An Ember in the Ashes

“Well now, Laia,” Mazen says as I take a seat. “Any information for us? Other than the fact that the Emperor is dead.”
“How did you—”

“Because I’m the one who killed him. Tell me, have they named a new Emperor yet?”
“Yes.” Mazen killed the Emperor? I want him to tell me more, but I sense his impatience. “They named Marcus. The coronation is tomorrow.”
Mazen exchanges glances with his men and stands. “Eran, send out the runners. Haider, get the men ready. Keenan, deal with the girl.”
“Wait!” I stand as they do. “I have more—an entrance into Blackcliff. That’s the reason I came. So that you can get Darin out. And there’s something else you should know—” I mean to tell him about the spy, but he doesn’t let me.
“There’s no secret entrance into Blackcliff, Laia. Even if there was, I wouldn’t be stupid enough to try to attack a school of Masks.”
“Then how—”
“How?” he muses. “A good question. How do you get rid of a girl who blunders into your hideout at the most inopportune moment, claiming to be the long-lost daughter of the Lioness? How do you appease an essential faction in the Resistance when they stupidly insist you help her save her brother? How do you make it look like you’re helping her when in fact you don’t have the time or the men to do so?”
My mouth goes dry.
“I’ll tell you how,” Mazen says. “You give the girl a mission she won’t come back from. You send her to Blackcliff, home of her parents’ killer. You give her impossible tasks, like spying on the most dangerous woman in the Empire, like learning about the Trials before they even occur.”
“You—you knew that the Commandant killed—”
“It’s nothing personal, girl. Sana threatened to pull her men from the Resistance over you. She’s been looking for an excuse, and when you walked in, she had it. But I needed her and her men more than ever. I’ve spent years building up what the Empire destroyed when they killed your mother. I couldn’t let you ruin all of that.
“I expected that the Commandant would be rid of you in days, if not hours. But you survived. When you brought me information—real information—at the Moon Festival, my men warned me that Sana and her faction would consider the bargain met. She’d demand your brother be broken out of Central. Only problem was, you’d just told me the very thing that made it impossible for me to put up the men to do so.”
I think back. “The Emperor’s arrival in Serra.”
“When you told me of it, I knew we’d need every last Resistance fighter we had if we wanted to assassinate him. A much worthier cause than rescuing your brother, don’t you think?”
I remember then what the Commandant told me. Those Scholar rats know only what I want them to know. What were they up to the last time you met them? Were they planning something significant?
Realization strikes me like a blow. The Resistance doesn’t even know they’ve played into the Commandant’s hands. Keris Veturius wanted the Emperor dead. The Resistance killed the Emperor and the most important members of his house, Marcus stepped into his place, and now there will be no civil war, no struggle between Gens Taia and Blackcliff.
You fool! I want to scream. You walked right into her trap!
“I needed to keep Sana’s faction happy,” Mazen says. “And I needed to keep you away from them. So I sent you to Blackcliff with an even more impossible task: find me a secret entrance into the most well-guarded, heavily fortified Martial fort outside of Kauf Prison. I told Sana that your brother’s escape depended on it—and that giving any more details could imperil the jailbreak. Then I gave her and every other fighter a mission greater than one foolish girl and her brother: a revolution.”
He leans forward, his eyes glowing with fervor. “It’s only a matter of time before word gets out that Taius is dead. When it does—chaos, unrest. It’s what we’ve been waiting for. I only wish your mother was here to see it.”
“Don’t you talk about my mother.” In my rage, I forget to tell him of the spy. I forget to tell him that the Commandant will know of his grand plan.
“She lived by Izzat. And you’re selling out her children, you bastard. Did you sell her out too?”
Mazen rounds the table, a vein pulsing in his neck. “I’d have followed the Lioness into a fire. I’d have followed her into hell. But you’re not like your mother, Laia. You’re more like your father. And your father was weak. As for Izzat—you’re a child. You have no idea what it means.”
My breathing stutters, and I reach out a shaking hand to the table to steady myself. I look back at Keenan, who refuses to meet my eyes. Traitor. Had he always known that Mazen didn’t mean to help? Had he watched and laughed as the foolish little girl went off on impossible missions?
Cook was right the whole time. I never should have trusted Mazen. I never should have trusted any of them. Darin knew better. He wanted to change things, but he’d figured out it couldn’t be with the rebels. He’d realized they weren’t worthy of his trust.
“My brother,” I say to Mazen. “He’s not in Bekkar, is he? Is he alive?”
Mazen sighs. “Where the Martials took your brother, no one can follow. Give it up, girl. You can’t save him.”
Tears threaten to spill down my cheeks, but I fight them back. “Just tell me where he is.” I try to keep my voice reasonable. “Is he in the city? In Central? You know. Tell me.”
“Keenan. Get rid of her,” Mazen commands. “Elsewhere,” he adds as an afterthought. “A body won’t go unnoticed in this neighborhood.”
I feel as Elias must have felt only a short time ago. Betrayed. Desolate.
Fear and panic threaten to strangle me; I knot them up and shove them away.
Keenan tries to take my arm, but I dodge him, pulling out Elias’s dagger.