An Ember in the Ashes (Ember Quartet #1)(125)

On the other side of the courtyard, Faris stands taller and wider than everyone else, his eyes bewildered as a lost child’s. Dex is beside him, and I’m surprised at the streak of wetness that runs down his rigid jaw.

My mother, meanwhile, looks more relaxed than I’ve ever seen her. And why not? She’s won.

Beside her, Cain watches me, his cowl thrown back. Lost, he said, just a few weeks ago, like a leaf in the wind. And so I am. I won’t forgive him for the Third Trial. But I can thank him for helping me understand what true freedom is. He nods in acknowledgment, reading my thoughts one last time.

Helene removes the metal collar. “Kneel,” she says.

My mind snaps back to the platform, and I submit to her order.

“Is this how it ends, Helene?” I’m surprised at how civil I sound, as if I’m asking her about a book she’s read but that I have yet to finish.

Her eyes flicker, so I know she hears me. She says nothing, just checks the chains on my legs and arms and then nods to the Commandant. My mother reads the charges against me, which I don’t pay much attention to, and pronounces the punishment, which I also ignore. Dead is dead, no matter how it happens.

Helene steps forward and lifts her ax. It will be one clean sweep, left to right. Air. Neck. Air. Elias dead.

Now it hits me. This is it. This is the end. Martial tradition says a soldier who dies well dances among the stars, battling foes for all eternity. Is that what awaits me? Or will I slip into endless darkness, unbroken and quiet?

Uneasiness latches onto me, like it’s been waiting around a corner all this time and only now has the gall to emerge. Where do I fix my eyes? On the crowd? The sky? I want comfort. I know I won’t find any.

I look at Helene again. Who else is there? She’s only two feet away, her hands loose around the ax handle.

Look at me. Don’t make me face this alone.

As if she’s heard my thoughts, her eyes meet mine, that familiar pale blue offering me solace, even as she lifts the ax. I think of the first time I looked into those eyes, as a freezing six-year-old getting pummeled in the culling pen. I’ll watch your back, she’d said, with all the gravitas of a Cadet. If you watch mine. We can make it if we stick together.

Does she remember that day? Does she remember all the days since?

I’ll never know. As I stare into her eyes, she brings the ax down. I hear the whoosh as it cuts through the air and feel the burn of steel biting into my neck.





XLIX: Laia


The belltower courtyard fills up slowly, with groups of younger students arriving first, followed by the Cadets, and last, the Skulls. They form up in the center of the courtyard directly in front of the stage, just as Cook said they would. A few of the Yearlings stare at the execution platform with a frightened sort of fascination. Most don’t look, though. They keep their eyes on the ground or on the black walls looming over them.

I wonder, as the Illustrian city leaders file in, if the Augurs will attend.

“You best hope not,” Cook said when I’d voiced my worry in this very courtyard last night. “They hear you thinking what you’re thinking and you’re dead.”

By the time the dawn drums beat out, the courtyard is full. Legionnaires line the walls, and a few archers patrol Blackcliff’s rooftops, but other than that, security is light.

The Commandant arrives with Aquilla after nearly everyone else and stands at the front of the crowd beside the governor, her face harsh in the gray morning light. By now, I shouldn’t be surprised at her utter lack of emotion, but I can’t help but stare at her from where I crouch beneath the execution dais. Doesn’t she care that it’s her son who is going to die today?

Aquilla, standing on the stage, looks calm, almost serene—strange for a girl holding the ax that’s to take off her best friend’s head. I watch her through a crack in the wood at her feet. Had she ever cared about Veturius? Had their friendship, which seemed so precious to him, ever been real to her? Or had she betrayed him the way Mazen betrayed me?

The dawn drums fall silent, and boots march lockstep toward the courtyard, accompanied by the clank of chains. The crowd parts as four unfamiliar Masks escort Elias across the yard. Marcus leads them, veering off to stand beside the Commandant. I dig my nails into my palm at the satisfaction on his face. You’ll get yours, swine.

Despite the manacles on his hands and ankles, Elias’s shoulders are thrown back, and he holds his head proudly. I can’t see his face. Is he frightened? Angry? Does he wish he had killed me? Somehow, I doubt it.

The Masks leave Elias on the stage and take up positions behind it. I eye them nervously—I didn’t expect them to remain so close. One of them looks familiar.

Oddly familiar.

I look closer, and my stomach seizes. It’s the Mask who raided my home, who burned it to the ground. The Mask who killed my grandparents.

I find myself taking a step toward him, reaching for the scim beneath my skirt, before stopping myself. Darin. Izzi. Elias. I have bigger things to worry about than revenge.

For the hundredth time, I look down at the candles burning behind a screen at my feet. Cook gave me four, along with tinder and flint.

“The flame can’t go out,” she said. “If it goes out, you’re done.”

As I wait, I wonder if Izzi has reached the Badcat. Did the acid work on Izzi’s cuffs? Did she remember what to say? Did the crew take her on without questions? And what will Keenan say when he goes to Silas and realizes I’ve given my chance at freedom away to my friend?