“Leave her be, Nightbringer.” I feel a strong hand beneath my arm, forcing me away from the wall and upright. Cain?
Pale wisps of hair snake out of the Augur’s hood. His wasted features are shadowed by his black robes, and his blood-red eyes are grave as he regards the creature. Nightbringer, he called it, like the old stories Mamie Rila used to tell.
The Nightbringer hisses softly, and Cain’s eyes narrow.
“Leave her, I say.” The Augur steps in front of me. “She does not walk in the darkness.”
“Doesn’t she?” The Nightbringer chuckles before disappearing in a whirl of his cloak, leaving the scent of fire trailing. Cain turns to me.
“Well met, Blood Shrike.”
“Well met? Well met?”
“Come. We do not wish for the Commandant or her lackeys to overhear us.”
My body still shakes from what I saw in the Nightbringer’s eyes. As Cain and I leave Villa Veturia, I get hold of myself. The second we clear the gates, I wheel on the Augur. Only a lifetime of veneration keeps me from grabbing desperately at his robes.
“You promised.” The Augur knows my every thought, so I don’t hide the crack in my voice or fight the tears in my eyes. It is a relief not to, in a way. “You swore he would be all right if I kept my vow.”
“No, Blood Shrike.” Cain leads me away from the villa and down a wide avenue of Illustrian homes. We approach one that must have once been beautiful but is now a burned-out shell—destroyed days ago during the worst of the Scholar revolution. Cain wanders into the smoking debris. “We promised that if you held the oath, Elias would survive the Trials. And he did.”
“What was the point of him surviving the Trials if he’s just going to die a few weeks from now by my hand anyway? I can’t refuse Marcus’s order, Cain. I swore fealty. You made me swear fealty.”
“Do you know who lived in this house, Helene Aquilla?”
Changing the subject, of course. No wonder Elias was always so irritated by the Augurs. I force myself to look around. The house is unfamiliar.
“Mask Laurent Marianus. His wife, Inah.” Cain nudges aside a charred beam with his foot and picks up a roughly carved wooden horse. “Their children: Lucia, Amara, and Darien. Six Scholar slaves. One of those was Siyyad. He loved Darien like a son.”
Cain turns the horse over and gently sets it back down. “Siyyad carved this for the boy two months ago, when Darien turned four.” My chest tightens. What happened to him?
“Five of the slaves tried to flee when the Scholars attacked with torches and pitch. Siyyad ran for Darien. He found him, holding his horse, hiding beneath his bed in terror. He pulled him out. But the fire was too swift. They died quickly. All of them. Even the slaves who tried to run.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because the Empire is filled with homes like this. With lives like these. Do you think that Darien’s or Siyyad’s lives matter less, somehow, than Elias’s? They do not.”
“I know that, Cain.” I feel chagrined that he would need to remind me of the value of my own people. “But what was the point of everything I did in the First Trial if Elias is just going to die anyway?”
Cain turns the full force of his presence upon me. I shrink back.
“You will hunt Elias. You will find him. For what you learn on that journey—about yourself, your land, your enemies—that knowledge is essential to the Empire’s survival. And to your destiny.”
I feel like retching at his feet. I trusted you. I believed you. I did what you wanted. And now my fears will come to life for my trouble. Hunting Elias—killing him—that’s not even the worst part of the nightmares. It’s the feeling inside as I do it. That’s what makes the dreams so potent—the emotions that roll through me: satisfaction as I torment my friend, pleasure at the laughter of Marcus, who stands beside me, looking on in approval.
“Do not let despair take you.” Cain’s voice softens. “Hold true to your heart, and the Empire will be well served.”
“The Empire.” Always the Empire. “What about Elias? What about me?”
“Elias’s fate is in his own hands. Come now, Blood Shrike.” Cain lifts a hand to my head, as if offering a blessing. “This is what it means to have faith, to believe in something greater than yourself.”
A sigh escapes me, and I wipe the tears from my face. This is what it means to believe. I wish it weren’t so hard.
I watch as he drifts away from me, deeper into the ruins of the house, finally disappearing behind a scorched pillar. I don’t bother following. I already know he’s gone.
???
The Black Guard barracks stands in a Mercator section of the city. It is a long, stone building with no markings but a silver, open-winged shrike embossed on the door.
The second I enter, the half dozen Masks within stop what they are doing and salute.
“You.” I look to the closest Black Guard. “Go and find Lieutenant Faris Candelan and Lieutenant Dex Atrius. When they arrive, assign them quarters and arms.” Before the guard can even acknowledge, I move on to the next. “You,” I say. “Get me every report from the night that Veturius escaped. Every attack, every explosion, every dead soldier, every looted store, every eyewitness account—all of it. Where are Shrike’s quarters?”
“Through there, sir.” The soldier points at a black door at the end of the room. “Lieutenant Avitas Harper is within. He arrived just before you.”
Avitas Harper. Lieutenant Harper. A chill rolls across my skin. My torturer. Of course. He too is a member of the Black Guard.
“What in the bleeding skies does he want?”
The Black Guard looks surprised for a moment. “Orders, I believe. The Emperor assigned him to your task force.”
You mean the Commandant assigned him. Harper is her spy.
Harper waits at my desk in commander’s quarters. He salutes with unsettling blankness, as if he didn’t just spend five days in a dungeon tormenting me.
“Harper.” I sit down opposite him, the desk between us. “Report.”
Harper says nothing for a moment. I sigh in open irritation.
“You’ve been assigned to this detail, yes? Tell me what we know about the whereabouts of the traitor Veturius, Lieutenant.” I put as much disdain in the word as possible. “Or are you as ineffective a hunter as you are an interrogator?”
Harper doesn’t react to the jibe. “We have one lead: a dead Mask just beyond the city.” He pauses. “Blood Shrike, have you chosen your force for this mission?”
“You and two others,” I say. “Lieutenant Dex Atrius and Lieutenant Faris Candelan. They’ll be inducted into the Black Guard today. We’ll call in backup as needed.”
“I do not recognize the names. Generally, Shrike, inductees are chosen by—”
“Harper.” I lean forward. He will not have control over me. Never again. “I know you’re the Commandant’s spy. The Emperor told me. I can’t get rid of you. But that doesn’t mean I have to listen to you. As your commander, I order you to shut up about Faris and Dex. Now take me through what we know of Veturius’s escape.”
I expect a retort. Instead, I get a shrug, which is somehow more infuriating. Harper details Elias’s escape—the soldiers he killed, sightings of him in the city.
A knock comes at the door mid-report, and to my relief, Dex and Faris enter. Faris’s blond hair is a mess, and Dex’s dark skin is ashen. Their singed capes and bloodied armor are evidence of their activities the past few days. Their eyes widen when they see me: cut, bruised, a mess. But then Dex steps forward.
“Blood Shrike.” He salutes, and despite myself, I smile. Trust Dex to remember protocol, even when faced with the shattered remnants of an old friend.
“Ten hells, Aquilla.” Faris is aghast. “What did they do to you?”
“Welcome, Lieutenants,” I say. “I assume the messenger told you of the mission?”
“You’re to kill Elias,” Faris says. “Hel—”
“Are you prepared to serve?”