The school is mostly quiet when Izzi and I emerge from the slaves’
quarters. A few students still out head to the barracks in small groups,
their shoulders slumped with tiredness.
“Did you see the Farrars go in?” I ask Izzi on the way to the training
building.
She shakes her head. “I was sitting there staring at those pillars, bored as
a stone, when I noticed one of the bricks was different — shiny, like it had
been touched more than the others. And then — well, come on, I’ll show
you.”
We enter the building and are greeted by the almost musical ring of
clashing scims. Ahead of us, a training - room door stands open, and gold
torchlight pours into the hallway. A pair of Masks battles within, each
brandishing two slender scims.
“It’s Veturius,” Izzi says. “And Aquilla. They’ve been at it for ages.”
As I watch them fight, I find that I’m holding my breath. They move like
dancers, whirling back and forth across the room, graceful, liquid, deadly.
And so swift, like shadows on the surface of a r iver. If I wasn’t watching it
with my own eyes, I would never believe anyone could move that fast.
Veturius knocks the scim from Aquilla’s hand, and he is on her, their
bodies entangled as they wrestle across the floor with a strange, intimate
violence. He is all muscle and force, and yet I can see in the way he fights
that he is holding himself back. He is refusing to unleash his whole strength
on her. Even still, there is an animal freedom to how he moves, a controlled
chaos that makes the air around him blaze. So different from Keenan, with
his restrained solemnity and cool interest.
Why are you comparing them, anyway?
I turn from the Aspirants. “Izzi, come on.”
The building seems empty other than Veturius and Aquilla, but Izzi and I
edge along the walls carefully in case there’s a student or Centurion lurking.
We turn the corner, and I recognize the doors the Farrars used when I saw
them enter here the first time, nearly a week ago.
“Here, Laia.” Izzi slips behind one of the pillars and raises her hand to a
brick that, at first glance, looks like all the others. She taps it. With a quiet
groan, a section of stone swings away into darkness. Lamplight illuminates
a narrow, descending staircase. I look down, barely daring to believe what
I’m seeing, then envelop Izzi in a grateful hug.
“Izzi, you did it!”
I don’t understand why she’s not smiling back until her face goes rigid
and she grabs me.
“Shhh,” she says. “Listen.”
The flat tones of a Mask’s voice echo from the tunnel, and the stairwell
glows with approa ching torchlight.
“Close it!” Izzi says. “Quickly, before they see!”
I put my hand to the brick, tapping it frantically.
Nothing happens.
“ — pretend you don’t see it, but you do.” A vaguely familiar voice rises
from the stairwell as I paw at the brick. “You’ve always known how I feel
about her. Why do you torment her? Why do you hate her so much?”
“She’s an Illustrian snob. She’d never have you anyway.”
“Maybe if you’d left her alone, I’d have had a chance.”
“She’s our enemy, Zak. She’s going to die. Get ove r it.”
“Then why did you tell her that you two are meant to be? Why do I get
the feeling that you want her to be your Blood Shrike instead of me?”
“I’m messing with her head, you bleeding idiot. And apparently it’s
working so well that even you’re affected.”
I recognize the voices now — Marcus and Zak. Izzi pushes me aside and
punches at the brick. The entrance remains stubbornly open.
“Forget it!” Izzi says. “Come on!”
She grabs me, but Marcus’s face emerges at the bottom of the stairwell,
and, spotting me, he bounds up, reaching me in two strides.
“Run!” I shout at Izzi.
Marcus grabs for Izzi, but I shove her out of the way, and his arm wraps
around my neck instead, choking off my air. He wrenches my head back,
and I stare into his pale yellow eyes.
“What’s this? Spying, wench? Trying to find a way to sneak out of the
school?”
Izzi stands unmoving in the hallway, right eye wide in terror. I can’t let
her get caught. Not after all she’s done for me.
“Go, Iz!” I scream. “Run!”
“Get her, you twit,” Marcus roars at his brother, who has just emerged
from the tunnel. Zak makes a half - hearted effort to grab Izzi, but she
wrenches out of his grasp and runs back the way we came.
“Marcus, come on.” Zak sounds exhausted and looks longingly toward
the heavy oak doors that lead outside. “Leave her be. We have to be up
early.”
“Don’t you remember her, Zak?” Marcus says. I struggle and try to kick
the soft place between his foot and ankle, but he yanks me off my feet.
“She’s the Commandant’s girl.”
“She’s expecting me,” I choke out.
“She won’t mind if you’re late.” Marcus smiles, a jackal’s grin. “I made
you a promise that day, outside her office, remember? I told you that one
night, you’d be alone in a dark hallway and I’d find you. I always ke ep my
promises.”
Zak groans. “Marcus — ”
“If you want to be such a eunuch, little brother,” Marcus says, “then piss
off and leave me to my entertainment.”
Zak regards his twin for a moment. Then he sighs and walks away.
No! Come back!
“Just you and me, beautiful,” Marcus whispers in my ear. I bite viciously
at his arm and try to wriggle away, but he spins me around by my neck and
shoves me against the pillar.
“Shouldn’t have fought,” he says. “I would have gone easy on you. But
then, I like a little spirit in my women.” His fist comes whistling toward my
face. An infinite, explosive moment later, my head hits the stone behind me
with a sickening smack, and I’m seeing double.
Fight back, Laia. For Darin. For Izzi. For every Scholar this beast has
abused. Fight. A scream bursts from me, and I claw at Marcus’s face, but a
punch to my stomach takes the wind out of my lungs. I double over,
retching, and his knee comes up into my forehead. The hallway spins, and I
drop to my knees. Then I hear him laughing, a sadistic chuckle that stokes
my defiance. Sluggishly, I throw myself at his legs. It won’t be like before,
like during the raid when I let that Mask drag me about my own house like
some dead thing. This time, I’ll fight. Tooth and nail, I’ll fight.
Marcus grunts in surprise, losing his footing, and I untangle myself and
try to scramble to my feet. But he catches my arm and backhands me. My
head strikes the floor, and then he’s kicking me until my flesh is minced.
When I stop resisting, he straddles me and pins my arms down.
I release one last scream, but it turns to a whimper as he lays a finger
against my mouth. My eyes are closing, swelling shut. I can’t see. I can’t
think. Far away, the bells of the clock tower toll eleven.