A Torch Against the Night (43 page)

“Well … no.”

“And why do you think that is?”

I am at a loss. “Because … ah, because—”

She chuckles again. “Because sane plans
never
work, girl,” she says. “Only the mad ones do.”

A
whole night and day pass before Tas returns. He says nothing, look ing pointedly at my cell door. There’s a slight shift in the flickering torchlight beyond my cell—one of the Warden’s Masks watches us. Finally, the Mask outside the cell leaves. I bend my head in case he decides to return, keeping my voice quieter than a whisper.

“Tell me you have good news, Tas.”

“The soldiers moved the Artist to another cell.” Tas looks over his shoulder at the door, then draws swiftly in the grime on the cell floor. “But I found him. The block is arranged in a circle, yes? With the guard quarters in the center and”—he marks an
X
at the top of the circle—“the Artist is here,” he says. Then he marks an
X
at the bottom. “You are here. The stairs are in between.”

“Excellent,” I whisper. “The uniforms?”

“Bee can get one for you,” he says. “She has access to the laundry.”

“You’re certain you trust her?”

“She hates the Warden.” Tas shudders. “More than me, even. She will not betray us. But, Elias, I have not spoken to the Skiritae leader, Araj. And …” Tas looks apologetic. “Bee said there’s no Tellis to be found anywhere in the prison.”

Ten burning hells.

“Also,” Tas says, “the Scholar cleansing has begun. The Martials have built a pen in the prison yard where they are being herded. The cold has killed off many, but”—his voice trembles in anticipation and I sense he’s been working himself up to this—“something else has happened—something wonderful.”

“The Warden has erupted in boils that will kill him slowly?”

Tas grins. “Almost as good,” he says. “I have a message, Elias, from a girl with golden eyes.”

My heart practically falls out of my chest. It can’t be.
Can it be?

“Tell me everything.” I glance toward the door. If Tas is in my cell for longer than ten minutes, one of the Masks will come to check on us. The boy’s hands work swiftly as he cleans my wounds and replaces my bandages.

“She found Bee first.” I strain to hear him. A few cells over, the guards have begun an interrogation, and the prisoner’s screams echo across the block.

“Bee thought it was a ghost, because the voice came out of nowhere. The voice led her to an empty barracks room, and the girl appeared out of thin air. She asked Bee about you, so Bee came to get me.”

“And she—she was invisible?” At Tas’s nod, I sit back, stunned. But then I begin to think back to the times she seemed to almost fade out of view. When did it begin?
After Serra
,
I realize. After the efrit touched her. The creature only laid hands on Laia for a second. But perhaps that second was enough to awaken something within her.

“What was her message?”

Tas takes a deep breath. “
I found your scims
,” he recites.
“I was happy to see them. I have a way in and can keep out of sight. Afya can steal horses. What of the Scholars? Executions have begun. The boy says there’s a Scholar leader who can help. If you see my brother, tell him I’m here. Tell him I love him.”

“She said she’d return at nightfall for your answer.”

“All right,” I say to Tas. “This is what I want you to tell her.”

For three days, Tas carries messages back and forth between Laia and me. I’d have thought her presence here was a sick trick of the Warden’s if it wasn’t for the fact that I trust Tas and that the messages he brings back are so eminently Laia—sweet, slightly formal, but with a strength behind the words that speaks of her determination.
Tread carefully, Elias. I do not wish to see you injured further.

Slowly, painstakingly, we pull together a plan that is part her, part me, part Tas, and complete madness. It’s also heavily dependent on the competency of Araj, the man who leads the Skiritae. A man I’ve never met.

The morning of
Rathana
dawns like all other mornings in Kauf: without any indication that it is morning, other than the sounds of the guards changing shifts and a vague internal sense that my body is waking up.

Tas arrives with a bowl of watery gruel, which he drops quickly in front of me before streaking out. He is pale, terrified, but when I meet his eyes, he gives me the briefest of nods.

After he leaves, I force myself to my feet. It takes most of my breath to stand, and my chains seem heavier than they did just last night. Everything hurts, and beneath the pain, weariness seems to have penetrated my very marrow. This is not the tiredness of interrogation or a long journey. It is the exhaustion of a body that’s nearly done fighting.

Just get through today
,
I tell myself.
Then you can die in peace.

The next few minutes are nearly as torturous as one of the Warden’s interrogation sessions. I
hate
waiting. But soon enough, a promising smell wafts into my cell.

Smoke.

A second later, urgent voices. A shout. The ringing of alarm bells. The echoing, frantic boom of drums.

Well done, Tas.
Boots pound past the door, and the already bright torchlight outside intensifies. The minutes pass, and I rattle my chains impatiently. Fire spreads quickly, especially if Tas has been dribbling as much fuel in the soldiers’ section as I told him to. Already, smoke pours into my cell.

A shadow passes by my door and looks in—no doubt to make sure I’m still securely chained—then moves on. Seconds later, I hear the key in the lock, and it opens to reveal Tas’s small form.

“I could only find the cell keys, Elias.” Tas scurries in and shoves a thin blade and a bent pin at me. “Can you pick the locks with this?”

I curse. My left hand is still clumsy from the damage the Warden did with his pliers, but I take the picks. The smoke grows thicker, my hands clumsier.

“Hurry, Elias.” Tas eyes the door. “We must still get Darin out.”

The locks on my manacles finally creak open, and a minute later I unlock the ankle shackles. The smoke in my cell is thick enough that Tas and I must crouch to breathe, but still, I force myself to pull on the guard uniform he’s brought me. The uniform cannot hide the stink of the interrogation cells or my filthy hair or wounds, but it’s enough of a disguise to get through Kauf’s hallways and into the prison yard.

We pull wet kerchiefs around our faces, easing the sting of the smoke. Then we open the door and dart out of my cell. I try to move swiftly, but every step is pain, and Tas quickly darts out of sight. The smoky stone hallways are not yet aflame, though their wooden beams will catch soon enough. But the soldiers’ quarters in the middle of the block, filled with wood furniture and littered with pools of fuel, courtesy of Tas, are fast turning into a solid wall of fire. Shadows move through the smoke, and shouts echo. I lurch past the stairwell, and moments later I look back to see a Mask waving away the smoke and heading up and out of the block.
Excellent.
The guards are bolting, as I expected them to.

“Elias!” Tas appears out of the smoke ahead of me. “Hurry! I heard the Masks say that the fires upstairs are spreading!”

All the damn torches the Warden uses to light this place are finally coming to good use. “Are you sure we’re the only prisoners down here?”

“I checked twice!” A minute later, we make for the last cell at the north end of the block. Tas unlocks the door, and we enter in a cloud of smoke.

“It’s me,” I rasp to Darin, my throat already raw. “Elias.”

“Thank the bleeding skies.” Darin scrambles to his feet and holds out his manacled hands. “I thought you were dead. I wasn’t sure whether to believe Tas or not.”

I set to picking the locks. I can feel the air growing hotter and more poisonous by the second, but I make myself work methodically.
Come on, come on.
The familiar
snick
sounds, the shackles fall away, and we bolt from the cell, keeping low to the ground. We’re nearly to the staircase when a silver face suddenly looms out of the smoke ahead of us.
Drusius.

“You sly, conniving little mongrel.” Drusius grabs Tas by the neck. “I
knew
you had something to do with this.”

Begging the skies for enough strength to at least knock Drusius off his feet, I spring forward. He sidesteps and shoves me into a wall. Just a month ago, I’d have been able to use his brutish attack to get the best of him. But the poison and the interrogations have stripped me of my swiftness. Before I can stop him, Drusius wraps his hands around my neck and presses. A streak of filthy blond hair flashes past. Darin dives into Drusius’s stomach, and the Mask stumbles.

I cough for breath and drop to one knee. Even during the Commandant’s whippings or the Centurions’ harsh training, I sensed my own resilience, buried deep where it could not be touched. But now, as I watch Drusius flip Darin onto his back and knock him senseless with a blow to the temple, I cannot harness that strength. I cannot find it.

“Elias!” Tas is beside me, shoving a knife into my hand. I make myself lunge at Drusius. My leap is more like a crawl, but I have enough fighter’s instinct left to drive the dagger into the Mask’s thigh and twist. He howls and grabs me by the hair, but I stab his leg and stomach again and again, until his hands stop moving.

“Get up, Elias.” Tas is frantic. “The fire is spreading too swiftly!”

“C-can’t—”

“You can—you must.” Tas pulls at me now, using all of his weight. “Pick up Darin! Drusius has knocked him out!”

My body is frail and slow, so slow. It is worn out by the seizures, the beatings, the interrogation, the poison, the endless punishment of the past few months.

“Rise, Elias Veturius.” Tas smacks my face, and I blink at him in surprise. His eyes are fierce. “You gave me a name,” he says. “I want to live to hear it on the lips of others.
Rise.
”

I growl as I drag myself to my feet, as I move to Darin, kneel, and lift him over my shoulders. I stagger at his weight, though Kauf has left him far lighter than a man of his height should be.

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.”

A
vitas 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—”