Gens Aquilla. Good men, but long-winded.
“Where’s Mother?”
“With the aunts, trying to keep a rein on their hysteria.” Livvy raises an eyebrow. “They’re not happy about the Aquilla-Farrar alliance. Father asked me to serve dinner.”
So she can listen and learn, no doubt. Livia, unlike Hannah, has an interest in the running of the Gens. Father is no fool; he knows what an asset that can be.
As I leave through the back door, Livvy calls, “Watch out for Hannah. She’s acting strange. Smug. Like she knows something we don’t.”
I roll my eyes. As if Hannah could possibly know anything I would care about.
I leap into the trees that curl toward my window. Sneaking in and out—even injured—is nothing. I used to do it regularly during leave to meet Elias.
Though never for the reason I wanted.
As I swing into my room, I berate myself. He’s not Elias. He’s the traitor Veturius, and you have to hunt him. Maybe if I keep saying the words, they’ll stop hurting.
“Little singer.”
My entire body goes numb at the voice—the same one I heard in the desert. That moment of shock is my undoing. A hand clamps over my mouth, and a whisper sounds in my ear.
“I have a story to tell. Listen carefully. You might learn something worthwhile.”
Female. Strong hands. Badly calloused. No accent. I move to throw her off, but the steel held steady against my throat stops me. I think of the body of the Mask out in the desert. Whoever this is, she’s deadly, and she’s not afraid to kill me.
“Once upon a time,” the strange voice says, “a girl and a boy tried to escape a city of flame and terror. In this city, they found salvation half-touched by shadow. And there waited a silver-skinned she-demon with a heart as black as her home. They fought the demon beneath a sleepless spire of suffering. They brought the demon low and escaped victorious. A pretty tale, is it not?” My captor puts her face close to my ear. “The story is in the city, little singer,” she says. “Find the story, and you’ll find Elias Veturius.”
The hand over my mouth drops away, as does the blade. I turn to see the figure darting across my room.
“Wait!” I turn and put my hands in the air. The figure halts. “The dead Mask in the desert,” I say. “You did that?”
“A message for you, little singer,” the woman rasps. “So you wouldn’t be stupid enough to fight me. Don’t feel badly about it. He was a murderer and a rapist. He deserved to die. Which reminds me.” She tilts her head. “The girl—Laia. Don’t touch her. If any harm comes to her, no force in this land will stop me from gutting you. Slowly.”
With that, she is moving again. I leap up and unsheathe my blade. Too late. The woman is through the open window and scuttling away across the rooftops.
But not before I catch sight of her face—hardened by hatred, mangled beyond belief, and instantly recognizable.
The Commandant’s slave. The one who is supposed to be dead. The one everyone called Cook.
XII: Laia
When Elias wakes me the morning after leaving the Roost, my hands are wet. Even in the pre-dawn gloom, I see the Tribesman’s blood running down my arms.
“Elias.” I frantically wipe my palms on my cloak. “The blood, it won’t come off.” It’s all over him too. “You’re covered—”
“Laia.” He is by my side in an instant. “It’s just the mist.”
“No. It’s—it’s everywhere.” Death, everywhere.
Elias takes my hands in his own, holding them up to the dim starlight. “Look. The mist beads on the skin.”
Reality finally takes hold as he pulls me slowly to my feet. Just a nightmare.
“We need to move.” He nods to the rock field, barely visible through the trees a hundred yards away. “There’s someone out there.”
I don’t see anything out in the Jutts, nor do I hear anything beyond the creaking of branches in the wind and the chirping of early-rising birds. Still, my body aches with tension.
“Soldiers?” I whisper to Elias.
He shakes his head. “Not sure. I saw a flash of metal—armor, or perhaps a weapon. It’s definitely someone following us.” At my unease, he offers a quick smile. “Don’t look so worried. Most successful missions are just a series of barely averted disasters.”
If I thought Elias’s pace out of the Roost was intense, I was mistaken. The Tellis has nearly restored him to his former strength. In minutes, we have left the rock field behind and are