An Ember in the Ashes(90)

A wave of pain washes over me, and I cough. The briny taste of blood fills my mouth, and I spit it out on the floor, in too much pain to care what Aquilla thinks.
She takes my wrist, her fingers cool against my skin. I flinch, thinking she means me harm. But she just holds my hand limply, the way you would if you were at the deathbed of a relative you barely knew and liked even less.
She starts to hum.
At first, nothing happens. She feels out the melody the way a blind man feels his way forward in an unfamiliar room. Her hum crests and falls, explores, repeats. Then something changes, and the hum rises into a song that wraps around me with the sweetness of a mother’s arms.
My eyes close, and I drift into the strain. My mother’s face appears, then my father’s. They walk with me at the edge of a great sea, swinging me between them. Above us, the night sky gleams like polished glass, its wealth of stars reflected in the oddly still surface of the water. My toes skim the fine sand below my feet, and I feel as though I’m flying.

I understand now. Aquilla is singing me into death. She’s a Mask, after all. And it’s a sweet death. If I’d known it was this kind, I’d never have been so afraid.
The intensity of the song swells, though Aquilla keeps her voice low, as if she doesn’t want to be heard. A flash of pure fire burns into me from crown to heel, snatching me from the peace of the seashore. I open my eyes wide, gasping. Death is here, I think. This is the final pain before the end.
Aquilla strokes my hair, and warmth flows from her fingers into my body, like spiced cider on a freezing morning. My eyes grow heavy, and I close them again as the fire recedes.
I return to the beach, and this time Lis races ahead of me, her hair a blue-black banner glowing in the night. I stare at her willow-fine limbs and dark blue eyes, and I’ve never seen anything so gorgeously alive. You don’t know how I’ve missed you, Lis. She looks back at me, and her mouth moves—one word, sung over and over. I can’t make it out.
Realization comes slowly. I’m seeing Lis. But it’s Aquilla who’s singing, Aquilla who is commanding me, with just one word repeated in an infinitely complex melody.
Live live live live live live live.
My parents fade—no! Mother! Father! Lis! I want to go back to them, see them, touch them. I want to walk the night shores, hear their voices, marvel at their closeness. I reach for them, but they’re gone, and there’s only me and Aquilla and the stifling walls of my quarters. And that’s when I understand that Aquilla isn’t singing me to a sweet death.
She’s bringing me back to life.
XXXVI: Elias
The next morning at breakfast, I sit apart and speak to no one. A chill, dark fog has rolled in off the dunes, settling heavily over the city.
It matches the blackness of my mood nicely.
I’ve forgotten about the Third Trial, about the Augurs, about Helene. All I can think of is Laia. The memory of her bruised face, her broken body. I try to devise some way to help her. Bribing the head physician? No, he doesn’t have the guts to defy the Commandant. Sneaking a healer in? Who would risk the Commandant’s wrath to save a slave’s life, even for a fat purse?
Does she still live? Maybe her injuries weren’t as bad as I thought. Maybe Cook can heal her.
Maybe cats can fly, Elias.
I’m mashing my food to a pulp when Helene walks into the crowded mess hall. I’m startled at the sloppiness of her hair and the pink shadows beneath her eyes. She spots me and approaches. I stiffen and shove a spoonful of food into my mouth, refusing to look at her.
“The slave is feeling better.” She lowers her voice so the students around us can’t hear. “I...stopped by there. She got through the night. I...um... well...I...”
Is she going to apologize? After refusing to help an innocent girl who hadn’t done anything wrong except be born a Scholar instead of a Martial?
“Better, is she?” I say. “I’m sure you’re thrilled.” I get up and walk away.
Helene is stone-still behind me, as stunned as if I’ve punched her, and I feel a savage flood of satisfaction. That’s right, Aquilla. I’m not like you. I’m not going to forget her just because she’s a slave.
I send a silent thanks to Cook. If Laia survived, it’s no doubt due to the older woman’s ministrations. Should I visit the girl? What will I say? “Sorry Marcus nearly raped and killed you. Heard you’re feeling better though.”
I can’t visit her. She won’t want to see me anyway. I’m a Mask. If she hates me for that alone, it’s reason enough.
But maybe I can stop by the house. Cook can tell me how Laia’s doing.
I can take something for her, something small. Flowers? I look around the school grounds. Blackcliff doesn’t have flowers. Maybe I’ll give her a dagger.
There are plenty of those around, and skies know she needs one.
“Elias!” Helene has followed me out of the mess hall, but the fog helps me evade her. I duck into a training building, watching from a window until she gives up and goes on her way. See how she likes the silent treatment.
A few minutes later, I find myself heading to the Commandant’s house.
Just a quick visit. Just to see if she’s all right.
“Your mother hears about this, she’ll skin you alive,” Cook says from the kitchen door when I slip into the servants’ corridor. “And the rest of us too, for letting you in here.”
“Is she all right?”
“She’s not dead. Go on, Aspirant. Leave. I’m not joking about the Commandant.”
If a slave spoke like that to Demetrius or Dex, they’d backhand her. But Cook is only doing what she thinks is best for Laia. I do as she asks.