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Bloodroot serum.
The words trigger something in my mind, but it flits
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away.
“Your fatigues are in the closet,” the physician says. “You’re free to go,
though I recommend you take it easy. I’ve told the Commandant you won’t be fit
for training or watch until tomorrow.”
The second the physician leaves, I turn on Helene. “No poultice in the world
could heal wounds like this. And yet I didn’t get a visit from an Augur. Only
you.”
“The wounds must not have been as bad as you thought.”
“Helene. Tell me about your singing.”
She opens her mouth, as if to speak, then breaks for the door faster than a
whip. Unfortunately for her, I’m expecting it.
Her eyes flash when I grab her hand, and I see her weigh her options.
Do I
fight him? Is it worth it?
I wait her out, and she relents, pulling her fingers from
mine and sitting back down.
“It started in the cave,” she says. “You kept twitching, like you were having a
fit of some kind. When I sang to keep the efrits away, you calmed down. Your
color was better, your head wound stopped bleeding. So I—I kept singing. I got
tired as I did it—weak, like I had a fever.” Her eyes are panicked. “I don’t know
what it means. I’d never try to harness the spirits of the dead. I’m no witch,
Elias, I swear—”
“I know that, Hel.” Skies, what would my mother make of this? The Black
Guard? Nothing good. Martials believe that supernatural power comes from
spirits of the dead and that only the Augurs are possessed by such spirits.
Anyone else with even a touch of power would be accused of witchcraft and
sentenced to death.
The evening’s shadows dance across Hel’s face, and it reminds me of how
she looked when Rowan Goldgale grabbed her and lit her with that strange glow.
“Mamie Rila used to tell stories,” I say carefully, not wanting to spook
Helene. “She talked of humans with strange skills that were awoken by contact
with the supernatural. Some could harness strength, others could change the
weather. A few could even heal with their voices.”
“Not possible. Only the Augurs have true power—”
“Helene, we fought wraiths and efrits two nights ago. Who’s to say what’s
possible and what isn’t? Maybe when that efrit touched you, it woke something
up inside you.”
“Something strange.” Helene hands me my fatigues. I’ve only unsettled her
more. “Something inhuman. Something—”
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“Something that probably saved my life.”
Hel grabs my shoulder, her slim fingers digging into me. “Promise you won’t
tell anyone, Elias. Let everyone think the physician is a miracle worker. Please. I
have to—to understand this first. If the Commandant knows, she’ll tell the Black
Guard and—”
They’ll try to purge it out of you.
“Our secret,” I say. She looks marginally
relieved.
When we leave the infirmary, I’m greeted by a cheer—Faris, Dex, Tristas,
Demetrius, Leander—hooting and banging me on the back.
“I knew the bastards wouldn’t off you—”
“Cause for celebration, let’s smuggle in a keg—”
“Back up,” Helene says. “Let him breathe.” She’s interrupted by the thudding
of the drums.
All new graduates to training field one for combat practice immediately.
The message repeats, and groans and eye-rolling abound. “Do us a favor,
Elias,” Faris says. “When you win and become grand overlord, get us out of
here, will you?”
“Oi,” Helene says. “What about me? What if I win?”
“If you win, then the docks get shut down and we’ll never have any fun
again,” Leander says, winking at me.
“You twit, Leander, I would not shut down the docks,” Helene fumes. “Just
because I don’t like brothels—” Leander backs away, his hands protecting his
nose.
“Forgive him, oh hallowed Aspirant,” Tristas intones, blue eyes sparkling.
“Do not strike him down. He is but a poor servant—”
“Oh, piss off, all of you,” Helene says.
“Half past ten, Elias,” Leander calls as he and the others walk away. “My
room. We’ll have a proper celebration. Aquilla, you can come too, but only if
you promise not to break my nose again.”
I tell him I won’t miss it, and after he and the others leave, Hel hands me a
vial. “You almost forgot the bloodroot serum.”
“Laia!” I realize the source of the niggling feeling I had earlier. I’d promised
the slave-girl bloodroot three days ago. She’ll be in terrible pain from her
wound. Has she been taking care of it? Has Cook been cleaning it? Has—
“Who’s Laia?” Helene interrupts my thoughts, her voice dangerously serene.
“She’s . . . no one.” My promise to a Scholar slave isn’t something Helene
will understand. “What else happened while I was at the infirmary? Anything
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interesting?”
Helene throws me a look that says she’s allowing me to change the subject.
“Resistance ambushed a Mask—Daemon Cassius—in his house. Pretty
gruesome, apparently. His wife found him this morning. No one heard a thing.
The bastards are getting bolder. And . . . there’s something else.” She drops her
voice. “My father’s heard a rumor that the Blood Shrike’s dead.”
I stare at her incredulously. “The Resistance?”
Helene shakes her head. “You know that the Emperor’s a few weeks away
from Serra—at the most. He’s started to plan his attack on Blackcliff—on us, the
Aspirants.”
Grandfather warned me about this. Still, it’s unpleasant to hear.
“When the Blood Shrike heard about the attack plans, he tried to resign his
post. So Taius had him executed.”
“You can’t resign
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