“Where did they take you, Laia?” Izzi is back with the dress, and I change into it quickly, hiding the dagger at my thigh as best as I can. I’m reluctant to tell them what’s happened, but I won’t lie to them, not when it’s clear that they’ve spent the entire night fearing for my life.
“They gave me to Veturius as a prize for winning the Third Trial.” At the twin looks of horror on their faces, I add, in a rush, “But he didn’t hurt me. Nothing happened.”
“Indeed?” The Commandant’s voice chills my blood, and as one, Izzi, Cook, and I turn to the kitchen door.
“Nothing happened, you say.” She cocks her head. “How very interesting. Come with me.”
I follow her to her study, my feet leaden. Once inside, my eyes dart to the wall of dead fighters. It’s like being in a room of ghosts.
The Commandant closes the study door and circles me.
“You spent the night with Aspirant Veturius,” she says.
“Yes, sir.”
“Did he rape you?”
So easily she asks such an abhorrent question. As if asking my age or my name.
“No, sir.”
“Why would that be, when the other night he seemed so very interested in you? He couldn’t keep his hands off you.”
She is, I realize, talking about the night of the Moon Festival. As if she can smell my fear, she steps toward me.
“I—I don’t know.”
“Could it be that the boy actually cares about you? I know he’s aided you—the day he carried you up from the dunes, and a few nights ago with Marcus.” She takes another step. “But the night I found you two in the servants’ corridor—that’s the night I’ve been wondering about. What were you doing together? Is he in league with you? Has he turned?”
“I—I’m not sure what you—”
“Did you think you could fool me? Did you think I didn’t know?”
Oh skies. It can’t be.
“I have spies too, slave. Among the Mariners, the Tribesmen.” Now she’s inches away, and her smile is like a thin garrote around my throat. “Even in the Resistance. You’d be surprised where I have eyes. Those Scholar rats know only what I want them to know. What were they up to the last time you met them? Were they planning something significant? Something involving a great many men? Perhaps you’re wondering what it was. You’ll find out soon enough.”
Her hand is around my neck before I can think to dodge her. I kick out, and she tightens her grip. The muscles of her arms bulge, but her eyes are as flat and dead as ever.
“Do you know what I do to spies?”
“I—not—don’t—” I can’t breathe. I can’t think.
“I teach them a lesson. Them and anyone in league with them. Kitchen-Girl, for instance.” No, not Izzi, not Izzi. Just as spots begin exploding at the edge of my vision, a knock comes at the door. She releases me, letting me fall to the floor in a heap. Casually, as if she hadn’t just nearly murdered a slave, she opens the door.
“Commandant.” An Augur waits outside—a woman this time—small and ethereal. I expect to see legionnaires behind her like before, but she is alone.
“I’m here for the girl.”
“You can’t have her,” the Commandant says. “She is a criminal and—”
“I’m here for the girl.” The Augur’s face hardens, and she and the Commandant lock eyes, a silent and fierce battle of wills. “Give her to me and come. We are needed in the amphitheater.”
“She’s a spy—”
“And she will be appropriately punished.” The Augur turns to me, and I can’t look away from her. For an instant, I see myself in the dark pool of her eyes—my heart stopped, my face lifeless. As if the knowledge has been planted in my head, I realize that the Augur is taking me to the Reaper, that my death is close—closer than during the raid, closer than when Marcus beat me.
“Don’t give me to her,” I find myself begging the Commandant. “Please, don’t—”
The Augur doesn’t let me finish. “Do not set your will against the Augurs, Keris Veturia. You will fail. You can come willingly to the amphitheater, or I can compel you. Which shall it be?”
The Commandant hesitates, and the Augur waits like a rock in a river, patient, unmovable. Finally, the Commandant nods and sweeps out the door.
For the second time in a day, I’m gagged and bound. Then the Augur follows in the Commandant’s wake, dragging me after.
XLIV: Elias
“I’ll go quietly,” I say as the soldiers restrain and blindfold Helene and me.
“But get your damned hands off me.” In response, one of them shoves a gag in my mouth and takes my scims.
The legionnaires haul us up the cliffs and through the school. Bootsteps shuffle and thump around me, Centurions shout orders, and I hear amphitheater and Fourth Trial. My whole body tenses. I don’t want to go back to the place where I killed my friends. I never want to set foot there again.
Cain is a pocket of silence ahead of me. Is he reading me right now? Is he reading Helene? Doesn’t matter. I try to forget him, to think as I would if he wasn’t here.