An Ember in the Ashes (Ember Quartet #1)(91)

XXXIV: Elias


At the sound of the scream, I roll out from under Helene and onto my feet, the kiss forgotten. She falls unceremoniously to her back.

The scream echoes again, and I snatch up my scim. A second later, she grabs hers and follows me into the hallway. Outside, the belltower tolls eleven.

A blonde slave-girl is running toward us: Izzi.

“Help!” she shouts. “Please—Marcus is—he’s—”

I’m already running up the darkened corridor, Izzi and Helene behind me. We don’t have to go far. As we turn a corner, we find Marcus hunched atop a prone form, his face stretched into a savage leer. I can’t see who it is, but it’s obvious what he’s planning to do.

He’s not expecting company, which is why we’re able to get him off the slave so quickly. I tackle him and rain down punches, growling in satisfaction at the snap of bone beneath my fist, reveling in the blood that sprays across the wall. As his head whips back, I stand and draw my scim, resting the point on his rib cage between the plates of his armor.

Marcus scrambles to his feet, his arms in the air. “Are you going to kill me, Veturius?” he asks, still grinning despite the blood dripping down his face. “With a training scim?”

“Might take longer.” I drive it harder into his ribs. “But it’ll do the job.”

“You’re on watch tonight, Snake,” Helene says. “What the hell are you doing in a dark hallway with a slave?”

“Practicing for you, Aquilla.” Marcus licks a little of the blood off his lip before turning to me. “The slave puts up more of a fight than you do, bastard—”

“Shut it, Marcus,” I say. “Hel, check her.”

Helene leans down to see if the slave is breathing—it won’t be the first time Marcus has killed a slave. I hear her groan.

“Elias . . . ”

“What?” I’m getting angrier by the second, almost hoping Marcus will try something. An old-fashioned fistfight to the death will do me good. From the shadows, Izzi watches us, too frightened to move.

“Let him go,” Helene says. I stare at her in shock, but her face is unreadable. “Go,” she says tersely to Marcus, pulling my sword arm down. “Get out of here.”

Marcus smiles at Helene, that grating smirk that makes me want to beat the life from him. “You and me, Aquilla,” he says as he backs away, eyes smoldering. “I knew you’d start to see it.”

“Leave, damn it.” Helene hurls a knife at him, missing his ear by inches. “Go!”

When the Snake disappears out the door, I turn on Helene. “Tell me there was a reason for that.”

“It’s the Commandant’s slave. Your . . . friend. Laia.”

I see then the cloud of dark hair, the gold skin, which had been obscured by Marcus’s body before. A sick feeling fills me as I crouch down beside her and turn her over. Her wrist is broken, the bone jutting out against the skin. Bruises darken her arms and neck. She moans and tries to move. Her hair is a tangled mess, and both of her eyes are blackened and swollen shut.

“I’ll kill Marcus for this,” I say, my voice flat and calm, a calm I don’t feel. “We have to get her to the infirmary.”

“Slaves are forbidden from seeking treatment in the infirmary,” Izzi whispers from behind us. I’d forgotten she was there. “The Commandant will punish her for it. And you. And the physician.”

“We’ll take her to the Commandant,” Helene says. “The girl’s her property. She has to decide what to do with her.”

“Cook can help her,” Izzi adds.

They’re both right, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. I pick Laia up gently, mindful of her wounds. She is light, and I pull her head to my shoulder.

“You’ll be fine,” I murmur to her. “All right? You’re going to be just fine.”

I stride out of the hall, not waiting to see if Helene and Izzi follow. What would have happened if Helene and I hadn’t been nearby? Marcus would have raped Laia and she’d have bled out whatever life she had left on that cold stone floor. The knowledge fans the rage burning within me.

Laia shifts her head and moans. “Damn—him—”

“To the lowest pit of hell,” I mutter. I wonder if she still has the bloodroot I gave her. This is too much for bloodroot, Elias.

“Tunnel,” she says. “Darin—Maz—”

“Shhh,” I say. “Don’t talk now.”

“All evil here,” she whispers. “Monsters. Little monsters and then big ones.”

We reach the Commandant’s house, and Izzi holds open the gate to the servants’ corridor. Upon seeing us through the propped kitchen door, Cook drops a bag of spice she’s holding, staring at Laia in horror.

“Get the Commandant,” I order her. “Tell her that her slave is injured.”

“In here.” Izzi gestures to a low door with a curtain strung across it. I lay Laia down on the pallet inside with aching slowness, one limb at a time. Helene hands me a threadbare blanket, and I pull it over the girl, knowing how futile it is. A blanket won’t help her.

“What happened?” The Commandant speaks from behind me. Helene and I duck out into the servants’ corridor, now crowded with, Izzi, Cook, and the Commandant.