“I suppose it was only a matter of time. You are a pretty thing.” She doesn’t reach for her crop or threaten to kill me. She doesn’t even seem angry. Just irritated.
“Soldier,” she says. “Back to the barracks with you. You’ve had her for long enough.”
“Commandant, sir.” Veturius breaks away from me with seeming reluctance. I try to squirm away from him, but he keeps a proprietary arm slung around my hips. “You sent her to her quarters for the night. I assumed you were done with her.”
“Veturius?” The Commandant, I realize, hadn’t recognized him in the dark. She hadn’t cared enough to give him a second look. Her eyes shift to her son in disbelief. “You? And a slave?”
“I was bored.” He shrugs. “I’ve been stuck in the infirmary for days.”
My face goes hot. I understand, now, why he put his hands on me, why he told me to fight him. He is trying to protect me from the Commandant.
He must have sensed her presence. She will have no way of proving I haven’t spent the last few hours with Veturius. And since students rape slaves all the time, neither he nor I will be punished.
But it’s still humiliating.
“You expect me to believe you?” The Commandant cocks her head. She senses the lie—she smells it. “You’ve never touched a slave in your life.”
“With all due respect, sir, that’s because the first thing you do when you get a new slave is take her eye out.” Veturius tangles his fingers in my hair, and I yelp. “Or carve up her face. But this one...” He yanks my head toward his, a warning in his eyes when he glances down at me. “Is still intact. Mostly.”
“Please,” I drop my voice. If this is going to work, I need to play along, disgusting as it is. “Tell him to leave me alone.”
“Get out, Veturius.” The Commandant’s eyes glitter. “Next time find a kitchen drudge to entertain you. The girl is mine.”
Veturius gives his mother a short salute before releasing me and sauntering through the gate without so much as a backward glance.
The Commandant looks me over, as if for signs of what she thinks just happened. She jerks my chin up. I pinch myself on the leg hard enough to draw blood, and my eyes fill with tears.
“Would it have been better if I’d cut your face like Cook’s?” she murmurs.
“Beauty’s a curse when one lives among men. You might have thanked me for it.”
She runs a fingernail across my cheek, and I shudder.
“Well...” she lets me go and walks back to the kitchen door with a smile, a twist of her mouth that is all bitterness and no mirth. The spirals of her strange tattoo catch the moonlight. “There’s time yet for that.”
XXX: Elias
For three days after the Moon Festival, Helene avoids me. She ignores knocks on her door, leaves the mess hall when I appear, and begs off when I approach her head on. When we’re paired together in training, she attacks me as if I’m Marcus. When I speak to her, she goes suddenly deaf.
I let it go at first, but by the third day, I’m sick of it. On my way to combat training, I’m concocting a plan to confront her—something involving a chair and rope and maybe a gag so she has no choice but to listen to me—when Cain appears beside me as suddenly as a ghost. My scim is half-drawn before I realize who it is.
“Skies, Cain. Don’t do that.”
“Greetings, Aspirant Veturius. Wonderful weather.” The Augur looks up at the hot blue sky admiringly.
“Yeah, if you’re not training with double scims under the baking sun,” I mutter. It’s not even noon, and I’m so covered in sweat that I’ve given up and taken off my shirt. If Helene was speaking to me, she’d frown and say it’s not regulation. I’m too hot to care.
“You are healed from the Second Trial?” Cain asks.
“No thanks to you.” The words are out before I can stop them, but I don’t feel particularly regretful. Multiple attempts on my life have taken a toll on my manners.
“The Trials are not meant to be easy, Elias. That is why they are called the Trials.”
“I hadn’t noticed.” I speed up, hoping Cain will piss off. He doesn’t.
“I bring you a message,” he says. “The next Trial will take place in seven days.”
At least we get some warning this time. “What’s it going to be?” I ask.
“Public flogging? A night locked in a trunk with a hundred vipers?”
“Combat against a formidable foe,” Cain says. “Nothing you can’t handle.”
“What foe? What’s the catch?” No way the Augur will tell me what I’m up against without leaving something essential out. It’s going to be a sea of wraiths we’re fighting. Or jinn. Or some other beastie they’ve woken from the darkness.
“We haven’t woken anything from the darkness that wasn’t already awake,” Cain says.
I bite back a response. If he picks my mind again, I swear, I’ll shove this blade through him, Augur or not.