Chapter 14
Elva
Ihardly dare breathe as Matron paces slowly along the line of serfs, inspecting each of us in turn.
Her beady eyes linger on me, scanning from head to toe before she lifts a hand.
I flinch involuntarily, but she only tugs the collar of my tunic straight before moving on to Ingra, who doesn’t lower her gaze to the floor like the rest of us but stares back defiantly.
I hate it when she does this. Most of us spend our time trying to be invisible, but not Ingra.
I’ve often wondered if it’s because of her age.
Ingra was sixteen when she was snatched from Veridia – an isle of hot, rolling deserts.
Of all the chained-up children arriving in Ostacre’s ports that year, she was among the eldest. The other serfs have always looked to her for guidance.
She raised half the people in this room.
It’s yet another means of punishing the Otherlands for the War of the Empires – enslaving the children of the vanquished.
A cruel method of oppression, and a practical one.
Because children are easier to catch. Less trouble, more malleable.
They’re also more likely to die on the long journey across the Second Sea, but that’s why the slavers always make sure to take extra as spares to replace the tiny, limp bodies they toss overboard.
I was only ten when I was brought to this place, out of my mind with terror. So I kept my head down. I learned to be small and silent, and how to cry without making a sound.
Ingra was different.
‘Why?’ I once asked when she came back to our bunk, grimy and shivering after spending another night in the Pit. ‘Why do you do it? Drawing attention to yourself, antagonizing Matron like that. Why do you always have to do … something?’
And I remember the way she smiled at me – softly, sadly – her split lip bleeding afresh. ‘Because if I did nothing, I’d become nothing.’
The words weren’t said with venom, but they still stung. For she was brave, unbroken. But me? I was broken before I had the chance to be whole.
I glance to my left, where Ingra is still caught up in some kind of staring contest with Matron. Gritting my teeth, I elbow her gently in the side. Ingra lets out a little huff of air but answers my silent plea, lowering her head with deliberate slowness.
For a moment I think about how different things would be if Ingra were in my shoes. If the magic of our ancestors had been returned to her instead. She wouldn’t have been frightened. She wouldn’t have tried to hide. She wouldn’t have wasted her gift. She would’ve used it.
The people of Veridia once controlled and harnessed the power of the desert. I imagine Matron would be neck-deep in quicksand by now.
When the inspection is over, duties are assigned. It comes as little surprise that Ingra will spend the best part of the afternoon mucking out the stables.
For some reason, Matron leaves me until last. I clasp my hands behind my back, willing my shadows to remain hidden.
‘You’ve been granted a new position. Requested personally, I believe.’
I stare at her, uncomprehending. Matron clicks her tongue impatiently and I straighten up, blinking. ‘By – by who?’
‘Don’t ask questions,’ she scolds. ‘Report to the Ignitia Wing, first door on the right.’
The Ignitia Wing? Requested personally? I frown, confusion swamping fear.
‘What’re you waiting for?’ Matron snaps.
I jump, nodding hurriedly, then head to the serf tunnels.
There are thousands of them, all interconnected, leading to every floor of the palace.
Some, though they’re well hidden, even have direct access to individual chambers – like the ones belonging to the Earth Cleaver, who’s clearly been using them to navigate the place for quite some time, and Hal, who unsealed the secret door behind the screen in his rooms for my use alone.
I wend my way through the pitch-black tunnels.
Just as my eyesight has become sharpened, so too have my other senses.
I’ve started hearing sounds in the dark that my ears wouldn’t normally pick up.
The soft scurrying of mice beneath floorboards.
The slow, rhythmic breathing coming from bunks halfway down the corridor.
Everything smells stronger, too. Roses in the palace gardens.
The musty, metallic scent of the serf quarters, which sit just above the dungeons, cut into the golden bedrock of the mine.
Unfortunately, this heightening of my senses also applies to taste.
Food that was once stale is now inedible, the tea leaves swirling at the bottom of my cup unbearably bitter, and fruit even the slightest bit overripe carries the cloying sweetness of rot.
Ingra keeps eyeing me suspiciously each time I push my plate away unfinished.
I’m out of breath by the time I emerge into the Ignitia Wing. The first door on the right is ajar. I realize that I’ve been to these chambers before, readying Blaze for what turned out to be her second trial. Cautiously, I reach out and rap twice.
‘Come in,’ trills a familiar voice. ‘It’s open!’
The room beyond is almost identical to Blaze’s, except while hers was blue, this one is red. Crimson tapestries, scarlet cushions and chaises, and clothes – mountains of them.
I startle as a figure emerges from a pile of sparkling vermillion jumpsuits. The girl is tiny, not five feet tall, with periwinkle eyes, freckled skin and a mass of fiery hair.
‘Elva!’ Elaith cries. Then, a little anxiously, ‘It is Elva, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, my lady.’
She pulls a face. ‘Oh please, none of that. It makes me sound about a hundred and three. Besides, technically, I’m not actually highborn.
My family are just obscenely rich. My father bought us all titles though he’s not fooling anyone.
Money can buy nobility, but not noble blood.
Anyway, forgive me. I’m rambling. I do that a lot. ’
‘You … you wanted to see me?’ I say, a little bemused.
Elaith snaps her fingers. ‘Right, yes. I hope you don’t mind, but I wanted to ask, since Blaze isn’t here, would you consider helping me instead?
’ My astonishment must be evident, for Elaith hurries on, ‘It’s just, I know she was fond of you, and her hair always looked so beautiful.
And between you and me, I swear my last serf was stealing my rings. ’
This doesn’t surprise me. Clover is known for being a tad light-fingered. I only hope Matron never finds the collection of trinkets hidden beneath her bedroll, or she’ll be facing a far worse fate than the Pit.
‘In any case,’ Elaith continues, ‘what with most of my friends back at Fire Mountain, the twins locked up in a safe house and Spinner nowhere to be found, I could use some company.’ She eyes me hopefully. ‘So, what about it?’
It’s sweet of her to position it as a request though we both know I couldn’t refuse. I muster a tentative smile. ‘Of course.’
‘Yay!’ She bounces up and down with delight, barely clearing my shoulder.
Despite my protests, Elaith helps me unpack and put away all of her belongings.
‘Gods,’ she groans afterwards, falling theatrically across a red-silk chaise, ‘I’m stiff as a board from that carriage journey. But I couldn’t disappoint Hal.’
My head snaps up involuntarily, but Elaith is too busy fishing something out of her pocket to notice.
It’s a crumpled piece of parchment. On it I recognize Hal’s spidery scrawl, though I can’t make out the words since they’re written in Ostacrian.
I might’ve been forced to learn how to speak the language, but I was never taught to read it.
Elaith smooths out the letter with her fingers. ‘It was delivered right into my hands. Doesn’t say much, though. I still haven’t a clue what he actually wants.’ She clears her throat. ‘Elaith,’ she reads in a deep voice. ‘I have need of you. Come to the palace? Hal.’
My brows knit together. Hal tells me almost everything, yet he never mentioned this.
At that moment, there’s a knock on the door.
‘Enter,’ calls Elaith, stuffing the letter back into her pocket.
A boy appears in the doorframe, tall and chiselled with dark skin and eyes the colour of honey.
I recognize him as Zephyr, the Ventalla Heir who won the Choosing, and one of Hal’s closest friends.
Unlike the rest of the new Council, Zephyr does not have a court to reside in, since King Balen is still occupying the Marble Palace.
‘Hello, Elaith.’
‘Zeph! How are you?’
He dips his head, grinning. ‘Still in one piece. And yourself?’
‘Mildly traumatized,’ muses Elaith. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’
Zephyr shifts on his feet. ‘I’m not … entirely sure.’
She arches an eyebrow. ‘Come again?’
‘I have instructions to fetch you and tell nobody.’
‘How mysterious,’ she says. ‘Where are you supposed to be taking me?’
‘The observatory.’
‘Now?’
Zephyr nods.
‘Very well, consider me intrigued,’ says Elaith before smiling at me. ‘Thank you, Elva. That’ll be all.’
But Zephyr shakes his head. ‘She comes too.’
My stomach drops. Fear courses through me, and I clasp my hands behind my back.
‘Er … what?’ Elaith asks, perplexed.
Zephyr sighs as he props open the door. ‘Are you coming or not?’
Elaith looks as uncertain as I feel, but she only shrugs, springing lightly to her feet. ‘All right, then. Let’s go.’
I have no choice but to follow.
Zephyr glances from side to side before swinging open the entrance to the serf tunnels. ‘Discretion,’ he explains. Then he turns to me. ‘I take it you know the way?’ His tone is polite though he seems unable to hide the confusion creasing his brow.
I feel myself flush pink. Nodding once, I slip silently into the darkness beyond.
‘Hold on,’ says Elaith, reaching up on her tiptoes to heave one of the torches from its golden bracket. ‘Won’t you be needing this?’
I take it gratefully, inwardly cursing myself.