She shifts behind me now, and I’m afraid to move, worried that when I look, she will be gone. But she returns, drifting in front of my face.

“Come, little broken bird,” she whispers. “Walk with me. I will take you to the other ghost. I will tell you of my lovey.”

LV: Laia

“Have you eaten yet?”

Darin finds me among the Tribespeople, where I am tending those still struggling with injuries from the wraith attack. Aubarit just joined me, her intrinsic understanding of the body making her an excellent partner. I look at my brother, dazed. I have not had time to eat. I have not had time for anything besides trying to help the wounded.

“She hasn’t. Nor have I.” Musa, his long hair pulled into a knot on top of his head, carries my supplies—mostly to irritate the pretty Martial, he’d chuckled to himself.

“Go on, both of you.” Aubarit takes my bag from Musa. “You’ve been at this for hours. Gibran can help me.” She glances from under her eyelashes at the handsome young Tribesman trailing Darin.

“Ah, young love,” Musa says, and I glance at him, wondering if I will see bitterness in his regard. But his smile takes years off his face, which has been drawn and desolate of late.

Darin leads Musa and me to the Blood Shrike’s tent. It is the largest in the camp, and doubles as a command center. Within, the Shrike, Avitas, and Elias gather around a central table with Spiro, Quin, and a few Martial Paters. Afya stands across from them, moving stones around on a large map.

Darin heads immediately to the far corner of the tent, where someone has laid out dried fruit, flatbread, and lentil stew. My stomach twinges hopefully. I do not remember when I last ate.

The Soul Catcher glances up at me when I enter, and briefly over to Musa, before he turns back to the Shrike.

“—catapults won’t be done until the morning,” she is saying. “And since that’s when the enemy army will arrive, it doesn’t give us much time to break down the city.”

“We’re not trying to break them down,” Elias responds. “We just want the jinn in the Sher Jinnaat to keep their distance until Laia can get to the Nightbringer. If we put archers here”—he points to a map—“along the river—”

“He’s jealous,” Musa murmurs in my ear. “Mark me.”

“He’s not jealous.” I thought before that he might have been. But while Elias has been more himself these past few days, he has still kept his distance. “He’s the Soul Catcher, and he is here in service to the dead.”

“Rubbish.” Musa nudges me. “Look at him.”

“He’s ignoring me.”

“Ah, but you’re thick, aapan.” Musa gives me an exasperated look as we make our way to the food. “To ignore you, he first has to be aware of you. And he is. He’s aware of every move you make. If you tripped right now—”

At that, Musa deviously sticks out his foot. I stumble and nearly fall on my face, catching myself just in time. Almost before I’ve righted myself, the Soul Catcher shoots out a hand, as if to catch me from across the room. The Blood Shrike and Avitas Harper exchange a glance. Musa, meanwhile, has caught my arm, and watches the tableau with a smug grin.

“See,” he says. “I told—ow!” He winces when I dig my fingers into his arm with more force than strictly needed.

“He has a battle to plan, Musa,” I say. “He doesn’t have time for me right now. Nor I for him.”

“Love can be more powerful in a battle than planning or strategy. Love keeps us fighting. Love drives us to survive.”

“Skies, stop meddling—”

“I meddle because I hope, aapan.” The humor bleeds from his voice, and I’m certain he’s remembering his beloved, doomed Nikla. “Life is too short not to hope.”

Musa excuses himself, moving to Darin, but by the time my brother’s made a plate for me, I can only pick at it. After a few minutes, I step out into the night. A drop of rain lands on my nose. Within seconds, a spring drizzle falls, promising a muddy morning.

I do not wish to go to Mamie’s wagon, where I have been sleeping. Instead, I wind through the camp, my hood low so that no one calls out to me. A gold form appears and Rehmat speaks.

“What troubles you?”

That I don’t trust you, I think. That I might die in the morning. That I’ve never felt more alone in my life.

“Tomorrow I will fight with you,” I tell her. “I will allow you to join with me so that we might defeat the Nightbringer. But right now, I just want to be alone.”

She bows her head in assent. “I have another I must seek out. I will return when it is time, young warrior, and not before.” Her glow fades, leaving me in the dark once more.

I pass by a group of soldiers struggling to keep their lamps lit as they work on the catapults. What will tomorrow be like? I know what the Blood Shrike’s troops are supposed to do, and where the efrits are meant to be. I know how the Tribes will be divided, and where we expect Keris’s forces to attack.

But facing the Nightbringer—I cannot wrap my mind around it. Rehmat says defeating him will not be as simple as killing him with the scythe strapped across my back.

Yet Mamie’s story gave me such little knowledge.

Love can be more powerful in a battle than planning or strategy.

So Musa said. But my love is a stream of water poured into a desert. Down a crevasse where it will never see the light. Never bloom into anything greater.

Rubbish, Laia. A calmer voice prevails—a wiser voice. If there is anything I have learned since the day that wretched Mask killed my grandparents and arrested Darin, it is that you must love while you can. For tomorrow, all that you love might be ash.

I pass by Tribe Saif and Mamie Rila’s wagon, my thoughts on Elias. On what it felt like the first time I met him. That fire blazing in his eyes, that need for freedom, so like my own. The slow, careful way he built my trust after we escaped Blackcliff, and how he believed in me before I did.

And I think of the way he held me after I learned, in these very woods, that my mother was a murderer and that she still lived.

Afterward, he spoke words that I haven’t wanted to remember. Because I feared I would never again see the man who said them, no matter how much I called him by his name.

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

“I remember,” I whisper, and make my way across the jinn grove. “I remember.”

* * *

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