Desperately hoping that no other Masks emerge, I lurch toward the stairs. The interrogation block is fully engulfed now, the beams of the roof aflame, the smoke so thick that I can hardly see. I stumble up the stone steps, Tas steadfast at my side.
Break it down to what you can do. One foot. One inch. The words are a garbled chant in my head, fainter and fainter when faced with the screaming panic of my failing body. What will happen at the top of the stairwell? We’ll open the door to chaos or order, and either way, I don’t know if I’ll be able to carry Darin out of the prison.
The field of battle is my temple. The swordpoint is my priest. The dance of death is my prayer. The killing blow is my release. I’m not ready for my release. Not yet. Not yet.
Darin’s body grows heavier by the second, but I can see the door that leads out into the prison now. I reach for the handle, pull it down, push.
It does not open.
“No!” Tas leaps up, clawing at the door handle, pushing with all of his might.
Open it, Elias. I drop Darin and yank at the enormous handle, peering at the locking mechanism. I fumble for makeshift lock picks, but when I shove one into the lock, it breaks.
There must be another way out. I spin around and drag Darin halfway down the stairwell. The wood beams that hold up the weight of the stone have caught fire. Flame races overhead, and I am convinced that the world has dropped away but for Darin, Tas, and me.
The shudders of a seizure take me, and I sense the approach of an inexorable darkness that dwarfs everything I’ve endured until now. I fall, my body worse than useless. I can only sputter and choke as Tas leans over me, shouting something I cannot hear.
Is this what my friends felt in the moment of death? Were they also consumed by this futile rage, made more insulting because it meant nothing? Because, in the end, Death would take his due, and nothing could stop him?
Elias, Tas mouths at me, his face streaked with tears and soot. Elias!
His face and voice fade.
Silence. Darkness.
Then a familiar presence. A quiet voice.
“Arise.” The world comes back into focus, and I find the Soul Catcher leaning over me. The stark, empty boughs of the Forest of Dusk stretch like fingers overhead.
“Welcome, Elias Veturius.” Her voice is infinitely gentle and kind, as if she’s talking to an injured child, but her eyes are the same empty black they’ve been since I’ve known her. She takes my arm like an old friend would. “Welcome to the Waiting Place, the realm of ghosts. I am the Soul Catcher, and I am here to help you cross to the other side.”
CHAPTER FIFTY
Helene
Avitas and I arrive in Antium just as Rathana dawns. As our horses clatter through the city gates, stars still glint above and sunrise has not yet graced the jagged mountains to the east of the city.
Though Avitas and I scoped out the land around the capital, we saw no sign of an army. But the Commandant is clever. She might have slipped her forces into the city and hidden them in multiple places. Or she might be waiting until nightfall to unleash her attack.
Faris and Dex join up with us as we enter the city, having spotted our approach from one of the watchtowers.
“Hail, Shrike.” Dex clasps my hand as he steers his horse to fall in with mine. He looks like he hasn’t slept in a year. “The Masks of the Black Guard are deployed and await your orders. I had three squads secure the Emperor. Another squad is out scouting for the army. The rest have taken over the city guard.”
“Thank you, Dex.” I am relieved he doesn’t question me about Elias. “Faris,” I say. “Report.”
“The girl was right,” my big friend says. We weave through the wagons, men, and animals entering Antium at this early hour. “There is an army. At least four thousand men—”
“It’s the Commandant’s,” I say. “Harper can explain.” When we clear the traffic, I kick my horse into a gallop. “Think carefully about what you saw,” I call to Faris. “I need you to bear witness before the Emperor.”
The streets are starting to fill with Mercators out early to stake out the best spots for the festivities of Rathana. A Plebeian ale merchant trundles through the city with extra barrels of his goods to supply to the taverns. Children hang up blue and green lanterns that symbolize the day. Everyone seems so normal. Happy. Still, they clear the way when they see four Black Guards galloping through the streets. When we reach the palace, I leap off my horse, nearly mowing down the groom who comes to take the reins.
“Where is the Emperor?” I snap at a legionnaire on gate duty.
“In the throne room, Shrike, with the rest of the court.”
As I hoped. The leaders of the Empire’s Illustrian Gens are early risers, particularly when they want something. They’ll have begun lining up to petition the Emperor hours ago. The throne room will be packed with powerful men, men who can bear witness to the fact that I saved the throne from the Commandant’s predations.
I have spent days planning my speech, and as we approach the throne room, I go over it again in my head. The two legionnaires guarding the throne room doors attempt to announce me, but Dex and Faris step ahead of me, shove them out of the way, and open the doors for me. It’s like having two walking battering rams at my side.
Black Guard soldiers line the room at intervals, most standing between the colossal tapestries that depict the deeds of past Emperors. As I make for the throne, I spot Lieutenant Sergius, the Black Guard who was stupid enough to address me as Miss Aquilla the last time I was here. He salutes respectfully as I pass.
Faces turn toward me. I recognize the Paters of a few dozen Mercator and Illustrian Gens. Through the enormous glass ceiling, the last stars give way to daylight.
Marcus sits on the ornately carved ebony throne, his usual sneer replaced by a look of cold wrath as he listens to a report from a courier who looks fresh from the road. A circlet of sharp points, patterned with Blackcliff’s four-sided diamond, adorns his head.
“—pushed past the border and are harassing the villages outside Tiborum. The city will be overrun if we do not get men out there immediately, my lord.”
“Blood Shrike.” Marcus notices me and waves off the legionnaire giving his report. “It is good to lay eyes upon you again.” He flicks his glance up and down my form but then grimaces and puts a finger to his temple. I am relieved when he looks away.
“Pater Aquillus,” he says through gritted teeth. “Come and greet your daughter.”
My father emerges from the rows of courtiers, my mother and sisters trailing. Hannah wrinkles her nose when she sees me, as if she’s smelled something foul. My mother nods a greeting, her knuckles white as she clasps her hands in front of her. She looks too afraid to speak. Livvy manages a smile when she sees me, but I’d have to be a fool not to notice that she’s been crying.
“Greetings, Blood Shrike.” Father’s pained glance takes in Avitas, Faris, and Dex before returning to me. No Elias, he seems to say. I give him a reassuring nod, trying to communicate with my eyes. Do not fear, Father.
“Your family has been kind enough to grace me with their presence daily since you left.” Marcus’s mouth curves into a smile before he pointedly looks behind me. “You’ve returned empty-handed, Shrike.”
“Not empty-handed, Emperor,” I say. “I come bearing something far more important than Elias Veturius. As we speak, an army marches on Antium, lead by Keris Veturia. For months, she has siphoned off soldiers from the Tribal lands and the border regions to create this treasonous army. That is why you’re getting reports of Wildmen and Barbarians attacking our outlying cities.” I nod to the courier. He backs away, not wanting to get involved in any discussion between the Blood Shrike and the Emperor. “The Commandant means to launch a coup.”