Laia’s steady stare captures me, and I am lost, hypnotized by the dark passion that blooms there as she loses herself to the movement of our bodies, to that ancient alchemy melding the agony of desire with the ecstasy of its fulfillment.

I do not look away as she cries my name, as her fingers tighten on my fists, as her body arches into me, as we move toward the same place, that ineffable crossroads of pain and pleasure, together as one at last.

* * *

???

Hours later, as we lie on our backs, both drawing in draughts of air like water, she rises up on her elbows and looks at me sternly. “We have to win,” she says.

“Why?”

“Because this cannot be the only night we spend together.” Her fingers are light as she traces lines on my skin, but her voice is fierce. “I want a life with you. Adventures. Meals. Late nights in front of fires. A thousand rainy walks. You talking me out of my clothing in inappropriate places. I want ch—” She stops, sadness in her eyes, though she hides it quickly. But I know what she was going to say. Because I want children too, perhaps not now, but one day. “I want more,” she says.

I smile, but it fades quickly when I remember that she wishes to destroy the jinn. That I do not. And that if, by some miracle, the Nightbringer is defeated and the jinn are restored to their place as Soul Catchers, there is still no future for us. You are sworn to me until another human—not jinn—is seen fit to replace you.

“What is it?” She folds her arms across my chest and rests her chin there, so I can only see her eyes. “What is eating at you?”

We can never have a life, she and I. No adventures. No meals. No late nights. No rainy walks. No talking her out of her clothing in inappropriate places.

No children.

This night is all we get. As soon as Mauth is restored to his full power, he will pull me back. And Laia will fade away once more.

Even as I search for the words to answer her question, the light changes. The night flees as the cabin, warm and gold-brown only moments ago, now fades to blue.

Far to the south of us, the army will be waking, the soldiers readying themselves. Beyond, near the river, the Nightbringer prepares to unleash an apocalypse upon us all.

I pull Laia to me and kiss her once more, putting all of my love and hope and desire into that kiss. Everything I wanted to give her in a lifetime together.

She senses what I’m doing, and I taste salt on my lips.

“Elias—” she whispers. “Don’t—”

But I shake my head. “Soul Catcher,” I say. “It’s Soul Catcher.”

She nods and straightens her shoulders. “Of course,” she says. “We should go.”

We find our clothing, dry now from a night beside the fire, and don it silently, sliding on boots and weapons and armor. When Laia pulls on the scythe, she sighs, as if weighed down. She walks out the door first, waiting for me in the clearing, her back turned.

I close the cabin door firmly, taking a breath as I am hit with a premonition as strong as any Augur’s, that she and I will never return here together again.

LVII: The Blood Shrike

As I emerge from the forest, forever altered, I do not think of the words I heard. I do not think of what I saw. I cannot risk a jinn—any jinn—picking the thoughts from my mind.

Instead, I think of Avitas Harper. His calm, his warmth, the way he looks at me like I am the only thing in the world that matters.

It is deep night when I return, and the army camp is quiet. I find him pacing outside my tent, brow furrowing when he sees me.

“I know,” I say, for I have his You cannot wander off, you are the Blood Shrike speech memorized. “But I had to attend to something alone.”

“Tell me—”

“I cannot.” I dismiss the guards near the front of my tent. “All things depend on my silence.”

“Blood Shrike—”

“Helene,” I whisper to him. “Tonight, call me Helene.”

He observes me for a moment before flashing that half smile that drives me mad. Then he pulls me into the tent, his hands in my hair, his lips on mine before the flap has even closed. I drag him toward my cot, and we topple onto it silently, frantic for each other, not even bothering to fully undress until after we’ve sated our desire.

Later, in the wee hours of the night, I wake, a chill running through my body.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, arm flung over my hips, still half-asleep.

“Nothing,” I say. “Go back to sleep.”

“You should too.”

“I will.” I kiss him and let myself look at his dark lashes, his scim-sharp cheekbones, the way his skin ripples as he sits up.

“Harper,” I say hesitantly. “Avitas . . .”

“Mmm?”

I love you. Such simple words. But they are not enough. They don’t convey what I mean.

“Emifal Firdaant,” I say to him.

“You’ve said that before.” He runs his fingers through my hair. “What does it mean?”

I cannot quite look at him when I say it. “May death claim me first.”

“Ah, no, my love.” He gathers me close. “You cannot go first. I could not make sense of the world if you did.”

With that, he closes his eyes, but I cannot sleep. I stare up at the peak of the tent and listen to the rain drum down on the canvas. Emifal Firdaant, I beg the skies. Emifal Firdaant.

LVIII: Laia

The moment Elias and I arrive back at the camp, the Blood Shrike pounces.

“There’s an issue with the catapults, Soul Catcher.” She wears Spiro’s battle armor, her hair tight against her head in its impeccable braid. “Where the hells have you—”

She looks between us, and her pale eyebrows arch up, then furrow as she takes in the devastation in my eyes, the cold detachment in his.

Musa appears at my elbow. Though he must know I disappeared in the night, he says nothing. His wights shift around him, an antsy cloud.

“I told them to leave,” he says, noticing me watching them. “They fear the jinn. But they refused.” He nods to the center of the camp. “Darin is looking for you, aapan. He and Spiro are near Mamie Rila’s wagon.”

I give the Scholar a grateful nod and hurry away to find my brother and the smith, the former of whom holds a sack and the latter a scim.

“A gift for you, Laia.” Darin holds up the bag. “To go with that scythe of yours. Can’t have my little sister and the savior of us all running around in mismatched armor.”

“As if there wasn’t enough pressure,” I say, only half-joking.

The armor is light and flexible, but there’s another feeling to it too, one that I cannot name.

“It’s shadow-forged,” Spiro says. “I learned it from the Augurs. It will help you blend into your surroundings, make you harder to spot. And it will protect you from jinn fire.”

He buckles a belt around my waist, a short scim and dagger attached. Darin hooks my bow to my back, over my scythe, and they both smile as they take me in, like two proud big brothers.

A Tribal horn sounds a warning. The enemy is near. I take a deep, bracing breath as a group of Martials in formation jogs past, toward the edge of the escarpment. A cart filled with giant blocks of salt rumbles by. Elias’s voice echoes across the camp, cool and calm, ordering troops into position.

Everyone around me moves, but I am rooted to the dead earth. What if I fail? This is not a fair fight. The Commandant has more than thirty thousand men. We have less than a third of that. She has wraiths and jinn and a horde of Masks. We have a few dozen Masks and efrits that can be weakened with song or steel or fire.

Keris has the Nightbringer.

We have me.

Darin’s hand closes on my shoulder. He knows the racket in my head—of course he does.

“Listen to me.” He gazes at me with our mother’s eyes, the eyes of someone who believes in you so deeply that you have no choice but to believe in yourself. “You are the strongest person here. The strongest in the camp. Stronger than me, Spiro, the Blood Shrike, the Soul Catcher, Afya. You are the daughter of the Lioness. The granddaughter of Nan and Pop. You are Lis’s sister and mine.”

His eyes fill, but he does not stop. “Tell me what you’ve done. Tell me.”

“I—I’ve survived the Commandant,” I say. “And Blackcliff. Our family’s deaths. I’ve survived the Nightbringer. I’ve defied him. I saved you. I’ve fought. I’ve fought for our people.”

“And you will keep fighting.” Darin grabs both shoulders now. “And you will win. There is not a single person alive who I trust more than you to do what must be done today, Laia. Not a single one.”

From the Shrike or Elias, these words would be encouraging. From my big brother, they are life-giving. Something about him, of all people, believing in me makes me grip my scim and set my jaw and stand taller. I will win today.

“I can come with you,” he says. “I want to come with you. Why should you fight him alone when you aren’t alone?”

But I shake my head, thinking of the snap of my father’s neck, of Lis’s neck. Of the way the Commandant used family to manipulate my mother.

“The Nightbringer has always used my love against me, Darin,” I say. “I do not want him to do it again. I cannot be worried about you. Stick to the plan.”