An Ember in the Ashes (Ember Quartet #1)(86)

I vigorously crank water from the pump, using the squeal of metal to drown out our voices. Izzi’s mistaken. She has to be. “What about the tunnels? Or . . . do you think one of the other slaves will know something?”

“You saw how it was last night. We only got through the tunnels because of Veturius. As for the other slaves, it’s risky. Some of them spy for the Commandant.”

No—no—no. What just minutes ago seemed like a wealth of time—eight whole days—is no time at all. Izzi hands me a freshly washed sheet, and I hang it on the line with impatient hands. “A map, then. There must be a map to this place somewhere.”

At this, Izzi brightens. “Maybe,” she says. “In the Commandant’s office—”

“The only place you’ll find a map of Blackcliff,” a raspy voice intrudes, “is in the Commandant’s head. And I don’t think you want to go rummaging around in there.”

I gape like a fish as Cook, as silent-footed as her mistress, materializes from behind the sheet I’ve just hung up.

Izzi jumps at Cook’s sudden appearance, but then, to my shock, she stands and crosses her arms. “There must be something,” she says to the old woman. “How’d she get the map in her head? She must have a point of reference.”

“When she became Commandant,” Cook says, “the Augurs gave her a map to memorize and burn. That’s how it’s always been done at Blackcliff.” At the surprise on my face, she snorts. “When I was younger and even stupider than you, I kept my eyes and ears open. Now my head’s filled with useless knowledge that does no one any good.”

“But it’s not useless,” I say. “You must know of a secret way into the school—”

“I don’t.” The scars on Cook’s face are livid against her skin. “And if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”

“My brother’s in Central’s death cells. He’s going to be executed in days, and if I don’t find a secret way into Blackcliff—”

“Let me ask you a question, girl,” Cook says. “It’s the Resistance who says your brother’s in prison, the Resistance who says he’s going to be executed, right? But how do they know? And how do you know they’re telling the truth? Your brother might be dead. Even if he is in Central’s death cells, the Resistance will never get him out. A blind, deaf stone could tell you that.”

“If he was dead, they’d have told me.” Why can’t she just help me? “I trust them, all right? I have to trust them. Besides, Mazen says he has a plan—”

“Bah.” Cook sneers. “The next time you see this Mazen, you ask him where, exactly, your brother is in Central. What cell? You ask him how he knows and who his spies are. Ask him how having an entrance to Blackcliff will help him break into the most fortified prison in the south. After he answers, we’ll see if you still trust the bastard.”

“Cook—” Izzi speaks up, but the old woman whirls on her.

“Don’t you start. You’ve got no idea what you’re getting into. The only reason I haven’t turned her in to the Commandant,” Cook practically spits at me, “is because of you. As it is, I can’t trust that Slave-Girl won’t give up your name to make the Commandant go easy on her.”

“Izzi . . . ” I look to my friend. “No matter what the Commandant did, I would never—”

“You think that carving on your heart makes you an expert in pain?” Cook says. “Ever been tortured, girl? Ever been tied to a table while hot coals burned into your throat? Ever had your face carved up with a dull knife while a Mask poured salt water into your wounds?”

I stare at her stonily. She knows the answer.

“You can’t know if you’d betray Izzi,” Cook says, “because you’ve never had your limits tested. The Commandant was trained at Kauf. If she interrogated you, you’d betray your own mother.”

“My mother’s dead,” I say.

“And thank the skies for it. Who knows what d-d-damage she and her rebels would have caused if she still—still lived.”

I look at Cook askance. Again, the stutter. Again, when she’s speaking of the Resistance.

“Cook.” Izzi stands eye-to-eye with the old woman, though she somehow seems taller. “Please help her. I’ve never asked you for anything. I’m asking you now.”

“What’s your stake in it?” Cook’s mouth twists like she’s tasted something sour. “Did she promise to get you out? To save you? Stupid girl. Resistance never saves anyone they can leave behind.”

“She didn’t promise me anything,” Izzi says. “I want to help her because she’s my—my friend.”

I’m your friend, Cook’s dark eyes say. I wonder, for the hundredth time, who this woman is and what the Resistance—and my mother—did to her that she would hate and mistrust them so much.

“I just want to save Darin,” I say. “I just want out of here.”

“Everyone wants out of here, girl. I want out. Izzi wants out. Even the damn students want out. If you want to leave so badly, I suggest you go to your precious Resistance and ask for another mission. Somewhere where you won’t get yourself killed.”