“Contrary to what you might think, girl,” Cook says, “the Commandant is not all-powerful. She underestimated you, for one. She misread Spiro Teluman—he is a man and so, in her mind, is only capable of a man’s base appetites. She hasn’t connected you to your parents. She makes mistakes, like anyone else. The only difference is that she doesn’t make the same mistake twice. Keep that in mind and you just might be able to outwit her.”
The old woman considers for a moment. “I can get what we need from the school’s armory. It’s well stocked.” She stands up, and when Izzi and I stare at her, she lifts her eyebrows.
“Well, don’t just sit there like lumps on a log.” She gives me a kick, and I yelp. “Move.”
***
Hours later, I awake to Cook’s hand on my shoulder. She bends down beside me, her face barely visible in the predawn gloom.
“Get up, girl.”
I think of another dawn, the one after my grandparents were killed and Darin was taken. That day, I thought my world was ending. In a way, I was right. Now it’s time to remake my world. Time to redo my ending. I put my hand to my armlet. This time, I will not falter.
Cook slumps against the entry to my room, sliding a hand across her eyes. She’s been up nearly all night, as I have. I didn’t want to sleep at all, but in the end, she insisted on it.
“No rest, no wits,” she said when forcing me to my cot just an hour before. “And you’ll need all your wits if you want to get out of Serra alive.”
Hands shaking, I pull on the combat boots and fatigues Izzi filched from the school’s supply closets. I buckle Darin’s scim to a belt Cook rustled up and pull my skirt over it all. Elias’s knife stays attached to the strap on my thigh. My mother’s armlet is hidden beneath a loose, long-sleeved tunic. I think at first to wear a scarf, to cover the Commandant’s mark, but in the end I decide against it. Though I once hated the sight of the scar, I view it with a sort of pride now. As Keenan said, it means I survived her.
Beneath the tunic, hanging diagonally across my chest, is a soft leather satchel filled with flatbread, nuts, and fruit sealed in oilskin, along with a canteen of water. Another package holds gauze, herbs, and oils for healing. I shove Elias’s cloak on top of it all.
“Izzi?” I ask Cook, who watches me silently from the door.
“On her way.”
“You won’t change your mind? You won’t come?”
Her silence is her answer. I look into her blue eyes, distant and familiar all at once. I have so many questions for her. What’s her name? What happened with the Resistance that was so horrible she can’t speak of them without stuttering and convulsing? Why does she hate my mother so much? Who is this woman who is more closed, even, than the Commandant? Unless I ask her now, I will never know the answers. After this, I doubt I’ll see her again.
“Cook—”
“Don’t.”
The word, though quietly spoken, is like a door slamming in my face.
“Are you ready?” she asks.
The belltower tolls. In two hours, the dawn drums will beat.
“Doesn’t matter if I’m ready,” I say. “It’s time.”
XLVIII: Elias
When the dungeon door rattles, my skin prickles, and I know even before opening my eyes who will escort me to the gallows.
“Morning, Snake,” I greet him.
“Get up, bastard,” Marcus says. “It’s nearly dawn, and you have an appointment.”
Four unfamiliar Masks and a squad of legionnaires stand behind him.
Marcus looks at me like I’m a roach, but strangely, I don’t mind. My sleep was dreamless and deep, and I rise languidly, stretching as I meet the Snake’s eyes.
“Chain him,” Marcus says.
“Doesn’t the great Emperor have more important things to do than escort a mere criminal to the gallows?” I ask. The guards clamp an iron collar around my neck and hobble my legs. “Shouldn’t you be out scaring small children or killing your relatives?”
Marcus’s face darkens, but he doesn’t rise to the bait. “I wouldn’t miss this for anything.” His yellow eyes glitter. “I’d have raised the ax myself, but the Commandant thought it unseemly. Besides, I’d much rather watch my Blood Shrike do it.”
It takes a moment before I realize that he means for Helene to kill me.
He’s watching me, waiting for my disgust, but it never comes. The thought of Helene taking my life is strangely comforting. I’d rather die by her hand than an unknown executioner’s. She’ll make it clean and quick.
“Still listening to what my old lady tells you, eh?” I say. “Guess you’ll always be her lapdog.”
Anger flashes across Marcus’s face, and I grin. So, the trouble’s already begun. Excellent.
“The Commandant is wise,” Marcus says. “I keep her counsel and will do so as long as it suits me.” He drops the formal posturing and leans close, the smugness rolling off him so thickly that I think I’ll choke on it. “She helped me with the Trials from the beginning. Your own mother told me what was coming, and the Augurs never even knew.”
“So what you’re saying is that you cheated and you still barely managed to win.” I applaud slowly, my chains clanking. “Well done.”
Marcus seizes my collar and slams my head into the wall. I groan before I can help myself, feeling as if a great chunk of stone has been driven into my skull. The guards unleash a volley of punches to my stomach, and I drop to my knees. But when they back away, satisfied that I’ve been cowed, I dive forward and take Marcus out at the waist. He’s still sputtering when I snatch a dagger from his belt and hold it to his throat.