An Ember in the Ashes(37)

“They may commence at any time.” My mother finally sits and steeples her fingers, her expression remote. “And they may take any form. From the moment you leave this office, you must be prepared.”
“If they can take any form,” Zak speaks up for the first time, “then how are we supposed to prepare? How will we know they’ve begun?”
“You’ll know,” the Commandant says.
“But—”
“You’ll know.” She stares directly at Zak, and he falls silent. “Any other questions?” The Commandant doesn’t wait for a response. “Dismissed.”
We salute and file out. Not wanting to turn my back on the Snake and the Toad, I let them go ahead of me but immediately regret it. The slave-girl stands in the shadows near the stairs, and as Marcus passes her, he reaches out and yanks her close. She writhes in his grasp, trying to break his iron grip on her throat. He leans down and murmurs something to her. I reach for my scim, but Helene grabs my arm.
“Commandant,” she warns me. Behind us, my mother watches from her study door, arms crossed. “It’s her slave,” Helene whispers. “You’d be a fool to interfere.”
“Aren’t you going to stop him?” I turn to the Commandant, keeping my voice low.
“She’s a slave,” the Commandant says, as if that explains everything. “She’s to receive ten lashes for her incompetence. If you’re intent on helping her, perhaps you wish to take on her punishment?”
“Of course not, Commandant.” Helene digs her nails into my arm and speaks for me, knowing that I’m on the verge of earning myself a whipping.
She nudges me down the hall. “Leave it,” she says. “It’s not worth it.”
She doesn’t need to explain. The Empire doesn’t chance the loyalty of its Masks. The Black Guard will be all over me if they hear I’ve taken a whipping for a Scholar drudge.
Ahead of me, Marcus laughs and releases the girl, then follows Zak down the stairs. The girl gulps down air, bruises blooming on her neck.
Help her, Elias. But I can’t. Hel is right. The risk of punishment is too great.
Helene strides down the hall, giving me a pointed look. Move.
The girl pulls her feet back as we pass, trying to make herself small. Disgusted with myself, I spare her no more attention than I would a heap of trash. I feel heartless as I leave her there to face Mother’s punishment. I feel like a Mask.
***
That night, my dreams are travels, filled with hisses and whispers. Wind circles my head like a vulture, and I flinch from hands burning with unnatural heat. I try to wake as discomfort turns into nightmare, but I only slip deeper in, until eventually there is nothing but choking, burning light.

When I open my eyes, the first thing I notice is the hard, sandy ground beneath me. The second is that the ground is hot. Skin-shriveling hot.
My hand shakes as I shield my eyes from the sun and scan the wasted landscape around me. A lone, gnarled Jack tree rises from the cracked land a few feet away. Miles to the west, a vast body of water lays shimmering like a mirage. The air reeks something horrible, a combination of carrion, rotting eggs, and Cadets’ quarters in high summer. The land is so pale and desolate that I might be standing on a distant, dead moon.
My muscles ache, as if I’ve been lying in the same position for hours. The pain tells me that this is no dream. I stagger to my feet, a lonely silhouette in a vast emptiness.
The Trials, it seems, have begun.
XV: Laia
Dawn is still a blue rumor on the horizon when I limp into the Commandant’s chambers. She sits at her dressing table, observing her reflection in the mirror. Her bed looks untouched, as it does every morning. I wonder when she sleeps. If she sleeps.
She’s clad in a loose black robe that softens the disdain on her masked face. It’s the first time I’ve seen her out of uniform. The robe slips down her shoulder, and the unusual swirls of her tattoo are revealed to be part of an ornate A, the dark ink vivid against the chill paleness of her skin.
Ten days have passed since my mission began, and while I haven’t learned anything that will help me save Darin, I have learned how to press a Blackcliff uniform in five minutes flat, how to carry a heavy tray up the stairs with half a dozen welts on my back, and how to remain so silent that I forget my own existence.
Keenan gave me only the barest details about this mission. I’m to gather information about the Trials, and then, when I leave Blackcliff for my errands, the Resistance will contact me. Might take us three days, Keenan said.
Or ten. Be prepared to report every time you go into the city. And never come looking for us.
At the time, I’d suppressed the urge to ask him a dozen questions. Like how to get the information they want. Like how to keep the Commandant from catching me.
Now I’m paying for it. Now I don’t want the Resistance to find me. I don’t want them to learn what a terrible spy I am.
At the back of my mind, Darin’s voice grows fainter: Find something, Laia.
Something that will save me. Hurry.
No, another, louder part of me says. Lay low. Don’t risk spying until you’re certain you won’t get caught.
Which voice do I listen to? The spy or the slave? The fighter or the coward? I thought the answers to such questions would be easy. That was before I learned what real fear was.
For now, I move around the Commandant quietly, setting down her breakfast tray, clearing her tea from the night before, laying out her uniform. Don’t look at me. Don’t look at me. My pleas seem to work. The Commandant acts as if I don’t exist.