“The Augur was once human,” I say. “He is thus in my charge. He will be removed from the Waiting Place. But not by you.”

One of the jinn steps forward. His hood falls back to reveal a human form, hair braided close to his head, skin a deeper brown than mine. He is vaguely familiar, but I cannot place why. He snorts. “Big words for a little boy.”

My hackles rise at the mockery in the creature’s voice. No boy now, but a man, with a man’s burden upon your shoulders. The words are from my old life, spoken to me by Cain, though I do not remember when.

I do, however, remember how to read an enemy, allowing me to shift aside just in time to avoid the blast of heat the jinn leader levels at me.

My reprieve is short-lived. She strikes again and this time, I am enveloped in flame. I have no shirt or cloak to protect me. Mauth’s magic rises, saving me from the worst of the attack. But there is the faintest sluggishness to the shield. Battling a monster of his own creation, Cain had said.

Now isn’t the time to be distracted, Mauth, I shout in my mind. Unless you want me barbecued.

Mauth doesn’t respond, but the effort to kill me appears to have tired the jinn out—at least momentarily. Regular weapons do not do much against jinn unless they are coated with salt. In any case, I only have my fists, so I throw a punch. My fist slams into solid, burning flesh, and part of me crows in satisfaction as she rears back, screaming.

“Umber!” One of the other jinn steps away from Cain to help her.

“Get back, Maro!” Umber shrieks. But Maro is too slow, and leaves enough of an opening that I can bolt through, fists flying. I move preternaturally fast and the jinns’ prejudice works against them. They do not expect my competence, and I am able to sweep Cain up over my shoulder and tear away from the grove.

The jinn might live in the Waiting Place, but they are not Soul Catchers anymore. They don’t have a map of the forest in their heads the way I do. They will track me. But it will take time.

As I windwalk, I slow my pounding heart, quell the part of me that thrills at the violence and simplicity of battle. It felt good to fight, a voice within whispers, for you were born to it. Your body was made for it.

I do not answer that voice. Instead I push myself faster, until I smell the salt of the sea. We are hundreds of miles from the jinn grove, not far from where I intercepted the humans earlier. Waves crash beyond the tree line, and I keep the water at my back. The jinn won’t approach from there. They hate salt.

The Augur winces when I drop him. “What do you know about the visions?” I ask. “You spoke of a threat to the Waiting Place?”

When the old man hesitates, I glance pointedly over his shoulder at the forest.

“I could let them have you,” I say. “I could let you rot in their jail. Talk.”

Cain sighs. “I will give you what you wish for. For a price.” His hands are inexorable as they close over mine. As he lifts them to his heart. “I want release, Soul Catcher. You are the Banu al-Mauth, the chosen of Death. You are one of the few on this earth who has the power to end my life. I ask that you do it quickly.”

The images I saw months ago in the City of the Jinn assail me. Cain as a young Scholar king, greedy for power and magic. Cain demanding knowledge from the jinn ruler before he became the Nightbringer. Cain manipulating a kind-hearted, lovestruck jinn woman named Shaeva into betraying her people.

Shaeva, who passed the mantle of the Waiting Place on to me. Who was chained to a fate she didn’t deserve because of this man.

“Why didn’t you just let the jinn kill you?” I ask.

“Because they do not want to kill me,” Cain says. “Not yet. When jinn die, they speak prophecy. That is what they want from me.”

“You’re not a jinn.”

“I siphoned their power for a millennium, Soul Catcher.” The Augur glances back to the dark line of the forest. “The Nightbringer killed the other Augurs too swiftly to learn anything from their deaths. But he’s been saving me. If he hears what I have to say, it will be the end of all things. This I swear, by blood and by bone. Kill me, Elias, before he and his kin can hear the prophecy, before they can use me. Kill me and the world might yet endure.”

“I’m not going to kill you.”

“Body and soul!” Cain closes the distance between us and jerks my face close, until all I can see are the reds of his eyes. “Do you remember? True freedom—of body and of soul.”

“Lies,” I say. “Like everything else you told me.”

“Not lies, but hope,” he says. “Hope for the future. Hope for the Scholars, my people, whom I failed. And hope for you, Soul Catcher, even when you believe your fate is written. It is not, no matter what Mauth or the Nightbringer might tell you.”

That muted voice within pokes up its head. Fight, Soul Catcher, it says as I try to hush it. Fight.

In the distance, the forest glows orange. The jinn approach.

“Tell me about the dreams and the threat to the Waiting Place. And I’ll take you somewhere you’ll be safe from the jinn.”

“I do not want safety. The killing blow is my release, Elias Veturius. And yours. Swear you will deliver it, and you will have what you wish.”

“Keep your secrets, then.” There’s some trick here. Something he’s not saying. I try to shake him off, but he holds on like a lamprey. “I won’t kill you.”

“Remember I’d hoped to be gentle,” he whispers. “Remember that I tried, Elias, even as you curse my name. And tell them. You are my messenger here, at the end, and if you do not tell them, there will be no sky beyond the storm. No Waiting Place or ghosts or hope. Only suffering and pain.”

He grabs me, sinking his fingers into my scalp like he’s going to tunnel through my skull. I shout and try to pry him off. But though I’m six inches taller and four stones heavier, Cain holds me captive as easily as if I’m that six-year-old child being dragged off to Blackcliff.

“A gift from me to you, Elias,” he says. “A gift for all that I have taken. The girl with the gold eyes is Laia of Serra, heir of the Lioness. I burn her name into you, and no power on this earth shall root it out—” He flares with magic and a flood of memories explodes in my mind.

—The fire in her gaze the day I met her and—

—A dark night in the Tribal desert. Whispering You are my temple and—

—Her tears as she shoved a familiar armlet into my hands. Take this. I don’t want it—

“No.” I try to force Cain’s hands away. “Stop this.”

“The woman with the crown braid”—the Augur’s bloody gaze bores into me—“is Helene Aquilla, Blood Shrike and Hope of the Empire. I burn her name into you, and no power on this earth shall root it out—”

—Her hand reaching for me in the Blackcliff culling pens and—

—Her moonlit face in the steppes north of the Empire, smiling as the wind howled and—

—Let me go, Elias as I fled Blackcliff—

“Cain, skies.” I shove him, but he won’t let go. Mauth’s magic pools inside me, a white-hot sizzle at my fingertips, screaming for release.

“Stop—bleeding, burning skies—” The words are strange in my mouth and I realize I haven’t sworn for months. “You mad old bastard!”

But Cain is resolute. He speaks, his words a cudgel over my head.

“The woman with your eyes is your mother, Keris Veturia, daughter of Quin and Karinna, teacher and executioner. I burn her name into you, and no power on this earth shall root it out—”

—Her tired face peering down at me and—

—Go back to the caravan, Ilyaas. Dark creatures walk the desert at night and—

—The tattoo winding up her neck and—

My mind overflows with their names, their faces, with all we are to each other. Laia. Helene. Keris. Beloved. Friend. Mother.

This cannot be borne, because I have a duty and these names, these faces, are an impediment to that. Yet I can’t unsee the memories Cain has given me.

Laia. Helene. Keris.

“You get these names out of my head, Cain.” I want to shout, but I only manage a whisper. Laia. Helene. Keris. “Get them out—”

But the Augur tightens his grip, and fearing he will pour more memories into me, I lash out with Mauth’s magic. It wraps around Cain’s throat like a whip and pulls at his life force, draining him dry in seconds. The Augur collapses and I drop beside him, understanding too late that this was his intention. That this is why he gave me the memories. He’s not dead yet. But he will be soon.

As I stare down at him, I can smell the cool sand of the desert and Tribe Saif’s fear. I see the stars going out as he stole me from my family. From any joy I might have had.

“It was the only way, Elias,” he whispers. “I—” His body stiffens like Shaeva’s did, before the end. He stares into the middle distance, and when he speaks, it’s as if there are many of him.