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Maybe cats can fly, Elias.
I’m mashing my food to a pulp when Helene walks into the crowded mess
hall. I’m startled at the sloppiness of her hair and the pink shadows beneath her
eyes. She spots me and approaches. I stiffen and shove a spoonful of food into
my mouth, refusing to look at her.
“The slave is feeling better.” She lowers her voice so the students around us
can’t hear. “I . . . stopped by there. She got through the night. I . . . um . . .
well . . . I . . . ”
Is she going to apologize? After refusing to help an innocent girl who hadn’t
done anything wrong except be born a Scholar instead of a Martial?
“Better, is she?” I say. “I’m sure you’re thrilled.” I get up and walk away.
Helene is stone-still behind me, as stunned as if I’ve punched her, and I feel a
savage flood of satisfaction.
That’s right, Aquilla. I’m not like you. I’m not going
to forget her just because she’s a slave.
I send a silent thanks to Cook. If Laia survived, it’s no doubt due to the older
woman’s ministrations. Should I visit the girl? What will I say? “Sorry Marcus
nearly raped and killed you. Heard you’re feeling better, though.”
I can’t visit her. She won’t want to see me anyway. I’m a Mask. If she hates
me for that alone, it’s reason enough.
But maybe I can stop by the house. Cook can tell me how Laia’s doing. I can
take something for her, something small. Flowers?
I look around the school
grounds. Blackcliff doesn’t have flowers. Maybe I’ll give her a dagger. There are
plenty of those around, and skies know she needs one.
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“Elias!” Helene has followed me out of the mess hall, but the fog helps me
evade her. I duck into a training building, watching from a window until she
gives up and goes on her way.
See how she likes the silent treatment.
A few minutes later, I find myself heading to the Commandant’s house.
Just a
quick visit. Just to see if she’s all right.
“Your mother hears about this, she’ll skin you alive,” Cook says from the
kitchen door when I slip into the servants’ corridor. “And the rest of us too, for
letting you in here.”
“Is she all right?”
“She’s not dead. Go on, Aspirant. Leave. I’m not joking about the
Commandant.”
If a slave spoke like that to Demetrius or Dex, they’d backhand her. But Cook
is only doing what she thinks is best for Laia. I do as she asks.
The rest of the day is a blur of failed combat battles, curt conversations, and
narrow escapes from Helene. The mist gets so thick I can barely see my hand in
front of my face, making training more grueling than usual. When the curfew
drums beat, all I want is sleep. I head to the barracks, dead on my feet, when Hel
catches up to me.
“How was training?” She appears out of the mist silently as a wraith, and
despite myself, I jump.
“Splendid,” I say darkly. Of course, it wasn’t splendid, and Helene knows it. I
haven’t fought so poorly in years. What little focus I recovered during last
night’s battles with Hel is gone.
“Faris said you missed scim practice this morning. Said he saw you walking
to the Commandant’s house.”
“You and Faris gossip like schoolgirls.”
“Did you see the girl?”
“Cook didn’t let me in. And the girl has a name. It’s Laia.”
“Elias . . . it could never work out between you two.”
My answering laugh echoes weirdly in the mist. “What kind of idiot do you
take me for? Of course it couldn’t work. I only wanted to find out if she was all
right. So what?”
“So what?” Helene grabs my arm and yanks me to a halt. “You’re an
Aspirant. You have a Trial to take tomorrow. Your life will be on the line, and
instead you’re mooning
over some Scholar.” My hackles rise. She senses it and
takes a breath.
“All I’m saying is that there are more important things to think about. The
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Emperor will be here in days, and he wants us all dead. The Commandant
doesn’t seem to know—or care. And I have a bad feeling about the Third Trial,
Elias. We have to hope that Marcus gets eliminated. He can’t win, Elias. He
can’t. If he does—”
“I know, Helene.”
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