An Ember in the Ashes (Ember Quartet #1)(124)
XLVIII: Elias
When the dungeon door rattles, my skin prickles, and I know even before opening my eyes who will escort me to the gallows.
“Morning, Snake,” I greet him.
“Get up, bastard,” Marcus says. “It’s nearly dawn, and you have an appointment.”
Four unfamiliar Masks and a squad of legionnaires stand behind him. Marcus looks at me like I’m a roach, but strangely, I don’t mind. My sleep was dreamless and deep, and I rise languidly, stretching as I meet the Snake’s eyes.
“Chain him,” Marcus says.
“Doesn’t the great Emperor have more important things to do than escort a mere criminal to the gallows?” I ask. The guards clamp an iron collar around my neck and hobble my legs. “Shouldn’t you be out scaring small children or killing your relatives?”
Marcus’s face darkens, but he doesn’t rise to the bait. “I wouldn’t miss this for anything.” His yellow eyes glitter. “I’d have raised the ax myself, but the Commandant thought it unseemly. Besides, I’d much rather watch my Blood Shrike do it.”
It takes a moment before I realize that he means for Helene to kill me. He’s watching me, waiting for my disgust, but it never comes. The thought of Helene taking my life is strangely comforting. I’d rather die by her hand than an unknown executioner’s. She’ll make it clean and quick.
“Still listening to what my old lady tells you, eh?” I say. “Guess you’ll always be her lapdog.”
Anger flashes across Marcus’s face, and I grin. So, the trouble’s already begun. Excellent.
“The Commandant is wise,” Marcus says. “I keep her counsel and will do so as long as it suits me.” He drops the formal posturing and leans close, the smugness rolling off him so thickly that I think I’ll choke on it. “She helped me with the Trials from the beginning. Your own mother told me what was coming, and the Augurs never even knew.”
“So what you’re saying is that you cheated and you still barely managed to win.” I applaud slowly, my chains clanking. “Well done.”
Marcus seizes my collar and slams my head into the wall. I groan before I can help myself, feeling as if a great chunk of stone has been driven into my skull. The guards unleash a volley of punches to my stomach, and I drop to my knees. But when they back away, satisfied that I’ve been cowed, I dive forward and take Marcus out at the waist. He’s still sputtering when I snatch a dagger from his belt and hold it to his throat.
Four scims whip out of their scabbards, eight bows notch, and all are pointed at me.
“I’m not going to kill you,” I say, nestling the blade into his neck. “Just wanted you to know I could. Now take me to my execution, Emperor.”
I drop the knife. If I’m going to die, it will be because I refused to murder a girl. Not because I slit the Emperor’s throat.
Marcus shoves me away, grinding his teeth in rage.
“Get him up, you idiots,” he roars at the guards. I can’t help but laugh, and he strides out of my cell, seething. The Masks lower their scims and haul me to my feet. Free, Elias. You’re almost free.
Outside, the stones of Blackcliff are gentled by the dawn, and the cool air warms quickly, promising a scorching day. A wild wind races through the dunes and breaks upon the granite of the school. I might not miss these walls as a dead man, but I will miss the wind and the scents it carries, of faraway places where freedom can be found in life instead of death.
Minutes later, we arrive at the belltower courtyard, where a platform has been erected for my beheading.
Blackcliff’s students dominate the yard, but there are other faces here too. I see Cain beside the Commandant and Governor Tanalius. Behind them, the heads of Serra’s Illustrian houses stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the city’s top military brass. Grandfather isn’t here, and I wonder if the Commandant’s moved against him yet. She will at some point. She’s spent years coveting rulership of Gens Veturia.
I straighten my shoulders and hold my head high. When the ax comes down, I will die the way Grandfather would want me to: proudly, like a Veturius. Always victorious.
I turn my attention to the platform, where death awaits me in the form of a polished ax held by my best friend. She glows in her ceremonials, looking more like an empress than a Blood Shrike.
Marcus breaks off, and the crowd shifts back as he moves to stand beside the Commandant. The four Masks march me up the platform stairs. I think I catch a flash of movement beneath the gallows, but before I can look again, I’m on the platform beside Helene. The few people who had been speaking fall silent as Hel turns me to face the crowd.
“Look at me,” I whisper, needing, suddenly, to see her eyes. The Augurs made her swear fealty to Marcus. I understand that. It’s a consequence of my failure. But now, preparing me for death, she is cold-eyed and hardhanded. Not a single tear. Did we never laugh together as Yearlings? Did we never fight our way out of a Barbarian camp, or fall into joyful hysterics after successfully robbing our first farmhouse, or carry each other when one of us was too weak to go on alone? Did we never love each other?
She ignores me, and I make myself look away from her and into the crowd. Marcus leans toward the governor, listening to something he says. It’s strange not to see Zak at his back. I wonder if the new Emperor misses his twin. I wonder if he will think rulership is worth the death of the only human who ever understood him.