Though it’s discomfiting, I am forced to admit that the jinn were wronged. Grievously wronged. Which doesn’t make what the Nightbringer has done right. But it does complicate my view of the world—and my ability to look on him with unadulterated hatred.

When I finally arise, warm and dry due to Mauth’s shelter, it’s long before dawn. Immediately, I’m aware of a shift in the fabric of the world. The ghosts I’d sensed lurking in the surrounding countryside are gone. And there is something else—some new fey darkness in the world. I can’t see it. And yet I know it exists.

I stand up, scanning the rolling farmland around me. The garrison is to the north. Then there are a few hundred miles of Illustrian estates. Then the capital, the Nevennes Range, Delphinium.

The magic strains north, as if wishing to drag me in that direction. As I reach out with my mind, I feel it. Chaos. Blood. A battle. And more ghosts. Except these do not come from the Waiting Place. They are fresh, new, and imprisoned by a strange fey magic that I’ve never before seen.

What in the ten hells?

The ghosts are, I know, sometimes drawn to conflict. Blood. Could there be a battle in the north? At this time of year, Tiborum is often harassed by the Empire’s enemies. But Tiborum is due west.

Mauth nudges me to my feet, and I windwalk north, my mind ranging out over miles. I finally come across a cluster of ghosts and just ahead of it, another. More of the spirits arrow toward a specific place, wild with hunger and rage. They yearn toward bodies, toward bloodshed, toward war. I know it as surely as if the ghosts tell me themselves. What bleeding war, though? I think, bewildered. Are the Karkauns murdering Wildmen in the Nevennes again? If so, that must be where the ghosts are headed.

The drums of a nearby garrison thunder, and this time, I listen. Karkaun attack imminent. All reserve soldiers to report to South River barracks immediately. The message repeats, and I finally understand that the ghosts are not, in fact, headed to the Nevennes.

They are headed to Antium.

PART IV

   SIEGE

XLVI: The Blood Shrike

The Karkauns have no catapults.

No siege towers.

No battering rams.

No artillery.

“What in the bleeding hells,” I say to Dex and Avitas as I look out over the vast force, “is the point of having a hundred thousand men if you are just going to let them sit outside a city, burning through food and supplies for three days?”

Maybe this is why the Commandant plotted with the Karkauns to sneak up on Antium. She knew they’d be stupid enough that we could destroy them quickly—but not so stupid that she couldn’t use the chaos they caused to her advantage.

“They are fools,” Dex says. “Convinced that because they have such a large force, they will take the city.”

“Or perhaps we are the fools.” Marcus speaks from behind me, and the men on the wall swiftly kneel. The Emperor gestures us up and strides forward, his honor guard in lockstep behind him. “And they have something else planned.”

“My lord?”

The Emperor stands beside me, hyena eyes narrowing as they sweep across the Karkaun army. The sun fades, and night will soon be upon us.

“My brother speaks to me from beyond death, Shrike.” Marcus sounds calm, and there is no hint of instability in his demeanor. “He says the Karkauns bring warlock priests—one of whom is the most powerful in their history—and that these warlocks summon darkness. They have no siege weaponry because they do not need it.” He pauses. “Is the city prepared?”

“We’ll hold, my lord. For months, if need be.”

Marcus’s mouth twists. He’s keeping secrets. What? What are you not telling me?

“We’ll know by the Grain Moon if we will hold,” he says with a chilling surety. I stiffen. The Grain Moon is in three bleeding days. “The Augurs have seen it.”

“Your Majesty.” Keris Veturia appears from the stairs leading up to the wall. I ordered her to shore up the eastern gates, which are the strongest and which keeps her far from both Marcus and Livia. My spies report that she is not deviating from her assigned task.

For now, anyway.

I’d wanted to get her away from the city, but the Plebeians support her enthusiastically, and getting rid of her will only undermine Marcus further. She has too many damned allies. But at the very least, she’s lost much of her Illustrian support. The Paters have, it appears, remained in their own villas the past few days, no doubt preparing for the battle to come.

“A messenger from the Karkauns has arrived,” Keris says. “They seek terms.”

Though Keris insists on Marcus staying behind—yet another play for power—he waves her off, and the three of us ride out, joined by Avitas at my side and by Marcus’s personal guard, who form a protective half-moon around him.

The Karkaun who approaches us rides alone, bare-chested and without a flag of truce. Half of his milk-pale body is covered in woad, the other half in crude tattoos. His hair is lighter than mine, his eyes practically colorless against the woad he’s used to blue them out. The stallion he rides on is enormous, and he is nearly as tall as Elias. A necklace of bones circles his thick neck twice.

Finger bones, I realize when we are closer.

Though I only saw him distantly in Navium, I know him immediately: Grímarr, the warlock priest.