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

by Sabaa Tahir

The ocean waves thunder on, and it is man who must swim among them. The wind blows, cold and brittle, and it is man who must protect against it. The earth shakes and cracks, swallows and destroys, but it is man who must walk upon it. So it is with death. I cannot surrender, Elias. It must be you.

“I don’t feel like myself anymore.” Because you are not yourself. You are me. I am you. And in this way, we will pass the ghosts through, that your world be spared from their predations. He falls silent as we leave Antium far behind. Soon, I forget the fighting. I forget the face of the girl I loved. I think only of the task ahead. All is as it must be.

If I seem different, remember that I love you. No matter what happens to me.

What was it inside me that lashed out at him?

You know not the darkness that lies within ...

That I will die here today, with my people, and he will not. “Duty first”—he salutes—“unto death.”

“There is success,” I say. “And there is failure. The land in between is for those too weak to live. Duty first, unto death.”

One day soon, you will be tested, child. All that you cherish will burn. You will have no friends that day. No allies. No comrades in arms. On that day, your trust in me will be your only weapon.

“I want a bit of your soul, Shrike.”

They become part of us, you know. It is only when they join with us that we become our truest selves. My father used to say that after the joining, a mask held a soldier’s identity—and that without it, a bit of his soul was stripped away, never to be recovered. A bit of his soul . . .

“The Augurs themselves placed the last piece of a long-lost weapon in your mask,” the Nightbringer says. “I have known it since the day they gave it to you. All that you are, all that they molded you into, all that you have become—it was all for this day, Blood Shrike.”

“Your love of your people runs deep. It was nurtured through all the years spent at Blackcliff. It grew deeper when you saw the suffering in Navium and healed the children in the infirmary. Deeper when you healed your sister and imbued your nephew with the love you have of your country. Deeper still when you saw the strength of your countrymen as they prepared for the siege. It fused with your ...

“Why do you offer it to me, Shrike? Say it.” “Because they are my people!” I hold it out to him, and when he does not take it, I shove it into his hands. “Because I love them. Because they do not deserve to die because I failed them!”

“You did it to save Darin and me. Because Father and Lis weren’t strong like you, and you knew that they would give us up eventually, and then we’d all die. I knew that the moment I learned of it, Mother. I forgave you the moment I learned of it. But you have to come with me. We can run—”

The Ghost will fall, her flesh will wither. The Ghost was never me. It was her. Mirra of Serra, risen from the dead.

I wonder if it will hurt. She knew. It’s why she left me alive. The Nightbringer must have ordered it.

Curse this world for what it does to the mothers, for what it does to the daughters. Curse it for making us strong through loss and pain, our hearts torn from our chests again and again. Curse it for forcing us to endure.

“Elias is who I was,” I say. “The Soul Catcher—the Banu al-Mauth—the Chosen of Death—that is who I am. But do not despair. We are, all of us, just visitors in each other’s lives. You will forget my visit soon enough.” I reach down and kiss her on the forehead. “Be well, Laia of Serra.”

I feel like I’m catching a glimpse of someone I’ve always known.

Karinna was my grandmother’s name. Quin’s wife.

someone from the outside world enters the Waiting Place. But this time, it is not a trespasser. This time, it is someone returning home.

“We are here to witness.” Cain speaks. He is a far cry from the power-obsessed Scholar king of a millennium ago.

“Those who ignited the blaze must suffer its wrath,” he says.

“What do you think will happen to you when all the magic you stole from my people is restored to them?” I ask. “The magic that has sustained you in your pitiful forms for all these years?” “We will die.”

“The jinn will be freed,” he says. “The balance between worlds restored. But the humans are ready for you, Nightbringer. They will prevail.”

And his champions, those three flames in which he placed all his hopes—Laia of Serra, Helene Aquilla, and Elias Veturius—I smother those flames. For I have taken the Blood Shrike’s soul. The Waiting Place has taken the Soul Catcher’s humanity. And I will crush Laia of Serra’s heart.

the four-pointed diamond harkening to the symbol of Blackcliff. The Augurs adopted the shape to remind themselves of their sins.

A pathetic, human notion—that by drowning in guilt and regret, one can atone for any crime, no matter how despicable.

A girl I once loved gasps, wheeling her horse about to gaze with gold eyes at the crimson sky over the Forest of Dusk.

“Meherya.” My children say my name again, and the sound of it drops me to my knees. “Meherya.” Beloved.