XXXVI: Elias
The next morning at breakfast, I sit apart and speak to no one. A chill, dark fog has rolled in off the dunes, settling heavily over the city.
It matches the blackness of my mood nicely.
I’ve forgotten about the Third Trial, about the Augurs, about Helene. All I can think of is Laia. The memory of her bruised face, her broken body. I try to devise some way to help her. Bribing the head physician? No, he doesn’t have the guts to defy the Commandant. Sneaking a healer in? Who would risk the Commandant’s wrath to save a slave’s life, even for a fat purse?
Does she still live? Maybe her injuries weren’t as bad as I thought. Maybe Cook can heal her.
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.
“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 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.” I’ve staked every hope I have on these damned Trials.
“Trust me, I know.” Ten hells. I liked her better when she wasn’t speaking to me.