourn in peace.

The fire dims and I try to sleep, but the jinns’ words scream through my head. You’ll see him dead and yourself upon the throne. If Zacharias dies, it will be because I did not protect him. I could not live with myself if I did not keep my baby nephew safe.

Without Marinn’s backing, the task will be difficult. Keris wants Zacharias and Livia dead. Grímarr lurks in Antium, tormenting my people and choking off my supplies. The Delphinium Paters lose faith. Our weaponry and soldiers are limited. Our food is running out. And the Commandant—she has all of those things. Along with a horde of jinn at her back.

My gaze falls on Harper. Other than Laia, everyone is asleep. No one would see if I let myself look at him. If I considered his beauty and his strength. But I make myself look away.

You are all that holds back the darkness. I draw on my father’s words, spoken just before he died. Those are the words I will live by. The words I will chant to myself.

I will find allies. I will protect my family. I will buy, borrow, or steal weaponry. I will recruit soldiers.

I will see my nephew on the throne. Even unto my own end.

XIII: Laia

The fire in the cabin burns low, and the Blood Shrike eventually falls into slumber, but I cannot sleep. A thousand worries march through my head, and finally I slip outside so my tossing and turning do not wake everyone up.

The night is freezing, the sky aglow with the spill of the galaxy. A comet streaks across the empyrean and fades into the dark, and I remember a night like this a year ago, when I stood outside a different cabin with Elias, just before he finally kissed me.

We laughed together that night, and on many nights after. Mauth gave Elias a splitting headache every time we kissed, but we’d steal a few hours, sometimes.

Once while Darin was recovering from Kauf, Elias and I hiked to a waterfall a few miles from the cabin. He was supposed to teach me to swim, but we learned other things about each other that day.

And after the requisite jokes about Mauth wanting to keep Elias chaste, we stuffed ourselves with cold pears and cheese and skipped stones on the water. We spoke of all the places we wanted to see. We fell asleep in the sun, fingers intertwined.

Part of me wants to sink into that memory. But most of me just wants to leave.

Every moment in the Soul Catcher’s cabin has been torture. Every second of staring at that dead-eyed thing in the body of the boy I loved makes me want to burn the place down. Shake those big shoulders. Kiss him. Hit him. I want to make him angry or sad. Make him feel something.

But none of it would matter. Elias Veturius is gone. Only the Soul Catcher remains. And I do not love the Soul Catcher.

“Laia?”

Tas pads out of the cabin, shivering in a thin nightshirt, and I drape my cloak around him. We stare out at the treetops of the Forest of Dusk, mist-cloaked and purple this deep in the night.

The Nightbringer is somewhere beyond the borders of this place, raising hell with his jinn. Keris is out there with her army. To the west, Grímarr and the Karkauns torment the people of Antium.

So much evil. So many monsters.

Tas snuggles deep into the cloak. “This is new,” he says. “Warmer. But I liked the one you used to wear. It reminded me of Elias.” Tas looks up when I do not respond.

“You’ve given up on him,” he says.

“I’ve given up on the idea that there will be an easy answer to any of this,” I say.

“Why?” Tas asks. “You didn’t see what they did to him in Kauf. What the Warden did. They tried to break him. But he wouldn’t break, Laia. He never gave up. Not on Darin. Not on me. And not on you. Elias fought. And he’s still in there somewhere, trying to escape.”

I hoped that was the case, once. No longer. We are, all of us, just visitors in each other’s lives.