As the Kehanni sings her story, I realize there is truth within this tale—a history of sorts. Hadn’t I just witnessed exactly what she described, only with Princess Nikla?

The Kehannis’ stories, I realize, have as much history in them as any book in the Great Library. More, perhaps, for there is no skepticism in the old tales that might occlude the truth. The more I consider it, the more excited I get. Elias learned to destroy efrits from a song Mamie Rila sang him. What if the stories could help me understand the Nightbringer? What if they could tell me how to stop him? My excitement has me moving away from the wall, toward the Kehanni. Finally, I have a chance to learn something useful about the jinn.

Laia . . .

The whisper brushes against my ear and I jump, jostling the man next to me, who yelps, looking about for whoever bumped him.

Quick as I can, I weave my way through the still-rapt audience and out of the courtyard. Something is watching me. I feel it. And whatever it is, I don’t want it making trouble among those listening to the Kehanni.

I shove back through the crowded market, looking over my shoulder repeatedly. Black scraps of shadow flit just out of my vision. Ghuls? Or something worse? I speed my gait, exiting the market and entering a quiet side street. I look back once more.

The past shall burn, and none will slow it.

I recognize the whisper, the way it grates like rotted claws across my mind. Nightbringer! I am too frightened even to cry out. All I can do is stand there, useless.

I spin, trying to pick him out of the shadows.

“Show yourself.” My voice is barely above a whisper. “Show yourself, you monster.”

You dare to judge me, Laia of Serra? How can you, when you know not the darkness that lives within your own heart?

“I’m not afraid of you.”

The words are a lie, and he chuckles in response. I blink—an instant of darkness, nothing at all—and when I open my eyes, I sense I am alone again. The Nightbringer is gone.

By the time I return to the forge, my body trembles. The place is dark—everyone has turned in. But I don’t drop my invisibility until I’m alone in my room.

The moment I do, my vision goes black. I am standing in a room—a cell, I realize. I can just make out a woman in the darkness. She is singing.

A star she came

Into my home

And lit it bright with glo-ry

The song floats all around me, though the words grow muffled. A strange sound splits the song, like the branch of a tree breaking. When I open my eyes, the vision is gone, as is the singing. The house is quiet, other than Darin murmuring in his sleep from next door.

What in the skies was that?

Is it the magic affecting me? Or the Nightbringer? Is this him—is he toying with my mind? I sit up quickly, glancing about my darkened room. Elias’s armlet is warm in my hand. I imagine his voice. The shadows are just shadows, Laia. The Nightbringer can’t hurt you.

But he can. He has. He’ll do so again.

I retreat to my bed, refusing to release the armlet, trying to keep Elias’s soothing baritone in my mind. But I keep seeing the Nightbringer’s face. Hearing his voice. And sleep does not come.

XVIII: Elias

The jinn know I’m coming. The moment I reach their grove, I’m unnerved by an expectant sort of quiet. A waiting. Strange, how silence can speak as loudly as a scream. Yes, they know I’m here. And they know I want something.

Hail, mortal. My skin crawls at the choral voice of the jinn. Come to beg forgiveness for your existence?

“I’ve come to ask for help.”

The jinns’ laughter knifes at my ears. “I do not wish to trouble you.” It irks, but humility might serve me well. I certainly can’t brazen my way through this. “I know you suffer. I know what was done to you long ago is the heart of your suffering. And I’ve been imprisoned too.”

You think the horrors of your puny human prison can begin to approach our torment?

Skies, why did I say that? Stupid. “I just . . . I don’t wish pain like that on anyone.”

A long silence. And then: You are like her.

“Like Shaeva?” I say. “But the magic bonded with her, and it won’t bond with me—”

Like your mother. Keris. The jinn sense my dismay and laugh. You think not? Perhaps you do not know her as well as you think you do. Or perhaps, mortal, you do not know yourself.

“I’m not a heartless, murdering—”

The magic of the Soul Catcher will never be yours. You are too deeply linked to those you love. Too open to pain. Your kind is weak. Even Keris Veturia could not release her mortal attachments.

“The only thing my mother is attached to is power.”

I sense that in their arboreal prison, the jinn are smug. How little you know, boy. Your mother’s story lives in your blood. Her past. Her memory. It is there. We could show you.

The silk in their voices reminds me of the time a Senior Skull tried to tell fourteen-year-old me to come to his room so he could show me a new blade his father gave him.

You wish to know her better. Deep in your heart, the jinn say. Do not lie to us, Elias Veturius, for when you are in our grove, your subterfuge is for naught. We see all.

Something rough slithers past my ankles. Vines rise up out of the earth like giant, bark-encrusted snakes. They twist up around my legs, locking me into place. I try to draw my scims, but the vines bind the weapons to my back and coil around my shoulders, holding me fast.