When I enter the Commandant’s kitchen, Izzi rushes me. Her eye is
shadowed, and her blonde hair is a bird’s nest, as if she hasn’t
sl ept all night.
“You’re alive! You’re . . . you’re here! We thought . . . ”
“Did they harm you, girl?” Cook comes up behind Izzi, and I’m shocked
to see that she too is disheveled, her eyes red - rimmed. She takes my cloak,
and when she sees my dress, she tells Izzi to bring me another. “Are you all
right?”
“I’m fine.” What else can I say? I am still trying to make sense of what
has just transpired. At the same time, I’m remembering what Elias said
about Bekkar Prison, and one thing becomes clear: I have to get out of here
and find the Resistance. I have to figure out where Darin is and what’s
really going on.
“Where did they take you, Laia?” Izzi is back with the dress, and I
change into it quickly, hiding the dagger at my thigh as best as I can. I’m
reluctant to tell them what’s happened, but I won’t lie to them, not when it’s
clear that they’ve spent the entire night fearing for my life.
“They gave me to Veturius as a prize for winning the Third Trial.” At the
twin looks of horror on their faces, I add, in a rush, “But he didn’t hurt me.
Nothing happened.”
“Indeed?” The Commandant’s voice chills my blood, and as one, Izzi,
Cook, and I turn to the kitchen door.
“Nothing happened, you say.” She cocks her head. “How very
interesting. Come with me.”
I follow her to her study, my feet leaden. Once inside, my eyes dart to
the wall of dead fighters. It’s like being in a room of ghosts.
T he Commandant closes the study door and circles me.
“You spent the night with Aspirant Veturius,” she says.
“Yes, sir.”
“Did he rape you?”
So easily she asks such an abhorrent question. As if asking my age or
my name.
“No, sir.”
“Why would that be, when the other night he seemed so very interested
in you? He couldn’t ke ep his hands off you.”
She is, I realize, talking about the night of the Moon Festival. As if she
can smell my fear, she st eps toward me.
“I — I don’t know.”
“Could it be that the boy actually cares about you? I know he’s aided
you — the day he carried you up from the dunes, and a few nights ago with
Marcus.” She takes another st ep. “But the night I found you two in the
servants’ corridor — that’s the night I’ve been wondering about. What were
you doing together? Is he in league with you? Has he turned?”
“I — I’m not sure what you — ”
“Did you think you could fool me? Did you think I didn’t know?”
Oh skies. It can’t be.
“I have spies too, slave. Among the Mariners, the Tribesmen.” Now
she’s inches away, and her smile is like a thin garrote around my throat.
“Even in the Resistance. You’d be surprised where I have eyes. Those
Scholar rats know only what I want them to know. What were they up to the
last time you met them? Were they planning something significant?
Something in volving a great many men? Perhaps you’re wondering what it
was. You’ll find out soon enough.”
Her hand is around my neck before I can think to dodge her. I kick out,
and she tightens her grip. The muscles of her arms bulge, but her eyes are as
flat and dead as ever.
“Do you know what I do to spies?”
“I — not — don’t — ” I can’t breathe. I can’t think.
“I teach them a lesson. Them and anyone in league with them. Kitchen Girl, for instance.”
No, not Izzi, not Izzi. Just as spots begin exploding at the
edge of my vision, a knock comes at the door. She releases me, letting me
fall to the floor in a heap. Casually, as if she hadn’t just nearly murdered a
slave, she opens the door.
“Commandant.” An Augur waits outside — a woman this time — small
and ethereal. I expect to see legionnaires behind her like before, but she is
alone. “I’m here for the girl.”
“You can’t have her,” the Commandant says. “She is a criminal and — ”
“I’m here for the girl.” The Augur’s face hardens, and she and the
Commandant lock eyes, a silent and fierce battle of wills. “Give her to me
and come. We are needed in the amphitheater.”
“She’s a spy — ”
“And she will be appropriately punished.” The Augur turns to me, and I
can’t look away from her. For an instant, I see myself in the dark pool of her
eyes — my heart stopped, my face lifeless. As if the knowledge has been
planted in my head, I realize that the Augur is taking me to the Reaper, that
my death is close — closer than during the raid, closer than when Marcus
beat me.
“Don’t give me to her,” I find myself begging the Commandant. “Please,
don’t — ”
The Augur doesn’t let me finish. “Do not set your will against the
Augurs, Keris Veturia. You will fail. You can come willingly to the
amphitheater, or I can compel you. Which shall it be?”
The Commandant hesitates, and the Augur waits like a rock in a river,
patient, unmovable. Finally, the Commandant nods and swe eps out the
door. For the second time in a day, I’m gagged and bound. Then the Augur
follows in the Commandant’s wake, dragging me after.
“I