Hours later, after I’ve forced food down my throat and pretended to sleep on a rock-hard bunk, after the stars have faded and the sun has risen, one of the cavern doors swings open.
Mazen enters, followed by Keenan, Sana, and two younger men. The Resistance leader limps to a table where Tariq is sitting and gestures me over. I try to read Sana’s face as I join them, but her expression is carefully neutral. The other fighters gather around, as interested as I am to see what my fate will be.
“Laia,” Mazen says. “Keenan here thinks we should keep you in camp.
Safe.” Mazen infuses the word with scorn. Beside me, Tariq looks askance at Keenan.
“She’ll cause less trouble here.” The red-haired fighter’s eyes flash. “Breaking her brother out will cost men—good men—” He stops at a look from Mazen and clamps his mouth shut. And though I hardly know Keenan, I’m stung at how violently he’s opposing me. What have I ever done to him?
“It will cost good men,” Mazen says. “Which is why I’ve decided that if Laia wants our help, she has to be willing to give us something in return.”
Fighters from both factions eye their leader warily. Mazen turns to me. “We’ll help you, if you help us.”
“What could I possibly do for the Resistance?”
“You can cook, yes?” Mazen asks. “And clean? Dress hair, press clothing—”
“Make soap, wash dishes, barter—yes. You’ve just described every freewoman in the Scholar’s Quarter.”
“You can read too,” Mazen says. When I begin to deny the charge, he shakes his head. “Empire rules be damned. You forget I knew your parents.”
“What does any of that have to do with helping the Resistance?”
“We’ll break your brother out of prison if you spy for us.”
For a moment, I don’t speak, though I feel a tug of curiosity. This is the last thing I expected. “Who do you want me to spy on?”
“The Commandant of Blackcliff Military Academy.”
X: Elias
The morning after the Augur’s visit, I stumble to the mess hall like a Cadet suffering his first hangover, cursing the overly bright sun. What little sleep I got was sabotaged by a familiar nightmare, one in which I wander through a stinking, body-strewn battlefield. In the dream, screams rend the air and somehow I know that the pain and suffering are my fault, that the dead have fallen by my hand.
Not the best way to start a day. Especially graduation day.
I run into Helene as she, Dex, Faris, and Tristas leave mess. She stuffs a rock-hard biscuit into my hand, ignoring my protests, and pulls me away from the hall.
“We’re late.” I barely hear her over the ceaseless beating of the drums, which are ordering all graduates to the armory to pick up our ceremonials—
the armor of a full Mask. “Demetrius and Leander already left.”
Helene chatters about how thrilling it will be to put on our ceremonials.
Dimly, I listen to her and the others, nodding at appropriate times, exclaiming when necessary. All the while, I’m thinking of what Cain said to me last night. You will escape. You will leave the Empire. You will live. But you will find no solace in doing so.
Do I trust the Augur? He could be trying to trap me here, hoping I’ll stay a Mask long enough to decide that a soldier’s life is better than an exile’s. I think of how the Commandant’s eyes shine when she whips a student, how Grandfather boasts of his body count. They are my kin; their blood is my blood. What if their lusts for war and glory and power are mine too and I just don’t know it? Could I learn to revel in being a Mask? The Augur read my thoughts. Does he see something evil inside me that I’m too blind to face?
But then, Cain seemed convinced that I’d meet the same fate if I ran.
Shadows will bloom in your heart, and you will become everything you hate.
So my choices are to stay and be evil or to run and be evil. Wonderful.
When we are halfway to the armory, Hel finally notices my silence, taking in the rumpled clothing, the bloodshot eyes.
“You all right?” she asks.
“Fine.”
“You look like hell.”
“Rough night.”
“What happ—”
Faris, walking ahead with Dex and Tristas, drops back. “Leave him alone, Aquilla. The man’s tuckered out. Snuck down to the docks to celebrate a bit early, eh, Veturius?” He claps me on the shoulder with a big hand and laughs.
“Could have invited a fellow along.”
“Don’t be disgusting,” Helene says.
“Don’t be a prude,” Faris retorts.
A full-scale argument ensues, during which Helene’s disapproval of prostitutes is vehemently shouted down by Faris while Dex argues that leaving school grounds to visit a brothel isn’t strictly forbidden. Tristas points to the tattoo of his fiancé’s name and declares neutrality.
Amid the swiftly flung insults, Helene’s gaze slides to me repeatedly. She knows I don’t frequent the docks. I avoid her eyes. She wants an explanation, but where would I even begin? Well you see, Hel, I wanted to desert today, but this damned Augur showed up and now...
When we arrive at the armory, students spill out the front doors, and Faris and Dex disappear into the crush. I’ve never seen the Senior Skulls so...
happy. With liberation just a few minutes away, everyone is smiling. Skulls I barely ever speak to greet me, clap me on the back, joke with me.