A Torch Against the Night (An Ember in the Ashes #2) - Sabaa Tahir Page 0,87

the last few weeks in close quarters with her.

“Start with the green one.” The Mask’s voice recedes. I turn my head, close one eye, and press the other to a space between the planks. I can just make out Gibran’s mirror-encrusted wagon and the supply wagon beside it where Keenan hides.

I thought the rebel would want to hide with me, but the first time the Martials came, he took one look at Afya’s compartment and shook his head.

If we remain separate, he’d said, then even if the Martials discover one of us, the others can still remain hidden.

Too soon, a horse snorts from nearby, and a soldier drops down from it. I catch a glimmer of a silver face and try to keep breathing. Beside me, Miladh holds a hand to his son’s chest.

The stairs at the foot of Afya’s wagon come down, and the heavy gait of the soldier’s boots thunk above us. The footsteps stop.

Doesn’t mean anything. He might not see the seams in the floor. The trapdoor is designed so cleverly that even the decoy compartment is almost impossible to detect.

The soldier paces back and forth. He leaves the wagon, but I cannot relax, for seconds later, he circles it.

“Zaldara,” he calls to Afya. “Your wagon is built rather strangely.” He sounds almost amused. “From the outside, the bottom of this wagon drops to a foot or so off the ground. But the inside is considerably higher.”

“Tribespeople like our wagons solid, my lord,” Afya says. “Otherwise they break apart at the first pothole in the road.”

“Aux,” the Mask calls out to another soldier. “Come here. Zaldara, you too.” Boots thud up Afya’s stairs, followed by her lighter footsteps.

Breathe, Laia. Breathe. We’re going to be fine. This has happened before.

“Pull back the rug, Zaldara.”

The rug shifts. A second later, I hear the telltale click of the trapdoor. Skies, no.

“You like your wagons solid, eh?” the Mask says. “Not that solid, apparently.”

“Perhaps we can discuss this,” Afya says smoothly. “I’m happy to offer a small tribute if you’ll simply overlook—”

“I’m not an Empire toll collector you can bribe with a brick of ghas, Tribeswoman.” The Mask’s voice is no longer amused. “This substance is outlawed, and it will be confiscated and destroyed, as will the firepowder. Soldier, remove the contraband.”

All right, you’ve found it. Now keep going.

The soldier lifts the ghas out brick by brick. This too has happened before, though until now, Afya has managed to dissuade the Martials from looking further with only a few bricks of ghas. This Mask doesn’t move until everything in the compartment is gone.

“Well,” Afya says when the aux soldier is finished. “Happy?”

“Not remotely,” the Mask says. A second later, Afya swears. I hear a heavy thump, a gasp, and what sounds like the Tribeswoman choking back a scream.

Disappear, Laia, I think to myself. You’re invisible. Gone. Small. Smaller than a scratch. Smaller than dust. No one can see you. No one knows you’re here. My body tingles, like too much blood rushing to my skin all at once.

A moment later, the second portion of the compartment rolls back. Afya is slumped against the side of her cabin, one hand at her swiftly bruising neck. The Mask stands inches away, and as I stare up into his face, I find that I am paralyzed with fear.

I expect him to recognize me. But he has eyes only for Miladh and Ayan. The boy erupts into wails at the sight of the monster before him. He claws at his father, who desperately tries to shush him.

“Scholar trash,” the Mask says. “Can’t even hide properly. Get up, rat. And shut your brat up.”

Miladh’s eyes cut to where I lie, and then widen. Swiftly, he looks away, saying nothing. He ignores me. They all ignore me. As if I’m not there. As if they can’t see me.

Just like when you snuck up on the Commandant in Serra, like when you hid from the Tribesman at Raider’s Roost. Like when Elias lost you in the crowd in Nur. You wish to disappear, and you do.

Impossible. I think it must be some strange trick by the Mask. But he makes his way out of the wagon, shoving Afya, Miladh, and Ayan before him, and I am left alone. I look down at myself and gasp. I can see my own body, but I can also see the grain of the wood through it. Tentatively, I reach out for the edges of the smuggler’s compartment, expecting that my hand