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Darin. Darin. Think of Darin.
But I can’t think of my brother. Lost in the pain, I can’t even remember his
face.
133
H
XVIII: Elias
elene’s not dead. She can’t be. She survived initiation, the wilds, border
skirmishes, whippings. That she’d die now, at the hands of someone as
vile as Marcus, is unthinkable. The part of me that is still a child, the part of me
that I didn’t know still existed until this moment, howls in rage.
The crowd in the courtyard pushes forward. Students crane their necks, trying
to get a look at Helene. My mother’s ice-chiseled face disappears from view.
“Wake up, Helene,” I yell at her, ignoring the pressing crowd. “Come on.”
She’s gone. It was too much for her.
For a second that never seems to end, I
hold her, numb as the realization sinks in.
She’s dead.
“Out of the way, damn you.” Grandfather’s voice seems far away, but a
second later, he’s beside me. I stare at him, shaken. Only a few days ago, I saw
him dead on the nightmare battlefield. But here he is, alive and well. He lays a
hand against Helene’s throat. “Still alive,” he says. “Barely. Clear the way.” His
scim is out, and the crowd backs away. “Get the physician! Find a litter! Move!”
“Augur,” I choke out. “Where’s the Augur?” As if my thoughts summon him,
Cain appears. I thrust Helene at Grandfather, struggling not to wrap my hands
around the Augur’s neck for what he’s put us through.
“You have the power to heal,” I say through gritted teeth. “Save her. While
she’s still alive.”
“I understand your anger, Elias. You feel pain, sorro—” His words fall upon
my ears like the incessant caws of a crow.
“Your rules—no cheating.”
Calm, Elias. Don’t lose it. Not now.
“But the
Farrars cheated. They knew we were coming through the Gap. They ambushed
us.”
“The Augurs’ minds are linked. If one of us aided Marcus and Zak, the rest
would know. Your whereabouts were concealed from all others.”
“Even my mother?”
Cain pauses for a telling moment. “Even her.”
“You’ve read her mind?” Grandfather speaks up from beside me. “You’re
absolutely certain she didn’t know where Elias was?”
“Reading thoughts isn’t like reading a book, General. It requires study—”
“Can you read her or not?”
“Keris Veturia walks dark paths. The darkness cloaks her, hiding her from our
134
sight.”
“That’s a no, then,” Grandfather says dryly.
“If you can’t read her,” I say, “how do you know she didn’t help Marcus and
Zak cheat? Did you read them?”
“We do not feel the need—”
“Reconsider.” My temper surges. “My best friend is dying because those sons
of a whore pulled the wool over your eyes.”
“Cyrena,” Cain says to one of the other Augurs, “stabilize Aquilla and isolate
the Farrars. No one is to see them.” The Augur turns back to me. “If what you
say is true, then the balance is upset, and we must restore it. We will heal her.
But if we cannot prove that Marcus and Zacharias cheated, then we must leave
Aspirant Aquilla to her fate.”
I nod tersely, but in my head, I’m screaming at Cain.
You idiot. You stupid,
repulsive demon. You’re letting those cretins win. You’re letting them get away
with murder.
Grandfather, unusually silent, walks with me to the infirmary. When we reach
the infirmary doors, they open, and the Commandant emerges.
“Giving your lackeys warning, Keris?” Grandfather towers over his daughter,
his lip curling.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You’re a traitor to your gens, girl,” Grandfather says, the only man in the
Empire brave enough to refer to my mother as a girl. “Don’t think I’ll forget it.”
“You picked your favorite, General.” Mother’s eyes slide to me, and I spot a
flash of unhinged rage. “And I’ve picked mine.”
She leaves us at the infirmary door. Grandfather watches her go, and I wish I
knew what he was thinking. What does he see when he looks at her? The little
girl she was? The soulless creature she is now? Does he know why she became
like this? Did he watch it happen?
“Don’t underestimate her, Elias,” he says. “She’s not used to losing.”
135
W
XIX: Laia
hen I open my eyes, the low roof of my quarters looms over me. I don’t
remember losing consciousness. Perhaps I’ve been out for minutes,
perhaps hours. Through the curtain strung across my doorway, I catch a glimpse
of a sky that looks as if it’s still undecided as to whether it’s night or morning. I
push myself to my elbows, stifling a moan. The pain is all consuming, so
pervasive it feels as if I’ve never been without it.
I don’t look at the wound. I don’t need to. I watched the Commandant as she
carved it into me, a thick-lined, precise
K
stretching from my collarbone to the
skin over my heart. She’s branded me. Marked me as her property. It’s a scar I’ll
carry to the grave.
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