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The next night, at the same late hour, I position myself in the training building itself, across from the pillar where I saw the Masks disappear. The minutes pass. Half an hour. An hour. They don’t appear.

Eventually, I make myself leave. I can’t risk missing a summons from the Commandant. I feel like shouting in frustration. The Farrars might have disappeared into the secret entrance before I ever got to the building. Or they might arrive there when I’m already in my bed. Whatever the case, I need more time to watch.

“I’ll go tomorrow,” Izzi says when she meets me in my quarters as the final peals of eleventh bell fade. “The Commandant rang for water. Asked where you were when I took it to her. I told her Cook sent you on a late-night errand, but that excuse won’t work twice.”

I don’t want to let Izzi help, but I know I won’t succeed without her. Every time she leaves for the training building, my resolve to get her out of Blackcliff grows stronger. I will not leave her here when I go. I cannot.

We alternate nights, risking all in the hopes that we’ll spot the Farrars again. But maddeningly, we come up with nothing.

“If all else fails,” Izzi says the night before I’m to make my report, “you can ask Cook to teach you how to blow a hole in the outer wall. She used to make explosives for the Resistance.”

“They want a secret entrance,” I say. But I smile, because the thought of a giant, smoking hole in Blackcliff’s wall is a happy one.

Izzi heads out to watch for the Farrars, and I wait for the Commandant to summon me. But she doesn’t, and instead I lay in my pallet, staring at the pitted stone of my roof, forcing myself not to imagine Darin suffering at the hands of the Martials, trying to figure out a way to explain my failure to Mazen.

Then, just before eleventh bell, Izzi bursts into my room.

“I found it, Laia! The tunnel the Farrars have been using. I found it!”

XXXII: Elias

I start losing battles.

It’s Tristas’s fault. He planted the seed of Helene being in love with me in my head, and now it’s sprouted like a misbegotten weed from hell.

At scim training, Zak comes at me with unusual sloppiness, but instead of obliterating him, I let him knock me on my ass because I’ve caught a glimpse of blonde across the field. What does that lurch in my stomach mean?

When the Hand-to-Hand Centurion screams at me for poor technique, I barely hear him, instead considering what will happen to Hel and me. Is our friendship ruined? If I don’t love her back, will she hate me? How am I supposed to get her on my side for the Trials if I can’t give her what she wants?

So many bleeding, stupid questions. Do girls think like this all the time? No wonder they’re so confusing.

The Third Trial, the Trial of Strength, is in two days. I know I have to focus, to ready my mind and my body. I must win.

But in addition to Helene, there’s someone else crowding my thoughts: Laia.

I try for days not to think about her. In the end, I stop resisting. Life is hard enough without having to avoid entire rooms in my own head. I imagine the fall of her hair and the glow of her skin. I smile at how she laughed when we danced, with a freedom of spirit I found exhilarating in its possibility. I remember how her eyes closed when I spoke to her in Sadhese.

But at night, when my fears crawl out of the dark places in my mind, I think of the dread on her face when she realized who I was. I think of her disgust when I tried to protect her from the Commandant. She must hate me for subjecting her to something so demeaning. But it was the only way I could think of to keep her safe.

So many times in the past week, I’ve nearly walked to her quarters to see how she is. But showing kindness to a slave will only bring the Black Guard down on me.

Laia and Helene: They’re so different. I like that Laia says things I don’t expect, that she speaks almost formally, as if she’s telling a story. I like that she defied my mother to go the Moon Festival, whereas Helene always obeys the Commandant. Laia is the wild dance of a Tribal campfire, while Helene is the cold blue of an alchemist’s flame.

But why am I even comparing them? I’ve known Laia a few days and Helene all my life. Helene’s no passing attraction. She’s family. More than that. She’s part of me.

Yet she won’t speak to me, won’t look at me. The Third Trial is days away, and all I’ve gotten from her are glares and muttered insults.

Which brings another worry to the forefront of my mind. I’d been counting on Helene winning the Trials, naming me Blood Shrike and then releasing me from my duty. I can’t see her doing that if she loathes me. Which means that if I win the next Trial and if she wins the final Trial, she could force me to remain Blood Shrike against my will. And if that happens, I’ll have to run, and then honor will demand that she have me hunted down and killed.

On top of that, I’ve heard students whispering that the Emperor is days away from Serra and planning vengeance against the Aspirants and any associated with them. The Cadets and Skulls pretend to shake off the rumors, but the Yearlings aren’t so skilled at hiding their fear. You’d think the Commandant would be taking precautionary measures against an attack on Blackcliff, but she seems unconcerned. Probably because she wants us all dead. Or me, anyway.

You’re screwed, Elias, a wry voice tells me. Just accept it. Should have run when you had the chance.

My spectacular losing streak doesn’t go unnoticed. My friends are worried about me, and Marcus makes a point of challenging me on the combat field every chance he gets. Grandfather sends a two-word note, inked with such force that the parchment is torn. Always victorious.