I curse. I should’ve known better than to think a ghost—and one who refuses to move on—could help me.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’ll look for your lovey.” I turn back for the cottage. Perhaps I need sleep. Perhaps I’ll have a better idea in the morning. Or I could go back to Aubarit and see if she remembers anything else. Or find another Fakira . . .

“The memory is in the pain.”

I spin so fast it’s a miracle my head doesn’t fly off. “What—what did you say?”

“The memory is in the pain.” The Wisp circles me, and I spin as she does. I’m not letting her out of my sight. “The memory is where the greatest hurt lies, the greatest anger.”

“What in ten hells do you mean, ‘the greatest hurt’?”

“A hurt like mine. The memory is in the pain, little one. In their pain. They burn with it, for they have lived with it much longer than I.”

Their pain.

“The jinn?” My stomach sinks. “You’re speaking of the jinn.”

But the Wisp is gone now, calling out to her lovey. I try to follow her, but I can’t keep up. Other ghosts, drawn by my voice, cluster near, flooding me with their suffering. I windwalk away from them, though I know it’s wrong to ignore their misery. Eventually, they’ll find me again and I’ll be forced to try to pass some on, simply so I don’t lose my mind at their badgering. But before they do, I need to sort this out. The longer I wait, the more the ghosts will amass.

Think quickly, Elias! Could the jinn help me? They’ve been imprisoned here for a thousand years, but they were free once, and they possessed the most powerful magic in the land. They are fey. Born of magic, like the efrits, the wraiths, the ghuls. Now that the idea is in my head, I’ve latched on to it like a dog to a bone. The jinn must have some deeper knowledge of the magic.

And I need to figure out a way to get it from them.

XVI: The Blood Shrike

“The Paters of Navium,” the Nightbringer says as we leave the docks, “wish to greet you.”

I barely hear him. He knows Livia is pregnant. He will share that information with the Commandant. My sister will confront attackers and assassins likely within days, and I am not there to keep her safe.

Harper falls back, speaking urgently to the Black Guard who brought us our horses. Now that he knows of the pregnancy he’ll be sending orders to Faris and Rallius to triple the guard around Livia.

“The Paters are at the Island?” I ask the Nightbringer.

“Indeed, Shrike.”

For now, I must put my faith in Livia’s bodyguards. My more immediate issue is the Commandant. She’s already taken the upper hand by sending the Nightbringer to throw me off my guard. She wants me weak.

But I will not give her that satisfaction. She wants to order me to the Island? Fine. I need to take control of this sinking ship anyway. If the Paters are nearby, all the better. They can bear witness as I wrench Keris’s power from her.

As we ride through the streets, the full devastation of the Karkaun attack is apparent in every collapsed building, every burn-scarred street.

The ground shudders, and the unmistakable whistle ofs a stone ripping out of a ballista splits the air. As we get closer to the Island, the Nightbringer is forced to change course, leading us near the embattled Southwest Quarter of Navium.

Screams and shouts fill the air, penetrating over the roar of fire. I pull up a bandanna to block out the choking smells of singed flesh and stone.

A group of Plebeians hurries past, most carrying nothing but children and the clothes on their backs. I watch a woman with a hood pulled low. Her face and body are hidden by a cloak, her hands stained a deep gold. The color is so unusual that I nudge my horse forward to get a closer look.

A fire brigade gallops by, buckets of seawater splashing everywhere. When they are past, the woman is gone. Soldiers lead families from the swiftly spreading chaos. Cries for aid seem to come from all sides. A child with blood streaming down her face stands in the middle of an alley, bewildered and silent, no guardian in sight. She’s no more than four, and without thinking, I turn my horse toward her.

“Shrike, no!” Avitas reappears and kicks his mount in front of mine. “One of the men will take care of her. We have to get to the Island.”

I make myself turn away, ignoring the pull that has come over me to go to the child, to heal her. It is so strong that I have to grab the pommel of my saddle, lacing my fingers under it to keep myself from dismounting.

The Nightbringer watches me from the back of a cloud-white stallion. I sense no malice, only curiosity.

“You are not like her,” he observes. “The Commandant is not a woman of the people.”

“I thought you’d appreciate that about her, being that you are not a man of the people yourself.”

“I am not a man of your people,” the Nightbringer says. “But I do wonder at Keris. You humans give your loyalty so willingly for just a little hope.”

“And you think we are fools because of it?” I shake my head. “Hope is stronger than fear. It is stronger than hate.”

“Precisely, Blood Shrike. Keris could use it as a weapon. But she does not. To her folly.”

He makes a poor ally, I think to myself, or a dissatisfied one, to criticize her so openly.