LXIX: The Blood Shrike

Duty first, unto death. I learned those words at the age of six from my father, on the night the Augurs took me to Blackcliff.

Duty can be a burden, my daughter. My father knelt before me, his hands on my shoulders. He brushed his thumbs against my eyes, so the Augurs would not see my tears. Or it can be an ally. It is your choice.

After the battle in the Waiting Place, duty carries me through the negotiations with Keris’s generals and the surrender of what is left of her forces. It keeps me flinty-eyed when Elias thanks and dismisses his army of Tribespeople and efrits, and asks me to take mine from the forest.

Duty gives me a straight back when Musa, his own eyes red at the loss of Darin, finds me and takes me to a line of bodies to be buried in the jinn grove.

But when I look down at the still form of Avitas Harper, duty does not hold me up. It offers me no comfort.

My knees sink into the mud on which he lies, though I do not remember kneeling. His face is as serene in repose as it was in life. But there is no mistaking that he is dead. Even with a cloak pulled over the vicious gash delivered him by Keris, he is blood-spattered, cut and bruised in a dozen places.

I reach out my hand to touch Harper’s face, but pull it back at the last moment. Not long ago, he drove the chill from my bones, from my heart. But now he will feel cold, for Death has my love and all his warmth is gone from this world.

Damn you, I shout at him in my head. Damn you for not being faster. For not loving me less. For not being locked in some other battle so you didn’t have to risk yourself in mine.

I do not say those things. I look into his face and seek—I do not know. An answer. A reason for all that has happened. Some meaning.

But sometimes, there is no reason. Sometimes you kill and you hate killing but you are a soldier through and through so you keep killing. Your friends die. Your lovers die. And what you have at the end of your life is not the surety that you did it for some grand reason, but the hard knowledge that something was taken from you and you also gave it away. And you know you will carry that weight with you always. For it is a regret that only death can relieve.

I put my hand on Harper’s heart, and lift his to mine.

“You got there first, my love,” I whisper. “I envy you so. For how will I endure without you?”

I hear no answer to my question, only his eyes that will remain forever closed, the stillness of his body beneath my hand, and the rain falling cold upon us.

* * *

«««

It takes three days to get the army out of the forest—and another two and a half weeks to make our way across the rolling green hills of the Empire to the Estium garrison, tucked into a curve of the River Taius.

“Camp is set, Shrike.” Quin Veturius, impeccable as always, finds me in my tent in the middle of the encampment. “Do you wish to have quarters readied in the garrison?”

I wish to be left alone, but my tent is full. Laia arrived first, bringing with her a tin of mango jam she dug up from skies-know-where. She’s been spreading it on flatbread, with a soft white cheese on top, quietly handing it to whoever comes into the tent.

Musa is here too, gesturing with the flatbread while flirting with Afya Ara-Nur. The Tribeswoman is still pale from her injury, wincing even as she laughs. Mamie looks amused while Spiro Teluman watches with a dark glare. The smith shouldn’t worry. Musa’s heart is as shattered as mine.

“Blood Shrike?”

I bring my attention back to Quin, pulling him away from the others so they aren’t disturbed. “No need for quarters in the garrison,” I tell him. “Has everyone arrived?”

“We wait only on the Emperor,” Quin says. The old man is a bit paler than before, having barely survived a brutal fight with his daughter.

“I have something for you,” he tells me, fishing a silver object out of his cloak. He opens his hand to reveal a mask.

“Elias’s,” he says. “You gave it to me last year. It will join with you, I think. The way it never joined with my grandson.”

I reach out to touch the living metal, warm and pliant. What a comfort it would be to wear a mask again, to remind all who encounter me of what I am.

“I thank you, Quin.” I run a finger along the pale slashes that mark my cheeks. “But I’ve gotten used to the scars.”

He nods and pockets it, before taking in my mud-spattered armor, my scuffed boots. About the only part of me that’s neat is my hair, and only because Laia insisted on re-braiding it while I was eating.

“A bit of mud on my armor won’t hurt, Quin,” I say. “It will remind the Paters that we just won a battle.”

“Your call,” he says. “The Emperor is en route and will be here within the hour. We have a pavilion ready for you and him in the garrison’s training grounds. Keris’s generals are chained and waiting to swear fealty there. I’ve had the troops form up, as you requested.”

Laia and the others join me, and we make our way through the empty camp, toward the vast training grounds, wide enough to accommodate the army: three thousand Martials and Scholars, and another two thousand Tribespeople—some of whom will settle in Estium while the Empire helps rebuild the cities of the Tribal desert.

A viewing area overlooks the grounds, and I make for a black canopy slung over a dozen chairs. Only a few yards away, Keris’s allies kneel in a row, chained to rings in the earth.

The clatter of hooves breaks up the buzz of conversation. A column of Masks led by Dex enters the grounds, with a carriage following. When it rolls to a stop, Coralia and Mariana Farrar emerge, Zacharias held to Coralia’s shoulder. He is fast asleep. Tas pops out afterward, and when he sees Laia, he runs straight for her.

“You’re alive!” He nearly bowls her over with the force of his hug. “Rallius owes me and Dex ten marks. Rallius—” The boy runs back to the big Mask, who shifts uneasily under Laia’s flinty gaze.

I’m inclined to run to my nephew, but I merely quicken my step, meeting him at the pavilion. Mariana murmurs a greeting, while Coralia drops into a half curtsy.

“Hail, Blood Shrike,” she says. “He was in a bit of a mood when he fell asleep.”

“Likely he’s as excited as I am about sitting through this.” I kiss my nephew gently on the head, hoping he’ll sleep through what will no doubt be a great deal of gibbering and groveling from Keris’s former allies.

Coralia winces when Zacharias shifts, fearful he will wake. But to my surprise, Mamie steps forward and takes the child with firm hands. He opens his eyes, looks around, and scowls, his tiny nose red.

“He should not be in such thin clothing.” Mamie glowers at Coralia and Mariana, and holds a hand out to Laia. The Scholar offers her cloak without a moment’s hesitation. Mamie wraps Zacharias in it, offering him her brilliant smile. He stares at her as if she is the most fascinating person he’s ever seen. Then he smiles back.