An Ember in the Ashes(87)

“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.
XXXIV: Elias
At 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 ribcage 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.