“Bear witness, men and women of the Empire, students of Blackcliff, Aspirants.” Cain releases my arm and his voice booms out, shaking the foundations of the amphitheater and silencing the panic setting in. “Thus do the Augurs’ visions bear fruit. The Emperor is dead, and a new power must rise, lest the Empire be destroyed.”
“Aspirant Veturius,” Cain says. “You were given the chance to prove your loyalty. But instead of killing the girl, you defended her. Instead of following my order, you defied it.”
“Of course I defied it!” This isn’t happening. “This wasn’t a Trial of Loyalty for anyone but me. I’m the only one who cared about her. This Trial was a joke—”
“This Trial told us what we needed to know: You are not fit to be Emperor. You are stripped of name and rank. You will die tomorrow at dawn by beheading before the Blackcliff belltower. Those who were your peers will bear witness to your shame.”
Two Augurs fasten chains around my hands and wrists. I hadn’t noticed the chains before. Did they conjure them from thin air? I’m too dazed to fight. The Augur who restrained Laia lifts the girl’s body with difficulty and staggers off the dais.
“Aspirant Aquilla,” Cain says. “You were prepared to strike down the enemy. But you faltered when faced with Veturius, deferring to his wishes. Such loyalty to a peer is admirable. But not in an Emperor. Out of all three Aspirants, only Aspirant Farrar attempted to carry out my order without question, with unflinching loyalty to the Empire. Thus, I name him victor of the Fourth Trial.”
Helene’s face is white as bone, her mind, like mine, unable to take in the travesty occurring in front of our eyes.
“Aspirant Aquilla.” Cain pulls Hel’s scim from his robes. “Do you remember your vow?”
“But you can’t mean—”
“I will keep my vows, Aspirant Aquilla. Will you keep yours?”
She eyes the Augur as one would a traitorous lover, taking the scim when he offers it. “I will.”
“Then kneel now and swear fealty, for we, the Augurs, name Marcus Antonius Farrar Emperor, he who was Foretold, High Commander of the Martial Army, Imperator Invictus, Overlord of the Realm. And you, Aspirant Aquilla, are named his Blood Shrike, his second-in-command, and the sword that executes his will. Your allegiance cannot be broken, unless by death. Swear it.”
“No!” I roar. “Helene, don’t do it!”
She turns to me, and the look in her eyes is a knife twisting inside me. You chose, Elias, her pale eyes say. You chose her.
“Tomorrow,” Cain says, “after Veturius’s execution, we will crown the Foretold.” He looks at the Snake. “The Empire is yours, Marcus.”
Marcus glances over his shoulder with a smile, and I realize with a jolt that it’s something I’ve seen him do hundreds of times. It’s the look he would throw his brother when he’d insulted an enemy, or won a battle, or otherwise wished to gloat. But his smile fades. Because Zak’s not there.
His face goes blank, and he looks down at Helene without conceit or triumph. His utter lack of feeling chills my blood.
“Your fealty, Aquilla,” he says flatly. “I’m waiting.”
“Cain,” I say. “He’s not fit. You know he’s not. He’s mad. He’ll destroy the Empire.”
No one hears me. Not Cain. Not Helene. Not even Marcus.
When Helene speaks, she is everything a Mask should be: calm, collected, impassive.
“I swear fealty to Marcus Antonius Farrar,” she says. “Emperor, he who was Foretold, High Commander of the Martial Army, Imperator Invictus, Overlord of the Realm. I will be his Blood Shrike, his second-in-command, the sword that executes his will, until death. I swear it.”
Then she bows her head and offers the Snake her sword.
PART III: BODY AND SOUL
XLV: Laia
“If you wish to live, girl, then let them think you dead.”
Above the sudden din of the crowd, I barely hear the Augur’s panting whisper. Mystified by the fact that a Martial holy woman wants, for some reason, to help me, I’m stunned into silence. As her weight crushes me to the dais, the dagger Marcus has flung into her side is jarred loose. Blood seeps across the platform, and I shudder, chillingly reminded of how Nan died, in a pool of blood just like this one.
“Don’t move,” the Augur says. “No matter what happens.”
I do what she says, even as Elias shouts my name and tries to pull her off me. The messenger announces the Emperor’s assassination; Elias is sentenced to death and chained. Throughout, I remain still. But when the Augur named Cain announces the coronation, I stifle a gasp. After the coronation, the death cell prisoners will be executed—which means that unless the Resistance gets him out of prison, Darin will die tomorrow.
Or will he? Mazen says Darin’s in Bekkar’s death cells. Elias says Bekkar doesn’t have death cells.
I want to scream with frustration. I need clarity. The only one who can give it to me is Mazen, and the only way I’m going to find him is if I get out of here. But I can’t exactly stand up and stroll out. Everyone thinks I’m dead.
Even if I could leave, Elias just sacrificed his life for mine. I can’t abandon him.