An Ember in the Ashes (Ember Quartet #1)(74)

A second later I feel a hand on my shoulder and smell cedar and wind.

“Laia.” The beautiful boy by the stage is forgotten as I turn to Keenan. I take in his dark eyes and red hair, not realizing that he’s staring back until a few seconds have passed and he clears his throat.

Izzi slips a few feet away, eyeing Keenan with interest. I told her that when the Resistance showed up, she was to act like she didn’t know me. Somehow, I don’t think they will appreciate that a fellow slave knows all about my mission.

“Come on,” Keenan says, weaving past the dance stages and between two tents. I follow, and Izzi trails us, discreetly and at a distance.

“You found your way,” he adds.

“It was . . . simple enough.”

“I doubt that. But you managed it. Well done. You look . . . ” His eyes search my face and then travel down my body. Such a look from another man would merit a slap, but from Keenan, it’s more tribute than insult. There is something different about his usually aloof features—surprise? Admiration? When I smile tentatively at him, he gives his head a slight shake, as if clearing it.

“Is Sana here?” I ask.

“She’s at base.” His shoulders are tense, and I can tell he’s troubled. “She wanted to see you herself, but Mazen didn’t want her to come. They had quite a battle over it. Her faction’s been pushing for Mazen to get Darin out. But Mazen . . . ” He clears his throat and, as if he’s said too much, nods tersely to a tent ahead of us. “Let’s head around back.”

A white-haired Tribal woman sits in front of the tent, peering into a crystal ball as two Scholar girls wait to hear what she’ll say, their faces skeptical. On one side of her, a torch-juggler has amassed a large crowd, and on the other, a Tribal Kehanni spins her tales, her voice rising and swooping like a bird in flight.

“Hurry up.” Keenan’s sudden brusqueness startles me. “He’s waiting.”

When I enter the tent, Mazen stops speaking to the two men flanking him. I recognize them from the cave. They are his other lieutenants, closer to Keenan’s age than Mazen’s and possessed of the younger man’s taciturn coolness. I stand taller. I won’t be intimidated.

“Still in one piece,” Mazen says. “Impressive. What have you got for us?”

I tell him everything I know about the Trials and the Emperor’s arrival. I don’t reveal how I got the information, and Mazen doesn’t ask. When I’m done, even Keenan looks stunned.

“The Martials will name the new Emperor in less than two weeks,” I say. “That’s why I told Keenan we had to meet tonight. It wasn’t easy to get out of Blackcliff, you know. I only risked it because I knew I had to get you this information. It’s not everything you wanted, but surely it’s enough to convince you that I’ll complete the mission. You can get Darin out now”—Mazen’s brows furrow, and I rush on—“and I’ll stay at Blackcliff as long as you need me to.”

One of the lieutenants, a stocky, fair-haired man who I think is called Eran, whispers something in Mazen’s ear. Irritation flashes briefly across the older man’s eyes.

“The death cells aren’t like the main prison block, girl,” he says. “They’re near impenetrable. I expected to have a few weeks to break your brother out, which is why I even agreed to do it. These things take time. Supplies and uniforms need procuring, guards need bribing. Less than two weeks . . . that’s nothing.”

“It’s possible,” Keenan speaks up from behind me. “Tariq and I were discussing it—”

“If I want your opinion, or Tariq’s,” Mazen says, “I’ll ask for it.”

Keenan’s lips go thin, and I expect him to retort. But he just nods, and Mazen goes on.

“It’s not enough time,” he muses. “We’d need to take the whole damn prison. That’s not something you can do unless . . . ” He strokes his chin, deep in thought, before nodding. “I have a new mission for you: Find me a way into Blackcliff, a way no one else knows of. Do that and I’ll be able to get your brother out.”

“I have a way!” Relief floods me. “A hidden trail—it’s how I came here.”

“No.” Mazen punctures my elation as quickly as it had ballooned. “We need something . . . different.”

“More maneuverable,” Eran says. “By a large group of men.”

“The catacombs run under Blackcliff,” Keenan says to Mazen. “Some of those tunnels must lead to the school.”

“Perhaps.” Mazen clears his throat. “We’ve searched down there before and found nothing of use. But you, Laia, will have an advantage, since you’ll be looking from within Blackcliff itself.” He rests his fists on the table and leans toward me. “We need something soon. A week, at most. I’ll send Keenan to give you a specific date. Don’t miss that meeting.”

“I’ll find you an entrance,” I say. Izzi will know of something. One of the tunnels beneath Blackcliff must be unguarded. This, finally, is a task I know I can accomplish. “But how will an entrance into Blackcliff help you break Darin out of the death cells?”

“A fair question,” Keenan says softly. He meets Mazen’s gaze, and I’m surprised at the open hostility in the older man’s face.