The belltower courtyard fills up slowly, with groups of younger
students arriving first, followed by the Cadets, and last, the Skulls.
They form up in the center of the courtyard directly in front of the stage,
just as Cook said they would. A few of the Yearlings stare at the execution
platform with a frightened sort of fascination. Most don’t look, though.
They ke ep their eyes on the ground or on the black walls looming over
them.
I wonder, as the Illustrian city leaders file in, if the Augurs will attend.
“You best hope not,” Cook said when I’d voiced my worry in this very
courtyard last night. “They hear you thinking what you’re thinking and
you’re dead.”
By the time the dawn drums beat out, the courtyard is full. Legionnaires
line the walls, and a few archers patrol Blackcliff’s rooftops, but other than
that, security is light.
The Commandant arrives with Aquilla after nearly everyone else and
stands at the front of the crowd beside the governor, her face harsh in the
gray morning light. By now, I shouldn’t be surprised at her utter lack of
emotion, but I can’t help but stare at her from where I crouch beneath the
execution dais. Doesn’t she care that it’s her son who is going to die today?
Aquilla, standing on the stage, looks calm, almost serene — strange for a
girl holding the ax that’s to take off her best friend’s head. I watch her
through a crack in the wood at her feet. Had she ever cared about Veturius?
Had their friendship, which seemed so precious to him, ever been real to
her? Or had she betrayed him the way Mazen betrayed me?
The dawn drums fall silent, and boots march lockst ep toward the
courtyard, accompanied by the clank of chains. The crowd part s as four
unfamiliar Masks escort Elias across the yard. Marcus leads them, veering
off to stand beside the Commandant. I dig my nails into my palm at the
satisfaction on his face. You’ll get yours, swine.
Despite the manacles on his hands and ankles, Elias’s shoulders are
thrown back, and he holds his head proudly. I can’t see his face. Is he
frightened? Angry? Does he wish he had killed me? Somehow, I doubt it.
The Masks leave Elias on the stage and take up positions behind it. I eye
them nervously — I didn ’t expect them to remain so close. One of them
looks familiar.
Oddly familiar.
I look closer, and my stomach seizes. It’s the Mask who raided my
home, who burned it to the ground. The Mask who killed my grandparents.
I find myself taking a st ep toward him, reaching for the scim beneath my
skirt, before stopping myself. Darin. Izzi. Elias. I have bigger things to
worry about than revenge.
For the hundredth time, I look down at the candles burning behind a
screen at my feet. Cook gave me four, along with tind er and flint.
“The flame can’t go out,” she said. “If it goes out, you’re done.”
As I wait, I wonder if Izzi has reached the Badcat. Did the acid work on
Izzi’s cuffs? Did she remember what to say? Did the crew take her on
without questions? And what will Keenan say when he goes to Silas and
realizes I’ve given my chance at freedom away to my friend?
He’ll understand. I know he will. If not, Izzi will explain it to him. I
smile. Even if none of the rest of my plan works, this wasn’t all for nothing.
I got I zzi out. I saved my friend.
The Commandant reads out the charges against Veturius. I bend down,
my hand hovering over the candles. This is it.
“The timing,” Cook said last night, “has to be perfect. When the
Commandant begins reading the charges, watch the clock tower. Don’t take
your eyes off it. No matter what happens, you have to wait for the signal.
When you see it, move. Not a moment sooner. Not a moment later.”
When she gave me the order, it seemed like it would be easy enough to
follow. But now the seconds are ticking away, the Commandant is droning
on, and I’m getting antsy. I stare at the clock tower through a slim crack in
the base of the dais, trying not to blink. What if one of the legionnaires
catches Cook? What if she doesn’t remember the formula? What if she
makes a mistake? What if I make a mistake?
Then I see it. A flicker of light skitter ing across the clock face quicker
than a hummingbird’s wings. I grab a candle and light the fuse at the back
of the stage.
It catches immediately and begins burning with more fury and sound
than I expect. The Masks will see. They’ll hear.
But no one moves. No one looks. And I remember something else Cook
said.
Don’t forget to take cover. Unless you want your head blown off. I scurry
to the end of the stage farthest from the fuse and crouch, covering my neck
and head with my arms and hands, waiting. Everythi ng hinges on this. If
Cook remembers the formula wrong, if she doesn’t get to her fuses on time,
if my fuse is discovered or put out, it’s all over. There is no backup plan.
Above me, the stage creaks. The fuse hisses as it burns.
And then.
BOOM. The stage explodes. Chunks of wood and scrap geyser into the
air. A de eper boom rumbles and another and another. The courtyard is
suddenly fogged with clouds of dust. The explosions are nowhere and
everywhere, ripping through the air like a thousand screams, leavin g me
momentarily deaf.
They have to be harmless, I told Cook a dozen times. Meant to distract
and confuse. Strong enough to knock people down, but not strong enough to
kill. I don’t want anyone dead because of me.
Leave it to me, she said. I’ve no wish to murder children.
I peer out from under the stage, but it’s difficult to see through the dust.
It seems as if the walls of the belltower have burst out, though in truth, the
dust is from more than two hundred bags of sand Izzi and I spent all night
filling and ferrying to the courtyard. Cook set each one with a charge and
connected them together. The result is spectacular.
Behind me, the entire back of the stage is gone, the Masks beyond it
unconscious on the ground, including the one who murdered my family.
The legionnaires are in a panic, running, shouting, trying to es cape. The
students drain out of the courtyard, the older ones half dragging, half
carrying the Yearlings. De eper booms echo from further away. The mess
hall, a few classrooms — all abandoned at this time and likely collapsing at
this very moment. A gleeful grin spreads across my face. Cook hasn’t
forgotten a thing.
The drums beat in a frenetic tattoo, and I don’t have to understand their
strange language to know that it’s a breach alarm. Blackcliff is pure havoc,
worse than I could have imagined. More than I could have hoped for. It’s
perfect.
I do not doubt. I do not hesitate. I am the Lioness’s daughter, and I have
the Lioness’s strength.
“I’m coming for you, Darin,” I say to the wind, hoping it will carry my
message. “You stay alive. I’m coming, and nothing’s going to stop me.”
Then I swing out from my hiding place and hop onto the execution
stage. It’s time to free Elias Veturius.