An Ember in the Ashes (25 page)

T
he school is mostly quiet when Izzi and I emerge from the slaves’ quarters. A few students still out head to the barracks in small groups, their shoulders slumped with tiredness.

“Did you see the Farrars go in?” I ask Izzi on the way to the training building.

She shakes her head. “I was sitting there staring at those pillars, bored as a stone, when I noticed one of the bricks was different—shiny, like it had been touched more than the others. And then—well, come on, I’ll show you.”

We enter the building and are greeted by the almost musical ring of clashing scims. Ahead of us, a training-room door stands open, and gold torchlight pours into the hallway. A pair of Masks battles within, each brandishing two slender scims.

“It’s Veturius,” Izzi says. “And Aquilla. They’ve been at it for ages.”

As I watch them fight, I find that I’m holding my breath. They move like dancers, whirling back and forth across the room, graceful, liquid, deadly. And so swift, like shadows on the surface of a river. If I wasn’t watching it with my own eyes, I would never believe anyone could move that fast.

Veturius knocks the scim from Aquilla’s hand, and he is on her, their bodies entangled as they wrestle across the floor with a strange, intimate violence. He is all muscle and force, and yet I can see in the way he fights that he is holding himself back. He is refusing to unleash his whole strength on her. Even still, there is an animal freedom to how he moves, a controlled chaos that makes the air around him blaze. So different from Keenan, with his restrained solemnity and cool interest.

Why are you comparing them, anyway?

I turn from the Aspirants. “Izzi, come on.”

The building seems empty other than Veturius and Aquilla, but Izzi and I edge along the walls carefully in case there’s a student or Centurion lurking. We turn the corner, and I recognize the doors the Farrars used when I saw them enter here the first time, nearly a week ago.

“Here, Laia.” Izzi slips behind one of the pillars and raises her hand to a brick that, at first glance, looks like all the others. She taps it. With a quiet groan, a section of stone swings away into darkness. Lamplight illuminates a narrow, descending staircase. I look down, barely daring to believe what I’m seeing, then envelop Izzi in a grateful hug.

“Izzi, you did it!”

I don’t understand why she’s not smiling back until her face goes rigid and she grabs me.

“Shhh,” she says. “Listen.”

The flat tones of a Mask’s voice echo from the tunnel, and the stairwell glows with approaching torchlight.

“Close it!” Izzi says. “Quickly, before they see!”

I put my hand to the brick, tapping it frantically.

Nothing happens.

“—pretend you don’t see it, but you do.” A vaguely familiar voice rises from the stairwell as I paw at the brick. “You’ve always known how I feel about her. Why do you torment her? Why do you hate her so much?”

“She’s an Illustrian snob. She’d never have you anyway.”

“Maybe if you’d left her alone, I’d have had a chance.”

“She’s our enemy, Zak. She’s going to die. Get over it.”

“Then why did you tell her that you two are meant to be? Why do I get the feeling that you want her to be your Blood Shrike instead of me?”

“I’m messing with her head, you bleeding idiot. And apparently it’s working so well that even you’re affected.”

I recognize the voices now—Marcus and Zak. Izzi pushes me aside and punches at the brick. The entrance remains stubbornly open.

“Forget it!” Izzi says. “Come on!”

She grabs me, but Marcus’s face emerges at the bottom of the stairwell, and, spotting me, he bounds up, reaching me in two strides.

“Run!” I shout at Izzi.

Marcus grabs for Izzi, but I shove her out of the way, and his arm wraps around my neck instead, choking off my air. He wrenches my head back, and I stare into his pale yellow eyes.

“What’s this? Spying, wench? Trying to find a way to sneak out of the school?”

Izzi stands unmoving in the hallway, right eye wide in terror. I can’t let her get caught. Not after all she’s done for me.

“Go, Iz!” I scream. “Run!”

“Get her, you twit,” Marcus roars at his brother, who has just emerged from the tunnel. Zak makes a half-hearted effort to grab Izzi, but she wrenches out of his grasp and runs back the way we came.

“Marcus, come on.” Zak sounds exhausted and looks longingly toward the heavy oak doors that lead outside. “Leave her be. We have to be up early.”

“Don’t you remember her, Zak?” Marcus says. I struggle and try to kick the soft place between his foot and ankle, but he yanks me off my feet. “She’s the Commandant’s girl.”

“She’s expecting me,” I choke out.

“She won’t mind if you’re late.” Marcus smiles, a jackal’s grin. “I made you a promise that day, outside her office, remember? I told you that one night, you’d be alone in a dark hallway and I’d find you. I always keep my promises.”

Zak groans. “Marcus—”

“If you want to be such a eunuch, little brother,” Marcus says, “then piss off and leave me to my entertainment.”

Zak regards his twin for a moment. Then he sighs and walks away.

No! Come back!

“Just you and me, beautiful,” Marcus whispers in my ear. I bite viciously at his arm and try to wriggle away, but he spins me around by my neck and shoves me against the pillar.

“Shouldn’t have fought,” he says. “I would have gone easy on you. But then, I like a little spirit in my women.” His fist comes whistling toward my face. An infinite, explosive moment later, my head hits the stone behind me with a sickening smack, and I’m seeing double.

Fight back, Laia. For Darin. For Izzi. For every Scholar this beast has abused. Fight.
A scream bursts from me, and I claw at Marcus’s face, but a punch to my stomach takes the wind out of my lungs. I double over, retching, and his knee comes up into my forehead. The hallway spins, and I drop to my knees. Then I hear him laughing, a sadistic chuckle that stokes my defiance. Sluggishly, I throw myself at his legs. It won’t be like before, like during the raid when I let that Mask drag me about my own house like some dead thing. This time, I’ll fight. Tooth and nail, I’ll fight
.

Marcus grunts in surprise, losing his footing, and I untangle myself and try to scramble to my feet. But he catches my arm and backhands me. My head
strikes the floor, and then he’s kicking me until my flesh is minced. When I stop resisting, he straddles me and pins my arms down.

I release one last scream, but it turns to a whimper as he lays a finger against my mouth. My eyes are closing, swelling shut. I can’t see. I can’t think. Far away, the bells of the clock tower toll eleven.

A
t the sound of the scream, I roll out from under Helene and onto my feet, the kiss forgotten. She falls unceremoniously to her back.

The scream echoes again, and I snatch up my scim. A second later, she grabs hers and follows me into the hallway. Outside, the belltower tolls eleven.

A blonde slave-girl is running toward us: Izzi.

“Help!” she shouts. “Please—Marcus is—he’s—”

I’m already running up the darkened corridor, Izzi and Helene behind me. We don’t have to go far. As we turn a corner, we find Marcus hunched atop a prone form, his face stretched into a savage leer. I can’t see who it is, but it’s obvious what he’s planning to do.

He’s not expecting company, which is why we’re able to get him off the slave so quickly. I tackle him and rain down punches, growling in satisfaction at the snap of bone beneath my fist, reveling in the blood that sprays across the wall. As his head whips back, I stand and draw my scim, resting the point on his rib cage between the plates of his armor.

Marcus scrambles to his feet, his arms in the air. “Are you going to kill me, Veturius?” he asks, still grinning despite the blood dripping down his face. “With a training scim?”

“Might take longer.” I drive it harder into his ribs. “But it’ll do the job.”

“You’re on watch tonight, Snake,” Helene says. “What the hell are you doing in a dark hallway with a slave?”

“Practicing for you, Aquilla.” Marcus licks a little of the blood off his lip before turning to me. “The slave puts up more of a fight than you do, bastard—”

“Shut it, Marcus,” I say. “Hel, check her.”

Helene leans down to see if the slave is breathing—it won’t be the first time Marcus has killed a slave. I hear her groan.

“Elias . . . ”

“What?” I’m getting angrier by the second, almost hoping Marcus will try something. An old-fashioned fistfight to the death will do me good. From the shadows, Izzi watches us, too frightened to move.

“Let him go,” Helene says. I stare at her in shock, but her face is unreadable. “Go,” she says tersely to Marcus, pulling my sword arm down. “Get out of here.”

Marcus smiles at Helene, that grating smirk that makes me want to beat the life from him. “You and me, Aquilla,” he says as he backs away, eyes smoldering. “I knew you’d start to see it.”

“Leave, damn it.” Helene hurls a knife at him, missing his ear by inches. “Go!”

When the Snake disappears out the door, I turn on Helene. “Tell me there was a reason for that.”

“It’s the Commandant’s slave. Your . . . friend. Laia.”

I see then the cloud of dark hair, the gold skin, which had been obscured by Marcus’s body before. A sick feeling fills me as I crouch down beside her and turn her over. Her wrist is broken, the bone jutting out against the skin. Bruises darken her arms and neck. She moans and tries to move. Her hair is a tangled mess, and both of her eyes are blackened and swollen shut.

“I’ll kill Marcus for this,” I say, my voice flat and calm, a calm I don’t feel. “We have to get her to the infirmary.”

“Slaves are forbidden from seeking treatment in the infirmary,” Izzi
whispers from behind us. I’d forgotten she was there. “The Commandant will punish her for it. And you. And the physician.”

“We’ll take her to the Commandant,” Helene says. “The girl’s her property. She has to decide what to do with her.”

“Cook can help her,” Izzi adds.

They’re both right, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. I pick Laia up gently, mindful of her wounds. She is light, and I pull her head to my shoulder.

“You’ll be fine,” I murmur to her. “All right? You’re going to be just fine.”

I stride out of the hall, not waiting to see if Helene and Izzi follow. What would have happened if Helene and I hadn’t been nearby? Marcus would have raped Laia and she’d have bled out whatever life she had left on that cold stone floor
.
The knowledge fans the rage burning within me.

Laia shifts her head and moans. “Damn—him—”

“To the lowest pit of hell,” I mutter. I wonder if she still has the bloodroot I gave her.
This is too much for bloodroot, Elias.

“Tunnel,” she says. “Darin—Maz—”

“Shhh,” I say. “Don’t talk now.”

“All evil here,” she whispers. “Monsters. Little monsters and then big ones.”

We reach the Commandant’s house, and Izzi holds open the gate to the servants’ corridor. Upon seeing us through the propped kitchen door, Cook drops a bag of spice she’s holding, staring at Laia in horror.

“Get the Commandant,” I order her. “Tell her that her slave is injured.”

“In here.” Izzi gestures to a low door with a curtain strung across it. I lay Laia down on the pallet inside with aching slowness, one limb at a time.
Helene hands me a threadbare blanket, and I pull it over the girl, knowing how futile it is. A blanket won’t help her.

“What happened?” The Commandant speaks from behind me. Helene and I duck out into the servants’ corridor, now crowded with, Izzi, Cook, and the Commandant.

“Marcus attacked her,” I say. “He nearly killed her—”

“She shouldn’t have been out at this hour. I dismissed her for the evening. Any injuries she’s sustained are the result of her own foolhardiness. Leave her. You’re on the east wall for watch tonight, as I recall.”

“Will you send for the physician? Shall I get him?”

The Commandant stares at me as if I’m off my gourd.

“Cook will tend to her,” she says. “If she lives, she lives. If she dies . . . ” My mother shrugs. “Not that it’s any business of yours. You slept with the girl, Veturius. That doesn’t mean you own her. Get to watch.” She puts a hand on her whip. “If you’re late, I’ll take every minute out of your hide. Or”—she tilts her head thoughtfully—“the slave’s, if you prefer.”

“But—”

Helene grabs me by the arm and pulls me down the corridor.

“Let go of me!”

“Didn’t you hear her?” Helene says as she hauls me away from the Commandant’s house and across the sand training fields. “If you’re late to watch, she’ll whip you. The Third Trial’s two days away. How will you survive it if you can’t even put on your armor?”

“I thought you didn’t care what happened to me anymore,” I say. “I thought you were done with me.”

“What did she mean,” Helene asks quietly, “when she said you’d slept with the girl?”

“She doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” I say. “I’m not like that, Helene, you should know better. Look, I’ve got to find some way to help Laia. For one second, put aside the fact that you hate me and want me to suffer and die. Can you think of anyone I can take her to? Even someone down in the city—”

“The Commandant won’t allow it.”

“She won’t know—”

“She’ll find out. What’s wrong with you? The girl isn’t even a Martial. And she has one of her own to help her. That cook’s been around for ages. She’ll know what to do.”

Laia’s words echo in my mind.
All evil here. Monsters. Little monsters and then big ones.
She’s right. What is Marcus if not the worst kind of monster? He beat Laia with the intent of killing her, and he won’t even get punished for it. What is Helene when she so casually shrugs off the idea of helping the girl? And what am I? Laia’s going to die in that dark little room. And I’m doing nothing to stop it.

What can you do?
a pragmatic voice asks.
If you try to help, the Commandant will only punish you both, and that will kill the girl for sure.

“You can heal her.” I realize it suddenly, stunned that I didn’t think of it before. “The way you healed me.”

“No.” Helene walks away from me, her entire body suddenly stiff. “Absolutely not.”

I chase after her. “You can,” I insist. “Just wait half an hour. The Commandant will never know. Get into Laia’s room and—”

“I won’t do it.”

“Please, Helene.”

“What’s it to you, anyway?” Helene says. “Do you—are the two of you—”

“Forget that. Do it for me. I don’t want her to die, all right? Help her. I know you can.”

“No you don’t.
I
don’t even know if I can. What happened with you after the Trial of Cunning was—bizarre—freakish. I’d never done it before. And it took something out of me. Not my strength exactly but . . . forget it. I’m not going to try it again. Not ever.”

“She’ll die if you don’t.”

“She’s a slave, Elias. Slaves die all the time
.
”

I back away from her.
All evil here. Monsters
 . . .
“This is wrong, Helene.”

“Marcus has killed before—”

“Not just the girl. This.” I look around. “All of this.”

The walls of Blackcliff rise around us like impassive sentinels. There is no sound other than the rhythmic clink of armor as the legionnaires patrol the ramparts. The silence of the place, its brooding oppression, makes me want to scream. “This school. The students that come out of it. The things we do. It’s all wrong.”

“You’re tired. You’re angry. Elias, you need rest. The Trials—” She tries to put her hand on my shoulder, but I shake her off, sick at her touch.

“Damn the Trials,” I say to her. “Damn Blackcliff. And damn you too.”

Then I turn my back on her and head to watch.