Excerpt from A Torch Against the Night
(An Ember in the Ashes 2, book #2)
by Sabaa Tahir
Read a recap of An Ember in the Ashes
Chapter 1: Laia
How did they find us so fast?
Behind me, the catacombs echo with angry shouts and the screech of metal. My eyes dart to the grinning skulls lining the walls. I think I hear the voices of the dead.
Be swift, be fleet, they seem to hiss. Unless you wish to join our ranks.
âFaster, Laia,â my guide says. His armor flashes as he hastens ahead of me through the catacombs. âWeâll lose them if weâre quick. I know an escape tunnel that leads out of the city. Once weâre there, weâre safe.â
We hear a scrape behind us, and my guideâs pale eyes flick past my shoulder. His hand is a gold-brown blur as it flies to the hilt of a scim slung across his back.
A simple movement full of menace. A reminder that he is not just my guide. He is Elias Veturius, heir to one of the Empireâs finest families. He is a former Maskâan elite soldier of the Martial Empire. And he is my allyâthe only person who can help me break my brother Darin out of a notorious Martial prison.
In one step, Elias is beside me. In another, he is in front, moving with unnatural grace for someone so big. Together, we peer down the tunnel we have just passed through. My pulse thuds in my ears. Any elation I felt at destroying Blackcliff Academy or rescuing Elias from execution has vanished. The Empire hunts us. If it catches us, we die.
Sweat soaks through my shirt, but despite the rank heat of the tunnels, a chill runs across my skin and the hairs on the back of my neck rise. I think I hear a growl, like that of some sly, hungry creature.
Hurry, my instincts scream at me. Get out of here.
âElias,â I whisper, but he brushes a finger against my lipsâshhâand tugs a knife free from the half dozen strapped across his chest.
I pull a dagger from my belt and try to hear beyond the clicking of tunnel tarantulas and my own breathing. The prickling sense of being watched fadesâreplaced by something worse: the smell of pitch and flame; the rise and fall of voices getting closer.
Empire soldiers.
Elias touches my shoulder and points to his feet, then mine. Step where I step. So carefully that I fear to breathe, I mimic him as he turns and heads swiftly away from the voices.
We reach a fork in the tunnel and veer right. Elias nods to a deep, shoulder-high hole in the wall, hollow but for a stone coffin turned on its side.
âIn,â he whispers, âall the way to the back.â
I slide into the crypt, suppressing a shudder at the loud crrrk of a resident tarantula. A scim Darin forged hangs across my back, and its hilt clanks loudly against the stone. Stop fidgeting, Laiaâno matter whatâs crawling around in here.
Elias ducks into the crypt after me, his height forcing him into a half crouch. In the tight space, our arms brush, and he draws a sharp breath. But when I look up, his face is angled toward the tunnel.
Even in the dim light, the gray of his eyes and the sharp lines of his jaw are striking. I feel a jolt low in my stomachâIâm not used to his face. Only an hour ago, as we escaped the destruction I wrought at Blackcliff, his features were hidden by a silver mask.
He tilts his head, listening as the soldiers close in. They walk quickly, their voices echoing off the walls of the catacombs like the clipped calls of raptor birds.
ââprobably went south. If he had half a brain, anyway.â
âIf he had half a brain,â a second soldier says, âheâd have passed the Fourth Trial, and we wouldnât be stuck with Plebeian scum as emperor.â
The soldiers enter our tunnel, and one pokes his lantern into the crypt across from ours. âBleeding hells,â he recoils quickly at the sight of whatever lurks within.
Our crypt is next. My belly twists, my hand shakes on my dagger.
Beside me, Elias releases another blade from its sheath. His shoulders are relaxed, his hands loose around the knives. But when I catch sight of his faceâbrows furrowed, jaw tightâmy heart clenches. He meets my gaze, and for a breath, I see his anguish. He does not wish to deliver death to these men.
But if they see us, they will alert the other guards down here, and weâll be neck-deep in Empire soldiers. I squeeze Eliasâs forearm. He slides his hood over his head and pulls a black kerchief up to hide his face.
The soldier approaches, his footsteps heavy. I can smell himâsweat and iron and dirt. Eliasâs grip on his knives tightens. His body is coiled like a wildcat waiting to strike. I clamp a hand onto my armletâa gift from my mother. Beneath my fingers, the armletâs familiar pattern is a balm.
The light from the lantern reaches the edge of the crypt, the soldier lifts itâ
Suddenly, further down the tunnel, a thud echoes. The soldiers spin, draw steel, and hurry to investigate. In seconds, the light from their lantern fades, the sound of their footsteps fainter and fainter.
Elias releases a pent breath. âCome on,â he says. âIf that patrol was sweeping the area, there will be more. We need to get to the escape passage.â
We emerge from the crypt, and a tremor rumbles through the tunnels, shaking dust loose and sending bones and skulls clattering to the ground. I stumble, and Elias grabs my shoulder, backing me into the wall and flattening himself beside me. The crypt remains intact, but the ceiling of the tunnel cracks ominously.
âWhat in the skies was that?â
âIt felt like a land tremor,â Elias takes a step away from the wall and eyes the ceiling. âExcept Serra doesnât have land tremors.â
We cut through the catacombs with new urgency. With every step I expect to hear another patrol, to see torches in the distance.
When Elias stops, it is so sudden that I barrel into his broad back. Weâve entered a circular burial chamber with a low, domed ceiling. Two tunnels branch out ahead of us. Torches flicker in one, almost too far away to make out. Crypts pock the chamber walls, each guarded by a stone statue of an armored man. Beneath their helmets, skulls glare out at us. I shiver, stepping closer to Elias.
But he does not look at the crypts, or the tunnels, or the distant torches.
He stares at the little girl in the center of the chamber.
She wears tattered clothing. Her hand is pressed to a leaking wound in her side. She has the fine features of a Scholar, but when I try to see her eyes, she drops her head, dark hair falling into her face. Poor thing. Tears mark a path down her dirt-streaked cheeks.
âTen hells, itâs getting crowded down here,â Elias mutters. He takes a step toward the girl, hands out, as if dealing with a scared animal. âYou shouldnât be here, love.â His voice is gentle. âAre you alone?â
She lets out a tiny sob. âHelp me,â she whispers.
âLet me see that cut. I can bandage it.â Elias drops to one knee so heâs at her level, the way my grandfather did with his youngest patients. She shies away from him and looks toward me.
I step forward, my instincts urging caution. The girl watches. âCan you tell me your name, little one?â I ask.
âHelp me,â she repeats. Something about the way she avoids my eyes makes my skin prickle. But then, sheâs been ill-treatedâlikely by the Empireâand now she faces a Martial who is armed to the roots of his hair. She must be terrified. She inches back, and I glance at the torch-lit tunnel. Torches mean weâre in Empire territory. Itâs only a matter of time before soldiers happen by.
âElias.â I nod at the torches. âWe do not have time. The soldiersââ
âWe canât just leave her.â His guilt is plain as day. The deaths of his friends days ago in the Third Trial weigh on him; he doesnât wish to cause another. And we will, if we leave the girl here alone to die of her wounds.
âDo you have family in the city?â Elias asks her. âDo you needââ
âSilver,â she tilts her head. âI need silver.â
Eliasâs eyebrows shoot up. I cannot blame him. It is not what I expected either.
âSilver?â I say. âWe donâtââ
âSilver,â she shuffles sideways like a crab. I think I see the too-quick flash of an eye through her limp hair. Strange. âCoins. A weapon. Jewelry.â
She glances at my neck, my ears, my wrists. With that look, she gives herself away.
I stare at the tar-black orbs where her eyes should be, and scrabble for my dagger. But Elias is already in front of me, scims glimmering in his hands.
âBack away,â he snarls at the girl, every inch a Mask.
âHelp me.â The girl lets her hair fall into her face once more and puts her hands behind her back, a twisted caricature of a wheedling child. âHelp.â
At my clear disgust, her lips curl in a sneer that looks obscene on her otherwise sweet face. She growlsâthe guttural sound I heard earlier. This was what I sensed was watching us. This was the presence I felt in the tunnels.
âI know you have silver,â a rabid hunger underlies the creatureâs little-girl voice. âGive it to me. I need it.â
âGet away from us,â Elias says. âBefore I take off your head.â
The girlâor whatever it isâignores Elias and fixes her eyes on me. âYou donât need it, little human. Iâll give you something in return. Something wonderful.â
âWhat are you?â I whisper.
She whips her arms out, her hands glowing with strange viridescence. Elias flies toward her, but she tears past him and fastens her fingers on my wrist. I scream, and my arm glows for less than a second before she is flung backward, howling, clutching her hand as if it is on fire. Elias pulls me to my feet from the dirt where I am sprawled, pitching a dagger at the girl at the same time. She dodges it, still shrieking.
âTricky girl!â She darts away as Elias lunges for her again, her eyes only for me. âSly one! You ask what am I, but what are you?â
Elias swings at her, sliding one of his scims across her neck. Heâs not fast enough.
âMurderer!â she whirls on him. âKiller! Death himself! Reaper walking! If your sins were blood, you would drown in a river of your own making.â
Elias reels back, shock etched into his eyes. Light flickers in the tunnel. Three torches, moving toward us swiftly.
âSoldiers coming,â the creature whirls to face me. âIâll kill them for you, honey-eyed girl. Lay their throats open. I already led away the others following you, back in the tunnel. Iâll do it again. If you give me your silver. He wants it. Heâll reward us if we bring it to him.â
Who in the skies is he? I donât ask, only bring up my dagger in response.
âStupid human!â the girls clenches her fists. âHeâll get it from you. Heâll find a way.â Then she turns toward the tunnel. âElias Veturius!â I flinch. Her scream is so loud they probably heard her in Antium. âElias Vetuââ
Her words die as Eliasâs scim rips through her heart. âEfrit efrit of the cave,â he says. Her body slides, lands with a solid thump, like a boulder falling. âLikes the dark but fears the blade.â
âOld rhyme.â He sheathes his scims. âNever realized how handy it was until recently.â
Elias grabs my hand, and we bolt into the unlit tunnel. Maybe through some miracle, the soldiers didnât hear the girl. Maybe they didnât see us. Maybe, maybeâ
No such luck. I hear a shout and the thunder of bootsteps behind us.
An Ember in the Ashes” is an absolute masterpiece! Sabaa Tahir has crafted a world that’s so immersive and intense, with characters you can’t help but root for. The tension, the high stakes, and the beautifully layered plot kept me on the edge of my seat the entire time. Each twist is perfectly timed, and the emotional rollercoaster makes this series unforgettable. Truly one of the best reads for anyone who loves epic fantasy with heart!