by Sabaa Tahir
He points to my armlet. "It's beautiful."
"My mother gave it to me. Just before she died."
"The pattern. I feel like I've seen it before." Elias tilts his head. "May I?"
I reach up to take off the armlet but stop, a peculiar reluctance coming over me. Don't be ridiculous, Laia. He's going to give it right back.
"Just . . . just for a minute, all right?" I hand the armlet over, edgy as he turns it in his hands, examining the pattern barely visible beneath the tarnish.
"Silver," he says. "Do you think the fey could sense it? The efrit and the wraiths kept asking for silver."
"No idea." I take it quickly when he hands it back, my whole body relaxing as I put it on. "But I'd die before I gave this up. It was the last thing my mother gave me. Do--do you have anything of your father's?"
"Nothing." Elias doesn't sound bitter. "Not even a name. Just as well. Whoever he was, I don't think he was a good person."
"Why? You're good. And you didn't get it from the Commandant."
Elias's smile is sad. "Just a hunch." He pokes the fire with a stick. "Laia," he says gently. "We should talk about it."
Oh skies. "Talk about what?"
"Whatever it is that's bothering you. I can take a guess, but it might be better if you tell me."
"You want to talk now? After weeks of not even looking at me?"
"I look at you." His response is swift, his voice low. "Even when I shouldn't."
"Then why won't you say anything? Do you think I'm--I'm horrible? For what happened with Shikaat? I didn't want to--" I choke back the rest of my words. Elias drops the stick and inches closer. I feel his fingers on my chin and make myself look at him.
"Laia, I am the last person who will judge you for killing in your own defense. Look at what I am. Look at my life. I left you alone because I thought you might find comfort in solitude. As for not . . . looking at you, I don't want to hurt you. I'm dead in a few months. About five, if I'm lucky. It's best if I keep my distance. We both know that."
"So much death," I say. "It's everywhere. What's the point then of living? Will I ever escape it? In a few months you'll . . ." I can't say the words. "And Shikaat. He was going to kill me--and then . . . then he was dead. His blood was so warm, and he looked alive, but--" I suppress a shudder and straighten my back. "Never mind. I'm letting this get the best of me. I--"
"Your emotions make you human," Elias says. "Even the unpleasant ones have a purpose. Don't lock them away. If you ignore them, they just get louder and angrier."
A lump rises in my throat, insistent and clawing, like a howl that's been trapped inside me.
Elias pulls me into a hug, and as I lean into his shoulder, the sound lurking within emerges, something between a scream and a sob. Something animal and strange. Frustration and fear at what is to come. Rage at how I always feel as if I'm thwarted. Terror that I will never see my brother again.
After a long time, I pull back. Elias's face is somber when I look up at him. He wipes my tears away. His scent rolls over me. I breathe it in.
The open expression on his face fades. I can practically see him fling up a wall. He drops his arms and moves back.
"Why do you do that?" I try to rein in my exasperation and fail. "You close yourself up. You shut me out because you don't want me to get close. What about what I want? You won't hurt me, Elias."
"I will," he says. "Trust me."
"I don't trust you. Not about this."
Defiantly, I edge closer to him. He clenches his jaw but doesn't move. Without looking away, I bring a tentative hand to his mouth. Those lips, curved like they're always smiling, even when his eyes are lit with desire, as they are now.
"This is a bad idea," he murmurs. We're so close that I can see a long eyelash that's landed on his cheek. I can see the hints of blue in his hair.
"Then why aren't you stopping it?"
"Because I'm a fool." We breathe each other's breath, and as his body relaxes, as his hands finally slide around my back, I close my eyes.
Then he freezes. My eyes snap open. Elias's attention is fixed on the tree line. A second later, he stands and draws his scims in one fluid motion. I scramble to my feet.
"Laia." He steps around me. "Our tail has caught up. Hide in the boulders. And"--his voice takes on a sudden note of command as he meets my eyes--"if anyone gets near you, fight with all you've got."
I draw my knife and dart behind him, trying to see what he sees, to hear what he hears. The forest around us is silent.
Zing.
An arrow flies through the trees, straight at Elias's heart. He blocks it with a twitch of a scim.
Another missile hurtles out. Zing--and another, and another. Elias blocks them all, until a small forest of broken arrows sits at his feet.
"I could do this all night," he says, and I start, because his voice is devoid of emotion. The voice of a Mask.
"Let the girl go," someone snarls from the trees, "and be on your way."
Elias glances over his shoulder at me, one eyebrow cocked.
"A friend of yours?"
I shake my head. "I don't have any--"
A figure steps out of the trees--dressed in black, heavily hooded, an arrow nocked in his bow. In the heavy mist, I cannot make out his face. But something about him is familiar.
"If you're here for the bounty--" Elias begins, but the archer cuts him off.
"I'm not," he snaps. "I'm here for her."
"Well, you can't have her," Elias says. "You can keep wasting arrows, or we can fight." Fast as a whip, Elias flips one of his scims around and offers it to the man with such blatant and insulting arrogance that I grimace. If our attacker was angry before, he'll be furious now.
The man drops his bow, staring at us for a second before shaking his head.
"She was right," he says, his voice hollow. "He didn't take you. You went willingly."
Oh skies, I know him now. Of course I know him. He pushes his hood back, hair pouring out like flame.
Keenan.
XIII: Elias
While I attempt to work out how--and why--the redhead from the Moon Festival has tracked us all the way through the mountains, another figure trudges out from the woods, her blonde hair pulled back in a messy braid, face and eyepatch smudged with dirt. She was already slender when living with the Commandant, but now she looks like she's on the edge of starvation.
"Izzi?"
"Elias." She greets me with a wan smile. "You're looking . . . ah . . . lean?" Her brow furrows as she takes in my poison-altered appearance.
Laia pushes past me, a shriek bursting from her throat. She flings one arm around Red, another around the Commandant's former slave, and takes them down in a heap, laughing and crying at the same time.
"Skies, Keenan, Izzi! You're all right--you're alive!"
"Alive, yes." Izzi throws Red a look. "I don't know about all right. Your friend here set a wicked pace."
Red doesn't respond to her, his gaze fixed on me.
"Elias." Laia catches the glare and stands, clearing her throat. "You know Izzi. And this is Keenan, a--a friend." She says friend like she's not sure if it's an accurate description. "Keenan, this is--"
"I know who he is." Red cuts her off, and I suppress the urge to punch him for doing so. Knocking out her friend within five minutes of meeting him, Elias--bad way to keep the peace.
"What I want to understand," Red goes on, "is how in the skies you ended up with him. How could you--"
"Why don't we sit down." Izzi raises her voice and drops next to the fire. I sit beside her, keeping one eye on Keenan, who has taken Laia aside and now speaks to her urgently. I watch his lips; he's telling her that he's coming with her to Kauf.
It's a terrible idea. And one that I'll have to shoot down. Because if getting Laia and myself safely to Kauf is nearly impossible, hiding four people is insanity.
"Tell me you have something to eat, Elias," Izzi says under her breath. "Maybe Keenan can live on obsession, bu
t I haven't had a proper meal in weeks."
I offer her the remains of my hare. "Sorry, there isn't much left," I say. "I can catch you another." I keep my attention on Keenan, half drawing my scim as he gets more and more worked up.
"He's not going to hurt her," Izzi says. "You can relax."
"How do you know?"
"You should have seen him when he found out she'd left with you." Izzi takes a bite of the hare and shudders. "I thought he was going to murder someone--me, actually. Laia gave me her berth on a barge and told me Keenan would find me after two weeks. But he got to me a day after I left Serra. Maybe he had a hunch. I don't know. He calmed down eventually, but I don't think he's even slept since then. Once, he hid me in a safe house in a village and was gone all day looking for information, for anything that could lead us to you. All he could think about was getting to her."
So he's infatuated. Wonderful. I want to ask more questions, like whether Izzi thinks Laia feels the same. But I hold my tongue. Whatever lies between Laia and Keenan cannot matter to me.
As I hunt through my pack for more food for Izzi, Laia takes a seat by the fire. Keenan follows. He looks thunderously angry, which I take to be a good sign. Hopefully Laia told him that we're fine and that he can go back to being a rebel.
"Keenan will come with us," Laia says. Damn it. "And Izzi--"
"--is coming too," the Scholar girl says. "It's what a friend would do, Laia. Besides, it's not as if I have anyplace else to go."
"I don't know if this is the best idea." I temper my words--just because Keenan is getting hotheaded doesn't mean I have to act like an idiot. "Getting four people to Kauf--"
Keenan snorts. Unsurprisingly, his fist is clenched on his bow, the desire to put an arrow through my throat written all over his face. "Laia and I don't need you. You wanted freedom from the Empire, right? So take it. Get out of the Empire. Leave."
"Can't." I take out my throwing knives and begin sharpening them. "I made Laia a promise."
"A Mask who keeps his promises. That I'd like to see."
"Then take a good long look." Calm, Elias. "Listen," I say. "I understand you want to help. But taking more people along just complicates--"
"I'm not some child you'll have to babysit, Martial," Keenan snarls. "I tracked you here, didn't I?"
Fair enough. "How did you track us?" I keep my tone civil, but he acts as if I've just threatened devastation upon his unborn children.
"This isn't a Martial interrogation room," he says. "You can't force me to tell you anything."
Laia sighs. "Keenan . . ."
"Don't get your knickers in a bunch." I grin at him. Don't be an ass, Elias. "Just professional curiosity. If you tracked us, someone else might track you."
"No one followed us," Keenan says through clenched teeth. Skies, he'll grind them down to nubs if he keeps this up. "And finding you was easy enough," he continues. "Rebel trackers are as good as any Mask. Better."
My skin prickles. Rubbish. A Mask can track a lynx through the Jutts, and such skill is won through a decade of training. No rebel I've heard of can do the same.
"Forget all that." Izzi cuts through the tension. "What are we going to do?"
"We find a safe place for you," Keenan says. "Then Laia and I will go on to Kauf and get Darin out."
I keep my eyes on the fire. "How are you going to do that?"
"You don't have to be a murdering Mask to know how to break into a prison."
"Considering you couldn't break Darin out of Central Prison when he was there," I say, "I beg to differ. Kauf is about a hundred times more difficult to break out of. And you don't know the Warden like I do." I nearly say something about the old man's chilling experiments, but I stop myself. Darin is in that monster's hands, and I don't want to frighten Laia.
Keenan turns to Laia. "How much does he know? About me? About the rebellion?"
Laia shifts uncomfortably. "He knows everything," she says, finally. "And we're not leaving him." Her face goes grim, and she meets Keenan's gaze. "Elias knows the prison. He can help us get inside. He's done guard duty there."
"He's a bleeding Martial, Laia," Keenan says. "Skies, do you know what they're doing to us right now? Rounding Scholars up by the thousands. The thousands. Some are enslaved, but most are killed. Because of one rebellion, the Martials are murdering every Scholar they can get their hands on."
I feel sick. Of course they are. Marcus is in charge, and the Commandant hates Scholars. The revolution is the perfect excuse for her to exterminate them like she's always wanted.
Laia pales. She looks to Izzi.
"It's true," Izzi whispers. "We heard that the rebels told the Scholars who weren't planning on fighting to leave Serra. But so many didn't. The Martials came for them. They killed everyone. We almost got caught ourselves."
Keenan turns to Laia. "They've shown the Scholars no mercy. And you want to bring one with us? If I didn't know how to get into Kauf, it would be one thing. But I can do this, Laia. I swear it. We don't need a Mask."
"He's not a Mask." Izzi speaks up, and I hide my surprise. Considering the way my mother treated her, she's the last person I expect to defend me. Izzi shrugs at Keenan's incredulous look. "Not anymore, anyway."
She wilts a bit under the dirty look Keenan casts her, and my ire is ignited.
"Just because he's not wearing his mask," Keenan says, "doesn't mean he's left it behind."
"True enough." I find Red's eyes, meeting his fury with cold detachment--one of my mother's most galling tricks. "It was the Mask in me who killed the soldiers in the tunnels and got us out of the city." I lean forward. "And it's the Mask in me who will get Laia to Kauf so we can get Darin out. She knows that. It's why she set me free instead of escaping with you."
If Red's eyes could light a blaze, I'd be halfway to the tenth pit of the hells right now. Part of me is satisfied. Then I catch a glimpse of Laia's face and feel immediately ashamed. She glances between me and Red, uncertain and anguished.
"It's pointless to fight," I make myself say. "More importantly, it's not up to us. This isn't our mission, Red." I turn to Laia. "Tell me what you want."
The grateful look that crosses her face is almost worth the fact that I'm probably going to have to put up with this idiot rebel until the poison kills me.
"Can we still make our way north with the help of the Tribes if there are four of us? Is it possible?"
I stare across the fire and into her dark gold eyes, the way I've tried not to for days. When I do, I remember why I haven't looked: The fire in her, the fervent determination--it speaks to something at my very core, something caged and desperate to be free. A visceral desire for her grips me, and I forget Izzi and Keenan.
My arm twinges, sudden and sharp. A reminder of the task at hand. Convincing Afya to hide Laia and me will be difficult enough. But a rebel, two runaway slaves, and the Empire's most wanted criminal?
I'd say it's impossible, but the Commandant trained the word out of me.
"You're sure this is what you want?" I search her eyes for doubt, fear, uncertainty. But all I see is that fire. Ten hells.
"I am sure."
"Then I'll find a way."
*
That night, I visit the Soul Catcher.
I find myself walking beside her on a scanty path through the woods of the Waiting Place. She wears a shift and sandals, and appears untouched by the bite of the autumn air. The trees around us are gnarled and ancient. Translucent figures flit between the trunks. Some are nothing but niveous wisps, while others are more fully formed. At one point, I'm certain I see Tristas, his features contorted in rage, but he's gone a moment later. The figures' whispers are soft, melding into one murmuring rush.
"Is this it?" I ask the Soul Catcher. I thought I had more time. "Am I dead?"
"No." Her ancient eyes take in my arm. In this world, it is unscarred, unblemished. "The poison advances, but slowly."
"Why am I back here?" I don't want the seizures to begin again--I don
't want her controlling me. "I can't stay."
"Always so many questions with you, Elias." She smiles. "In sleep, humans skirt the Waiting Place and do not enter. But you have a foot in the worlds of the living and the dead. I used that to call you here. Don't worry, Elias. I won't keep you long."
One of the figures in the trees flutters closer--a woman so faded I cannot see her face. She peers through the branches, looks under bushes. Her mouth moves as if she's speaking to herself.
"Can you hear her?" the Soul Catcher asks.
I try to listen beyond the other ghosts' whispers, but there are too many. I shake my head, and the Soul Catcher's face holds something I can't decipher. "Try again."
I close my eyes this time and focus on the woman--only the woman.
I can't find--where--don't hide, lovey--
"She's--" I open my eyes, and the murmurs of the others drown her out. "She's looking for something."
"Someone," the Soul Catcher corrects me. "She refuses to move on. It has been decades. She hurt someone too, long ago. Though she did not mean to, I think."
A not so subtle reminder of the Soul Catcher's request the last time I saw her. "I'm doing as you asked," I say. "I'm keeping my distance from Laia."
"Very good, Veturius. I'd hate to have to harm you."
A chill runs up my spine. "You can do that?"
"I can do a great many things. Perhaps I shall show you, before your end." She places her hand on my arm, and it burns like fire.
When I wake up, it's still dark out, and my arm aches. I roll up my sleeve, expecting to see the knotted, scarred flesh where my injury was.
But the wound, which healed days ago, is now raw and bleeding.
XIV: Helene
TWO WEEKS EARLIER
"You're insane," Faris says as he, Dex, and I stare at the tracks in the dirt behind the storage building. I half believe him. But tracks don't lie, and these tracks tell quite a tale.
A battle. One large opponent. One small. The small one nearly got the better of the larger one until the small opponent was knocked out--at least that's what I assume, since there's no dead body around. The large opponent and a companion dragged the small opponent into the storage building and escaped on horseback, out a gate in the back wall. The horse had the Gens Veturia motto carved into its shoe: Always victorious. I think back to Cook's strange tale: They brought the demon low and escaped victorious.