A Torch Against the Night

“Because sane plans never work, girl,” she says. “Only the mad ones do.”

Sometimes, Elias,” she says, “loneliness is a choice.”

“Children are born to break their mothers’ hearts, my boy. Tell me.”

At least, that is what I have resigned myself to thinking until this moment. Elias tilts his head, and for a second, the longing in his face is written as clearly as if he’d spelled it out in the stars.

I should say something, though, skies, what do I say, with the heat rising in my face and my skin so alive beneath his gaze? He too looks uncertain, and the tension between us is as heavy as a rain-filled sky.

Then his uncertainty vanishes, replaced by a raw, unfettered desire that sends my pulse into a frenzy. He steps toward me, backing me into the smooth, worn wood of the cabin. His breath goes as ragged as mine, and he brushes his fingers against my wrist, his warm hand trailing sparks up my arm, my neck, and across my lips.

He cups my face in both of his hands, waiting to see what I want, even as his pale eyes burn with need.

I grab the collar of his shirt and pull him to me, exulting at the feel of his lips against mine, at the rightness of finally giving in to each other. I think briefly of our kiss months ago in his room—frantic, born of desperation, desire, and confusion.

This is different—the fire hotter, his hands more certain, his lips less hurried. I slide my arms around his neck and rise to my toes, pressing my body against his. His rain-and-spice scent intoxicates me, and he deepens the kiss. When I run my teeth across his lower lip, savoring its lushness, he growls low in his throat.

Through the window by my bed, the sky is dark and clear. A star shoots across the sky. Then two more.

“We could watch from outside,” Elias says. “It will only go on for an hour or so.”

I pull on my cloak and join him in the doorway of the little cabin. He stands slightly apart from me, his hands in his pockets. Falling stars streak overhead every few minutes. I catch my breath each time.

“It happens every year.” Elias’s eyes are fixed on the sky. “You can’t see it from Serra. Too much dust.”

I shiver in the cold night, and he eyes my cloak critically. “We should get you a new one,” he says. “That can’t be warm enough.”

“You gave this to me. It’s my lucky cloak. I’m not giving it up—ever.” I pull it closer and catch his eyes as I say it.

“Dead chicken for your thoughts?”

He holds up the limp animal, and I nod to the basin. “Only if you pluck it.”

I slide up onto the counter beside him as he works. “I miss Tas and Afya and Araj,” I say. “It’s so quiet without them.”

“Tas worships you,” Elias says with a grin. “I think he’s in love, actually.”

“Only because I told him stories and fed him,” I say. “If only every boy were so easy to win over.” I do not mean for the comment to sound so pointed, and I bite my lip as soon as I say it. Elias lifts a dark eyebrow and gives me a fleeting glance of curiosity before looking back down at the half-plucked chicken.

Elias stares out the window at the swiftly darkening sky. “True enough,” he says. “From what Shaeva told me, the armlet wouldn’t pass to him unless he loved you truly. The magic isn’t one-sided.”

“So a jinn is in love with me. I far prefer the ten-year-old.” I put my hand to the place my armlet once was. Even now, weeks later, I feel the ache of its absence. “What will happen now? The Nightbringer has the armlet. How many more pieces of the Star does he need? What if he finds them and sets his brethren free? What if—”

Elias puts a finger to my lips. Does he let it linger a little longer than it needs to?

“We’ll figure it out,” he says. “We’ll find a way to stop him. But not today. Today, we eat chicken stew and tell stories of our friends. We talk about what you and Darin will do after he wakes up, and about how enraged my bat-crazy mother will be when she learns she didn’t kill me. We’ll laugh and complain about the cold and enjoy the warmth of this fire. Today, we celebrate the fact that we’re still alive.”

I watch as Elias offers Tas one of the Serric steel blades he stole off a Kauf guard.

Tas throws his arms around Elias’s neck, whispering something that makes him grin, and scampers off to join the rest of the Scholars.

“Did you say goodbye to Elias?”

She nods. “He’s hiding something from me.” I look away. I know very well what Elias is hiding. He has confided only to me about his deal with the Soul Catcher. And if the others have noticed that he’s gone most of the night and for long stretches during the day, they’ve not seen fit to mention it.

“Best be sure he’s not hiding anything from you,” Afya continues. “Bad way to get into bed with someone.”

“Skies, Afya,” I sputter, looking behind me and hoping Elias hasn’t heard. Thankfully, he’s disappeared back into the Forest. “I’m not getting into bed with him, nor do I have any interest—”

“Don’t bother, girl.” Afya rolls her eyes. “It’s embarrassing to listen to.”

“I don’t want you to be lonely,” Livvy says. “If we had Mother or Father or even Hannah, it would be different. But, Hel—”

“With respect, Empress,” I say quietly. “My name is Blood Shrike.”

She sighs, and I attach the mirror, straightening it with a touch. “All done.”

I catch my reflection. I appear as I did just a few months ago, on the eve of my graduation. Same body. Same face. Only the eyes are different. I look into the pale gaze of the woman in front of me. For a moment, I see Helene Aquilla. The girl who hoped. The girl who thought the world was fair.

But Helene Aquilla is broken. Unmade. Helene Aquilla is dead.

The woman in the mirror is not Helene Aquilla. She is the Blood Shrike. The Blood Shrike is not lonely, for the Empire is her mother and her father, her lover and her best friend. She needs nothing else. She needs no one else.

She stands apart.