A Torch Against the Night (38 page)

She sidesteps him, her glare formidable. She is not the same, frightened child I healed in Blackcliff’s slaves’ quarters. That bizarre protectiveness grips me, the same emotion I felt for Elias in Nur. I reach out and touch her face. She starts, and Avitas and Faris exchange a glance. Immediately I pull away. But not before I discern from the touch that she is well. Relief sweeps through me—and anger.

Did my healing mean nothing to you?

She had a strange song, this girl, with a fey beauty that raised the hair on the back of my neck. So different from Elias’s song. But not discordant. Livia and Hannah took singing lessons—what would they call it?
Countermelody.
Laia and Elias are each other’s countermelodies. I am just a dissonant note.

“I know you’re here for your brother,” I say. “Darin of Serra, Resistance spy—”

“He’s
not
a—”

I wave off her protestations. “I don’t bleeding care. You’ll probably end up dead.”

“I assure you, I won’t.” The girl’s gold eyes spark, and her jaw is set. “I made it here despite the fact that you were hunting us.” She takes a step forward, but I give no ground. “I survived the Commandant’s genocide—”

“A few patrols to round up rebels is not—”

“Patrols?” Her face twists in horror. “You’re killing
thousands
.
Women. Children. You bastards have an entire skies-forsaken army parked in the Argent Hills—”

“Enough,” the redhead says sharply, but I ignore him, my mind is fixed on what Laia just said.

—an entire bleeding army—

—the Bitch of Blackcliff is planning something … It’s big this time, girl—

I need to get out of here. A hunch has taken root in my mind, and I need to consider it.

“I am here for Veturius. Any attempt to rescue him will result in your death.”

“Rescue,” Laia says flatly. “From—from the prison.”

“Yes,” I say impatiently. “I don’t want to kill you, girl. So stay out of my way.”

I stride from the cave into the heavy snowdrifts, mind churning.

“Shrike,” Faris says when we’ve nearly reached our camp. “Don’t take off my head, but we can’t just leave them alive to carry out an illegal prison break.”

“Every garrison we went to in the Tribal lands was short on soldiers,” I say. “Even Antium didn’t have a full complement of guards for the walls. Why do you think that is?”

Faris shrugs, bewildered. “The men were sent to the borderlands. Dex heard the same.”

“But my father told me in his letters that the border garrisons needed reinforcements. He said the Commandant requested soldiers too. Everyone is short. Dozens of garrisons, thousands of soldiers. An
army
of soldiers.”

“You mean what the girl said about the Argent Hills?” Faris scoffs. “She’s a Scholar—she doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“The Hills have a dozen valleys big enough to hide an army in,” I say. “And only one pass in and one pass out. Both of those passes—”

Avitas swears. “Blocked,” he says. “By the weather. But those passes are never blocked so early in winter.”

“We were in such a hurry, we didn’t think twice about it,” Faris says. “If there is an army, what is it for?”

“Marcus might be planning to attack the Tribal lands,” I say. “Or Marinn.” Both options are disastrous. The Empire has enough to deal with without a full-scale war. We reach our camp, and I hand Faris the reins to his horse. “Find out what’s going on. Scout the Argent Hills. I ordered Dex back to Antium. Have him keep the Black Guard at the ready.”

Faris’s eyes shift to Avitas, and he tilts his head at me.
You trust him?

“I’ll be all right,” I say. “Go.”

Moments after he leaves, a shadow steps out from the woods. My scim is half-drawn when I realize it’s a Fiver, trembling and half-frozen. He silently hands me a note.

Avitas grimaces at the look on my face. “What is it?”

“The Warden,” I say. “Coming out to play.”

«««

B
y midnight, I ghost along the base of Kauf’s high outer wall toward the Commandant’s camp, eyeing the friezes and gargoyles that make Kauf almost ornate when compared to Blackcliff. Avitas follows, covering our tracks.

Keris Veturia has erected her tents in the shadow of Kauf’s southeast wall. Her men walk the perimeter, and her pavilion sits at the center of the camp, with five yards of clear space on three sides. The tent backs to Kauf’s ice-slick wall. No woodpiles, no wagons, not even a bleeding horse to use as cover.

I stop along the far edge of the camp and nod to Avitas. He takes out a grappling hook and heaves it at a pinnacle atop a buttress about forty feet up. The hook catches. He hands me the rope and silently backtracks through the snow.

When I’m ten feet up, I hear the crunch of boots on snow. I turn, expecting to whisper-shout at Avitas for being so damned loud. Instead, a soldier lumbers out from between the tents, unbuttoning his pants to relieve himself.

I scramble for a knife, but my boots, slick with snow, slip on the rope, and I drop the blade. The soldier whirls at the sound. His eyes widen, and he gathers his breath to shout.
Damn it!
I prepare to drop, but an arm wraps around the soldier’s throat, choking off his air. Avitas glares up at me as he grapples with the man.
Go!
he mouths.

Swiftly, I snake the rope between my boots and pull myself up hand over hand. Once at the top, I take aim at a second pinnacle thirty feet away, directly over the Commandant’s tent. I let the grappling hook fly. When I’m certain it’s secure, I tie the rope around my waist and take a deep breath, preparing to drop.

Then I look down.

The stupidest bleeding thing you could have done, Aquilla.
Freezing wind whips at me, but sweat rolls down my back anyway.
Don’t retch. Commandant wouldn’t thank you for spewing sick all over the top of her tent.
My mind flashes to the Second Trial. To Elias’s ever-smiling mouth and silver eyes as he roped himself to me.
I won’t let you fall. I promise.

But he’s not here. I’m alone, perched like a spider over an abyss. I grab the rope, test it one last time, and jump.

Weightlessness. Terror. My body slams into the wall. I swing wildly—
you’re dead
,
Aquilla
.
Then I center myself, hoping the Commandant didn’t hear my scrabbling from her tent. I rappel down, slipping easily into the narrow, dark space between the tent and Kauf’s wall.

“—and I both serve the same master, Warden. His time has come. Give me your influence.”

“If our master wanted my aid, he would have asked for it. This is your plot, Keris, not his.” The Warden’s voice is flat, but its toneless boredom hides a deep wariness. He was not nearly so careful when he and I spoke.

“Poor Warden,” the Commandant says. “So loyal and yet always the last to know of our master’s plans. How it must rankle you that he chose
me
as the instrument of his will.”

“It will rankle me more if your plan jeopardizes all we have worked for. Do not take this risk, Keris. He will not thank you for it.”

“I am speeding the pace at which we carry out his will.”

“You are furthering your own will.”

“The Nightbringer has been gone for months.” The Commandant’s chair scrapes back. “Perhaps he wishes for us to do something useful instead of awaiting his orders like Fivers facing their first battle. We’re running out of time, Sisellius. Marcus has garnered fear, if not respect, from the Gens after the Shrike’s display on Cardium Rock.”

“You mean after she foiled your plot to foment dissent.”

“The plot would have succeeded,” Keris says, “if you had helped me. Don’t make the same mistake this time. With the Shrike out of the way”—
not yet, you hag—
“Marcus is still vulnerable. If you would simply—”

“Secrets are not slaves, Keris. They are not meant to be used and cast aside. I will deploy them with patience and precision, or I will not deploy them at all. I must consider your request.”

“Consider quickly.” The Commandant’s voice takes on the soft edge known to send men scurrying away in fear. “My men will march on Antium in three days and arrive on
Rathana
. I must leave by morning. I cannot claim my throne if I’m not leading my own army.”

I put my fist in my mouth to keep from gasping.
My men … my throne … my army.

Finally, the pieces fall into place. The soldiers ordered to report elsewhere, leaving garrisons empty. The lack of men in the countryside. The troop shortage on the embattled borders of the Empire. It all leads back to her.

That army in the Argent Hills doesn’t belong to Marcus. It belongs to the Commandant. And in less than a week she’s going to use it to murder him and declare herself Empress.

T
he moment the Blood Shrike is out of earshot, I turn to Keenan. “I’m not leaving Elias,” I say. “If Helene gets her hands on him, he’ll go straight to Antium for execution.”

Keenan grimaces. “Laia,” he says. “It might be too late for that. There is nothing stopping her from walking in and taking custody of him.” He lowers his voice. “Perhaps we should focus on Darin.”

“I will not leave Elias to die at her hands,” I say. “Not when I’m the only reason he’s in Kauf in the first place.”

“Forgive me,” Keenan says, “but the poison will take Elias soon, in any case.”

“So you’d leave him to torture and public execution?” I know Keenan has never liked Elias, but I did not think the animosity ran this deep.

The lamplight flickers, and Keenan runs a hand through his hair, brow furrowed. He kicks a few damp leaves out of the way and gestures for me to sit.

“We can get him out too,” I argue. “We just have to move fast and find a way in. I don’t think Aquilla can just walk in and take him out. She would have already done it if that were the case. She wouldn’t have bothered to talk to us.”

I roll out Elias’s map—dirt-stained and faded now. “This cave.” I point to a spot Elias marked on the map. “It’s north of the prison, but perhaps we could get inside—”

“We’d need firepowder for that,” Keenan says. “We have none.”

Fair enough. I point to another path marked on the north side of the prison, but Keenan shakes his head. “That route is blocked, according to the information I have, which is from six months ago. Elias was last here six
years
ago.”

We stare at the parchment, and I point to the west side of the prison, where Elias marked a path. “What about this? There are sewers here. And it’s exposed, yes, but if I could make myself invisible, like I did during the raid—”

Keenan looks at me sharply. “Have you been working at that again? When you should have been resting?” When I don’t answer, he groans. “Skies, Laia, we need all of our wits to pull this off. You’re exhausting yourself trying to harness something you don’t understand—something
unreliable
—”

“Sorry,” I mumble. If all my practice actually amounted to something, then perhaps I could argue that the risk of exhaustion was worth it. And yes, a few times, while Keenan was on watch or off scouting, I felt like I almost grasped that strange, tingling feeling that meant no one could see me. But as soon as I’d open my eyes and look down, I’d see that I’d failed again.

We eat in silence, and when we’re done, Keenan stands. I scramble to my feet.

“I’m going to go scout the prison,” he says. “I’ll be gone for a few hours. Let me see what I can come up with.”

“I’ll go with—”

“Easier for me to scout alone, Laia,” he says. At the irritated look on my face, he takes my hand and draws me close.

“Trust me,” he says against my hair. His warmth eases away the cold that seems to have taken up residence in my bones. “It’ll be better this way. And don’t worry.” He pulls away, his dark eyes searing. “I’ll find us a way in. I promise. Try to rest while I’m gone. We’ll need all our strength in the next few days.”

After he leaves, I organize our limited belongings, sharpen all of my weapons, and practice the little that Keenan had a chance to teach me. The desire to try again to discover my power pulls at me. But Keenan’s warning echoes in my head.
Unreliable.

As I unfurl my bedroll, the hilt of one of Elias’s scims catches my eye. I gingerly pull the weapons from their hiding spot. As I examine the scims, a chill runs through me. So many souls sundered from the earth at the edges of these blades—some on my behalf.

It’s eerie to think of it, and yet I find the scims offer a strange sort of comfort. They
feel
like Elias. Perhaps because I am so used to seeing them poking up behind his head in that familiar
V
. How long since I saw him reaching back for those scims at the first hint of a threat? How long since I heard his baritone urging me on or drawing a laugh from me? Only six weeks. But it feels like much longer.

I miss him. When I think of what will happen to him at Helene’s hands, my blood boils in rage. If I were the one dying of Nightweed poisoning, the one chained in a prison, the one facing torture and death, Elias would not acquiesce. He would find a way to save me.

The scims go back into their scabbards, the scabbards back into their hiding place. I drop into my bedroll with no intention of sleeping.
One more time
,
I think to myself.
If it doesn’t work, I’ll leave it, like Keenan asked. But I owe Elias at least this.

As I close my eyes and try to forget myself, I think about Izzi. About how she would blend into the Commandant’s house like a chameleon, unseen, unheard. She was soft-footed and soft-spoken and she heard and saw everything. Perhaps this is not just about a state of mind but about my body. About finding the quiet version of myself. The Izzi-like version of myself.

Disappear. Smoke into cold air and Izzi with her hair in front of her eyes and a Mask moving stealthily through the night. Quiet mind, quiet body.
I keep each word distinct, even when my mind begins to tire.