by Sabaa Tahir
Page 52
I tell him I won’t miss it, and after he and the others leave, Hel hands me a vial. “You almost forgot the bloodroot serum. ”
“Laia!” I realize the source of the niggling feeling I had earlier. I’d promised the slave-girl bloodroot three days ago. She’ll be in terrible pain from her wound. Has she been taking care of it? Has Cook been cleaning it? Has—
“Who’s Laia?” Helene interrupts my thoughts, her voice dangerously serene.
“She’s. . . no one. ” My promise to a Scholar slave isn’t something Helene will understand. “What else happened while I was at the infirmary? Anything interesting?”
Helene throws me a look that says she’s allowing me to change the subject.
“Resistance ambushed a Mask—Daemon Cassius—in his house. Pretty gruesome, apparently. His wife found him this morning. No one heard a thing.
The bastards are getting bolder. And. . . there’s something else. ” She drops her voice. “My father’s heard a rumor that the Blood Shrike’s dead. ”
I stare at her incredulously. “The Resistance?”
Helene shakes her head. “You know that the Emperor’s a few weeks away from Serra—at the most. He’s started to plan his attack on Blackcliff—on us, the Aspirants. ”
Grandfather warned me about this. Still, it’s unpleasant to hear.
“When the Blood Shrike heard about the attack plans, he tried to resign his post. So Taius had him executed. ”
“You can’t resign as Blood Shrike. ” You serve until you die. Everyone knows that.
“Actually,” Helene says, “the Blood Shrike can resign, but only if the Emperor agrees to release him from service. It’s not commonly known—Father says it’s some odd loophole in Empire law. Anyway, if the rumor is true, then the Blood Shrike was a fool to even ask. Taius isn’t going to free his right-hand man right when Gens Taia is being shoved out of power. ”
She looks up at me, expecting a response, but I just stare at her open-mouthed, because something huge has occurred to me, something I haven’t understood until now.
If you do your duty, the Augur said, you have a chance to break the bonds between you and the Empire forever.
I know how to do it. I know how I’ll find my freedom.
If I win the Trials, I become Emperor. Nothing but death can release the Emperor from his duty to the Empire. But that’s not the case for the Blood Shrike. The Blood Shrike can resign, but only if the Emperor agrees to release him from service.
I’m not supposed to win the Trials. Helene is. Because if she wins and I become Blood Shrike, then she can set me free.
The revelation is like a punch to the gut and flying, all at once. The Augurs said whoever won two Trials first would become Emperor. Marcus and Helene are both up one. Which means I have to win the next Trial and Helene has to win the Fourth. And sometime between now and then, Marcus and Zak have to die.
“Elias?”
“Yes,” I say too loudly. “Sorry. ” Hel looks annoyed.
“Thinking of Laia?” The mention of the Scholar girl is so incongruous to my thoughts that for a second I’m stunned silent, and Helene stiffens.
“Well, don’t mind me, then,” she says. “Not like I just spent two days by your bedside singing you back to life or anything. ”
For a second I don’t know what to say. I don’t know this Helene. She’s acting like an actual girl. “No, Hel, it’s not like that. I’m just tired—”
“Forget it,” she says. “I have to get to watch. ”
“Aspirant Veturius. ” A Yearling jogs toward me, a note in his hand. I take the note from him, all the while asking Helene to wait. But she ignores me and, even as I’m trying to explain, she walks away.
XXV: Laia
Hours after telling Keenan I’d get out of Blackcliff to meet him, I feel like the world’s biggest fool. Tenth bell has come and gone. The Commandant dismissed me and retreated to her room an hour ago. She shouldn’t emerge until dawn, especially since I spiked her tea with kheb leaf—a scentless, tasteless herb Pop used to help patients rest. Cook and Izzi are asleep in their quarters. The house is silent as a mausoleum.
And still I sit in my room, trying to concoct a way out of this place.
I can’t just walk past the gate guards so late at night. Bad things happen to slaves foolish enough to do so. Besides which, the risk that the Commandant will hear about my midnight wandering is too great.
But I can, I decide, create a distraction and sneak past the guards. I think back to the flames that consumed my house on the night of the raid. Nothing distracts better than fire.
So, armed with tinder, flint, and a striker, I slip out of my room. A loose black scarf obscures my face, and my dress, high-necked and long-sleeved, conceals both my slaves’ cuffs and the Commandant’s mark, still scabbed and painful.
The servants’ corridor is empty. I move silently to the wooden gate leading to Blackcliff’s grounds and ease it open.
It squeals louder than a gutted pig.
I grimace and scurry back to my quarters, waiting for someone to come investigate the noise. When no one does, I creep out of my room—
“Laia? Where are you going?”
I jump and drop the flint and striker to the ground, barely keeping hold of the tinder.
“Bleeding skies, Izzi!”
“Sorry!” She picks up the flint and striker, brown eyes widening when she realizes what they are. “You’re trying to sneak out. ”
“Am not,” I say, but she gives me a look that makes me fidget. “Fine, I am, but—”
“I. . . could help you,” she whispers. “I know a way out of the school that even the legionnaires don’t patrol. ”
“It’s too dangerous, Izzi. ”
“Right. Of course. ” She retreats but then stops, small hands twisting together.
“If—if you were planning to set a fire and sneak through the front gate while the guards are distracted, it won’t work. The legionnaires will send the auxes to deal with the fire. They never leave a gate unattended. Never. ”
As soon as she says it, I know she’s right. I should have realized that fact myself. “Can you tell me about this way out?” I ask her.
“It’s a hidden trail,” she says. “A rock path and a scanty one at that. I’m sorry, but I’d have to show you—which means I’d have to come with you. I don’t mind. It’s what a—a friend would do. ” She says the word friend like it’s a secret she wishes she knew. “I’m not saying that we’re friends,” she continues in a rush. “I mean—I don’t know. I’ve never really had. . . ”
A friend. She’s about to say it, but she looks away, embarrassed.
“I’m to meet with my handler, Izzi. If you come and the Commandant catches you—”
“She’ll punish me. Maybe kill me. I know. But she might do that anyway if I forget to dust her room or if I look her in the eye. Living with the Commandant is like living with the Reaper. And anyway, do you really have a choice? I mean,” she looks almost apologetic, “how else are you planning to get out of here?”
Good point. I don’t want her to get hurt. I lost Zara to the Martials a year ago. I can’t bear the thought of another friend suffering at their hands.
