An Ember in the Ashes

Fine. It will be worth it. If I want my freedom, I have to win the next Trial. In the first two, Hel and I depended on each other for survival. The third will probably be the same. I need her on my side.

I find Hel on the combat field sparring with Tristas while a Combat Centurion looks on. The boys and I tease Tristas for constantly mooning over his fiancé, but he’s one of the finest swordsmen at Blackcliff, clever and cat-swift. He waits for Helene to slip up, taking note of the aggression in her strokes. But her defense is as impenetrable as the walls of Kauf. Minutes after I arrive at the field, she’s thrown off Tristas’s attack and jabbed his heart.
“Greetings, oh holy Aspirant,” Tristas calls out when he sees me. At Helene’s stiffening shoulders, he glances between us and makes a quick departure. Along with Faris and Dex, Tristas has tried repeatedly to figure out what went wrong between Helene and me on the night of the party—which neither of us attended. But Hel’s been as silent as I have, and they’ve given up, instead grunting to one another other pointedly when she and I beat each other down on the battlefield.
“Aquilla,” I call to her as she sheathes her scims. “I need to talk to you.”
Silence.
Fine then. “Cain said to tell you the next Trial is in seven days.”
I head to the armory, unsurprised when I hear her footsteps trailing.
“Well, what is it?” She grabs my shoulder and pulls me around. “What’s the Trial?”
Her face is flushed, and her eyes flash. Skies, she’s pretty when she’s angry.
The thought surprises me, accompanied as it is by a pulse of fierce desire.
It’s Helene, Elias. Helene.
“Combat,” I say. “We’ll be up against a ‘formidable foe.’”
“Right,” she says. “Good.” But she doesn’t move, only glares at me, unaware that the tendrils of hair that have escaped her braid make the glare much less intimidating than she’d like.
“Hel, look, I know you’re mad, but—”
“Oh, go put on a shirt.” She stalks away, muttering about twits who flaunt regulation. I stifle an angry retort. Why is she so damn stubborn?
As I enter the armory, I run straight into Marcus, who shoves me into the doorframe. For once, Zak’s not with him.
“Your whore’s still not talking to you?” he says. “Not spending time with you either, is she? Avoiding you...avoiding the other boys...alone...”
He looks speculatively at Helene’s retreating back, and I go for my scim, but Marcus is already holding a dagger to my stomach.
“She belongs to me, you know. I dreamt it.” His calmness chills me more than any boasting could. “One of these days, I’ll find her, and you won’t be around,” he says. “And I’ll make her mine.”
“You stay away from her. Anything happens to her, I’ll slit you open from your neck to your sorry—”
“It’s always threats with you,” Marcus says. “You never actually do anything. Not surprising for a traitor whose mask hasn’t even melded yet.” He leans forward. “The mask knows you’re weak, Elias. It knows you don’t belong. That’s why it’s still not a part of you. That’s why I should kill you.”
His dagger cuts into my stomach, releasing a trickle of blood. One thrust, one pull upward, and he could gut me like a fish. I shake with anger. I’m at his mercy, and I hate him for it.
“But the Centurions are watching.” Marcus’s gaze flicks to our left, where the Combat Centurion is fast approaching. “And I’d rather kill you slow.” He strolls away lazily, saluting the Combat Centurion as he passes.
Furious with myself, with Helene, with Marcus, I shove open the armory door and go straight to the heavy weaponry rack, settling on a tri-flanged mace. I swing it through the air and pretend I’m taking off Marcus’s head.
When I get back out to the field, the Combat Centurion pairs me with Helene. My rage spills out of me, tainting every move. Helene, on the other hand, channels her fury into a steely efficiency. She sends my mace flying, and only a few minutes later, I’m forced to yield. Disgusted, she stalks away to battle her next opponent while I’m still scrambling to my feet.
From the other side of the field, I see Marcus watching—not me but her, his eyes gleaming, his fingers caressing a dagger.
Faris gives me a hand up, and I call Dex and Tristas over, grimacing at the bruises Helene’s gifted me. “Is Aquilla still avoiding you?”
Dex nods. “Like the pox.”
“Keep an eye on her anyway,” I say. “Even if she wants you to stay away.
Marcus knows she’s avoiding us. It’s only a matter of time before he decides to attack.”
“You do know that she’ll kill us if she catches us playing guard dog,” Faris says.
“Which do you prefer,” I say, “angry Helene or raped Helene?”
Faris goes pale, but he and Dex vow to keep an eye on her, glaring at Marcus as they leave the field.
“Elias,” Tristas lingers, looking alarmingly awkward. “If you like, we can discuss...uh...” He scratches his tattoo. “Well, it’s just I’ve had some ups and downs with Aelia. So with Helene, if you want to talk about it...”
Ah. Right. “Helene and I aren’t—we’re just friends.”
Tristas sighs. “You know she’s in love with you, right?”
“She’s—not—no—” I can’t seem to make my mouth work, so I just close it and look at him in mute appeal. Any second, he’s going to grin and slap me on the back. He’s going to say, “Just kidding! Ha, Veturius, the look on your face...”
Any second.