An Ember in the Ashes(89)

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 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.
XXXV: Laia
Everything hurts—my skin, my bones, my fingernails, even the roots of my hair. My body doesn’t feel like my own anymore. I want to scream.
All I can manage is a moan.
Where am I? What happened to me?
Flashes of it come back. The secret entrance. Marcus’s fists. Then shouts and gentle arms. A clean smell, like rain in the desert, and a kind voice.
Aspirant Veturius, delivering me from my murderers so I can die on a slave’s pallet instead of a stone floor.
Voices rise and fall around me—Izzi’s anxious murmur and Cook’s rasp.
I think I hear the cackle of a ghul. It fades when cool hands coax my mouth open and pour liquid down. For a few minutes, my pain dulls. But it’s still near, an enemy pacing impatiently outside the gates. And eventually, it bursts through, burning and reaving.
I watched Pop work for years. I know what injuries like this mean. I’m bleeding on the inside. No healer, no matter how skilled, can save me. I’m going to die.
The knowledge is more painful than my wounds, for if I die, Darin dies.
Izzi remains in Blackcliff forever. Nothing in the Empire changes. Just a few more Scholars sent to their graves.
The shred of my mind that still clings to life rages. Need a tunnel for Mazen. Keenan will be waiting for a report. Need something to tell him.
My brother is counting on me. I see him in my mind’s eye, huddled in a dark prison cell, his face hollow, his body shaking. Live, Laia. I hear him.
Live, for me.
I can’t, Darin. The pain is a beast that’s taken over. A sudden chill penetrates my bones, and I hear laughter again. Ghuls. Fight them, Laia.
Exhaustion sweeps over me. I’m too tired to fight. And at least my family will be together now. Once I die, Darin will eventually join me, and we’ll see Mother and Father, Lis, Nan and Pop. Zara might be there. And later, Izzi.
My pain fades as a great, warm tiredness descends. It’s so enticing, like I’ve been working in the sun and have come home to sink into a feather bed, knowing nothing will disturb me. I welcome it. I want it.
“I’m not going to hurt her.”
The whisper is hard as glass, and it cuts into my sleep, yanking me back to the world, back to the pain. “But I will hurt you, if you don’t clear out.”
A familiar voice. The Commandant? No. Younger.
“If either of you say a word about this to anyone, you’re dead. I swear it.”
A second later, cool night air pours into my room, and I drag my eyes open to see Aspirant Aquilla silhouetted in the door. Her silver-white hair is pulled back in a messy bun, and instead of armor, she wears black fatigues.
Bruises mar the pale skin of her arms. She ducks into the room, her masked face blank, her body betraying a nervous energy.
“Aspirant—Aquilla—” I choke out. She looks at me as if I smell of rotting cabbage. She doesn’t like me, that much is plain. Why is she here?
“Don’t talk.” I expect venom, but her voice shakes. She kneels beside my pallet. “Just keep quiet and...and let me think.”
About what?
My ragged breathing is the only sound in the room. Aquilla is so silent that it seems as if she’s fallen asleep sitting up. She stares at her palms. Every few minutes, she opens her mouth, as if to speak. Then she clamps it shut again and wrings her hands.