"Afya, slow down," I say. "What in ten hells--" My voice chokes off as Mauth tugs violently at me, almost pulling me off my feet. I sense the urgency behind the summons and whip around. Floating on the breeze just a few yards away, a face materializes.

It's contorted, angry, and moving swiftly toward the Tribal encampments. Another follows it, called to the distant caravan like vultures drawn to carrion.

Some of the ghosts escaped. Before I arrived, they got out.

Perhaps they will only drift about, wailing and pining for life. They have no bodies. They can't actually do anything.

I've barely even formed the thought when, with chilling suddenness, a flock of birds lifts from the trees near the caravans, cawing in alarm.

"Elias--" Afya speaks, but I jerk my hand up. For a moment, all is quiet.

And then, the screaming begins.

XIX: The Blood Shrike

Blood Shrike,

Summer is in full bloom in Antium, and it grows difficult to hide from the heat. The Emperor rejoices in the change of seasons, though he is much troubled by the concerns of the crown.

The seasonal storms are as bad as the heat and no one at court is unaffected. I offer aid where I can, but it is challenging.

I am thankful every day for the Plebeians. Their support of both the Emperor and myself is a comfort during this trying time.

Loyal to the end,

Empress Livia Aquilla Farrar

Someone opened Livia's letter long before it got to me. My sister's attempts to code her thoughts, while clever, are useless. By now, the Commandant will know that she is well into her pregnancy. The Nightbringer will have told her.

As for the rest of the letter, Keris will have deciphered that as well: that Livia can't hide the pregnancy for much longer; that the Emperor grows more unstable; that my sister keeps the wolves at bay; that Plebeian support is all that allows Marcus to remain on the throne.

That I must defeat the Commandant soon, if I want Livia and her child to survive.

I read the letter while wandering Navium's southern beach, which is littered with the wreckage of the fleet. Tattered sails, moss-covered masts, weathered scraps of wood. All are proof of my failure to protect the city.

As I kneel to run my hands over a piece of ocean-smoothed hull, Dex appears behind me.

"Pater Tatius will not see you, Shrike."

"What's the excuse this time?"

"He's visiting a sick aunt." Dex sighs. He looks as exhausted as I feel. "He's been talking to Pater Equitius."

Indeed. The Pater of Gens Equitia just gave us the same excuse two days ago. And though I suspected Tatius might, like all the other Paters, try to avoid me, I'd hoped for better.

"There aren't any Paters left to approach," Dex says as we turn away from the beach and up to the Black Guard barracks. "Argus and Vissellius are dead, and their heirs blame you. The rest are too angry about the fleet. Tatius lost a quarter of his Gens in the storm."

"This isn't just about the fleet," I say. "If it were, they would lecture me, demand that I grovel and apologize." These are, after all, Martial Paters. They love talking down to women as much as they love their money. "Either they're afraid of the Commandant or she's offering them something that I cannot--something they cannot refuse."

"Money?" Dex says. "More ships?"

"She doesn't have ships," I say. "Even if we miraculously took over Grimarr's fleet, we would only just have enough ships to replace the navy. And she's wealthy, but not wealthy enough to pay off all of those Paters."

There's more to this. But how the hells do I find out what it is if none of the Paters will talk to me?

As we wind up toward the city, the scarred, still-burning Southwest Quarter comes into view. Grimarr has attacked twice more in the two weeks since I arrived. Without a fleet, we've had no choice but to hunker down and hope that the fires from their missiles do not spread.

During both attacks, the Paters and Keris froze me out of the decision-making, with Keris smoothly and quietly ignoring my orders for the greater good. Only Janus Atrius backs me, and his lone voice is nothing against the unity of Keris's allies.

I want to start lopping off heads. But Keris is looking for an excuse to take me down--either by jailing me or killing me. If I start killing Paters, she'll have it.

No, I have to be more cunning. I click my horse forward. I can do nothing about Grimarr's attacks. But I can weaken Keris--if I can get information on her.

"We'll have a day or two of quiet while Grimarr figures out the Karkauns' next move," I tell Dex. "There are a few files on the Paters in my desk. All their dirty little secrets. Start cornering them discreetly. See if you can get them to talk."

Dex leaves me, and when I return to the barracks, I find Avitas waiting, shoulders stiff with disapproval.

"You should not be traveling the city alone, Shrike," Avitas says. "Regulation states--"

"I can't waste you or Dex on escorting me everywhere," I say. "Did you find it?"

He nods me inside my quarters.

"There are at least two hundred estates in the mountains beyond the city." He rolls out a map on my desk, and the houses are all marked. "Nearly all of them are affiliated with Gens that are allied with Keris. Three are abandoned."

I consider what Elias said of Quin's whereabouts. Wherever Keris is, he'll be close by, waiting for her to make a mistake. He's not stupid enough to use one of his own estates. And he won't be alone.

One of the abandoned houses is at the bottom of a valley--no water source and no forest around it for soldiers to hide in. The other is too small to house more than a dozen or so men.

But the third . . .

"This one." I tap it. "Built into a hill. Defensible. Nearby stream. Easy tunneling for a quick escape. And look"--I point to the other side of the hills--"towns remote enough that he could send men there for supplies and he wouldn't attract much notice."

We set off immediately, two Black Guards trailing to make sure any spies are dispatched. By noon, we are deep within the mountains east of Navium.

"Shrike," Harper says when we are clear of the city. "You should know that the Commandant had a late-night visitor."

"The Nightbringer?"

Avitas shakes his head. "Three break-ins of her quarters at the Island over the course of the last two weeks. During the first, my spy reported that a window was left open. During the second, an item was left on Keris's bed. A sculpture."

"A sculpture?"

"A mother holding a child. The Commandant destroyed it and killed the slave who discovered it. During the third visit, another sculpture was left. My contact pulled this one from the ashes of the fire."

He reaches into a saddlebag and offers me a rough sculpture of yellow clay, blackened on one side. It is of a crudely made woman, her head bowed. Her hand reaches down with strange plaintiveness to a child who reaches back. They do not touch, though they sit on the same base.

The figures have thumb indents for eyes and lumps for noses. But their mouths are open. It looks as if they are screaming. I shove the sculpture back at Avitas, disturbed.

"No one's seen the intruder." Avitas tucks the object away. "Other than what my spy saw, the Commandant has hidden the break-ins well."

There are plenty of people who could get into the Commandant's quarters unseen. But for her to then not catch them after they'd been there once--that indicates a level of skill I've known only one person to have. A woman I haven't seen in months. The Cook.

I mull it over as we travel higher into the mountains, but it doesn't make sense. If Cook can sneak into the Commandant's quarters, why not just kill her? Why leave her peculiar statues?

Hours later, after winding through switchbacking mountain trails, we arrive at the foot of a sweeping, old-growth forest. Navium glitters to the west, a cluster of lights and still-smoldering fires with the black snake of the Rei winding through it.

We abandon the horses beside a creek, and I draw a dagger as we ma

ke for the tree line. If Quin is out there, he won't take kindly to Emperor Marcus's Blood Shrike showing up unannounced.

Harper unhooks his bow, and we slip cautiously into the woods. Crickets chirp, frogs sing--the wild sounds of a summer countryside. And though it is dark, there's moon enough for me to see that no one has trod these woods for months, maybe years.