An Ember in the Ashes (Ember Quartet #1)(92)

“Marcus attacked her,” I say. “He nearly killed her—”

“She shouldn’t have been out at this hour. I dismissed her for the evening. Any injuries she’s sustained are the result of her own foolhardiness. Leave her. You’re on the east wall for watch tonight, as I recall.”

“Will you send for the physician? Shall I get him?”

The Commandant stares at me as if I’m off my gourd.

“Cook will tend to her,” she says. “If she lives, she lives. If she dies . . . ” My mother shrugs. “Not that it’s any business of yours. You slept with the girl, Veturius. That doesn’t mean you own her. Get to watch.” She puts a hand on her whip. “If you’re late, I’ll take every minute out of your hide. Or”—she tilts her head thoughtfully—“the slave’s, if you prefer.”

“But—”

Helene grabs me by the arm and pulls me down the corridor.

“Let go of me!”

“Didn’t you hear her?” Helene says as she hauls me away from the Commandant’s house and across the sand training fields. “If you’re late to watch, she’ll whip you. The Third Trial’s two days away. How will you survive it if you can’t even put on your armor?”

“I thought you didn’t care what happened to me anymore,” I say. “I thought you were done with me.”

“What did she mean,” Helene asks quietly, “when she said you’d slept with the girl?”

“She doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” I say. “I’m not like that, Helene, you should know better. Look, I’ve got to find some way to help Laia. For one second, put aside the fact that you hate me and want me to suffer and die. Can you think of anyone I can take her to? Even someone down in the city—”

“The Commandant won’t allow it.”

“She won’t know—”

“She’ll find out. What’s wrong with you? The girl isn’t even a Martial. And she has one of her own to help her. That cook’s been around for ages. She’ll know what to do.”

Laia’s words echo in my mind. All evil here. Monsters. Little monsters and then big ones. She’s right. What is Marcus if not the worst kind of monster? He beat Laia with the intent of killing her, and he won’t even get punished for it. What is Helene when she so casually shrugs off the idea of helping the girl? And what am I? Laia’s going to die in that dark little room. And I’m doing nothing to stop it.

What can you do? a pragmatic voice asks. If you try to help, the Commandant will only punish you both, and that will kill the girl for sure.

“You can heal her.” I realize it suddenly, stunned that I didn’t think of it before. “The way you healed me.”

“No.” Helene walks away from me, her entire body suddenly stiff. “Absolutely not.”

I chase after her. “You can,” I insist. “Just wait half an hour. The Commandant will never know. Get into Laia’s room and—”

“I won’t do it.”

“Please, Helene.”

“What’s it to you, anyway?” Helene says. “Do you—are the two of you—”

“Forget that. Do it for me. I don’t want her to die, all right? Help her. I know you can.”

“No you don’t. I don’t even know if I can. What happened with you after the Trial of Cunning was—bizarre—freakish. I’d never done it before. And it took something out of me. Not my strength exactly but . . . forget it. I’m not going to try it again. Not ever.”

“She’ll die if you don’t.”

“She’s a slave, Elias. Slaves die all the time.”

I back away from her. All evil here. Monsters . . . “This is wrong, Helene.”

“Marcus has killed before—”

“Not just the girl. This.” I look around. “All of this.”

The walls of Blackcliff rise around us like impassive sentinels. There is no sound other than the rhythmic clink of armor as the legionnaires patrol the ramparts. The silence of the place, its brooding oppression, makes me want to scream. “This school. The students that come out of it. The things we do. It’s all wrong.”

“You’re tired. You’re angry. Elias, you need rest. The Trials—” She tries to put her hand on my shoulder, but I shake her off, sick at her touch.

“Damn the Trials,” I say to her. “Damn Blackcliff. And damn you too.”

Then I turn my back on her and head to watch.





XXXV: Laia


Everything hurts—my skin, my bones, my fingernails, even the roots of my hair. My body doesn’t feel like my own anymore. I want to scream. All I can manage is a moan.

Where am I? What happened to me?

Flashes of it come back. The secret entrance. Marcus’s fists. Then shouts and gentle arms. A clean smell, like rain in the desert, and a kind voice. Aspirant Veturius, delivering me from my murderer so I can die on a slave’s pallet instead of a stone floor.

Voices rise and fall around me—Izzi’s anxious murmur and Cook’s rasp. I think I hear the cackle of a ghul. It fades when cool hands coax my mouth open and pour liquid down. For a few minutes, my pain dulls. But it’s still near, an enemy pacing impatiently outside the gates. And eventually, it bursts through, burning and reaving.