"A pretty vow," the Warden says. "But unreliable." He strokes his chin thoughtfully, an eerie light in his eyes. "Such a fascinating philosophical quandary you face, Blood Shrike. Stay here, submit to experimentation, and risk that, in your absence, the Empire will fall to Keris Veturia? Or go back, stop the coup, and save the Empire, but risk forfeiting your family?"
"This isn't a game," I say. "My family's lives are at stake. Bleeding hells, the Empire is at stake. And if neither of those things matter to you, then think of yourself, Warden. Do you think Keris will just let you lurk up here after she becomes Empress? She'll kill you the first chance she gets."
"Oh, I think our new Empress will find my knowledge of the Empire's secrets . . . compelling."
My blood seethes in hatred as I glare at the old man. Could I perhaps break into Kauf? Avitas knows the prison well. He spent years here. But there are only two of us and a fortress of the Warden's men.
I remember, then, what Cain said to me when all this began, just after Marcus ordered me to bring him Elias.
You will hunt Elias. You will find him. For what you learn on that journey--about yourself, your land, your enemies--that knowledge is essential to the Empire's survival. And to your destiny.
This. This is what he meant. I do not yet know what I have learned about myself, but I understand now what is happening within my land, within the Empire. I understand what my enemy is planning.
I was going to bring Elias to Marcus for execution to show the Emperor's strength. To give him a victory. But killing Elias isn't the only way to do that. Crushing a coup led by one of the Empire's most feared soldiers would work just as well. If Marcus and I take down the Commandant, the Illustrian Gens will be loath to cross him. Civil war will be averted. The Empire will be safe.
As for Elias, my gut twists when I think of him in the hands of the Warden. But I cannot concern myself with his welfare any longer. Besides which, I know my friend. The Warden won't be able to keep him locked up for long.
"Empire first, old man," I say. "You can keep Veturius--and your experiments."
The Warden regards me without expression.
"Callow is the hope of our youth," he murmurs. "They are fools. They know no better. From Recollections, by Rajin of Serra--one of the only Scholars worth quoting. I believe he wrote that a few moments before Taius the First lopped his head off. If you do not want your Emperor's fate to be similar, then you'd best be on your way."
He signals to his men, and moments later the door of the boathouse thuds shut behind them. Avitas pads silently to my side.
"No Veturius, and a coup to stop," Avitas says. "Do you want to explain your thinking now," he asks, "or on the way?"
"On the way." I step into the canoe and grab an oar. "We're already out of time."
XLVIII: Laia
Keenan is the Nightbringer. A jinn. A demon.
Though I repeat the words in my head, they do not penetrate. Cold seeps into my bones, and I look down, surprised to find I've fallen to my knees in the snow. Get up, Laia. I cannot move.
I hate him. Skies, I hate him. But I loved him. Didn't I? I reach for my armlet, as if pawing at myself will make it reappear. Keenan's transformation flashes through my mind--then the mockery in his warped voice.
He's gone, I tell myself. You're still alive. Elias and Darin are in the prison, and they have no way out. You have to save them. Get up.
Perhaps grief is like battle: After experiencing enough of it, your body's instincts take over. When you see it closing in like a Martial death squad, you harden your insides. You prepare for the agony of a shredded heart. And when it hits, it hurts, but not as badly, because you have locked away your weakness, and all that's left is anger and strength.
Part of me wants to mull over every moment spent with that thing. Did he oppose my mission with Mazen because he wanted me alone and weak? Did he save Izzi because he knew I'd never forgive him if he left her behind?
No thinking. No considering. You must act. Move. Get. Up.
I stand. Though I am at first unsure of where I am going, I make myself walk away from the cave. The snowdrifts reach my knees, and I plow through, shivering, until I find the trail Helene Aquilla and her men must have left. I follow it to a trickle of a stream and walk along the waterway.
I don't realize where I am walking until a figure steps out from the trees in front of me. The sight of the silver mask threatens to make my stomach plunge, but I harden myself and draw my dagger. The Mask puts up his hands.
"Peace, Laia of Serra."
It is one of Aquilla's Masks. Not the fair-haired one or the handsome one. This one reminds me of the freshly sharpened edge of an ax. This is the one who walked right past Elias and me in Nur.
"I have to speak to the Blood Shrike," I say. "Please."
"Where is your redheaded friend?"
"Gone."
The Mask blinks. I find his lack of cold implacability unnatural. His pale green eyes are almost sympathetic. "And your brother?"
"Still in Kauf," I say warily. "Will you take me to her?"
He nods. "We're breaking camp," he says. "I was scouting for the Commandant's spies."
I halt. "You--you have Elias--"
"No," the Mask says. "Elias is still inside. We have something pressing to attend to."
More pressing than catching the Empire's top fugitive? A slow ember of hope kindles in my belly. I thought I'd have to lie to Helene Aquilla and tell her I wouldn't interfere with her extraction of Elias. But she's not planning on leaving Kauf with him anyway.
"Why did you trust Elias, Laia of Serra?" The Mask's question is too unexpected for me to hide my surprise. "Why did you save him from execution?"
I consider lying, but he'd know. He's a Mask.
"Elias saved my life so many times," I say. "He broods and makes questionable choices that put his own life at risk, but he's a good person." I glance over at the Mask, who stares impassively ahead. "One--one of the best."
"But he killed his friends during the Trials."
"He didn't want to," I say. "He thinks about it all the time. He'll never forgive himself, I think."
The Mask is silent, and the wind carries the moans and sighs of Kauf to our ears. I clench my jaw. You're going to have to go in there, I tell myself. So get used to it.
"My father was like Elias," the Mask says after a moment. "My mother said he always saw the good when no
one else did."
"Was--was he a Mask too?"
"He was. Strange trait for a Mask, I suppose. The Empire tried to train it out of him. Perhaps they failed. Perhaps that's why he died."
I do not know what to say, and the Mask remains silent also, until Kauf's ominous black bulk appears in the distance.
"I lived there for two years." He nods at the prison. "Spent most of my time in the interrogation cells. Hated it at first. Twelve-hour guard shifts, seven days a week. I became numb to the things I heard. It helped that I had a friend."
"Not the Warden." I inch a bit away from him. "Elias told me about him."
"No," the Mask says. "Not the Warden, nor any of the soldiers. My friend was a Scholar slave. A little girl who called herself Bee, because she had a scar shaped like a ziberry fruit on her cheek."
I stare at him, nonplussed. He doesn't seem like the type of man to befriend a child.
"She was so thin," the Mask says. "I used to sneak her food. At first, she feared me, but when she realized I didn't mean her harm she started talking to me." He shrugs. "After leaving Kauf I wondered about her. A few days ago, when I took a message to the Warden from the Shrike, I went looking for Bee. Found her, too."
"Did she remember you?"
"She did. In fact, she told me a very peculiar story of a pale-eyed Martial locked in the interrogation block of the prison. He refuses to fear the Warden, she said. He befriended one of her companions. Gave him a Tribal name: Tas. The children whisper of this Martial--carefully, of course, so the Warden doesn't hear. They're good at keeping secrets. They've taken word of this Martial to the Scholar movement within the prison--to those men and women who still hold out hope that they'll one day escape."
Bleeding skies.
"Why are you telling me this?" I look around, nervous. A trap? A trick? It's obvious that the Mask is speaking of Elias. But what is his purpose?
"I can't tell you why." He sounds almost sad. "But strange as it sounds, I think that one day you, of all people, will understand best."
He shakes himself and meets my eyes. "Save him, Laia of Serra," he says. "From all that you and the Blood Shrike have told me, I think that he is worth saving."
The Mask watches me, and I nod at him, not understanding but relieved that he is, at least, more human and less Mask. "I'll do my best."