instead of the real Elias.
Nur’s dusty streets are packed with people going from encampment to encampment. Chaotic as it is, there is a strange order to it. Each camp flies its own Tribal colors, with tents to the left, merchant stalls to the right, and the traditional Tribal wagons forming a perimeter.
“Ugh, Laia,” Izzi whispers from behind me. “I can smell the Martials. Steel and leather and horse. It feels like they are everywhere.”
“That’s because they are,” I whisper through the side of my mouth.
Legionnaires search shops and wagons. Masks bark orders and enter houses with no warning. Our progress is slow, as Elias takes a circuitous route through the streets in an attempt to avoid the patrols. My heart is in my throat the entire time.
I search in vain for free Scholars, hoping that some have escaped the Empire’s butchery. But the only Scholars I see are in chains. News of what’s happening in the Empire is scarce, but finally amid the incomprehensible snatches of Sadhese, I hear two Mercators speaking in Serran.
“—not even sparing the children.” The Mercator trader looks over his shoulder as he speaks. “I hear the streets of Silas and Serra run red with Scholar blood.”
“Tribesmen are next,” his companion, a leather-clad woman, says. “Then they’ll come for Marinn.”
“They’ll try,” the man says. “I’d like to see those pale-eyed bastards get through the Forest—”
Then we are past them, and their conversation fades, but I feel like retching. The streets of Silas and Serra run red with Scholar blood. Skies, how many of my old neighbors and acquaintances have died? How many of Pop’s patients?
“That’s why we’re doing this.” Elias glances back at me, and I realize he heard the Mercators too. “It’s why we need your brother. So stay focused.”
As we make our way through a particularly crowded thoroughfare, a patrol led by a Mask in black armor turns into the street just yards ahead.
“Patrol,” I hiss at Izzi. “Head down!” Immediately, she and Keenan stare at their feet. Elias’s shoulders stiffen, but he ambles forward in an almost leisurely manner. A muscle in his jaw jumps.
The Mask is young, his skin is the same golden-brown as mine. He’s as lean as Elias but shorter, with green eyes that angle up like a cat’s and cheekbones that jut as sharply as the hard planes of his armor.
I’ve never seen him before, but it doesn’t matter. He’s a Mask, and as his eyes pass over me, I find that I cannot breathe. Fear pounds through me, and all I can see is the Commandant. All I can feel is the lash of her whip on my back and the cold grasp of her hand on my throat. I can’t move.
Izzi runs into my back, and Keenan into hers.
“Go on!” Izzi says frantically. People nearby turn to watch. Why now, Laia? For skies’ sake, get hold of yourself. But my body won’t listen. The manacles, the collar around my neck, the sounds of the chains—they overwhelm me, and though my mind screams at me to keep moving, my body only remembers the Commandant.
The chain attached to my collar jerks, and Elias swears at me with an insouciant brutality that is uniquely Martial. I know he is playing a part. But I cringe anyway, reacting with a terror that I thought I had buried.
Elias wheels as if he’s going to strike me and yanks my face toward his. To an outsider, it would just appear as if a slaver is disciplining his property. His voice is soft, audible only to me.
“Look at me.” I meet his gaze. The Commandant’s eyes. No. Elias’s. “I’m not her.” He takes my chin, and while it must look threatening to those watching, his hand is light as a breeze. “I won’t hurt you. But you can’t let the fear take you.”
I drop my head and breathe deeply. The Mask watches us now, his whole body still. We are a few yards from him. A few feet. I peek out at him through my hair. His attention passes quickly over Keenan, Izzi, and me. Then it lands on Elias.
He stares. Skies. My body threatens to freeze again, but I make myself move.
Elias nods at the Mask perfunctorily, unconcerned, and walks on. The Mask is behind us, but I still sense him watching, poised to strike.
Then I hear the boots marching away, and when I look back, he’s moved on. I release a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Safe. You’re safe.
For now.
It’s