My sle ep is fitful and scanty, haunted by the Commandant’s threat.
Time enough for that yet. When I wake before dawn, scraps of
nightmare stay with me: my face carved and branded; my brother hanging
from the gallows, fair hair fluttering in the wind.
Think of something else. I close my eyes and see Keenan, remembering
how he asked me to dance, so shy and unlike himself. That fire in his eyes
as he spun me around — I thought it must mean something. But he left so
abruptly. Is he all right? Did he es cape the ra id? Did he hear Veturius shout
out the warning?
Veturius. I hear his laugh and smell the spice of his body, and I have to
force those sensations away and r eplace them with the truth. He’s a Mask.
He’s the enemy.
Why did he help me? He risked imprisonment by doing so — worse than
that, if rumors about the Black Guard and their purges are true. I can’t
believe he did it solely for my benefit. A lark, then? Some sick Martial
game I don’t yet understand?
Don’t stick around to find out, Laia, Darin whispers in my head. Get me
out of here.
Footst eps shuffle in the kitchen — Cook making breakfast. If the old
woman is up, Izzi won’t be far behind. I dress quickly, hoping to get to her
before Cook sets us to our daily drudgery. Izzi will know of a secret
entrance to the school.
But Izzi, it turns out, left early on an errand for Cook.
“She won’t be back until noon,” Cook informs me. “Not that it’s your
concern.” The old woman points to a black folio on the table.
“Commandant says you’re to take that folio to Spiro Teluman first thing,
before attending to your other duties.”
I stifle a groan. I’ll just have to wait to talk to Izzi.
When I get to Teluman’s shop, I’m surprised to see the door open, the
forge fire burning. Sweat streams down the smith’s face and into his burnscarred jerkin
as he hammers at a glowing chunk of steel. Beside him stands
a Tribal girl clad in sheer, rose - colored robes, their hems embroidered with
tiny round mirrors. The girl is murmuring something I can’t hear over the
ringing of the hammer. Teluman nods a greeting at me but continues his
conversation with the girl.
As I watch them speak, I realize she’s olde r than I first thought, perhaps
in her midtwenties. Her silky black hair, shot through with fiery red, is
woven into thin, intricate braids, and her dainty face is vaguely familiar.
Then I recognize her: She danced with Veturius at the Moon Festival.
She shakes Teluman’s hand, offers him a sack of coins, and then makes
her way out the forge’s back door with an appraising glance in my direction.
Her eyes linger on my slaves’ cuffs, and I look away.
“Her name’s Afya Ara - Nur,” Spiro Teluman says when the woman is
gone. “She’s the only female chieftain among the Tribes. One of the most
dangerous women you’ll ever meet. Also one of the cleverest. Her tribe
carries weapons to the Marinn branch of the Scholars’ Resistance.”
“Why are you telling me this?” What’s wrong with him? That’s the type
of knowledge that will get me killed.
Spiro shrugs. “Your brother made most of the weapons she’s taking. I
thought you’d want to know where they’re going.”
“No, I don’t want to know.” Why doesn’t he understand? “I want nothing
to do with . . . whatever it is you’re doing. All I want is for things to go
back to the way they were. Before you made my brother your apprentice.
Before the Empire took him because of it.”
“You might as well wish away that scar.” Teluman nods to where my
cloak has fallen open, revealing the Commandant’s K. Hastily, I pull the
garment closed.
“Things will never go back to the way they were.” He flips the metal
he’s shaping with a pair of tongs and continues hammering. “If the Empire
freed Darin tomorrow, h e’d come here and start making weapons again. His
destiny is to rise, to help his people overthrow their oppressors. And mine is
to help him do it.”
I’m so angry at Teluman’s presumption that I don’t think before I speak.
“So now you’re the savior of the Scholars, after spending years creating the
weapons that have destroyed us?”
“I live with my sins every day.” He throws down the tongs and turns to
me. “I live with the guilt. But there are two kinds of guilt, girl: the kind that
drowns you until you’re use less, and the kind that fires your soul to
purpose. The day I made my last weapon for the Empire, I drew a line in
my mind. I’d never make a Martial blade again. I’d never have Scholar
blood on my hands again. I won’t cross that line. I’ll die before I cross it.”
His hammer is clenched in his hand like a weapon, his hard - angled face
lit with tightly controlled fervor. So this is why Darin agreed to be his
apprentice. There’s something of our mother in this man’s ferocity,
something of our father in the way he carries himself. His passion is true
and contagious. When he speaks, I want to believe.
He opens his hand. “You have a message?”
I give him the folio. “You said you’d die before you crossed that line.
And yet you’re making a weapon for the Commandant.”
“No.” Spiro peruses the folio. “I’m pretending to make a weapon for her
so she’ll ke ep sending you with messages. As long as she thinks my interest
in yo u will get her a Teluman blade, she won’t do you any irr eparable harm.
I might even be able to persuade her to sell you to me. Then I’ll break those
damned things off” — he nods to my cuffs — “and set you free.” At my
surprise, Spiro looks away, as if embarrassed. “It’s the least I can do for
your brother.”
“He’s going to be executed,” I whisper. “In a week.”
“Executed?” Spiro says. “Not possible. He’d still be in Central Prison if
he was to be executed, and he was moved from there. Where, I don’t yet
know.” Te luman’s eyes narrow. “How did you learn he was to be executed?
Who have you been talking to?”
I don’t answer. Darin might have trusted the smith, but I can’t bring
myself to. Maybe Teluman really is a re volutionary. Or maybe he’s a very
convincing spy.
“I have to go,” I say. “Cook’s expecting me back.”
“Laia, wait — ”
I don’t hear the rest. I’m already out the door.
As I walk back to Blackcliff, I try to push his words from my head, but I
can’t. Darin’s been moved? When? Where? Why didn’t Mazen mention it?
Ho w is my brother? Is he suffering? What if the Martials have broken
his bones? Skies, his fingers? What if —
No more. Nan once said that there’s hope in life. If Darin’s alive, nothing
else matters. If I can get him out, the rest can be fixed.
My path back takes me through Execution Square, where the gibbets are
conspicuously empty. No one has been hung for days. Keenan said the
Martials are saving the executions for the new Emperor. Marcus and his
brother will enjoy such a spectacle. What if one of the other s wins? Would
Aquilla smile as innocent men and women twist at the end of a rope? Would
Veturius?
Ahead of me, the crowd slows to a standstill as a Tribal caravan twenty
wagons long ambles across the square. I turn to go around it, but everyone
else has the same idea, resulting in a mess of swearing, shoving, mired
bodies.
And then, amid the chaos: “You’re all right.”
I recognize his voice instantly. He wears a Tribal vest, but even with the
hood up, his hair trickles out like a tongue of flame.
“After the raid,” Keenan says, “I wasn’t sure. I’ve been watching the
square all day, hoping you’d come through.”
“You got out too.”
“All of us did. Just in time. The Martials took more than a hundred
Scholars last night.” He cocks his head. “Your friend es caped?”
“My . . . ah . . . ” If I say Izzi’s all right, I’m as good as admitting that I
brought her with me to an information drop. Keenan regards me with his
unflinching stare. He’ll know a lie a mile away.
“Yes,” I say. “She es caped.”
“She knows you’re a spy.”
“She’s helped me. I know I shouldn’t have let her, but — ”
“But it just happened. Your brother’s life is at risk here, Laia. I
understand.” A fight breaks out behind us, and Keenan rests a hand on my
back, turning me so he’s between me and the flying punches. “Mazen’s set a
meeting eight days from now, in the morning. Tenth bell. Come here, to the
square. If you need to meet before, wear a gray scarf over your hair and
wait on the south side of the square. Someone will be watching for you.”
“Keenan.” I think of what Teluman said about Darin. “Are you sure my
brother’s in Central Prison? That he’s to be executed? I heard he’s been
moved — ”
“Our spies are reliable,” Keenan says. “Mazen would know if he’d been
transferred.”
My neck prickles. Something’s not right. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Keenan rubs the stubble on his face, and my unease swells. “It’s nothing
you need to worry about, Laia.”
Ten hells. I turn his face toward me, forcing him to meet my eyes. “If it
affects Darin,” I say, “I need to worry about it. Is it Mazen? Has he changed
his mind?”
“No.” Keenan’s tone does little to reassure me. “I don’t think so. But
he’s been . . . strange. Quiet about this mission. Hiding the spy r eports.”
I try to justify this. Perhaps Mazen is worried the mission will be
compromised. When I say as much, Keenan shakes his head.
“It’s not just that,” he says. “I can’t confirm it, but I think he’s planning
something else. Something big. Something that doesn’t in volve Darin. But
how can we save Darin and take on another mission? We don’t have enough
men.”
“Ask him,” I say. “You’re his second. He trusts you.”
“Ah.” Keenan grimace s. “Not exactly.”
Has he fallen out of favor? I don’t get a chance to ask. Ahead of us, the
caravan lurches out of the way, and the pent - up crowd surges forward. In
the crush, my cloak rips free. Keenan’s eyes drop to the scar. It’s so
prominent, so red and hideous, I think miserably. How could he not look?
“Ten bleeding hells. What happened?”
“The Commandant punished me. A few days ago.”
“I didn’t know, Laia.” All his aloofness dissolves as he stares at the scar.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Would you have c ared?” His eyes jerk to mine, surprised. “Anyway, it’s
nothing compared to what it could have been. She took Izzi’s eye. And you
should see what she did to Cook. Her entire face . . . ” I shudder. “I know
it’s ugly . . . horrible — ”
“No.” He says the word like it’s an order. “Don’t think that. It means you
survived her. It means you’re brave.”
The crowd moves around me, past me. People elbow and mutter at us.
But then it all fades, because Keenan has taken my hand and is looking
from my eyes to my lips and back up in a way that needs no translation. I
notice a f reckle, perfect and round, at the corner of his mouth. A slow
warmth uncurls low in my body as he pulls me to him.
Then a leather - clad Mariner shoves past, breaking us apart, and
Keenan’s mouth twitches in a brief, rueful smile. He squeezes my hand
once. “I’ll see you soon.”
He melts into the crowd, and I hurry back toward Blackcliff. If Izzi
knows of an entrance, I still have time to see it for myself and head back
here to pass along the information. The Resistance can get Darin out, and
I’ll be done with all of this. No more scars or whippings. No more terror
and fear. And maybe, a quiet part of me whispers, I’ll get more than just a
few moments with Keenan.
I find Izzi in the back courtyard, scrubbing sheets beside the water
pump.
“I only know of the hidden trail, Laia,” Izzi says to my question. “And
even that’s not secret. Just so dangerous that most people don’t use it.”
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. “M aybe,” 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 hea d? 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 k ept 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
trus t 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 yo ur 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
Hinterrogated 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. A gain, 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.”
She stalks away, and I should be angry, but instead I’m r epeating what
she said in my head. Even the damn students want out. Even the damn
st udents want out.
“Izzi.” I turn to my friend. “I think I know how to find a way out of
Blackcliff.”
«««
ours later, as I crouch behind a hedge outside Blackcliff’s barracks,
I’m wondering if I’ve made a mistake. The curfew drums thud and
fall silent. I’ve been sitting here for an hour with roots and rocks digging
into my knees. Not a single student has emerged from the barracks.
But at some point, one will. As Cook said, even the students want out of
Blackcliff. They must sneak out. How else would they mana ge their
drinking and whoring? Some must bribe the gate guards or tunnel guards,
but surely there’s another way out of here.
I fidget and shift, exchanging one prickly branch for another. I can’t lurk
in the shadow of this squat shrub for much longer. Izzi is covering for me,
but if the Commandant calls and I don’t appear, I’ll be punished. Worse,
Izzi might be punished.
Did she promise to get you out? To save you?
I promised Izzi no such thing, but I should. Now that Cook’s brought it
up, I can’t stop thin king about it. What will happen to Izzi when I’m gone?
The Resistance said they’d make my sudden disappearance from Blackcliff
look like suicide, but the Commandant will question Izzi anyway. The
woman’s not easily fooled.
I can’t just leave Izzi here to face interrogation. She’s the first true friend
I’ve had since Zara. But how can I get the Resistance to shelter her? If it
hadn’t been for Sana, they wouldn’t have even helped me.
There must be a way. I could bring Izzi with me when I leave this place.
The Resistance wouldn’t be so heartless as to send her back — not if they
knew what would happen to her. As I consider, I set my sights back on the
buildings before me, just in time to see two figures emerge from the Skulls’
barracks. Light glints off the lighter hair of one, and I recognize the
prowling gait of the other. Marcus and Zak.
The twins turn away from the front gates and pass by the tunnel grates
closest to the barracks, instead heading for one of the training buildings.
I follow them, close enough to hear them speak but far enough that they
won’t notice me. Who knows what they’d do if they caught me trailing
them?
“ — can’t stand this,” a vo ice drifts back to me. “I feel like he’s taking
over my mind.”
“Stop being such a damned girl,” Marcus r eplies. “He teaches us what
we need to avoid the Augurs’ mind - leeching. You should be grateful.”
I edge closer, interested despite myself. Could they be speaking of the
creature from the Commandant’s study?
“Every time I look into his eyes,” Zak says, “I see my own death.”
“At least you’ll be pr epared.”
“No,” Zak says quietly. “I don’t think so.”
Marcus grunts in irritation. “I don’t like it any better th an you do. But we
have to win this thing. So man up.”
They enter the training building, and I grab the heavy oak door just
before it shuts, watching them through the crack. Blue - fire lanterns dimly
light the hall, and their footst eps echo between the pillars on either side.
Just before the building curves, they disappear behind one of the columns.
Stone grates against stone, and all goes silent.
I enter the building and listen. The hallway is quiet as a tomb, but that
doesn’t mean the Farrars are gone. I ma ke my way to the pillar where they
disappeared, expecting to see a training - room door.
But there’s nothing there, only stone.
I move on to the next room. Empty. The next. Empty. Moonlight from
the windows tinges every room a ghostly blue - white, and they are, all of
them, empty. The Farrars have disappeared. But how?
A secret entrance. I’m certain of it. Giddy relief floods me. I found it,
found what Mazen wants. Not yet, Laia. I still have to figure out how the
twins are getting in and out.
The next night, at the same late hour, I position myself in the training
building itself, across from the pillar where I saw the Masks disappear. The
minutes pass. Half an hour. An hour. They don’t appear.
Eventually, I make myself leave. I can’t risk missing a summons from
the Commandant. I feel like shouting in frustration. The Farrars might have
disappeared into the secret entrance before I ever got to the building. Or
they might arrive there when I’m already in my bed. Whatever the case, I
need more time to watch.
“I’l l go tomorrow,” Izzi says when she meets me in my quarters as the
final peals of eleventh bell fade. “The Commandant rang for water. Asked
where you were when I took it to her. I told her Cook sent you on a latenight errand, but
that excuse won’t work twice.”
I don’t want to let Izzi help, but I know I won’t succeed without her.
Every time she leaves for the training building, my resolve to get her out of
Blackcliff grows stronger. I will not leave her here when I go. I cannot.
We alternate nights, risking all in the hopes that we’ll spot the Farrars
again. But maddeningly, we come up with nothing.
“If all else fails,” Izzi says the night before I’m to make my r eport, “you
can ask Cook to teach you how to blow a hole in the outer wall. She used to
make explosives for the Resistance.”
“They want a secret entrance,” I say. But I smile, because the thought of
a giant, smoking hole in Blackcliff’s wall is a happy one.
Izzi heads out to watch for the Farrars, and I wait for the Commandant to
summon me. But she doesn’t, and instead I lay in my pallet, staring at the
pitted stone of my roof, forcing myself not to imagine Darin suffering at the
hands of the Martials, trying to figure out a way to explain my failure to
Mazen.
Then, just before eleventh bell, Izzi bursts into my room.
“I found it, Laia! The tunnel the Farrars have been using. I found it!”