A ​Sky Beyond the Storm (An Ember in the Ashes, #4)

by Sabaa Tahir

“It was so quiet,” I say. “All our people cowering because they are desperately afraid. Not of death or torture. They’re too strong for that. No, they’re afraid of being forgotten, Harper.”

Tell me why you’re angry.”

“and I thought I was going to die, I thought about you.”

“It might have been you with me,” I finally whisper. “Instead of Faris. But it wasn’t. And when he stayed back because there were too many Karkauns, I—”

all I could think was that I was so thankful it wasn’t you up there. Because if it had been, we’d have died together.”

But I am afraid of everything I might lose.

as Mauth asked me to.

For those of clay and fire are not meant to walk alone. And the Beloved was meant to receive love as well as give it, else how could I have named you such?

My son, do not do this. Mauth has tried to speak to me before.

“No, Father,” I say after a long time. “I was the Beloved. Now I am something else.”

You will sort through this, like you do everything that comes your way. And you will do it with strength.

My own heart has been constant too. My will. That is not much. But it has gotten me this far.

The thought of killing a jinn again fills me with a bizarre mix of anticipation and nausea.

Khuri would have killed me. She and all of her kin are my enemies now. Her death should not haunt me. But it does.

“Life is sacred, Laia of Serra,” Rehmat says, its voice deep as the thunder rumbling above me. “Even the life of a jinn. It is forgetting this fact that leads to war in the first place.

“He—he suffered,” I say. “He lost family. People he loved. And—” Thunder booms overhead, closer than before. “He plays a long game. The moment he knew I had a piece of the Star, he began planning. When things did not go according to his plan, he shifted quickly.”

“Rehmat,” I say. “This storm—” “It is him.”

“Is the Nightbringer stealing ghosts to restore the magic of the jinn?”

“Some names are etched into the stars,” Talis goes on. “Melody and countermelody, a harmony that echoes in the blood. I hear such harmony in your names—Laia-Elias.”

“You might seek to deny her, but you cannot. Fate will always lead you back to her, for good or for ill.”

“He seeks to create a gateway of sorts, between Mauth’s dimension and your own. He wishes to return all the suffering that has been cleansed from the world back into it.”

And though the Sea of Suffering churns, ever restless, verily does Mauth preside, a bulwark against its hunger.

“How is the Nightbringer planning to weaponize this suffering?” “Suffering is a monster, waiting to be released from a cage. You have only to look at your own mother to know the truth of that.”

But her suffering is why he sees himself in her. Why she sees herself in him. Suffering is the cup from which they both drink. It is the language they both speak. And it is the weapon they both wield.”

“What is the Nightbringer’s intent in releasing this suffering?” “To cleanse the land of his enemy swiftly,” Talis says softly, “that the fey might live in peace.”

“I will not return to that life.” I have waged enough war. Brought enough pain into existence. For all that I long for in the world of the living, war is one thing I will never miss. “Besides, if I fight for the Tribespeople or the Scholars, I will only end up killing Martials. Either way, the Nightbringer wins. I will not do it.” We have reached the escarpment, and here Talis stops. “And that is why it must be you,”

“A commander who has

tasted the bitter fruit of war is the only one worthy of waging it. For h...

saw you with Shaeva, in the palace walls—in the images there. You were the other guard to the Nightbringer—to his family.”

Then I leave the cabin and turn south to the Tribes, and the Nightbringer and war.

So I tell you now, no matter what happens behind those walls, no matter what horrors they have in store, there is no going back today. We will win, or we will die. We will take back our city for our people, or we will watch the Empire fall. Now. Tonight.” I put my fist to my heart. “Loyal to the end.”

“Tell me of it. For I have darkness within me also, and I would know if we are two sides of the same coin.”

“You,” the Nightbringer whispers, “have been hiding for a very long time. What are you?

“I am your chains, Meherya. I am your end.”

“I am your end,” Rehmat says. “But I was there at the beginning too, my love. When you were king alone, solitary and ever apart from our people. You went wandering near the sea one day, and you found a queen.”

This . . . thing living inside of me was a jinn? And not just any jinn, but their queen?

My mind snags on one word: Fearless. For I am not fearless. To be fearless means to have a heart of steel. But my heart betrayed itself. It is soft and hopeful.

“You have found your purpose, my king. You have much magic in you. I still seek mine. When I find my power, I will return. This, I vow.”

“This is an island of death, Meherya,” she whispered. “Many ghosts will pass from here. It will not be you who passes them, but another who has not yet come. And you will call her traitor, though she meant no harm.”

“The Ember will walk these sands, and here the seeds of his defiance will flower, but for naught, for the forest will call him and suffering will sunder him.”

She foresaw the future.

“Was a jinn.” She greets my outburst with infuriating aplomb. “The Jaduna’s blood magic did not allow me to keep my corporeal body, my fire. But jinn souls are linked to our magic. If the magic lives, so do our souls.”

lighting the way, though I wish she wouldn’t. Darkness is what I want right now. Darkness in which to nurse my pain.

When I learned that the Meherya would turn, I went to them, hoping their magic could help me stop it.”

They said that upon my death, they would draw out my soul and nest me within their own people. A hundred men and women volunteered. It was a testament to our years of friendship that they would do such a thing, not knowing the effect it would have on their progeny. They found my broken body after the battle and took me to their home, far to the west.”

“So you lived in them,” I say. “Like a disease.”

Until all that was left was the spark of magic. In some, like you and the Blood Shrike and Musa of Adisa, the magic was awoken under duress. And in others, like Tas of the North, or Darin or Avitas Harper, the magic sleeps. But all of you have kedim jadu in you.”

“Ancient magic,”

For my rebirth, I had to agree to three sacrifices. The first: that my life as a jinn remain in the past—I may never speak of my time with the Nightbringer, my deeds as queen, or even—even my children.” The misery in her voice at the last is clear. I think of Mother, who struggled to speak of my father or Lis, so deep were her wounds. “The second,” Rehmat continues, “that I remain dormant until one of the kedim jadu directly defied the Nightbringer. And the third: that I have no corporeal body, unless one of the kedim jadu allowed me to use them as a conduit.”

“Your love is powerful,” Rehmat says. “It is your love that woke me—your love of your people. Your desire to save them.