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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.
217
“I’ll 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 late-night 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 report, “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!”
218
I
XXXII: Elias
start losing battles.
It’s Tristas’s fault. He planted the seed of Helene being in love with me in my
head, and now it’s sprouted like a misbegotten weed from hell.
At scim training, Zak comes at me with unusual sloppiness, but instead of
obliterating him, I let him knock me on my ass because I’ve caught a glimpse of
blonde across the field. What does that lurch in my stomach mean?
When the Hand-to-Hand Centurion screams at me for poor technique, I
barely hear him, instead considering what will happen to Hel and me. Is our
friendship ruined? If I don’t love her back, will she hate me? How am I supposed
to get her on my side for the Trials if I can’t give her what she wants? So many
bleeding, stupid questions. Do girls think like this all the time? No wonder
they’re so confusing.
The Third Trial, the Trial of Strength, is in two days. I know I have to focus,
to ready my mind and my body. I
must
win.
But in addition to Helene, there’s someone else crowding my thoughts: Laia.
I try for days not to think about her. In the end, I stop resisting. Life is hard
enough without having to avoid entire rooms in my own head. I imagine the fall
of her hair and the glow of her skin. I smile at how she laughed when we danced,
with a freedom of spirit I found exhilarating in its possibility. I remember how
her eyes closed when I spoke to her in Sadhese.
But at night, when my fears crawl out of the dark places in my mind, I think
of the dread on her face when she realized who I was. I think of her disgust when
I tried to protect her from the Commandant. She must hate me for subjecting her
to something so demeaning. But it was the only way I could think of to keep her
safe.
So many times in the past week, I’ve nearly walked to her quarters to see how
she is. But showing kindness to a slave will only bring the Black Guard down on
me.
Laia and Helene: They’re so different. I like that Laia says things I don’t
expect, that she speaks almost formally, as if she’s telling a story. I like that she
defied my mother to go to the Moon Festival, whereas Helene always obeys the
Commandant. Laia is the wild dance of a Tribal campfire, while Helene is the
cold blue of an alchemist’s flame.
219
But why am I even comparing them? I’ve known Laia a few weeks and
Helene all my life. Helene’s no passing attraction. She’s family. More than that.
She’s part of me.
Yet she won’t speak to me, won’t look at me. The Third Trial is days away,
and all I’ve gotten from her are glares and muttered insults.
Which brings another worry to the forefront of my mind. I’d been counting
on Helene winning the Trials, naming me Blood Shrike, and then releasing me
from my duty. I can’t see her doing that if she loathes me. Which means that
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