A Torch Against the Night (50 page)

Authors: Sabaa Tahir

BOOK: A Torch Against the Night

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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 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.

Beyond us, deep in the Forest, something stirs. He inhales sharply and pulls away, lifting a hand to his head.

I look to the Forest. Even in the dark, I can see the treetops rustling. “The spirits,” I say quietly. “They don’t like it?”

“Not in the least. Jealous, probably.” He tries to grin but only grimaces, his eyes pained.

I sigh and trace his mouth, letting my fingers drop to his chest and then his hand. I pull him toward the cabin. “Let’s not upset them.”

We tiptoe into the cabin and settle down beside the fire, arms entwined. At first, I am certain he will leave, called back to his task. But he doesn’t, and I soon relax against him, my lids heavier and heavier as sleep beckons. I close my eyes, and I think I dream of clear skies and free air, Izzi’s smile, Elias’s laughter.

“Laia?” says a voice behind me.

My eyes fly open.
It is a dream, Laia. You are dreaming.
I must be. For I have wanted to hear that voice for months, since the day he screamed at me to run. I have heard that voice in my head, spurring me on during my weakest moments and giving me strength in my darkest.

Elias rises to his feet, joy etched onto his features. My legs don’t seem to work, so he takes my hands to pull me standing.

I turn to look into my brother’s eyes. For a long moment, all we can do is take in each other’s faces.

“Look at you, little sister,” Darin finally whispers. His smile is the sun rising after the longest, darkest night. “Look at you.”

Acknowledgments

To Emberlings everywhere: the book bloggers who unlock worlds for readers, the artists who spent hours on drawings that bring
Ember
to life, the fans who laugh, yell, and cry with Laia, Elias, and Helene, and who pass their story on to others—none of this would exist without you. Thank you, thank you, with all my heart.

To Kashi—thank you for unconditional love, midnight grilled cheeses, ice cream runs, and endless encouragement. For making me laugh every day and for all the times you calmly took the helm while I wrote. You are the finest of dragon caretakers.

To my beloved boys—thank you for your patience with Mama when she was working. You make me brave. All of this is for you.

Immense thanks to my father, whose steady presence is a balm when everything else is topsy-turvy, and to my mother, who recently climbed a mountain of her own and still cheered as I climbed mine. You are the bravest person I know.

Mer and Boon, thank you for the calls, the conversations in British accents, the advice, the inappropriate jokes, and all the support you give without even realizing it.

Ben Schrank, thank you for seeing from the beginning what I hoped this book would be and having the wisdom and patience to help me get it right. I am so very lucky to have you as a publisher and friend.

Alexandra Machinist—your advice, gentle humor, and honesty kept me sane and on track. I don’t know what I’d do without you.

Cathy Yardley—you pulled me out of the dark, listened, laughed with me, and said the words I needed to hear: “You can do this.” Thank you.

My great appreciation to Jen Loja, who leads all of us with grace and whose belief in this series has been such a gift. Major thanks to the bad-asses at Razorbill: Marissa Grossman, Anthony Elder, Casey McIntyre, and Vivian Kirklin. Thank you to Felicia Frazier and the incomparable Penguin sales team; Emily Romero, Erin Berger, Rachel Lodi, Rachel Cone-Gorham, and the marketing team; Shanta Newlin, Lindsay Boggs, and the publicity team; and Carmela Iaria, Alexis Watts, Venessa Carson, and the school and library team. I have no words for how fantastic you all are.

Renée Ahdieh, soul sister and fellow lover of 7s, bless you for the laughter, love, sob sessions, and the things I have no name for, all of which make you you. Adam Silvera, the trenches were less lonely because we were in them together—thank you for everything. Nicola Yoon—my thoughtful friend, I am so grateful for you. Lauren DeStefano, thank you for the all-hours chats, cat pictures, advice, and encouragement.

Much appreciation to Heelah S. for her wonderful sense of humor, Armo and Maani for their cuteness, and Auntie and Uncle for their unflagging support and belief in me.

Thank you to Abigail Wen (one day, we’ll have our Sundays), Kathleen Miller, Stacey Lee, Kelly Loy Gilbert, Tala Abbasi, Marie Lu (we did it!), Margaret Stohl, Angela Mann, Roxane Edouard, Stephanie Koven, Josie Freedman, Rich Green, Kate Frentzel, Phyllis DeBlanche, Shari Beck, and Jonathan Roberts. A great big thank-you to all my foreign publishers, cover artists, editors, and translators for the incredible work you do.

Music is my home and that was made clear in the writing of this book. All my admiration to Lupe Fiasco for “Prisoner 1 & 2,” Sia and The Weeknd for “Elastic Heart,” Bring Me the Horizon for “Sleepwalking,” George Ezra for “Did You Hear the Rain?,” Julian Casablancas + the Voidz for “Where No Eagles Fly,” Misterwives for “Vagabond,” and M83 for “Wait.” This book would not be what it is without these songs.

Final thanks to the one who is First and Last. I drifted this time. But you know my heart, and you know I’ll return.

About the Author

Sabaa Tahir grew up in California’s Mojave Desert at her family’s eighteen-room motel. There, she spent her time devouring fantasy novels, raiding her brother’s comic book stash, and playing guitar badly. She began writing
An Ember in the Ashes
while working nights as a newspaper editor. She likes thunderous indie rock, garish socks, and all things nerd. Sabaa currently lives in the San Francisco Bay area with her family.

For more information, please visit Sabaa at:

SabaaTahir.com

AnEmberintheAshesBook.com

Or follow her on Twitter:
@SabaaTahir

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An Ember in the Ashes