A Reaper at the Gates (An Ember in the Ashes, #3)

by Sabaa Tahir

“You are like him—your friend. The one they call Musa. I have seen him in the city, whispering his stories, using the sway in his voice to create a legend. Both of you—tainted by darkness.

“If you stop him, do you not know what will happen? The consequence, the devastation—”

“The blood of the father and the blood of the son are harbingers of darkness,” Musa reads. “The King shall light the Butcher’s path, and when the Butcher bows to the deepest love of all, night approaches. Only the Ghost may stand against the onslaught. Should the Lioness’s heir claim the Butcher’s pride, it will evanesce, and the blood of seven generations shall pass from the earth before the King may seek vengeance again.

She has it—the Blood Shrike has the last piece of the Star.”

I am not nothing.”

You will know victory, or you will know death.

There is nothing else.

Which means every one of these men graduated with her. She knew them.”

“It’s power. She loved him. They killed him. They took her power. By murdering them, she’s taking it back.”

“It is a bad thing. She put the Resistance—her people—ahead of everything: her husband, her children, herself. If you knew—”

She wasn’t a monster.”

why Elias left a note all those months ago when he disappeared, instead of saying goodbye. It’s not because he didn’t care. It’s because he cared too much.

“The raid happened because of you. Nan and Pop died because of you. I went to Blackcliff for you. I got this”—I yank my collar back to reveal the Commandant’s K—“because of you. And I traveled halfway across the bleeding world, lost one of the only true friends I’ve ever had, and saw the man I love get chained to some hellish underworld because of you. So don’t talk to me about risking myself. Don’t you bleeding dare.”

“You were right. We have to be ready. But we don’t have a chance if you don’t go. Ride fast, Laia. Stop him. I’m with you, here.” He taps my heart. “Go.”

What I feel for Elias is different, a flame I hold close to my heart when I feel my strength flagging. Sometimes, deep in the night as I travel, I picture a future with him. But I dare not look at it too closely. How can I, when it can never be?

But as the sun dips west, a familiar darkness rises in me, urging me toward the trees. I felt this darkness with the Nightbringer, long ago, when I sought to get answers out of him. I felt it again after Shaeva died, when I thought the jinn would hurt Elias. It does not feel evil, this darkness. It feels like part of me.

“For I was born to love. It was my calling, my purpose. Now it is my curse. I know love better than any other creature alive. Certainly better than a girl who gives her heart to whoever happens by.”

Just like your mother.

“The Waiting Place sings to you. It knows you, Laia of Serra.”

“It is the source of all magic in this world. We are connected to it—through it—to each other.”

Lis slips lifeless to the floor, her neck broken by our mother’s hand.

“Your mother lives. You know her. And now, you are free.”

We do not lie. We told her the truth, and the truth has freed her. She will never hope again.

“I will not let you torment her to death, even if stopping you tears my own body to shreds. All the world can burn, but I will not simply leave her to suffer.”

Your people need you. Your brother needs you. I need you.”

I can survive long years without her if I know that at least she had a chance at life. I’d give up my time with her—I would—if only she would wake.

“Forgive her, if you can,” I say. “Remember that fate is never what we think it will be. Your mother—my mother—we can never understand their torments. Their hurts. We may suffer the consequences of their mistakes and their sins, but we should not carry them on our hearts. We don’t deserve that.”

I will find you, Laia. I will find a way. This is not our end.

“His name, his history, his birthright, his curse. The truth of all creatures, man or jinn, lies in their name. The Nightbringer’s name was his making. And it will be his unmaking.” He tilts his head. “Did you come to ask about the Nightbringer, Blood Shrike?”

“The Tribespeople say that the heavens live under the feet of the mother,” he says. “So great is their sacrifice. And indeed no one suffers in war more than the mother. This war will be no different.”

“You wish to cause me pain,” Cain says. “But already, my every breath is torture. Long ago, I took something that did not belong to me. And I—and my kin—have spent every moment since paying for it.”

The time to atone for our sins approaches.” His attention shifts to the hallway behind me. “As it does for your emperor.”

“The strength of the butcher bird is the strength of the Empire, for she is the torch against the night. Your line will rise or fall with her hammer; your fate will rise or fall with her will.”

“Then we’ll surely defeat them.” I look between the girls. “Take care of each other,” I say. “Always. Promise me.”

I am woven into his consciousness the way Elias used to be woven into mine. Harper is always aware of where I am, of whether I am all right.

And that makes me evil? Come now, girl. You cannot walk in the shadows as long as I have and not become one.”

“The touch of a child brings a mother comfort.” I can barely hear her. “But I’m no mother, girl. I’m a monster. Monsters don’t merit comfort.”

It is unnatural—no, impossible. She is not flying, exactly, but there is a lightness to her that is distinctly inhuman.

When I open my eyes, Cook is hovering over me, one hand on my face, the other still clenched between my fingers. Her face is pained, as if touching me is more than she can bear. She doesn’t ask about the visions. And I do not tell her.

“Is that what you told yourself when you left us?” I ask her. “That you had a mission?”

Livia, you said that one day my—my trust in you would be my only

Mauth is controlling my body. My mind. This isn’t right. But isn’t it? I must join with the magic to become the Soul Catcher. First I needed to release my attachments to the human world. And now I must let go of myself. My identity. My body. No, something deep within screams. No. No. No.

Because love cannot live here.

“Hail, nephew.” I pull him close to me so that he’s only inches from my face. “I wish for you joy and a family that loves you, adventures that shape you, and true friends to have them with.”

“Mercy, Blood Shrike. That is my order. I do not deserve it. I do not even wish it. But you’ll give it to me anyway. Because you’re good.” He spits out the word, a curse. “It’s why my brother loved you.”

I feel strange. No, not strange. I feel nothing.

I require a conduit—a being from your world to harness my power. The amount of power required to restore a civilization would destroy any conduit I chose, human or wraith, jinn or efrit.

When I look down into that beautiful face, I no longer see the girl I loved. I see someone lesser. Someone who is aging, dying slowly, like all humans. I see a mortal.

A darkness rises in her—something that is fey, but not. It is more than fey. It is atavistic, the essence of magic itself. And it rages.

“Why do we have to change and not you? Why do we have to become less human instead of you becoming more so?”