“What is wrong with you?” Helene stares at me as if I’ve sprouted another head. “The Empire has rightfully annexed this land. It’s our land. We fought for it, died for it, and now we’re tasked with keeping it. If doing so means we have to keep the Scholars enslaved, so be it. Have a care, Elias. If anyone heard you spouting this trash, the Black Guard would toss you into Kauf without a thought.”
“What happened to you wanting to change things?” Her righteousness is getting damn irritating. I thought she was better than this. “That night after graduation, you said you’d improve things for the Scholars—”
“I meant better living conditions! Not setting them free! Elias, look at what the bastards have been doing. Raiding caravans, killing innocent Illustrians in their beds—”
“You’re not actually referring to Daemon Cassius as innocent. He’s a Mask—”
“The girl’s a slave,” Helene snaps. “And the Commandant deserves to know what her slaves are doing. Not telling her is tantamount to aiding and abetting the enemy. I’m turning them in.”
“No,” I say. “You’re not.” My mother’s already made her mark on Laia.
She’s already gouged out Izzi’s eye. I know what she’ll do if she learns they snuck out. There won’t be enough left to feed the scavengers.
Helene crosses her arms in front of her. “How do you plan to stop me?”
“That healing power of yours,” I say, hating myself for blackmailing her but knowing it’s the only thing that will get her to back down. “The Commandant would be mighty interested in that, don’t you think?”
Helene goes still. In the light of the full moon, the shock and hurt on her masked face hit me like a blow to the chest. She backs away, as if worried that I’ll spread my sedition. As if it’s a plague.
“You’re unbelievable,” she says. “After—after everything.” She sputters, she’s so angry, but then she draws herself up, pulling out the Mask that lives at her core. Her voice goes flat, her face expressionless.
“I want nothing to do with you,” she says. “If you want to be a traitor, you’re on your own. You stay away from me. In training. At watch. In the Trials. Just stay away.”
Damn it, Elias. I needed to make up with Helene tonight, not antagonize her further.
“Hel, come on.” I reach for her arm, but she wants none of it. She throws off my hand and stalks off into the night.
I gaze after her, poleaxed. She doesn’t mean it, I tell myself. She just needs to cool down. By tomorrow, she’ll be rational—I can explain why I didn’t want to turn the girls in. And apologize for blackmailing her with knowledge she trusted me to keep secret. I grimace. Yes, I’ll definitely wait until tomorrow. If I approach her now, she’ll probably try to geld me.
But that still leaves Laia and Izzi.
I stand in the dark, considering. Mind your own business, Elias, part of me says. Leave the girls to their fate. Go to Leander’s party. Get drunk.
Idiot, a second voice says. Follow the girls and talk them out of this lunacy before they get caught and killed. Go. Now.
I listen to the second voice. I follow.
XXVII: Laia
Izzi and I sneak across the courtyard, our eyes flicking nervously to the windows of the Commandant’s rooms. They’re dark, which I hope means that for once, she’s asleep.
“Tell me,” Izzi whispers. “You ever climbed a tree?”
“Of course.”
“Then this will be a cinch for you. It’s not much different, really.”
Ten minutes later, I teeter on a six-inch-wide ledge hundreds of feet above the dunes, glaring daggers at Izzi. She is skittering along ahead, swinging from rock to rock like a trim blonde monkey.
“This is not a cinch,” I shout. “This is nothing like climbing trees!”
Izzi peers down at the dunes speculatively. “I hadn’t realized how high it was.”
Above us, a heavy yellow moon dominates the star-strewn sky. It’s a beautiful summer night, warm without a breath of wind. Since death lurks a misstep away, I can’t bring myself to enjoy it. After taking a deep gulp of air, I move another few inches down the path, praying the stone won’t crumble beneath my feet.
Izzi looks back at me. “Not there. Not there—not—”
“Gaaaaa!” My foot slips, only to land on solid rock a few inches lower than I expect.
“Shut it!” Izzi flaps a hand at me. “You’ll wake half the school!”
The cliff is pocked with knobs of jutting rock, some of which deteriorate as soon as I touch them. There is a trail here, but it is more appropriate for squirrels than humans. My foot slips on a particularly crumbly bit of stone, and I hug the cliff face until the vertigo sweeps past. A minute later, I accidently shove my finger into the home of some angry, sharp-pincered creature, and it scuttles over my hand and arm. I bite my lip to suppress a scream and shake my arm so vigorously that the scabs over my heart open. I hiss at the sudden, searing pain.
“Come on, Laia,” Izzi calls from ahead of me. “Almost there.”
I force myself forward, trying to ignore the maw of grasping air at my back.
When we finally reach a wide patch of solid ground, I nearly kiss the dirt in thankfulness. The river laps calmly at the nearby docks, the masts of dozens of small riverboats bobbing gently up and down like a forest of dancing spears.