Chapter Twenty

Damn Valek! Damn, damn, damn him! Gave me the cold shoulder for four

days and then expected me to trust him? I'd admitted to murder. They'd arrested

the right person. That was all he should care about.

Walking down the stairs in the darkness, I headed toward my room. I have

to get out of this place, I thought with sudden intensity. The overwhelming

desire to take off and damn the antidote was strong. Run away, run away, run

away sang in my mind. A familiar tune. I had heard it before when I was with

Reyad. Memories I had thought were tightly locked away now threatened to

push free, seeping through the cracks. Damn Valek! It was his fault I couldn't

suppress my memories any longer.

In my room, I locked the door. When I turned around, I spied Reyad's ghost

lounging on my bed. The wound in his neck hung open, and blood stained his

nightshirt black. In contrast, his blond hair was combed in the latest style, his

mustache groomed to perfection, and his light blue eyes glowed.

"Get out," I said. He was, I reminded myself, an intangible ghost and not,

absolutely not, to be feared.

"What kind of greeting is that for an old friend?" Reyad asked. He lifted a

book on poisons off my nightstand, and flipped through the pages.

I stared at him in shock. He spoke in my mind. He held a book. A ghost, a

ghost, I kept repeating. Reyad was unaffected. He laughed.

"You're dead," I said. "Aren't you supposed to be burning in eternal

damnation?"

Reyad wasn't banished so easily. "Teacher's pet," he said, waving the book

in the air. "If only you had worked this hard for me, everything would have been

different."

"I like the way it turned out."

"Poisoned, pursued and living with a psychopath. Not what I would

consider the good life. Death has its perks." He sniffed. "I get to watch your

miserable existence. You should have chosen the noose, Yelena. It would have

saved you some time."

"Get out," I said again, trying to ignore the touch of hysteria in my voice

and the trickle of sweat down my back.

"You do know you'll never get to Sitia alive? You're a failure. Always

were. Always will be. Face it. Accept it." Reyad rose from the bed. "You failed

all our efforts to mold you. Do you remember? Remember when Daddy finally gave up on you? When he let me have you?"

I remembered. It had been the week of the fire festival, and Reyad had been

so preoccupied with General Tesso's visiting retinue, especially Tesso's

daughter, Kanna, that he hadn't bothered to check on me. Since I'd been meekly

obeying his every command to gain some trust, he was smug in the assumption

that he'd cowed me into submission. As a result, it was more than a month since

he'd locked me into my tiny room that was next to his suite.

But the festival had once again tempted me into disobeying Reyad's

instructions to stay away. The beatings and humiliations of the year before were

insufficient to deter me this year. In fact, I felt a stubborn pride in refusing to be

intimidated by him. I was terrified of getting caught, knew deep down in a small

corner of my mind that I would get caught, but I threw all caution to fate. The

fire festival was a part of me. The only time I tasted true freedom. Even though it

was for but a few moments, it was worth the consequences.

My defiance added an edge to my acrobatic routines, making me bold and

reckless. I sailed through the first five rounds with aplomb, dismounts steady,

flips tight, energy level unlimited. I advanced to the final round of competition,

which was scheduled for the last day of the festival.

I scrambled to put the finishing touches on my costume for the competition,

while Reyad guided Kanna and a group of friends on a hunting party in the

countryside.

I had scrounged around the manor for the preceding two weeks to acquire

the necessary supplies for my attire. Now I stitched scarlet silk feathers onto a

black leotard, and then outlined them with silver sequins. Wings tied to a harness

completed the outfit, but I folded them small and flat so they wouldn't impede

my motion. Braiding my hair into one long rope, I wound it tightly around my

head and secured two flaming red feathers in the back. Pleased with the results, I

arrived early at the acrobatics tent to practice.

When the competition started, the tent bulged with people. The crowd's

cheers soon dimmed to a dull roar in my ears as I performed my routines. The

only sounds reaching me were the thump of my hands and feet on the

trampoline, the creaking of the tightrope as I launched myself in midair to

execute a two-and-a-half twist and the crack of the slender rope when I landed

on it without falling.

The floor routine was my last event. I stood on the balls of my feet at the

edge of the mat, breathing deeply. The heavy earthy smell of sweat and the dry

scratch of chalk dust filled my lungs. This was my place. This was where I

belonged. The air vibrated like a thunderstorm poised to blow in. Energized as

lightning, I started my first tumbling run.

I flew that night. Spinning and diving through the air, my feet hardly

touched the ground. My spirit soared. I felt like a bird performing aerial tricks

for sheer delight. At the end of my last run, I grabbed my wings with both hands.

Pulling them open, I raised them over my head as I somersaulted and landed on

my feet. The bright scarlet fabric of the wings billowed out behind me. The

crowd's thunderous cheers vibrated deep in my chest. My soul floated with

crimson wings on the updraft of the audience's jubilant praise.

I won the competition. Pure uncomplicated joy consumed me, and I grinned

for the first time in two years. Face muscles aching from smiling, I stood on the

platform to receive the prize from the Master of Ceremonies. He settled a

bloodred amulet, shaped like flames and engraved with the year and event, on

my chest. It was the greatest moment of my entire life—followed by the worst,

as I spotted Reyad and Kanna watching me from the crowd. Kanna was

beaming, but Reyad's expression was hard and unforgiving as suppressed rage

leaked from his twitching lips.

I lingered inside the changing room until everyone had gone. There were

two exits to the tent, but Reyad had positioned his guards at both. Knowing

Reyad would take my amulet and destroy it, I buried it deep under the earthen

floor of the room.

As I expected, Reyad grabbed me as soon as I stepped from the tent. He

dragged me back to the manor. General Brazell was consulted. He agreed that I

would never be "one of his group." Too independent, too stubborn and too

willful, Brazell said, and gave me over to his son. No more experiments. I had

failed. That night, Reyad just managed to control his temper until we were alone

in his room, but once the door was closed and locked, he vented his full anger

with his fists and feet.

"I wanted to kill you for disobeying me," Reyad's ghost said as he glided

across my room. "I planned to savor it over a very long period of time, but you

beat me to it. You must have had that knife tucked under my mattress for quite a

while." He paused, creasing his brow in thought.

I had stolen and hidden a knife under Reyad's bed a year before, after he

had beaten me for practicing. Why his bed? I had no real strategy, just a terrible

foreboding that when I needed it, I would be in Reyad's room and not in my

small room next door.

Dreaming of murder was easy; committing it was another story. Even

though I'd endured much pain that year, I hadn't crossed the threshold of sanity.

Until that night.

"Did something set you off?" the ghost asked. "Or were you

procrastinating, like now? Learning to fight!" He chuckled. "Imagine you fighting off an attacker. You wouldn't last against a direct assault. I should

know." He floated before me, forcing the memories out.

I flinched from him and from that night's recollection. "Go away," I said to

the specter. Picking up the book on poisons, I stretched out on my bed,

determined to ignore him. He faded slightly as I read, but brightened whenever I

glanced his way.

"Was it my journal that set you off?" Reyad asked when my eyes lingered

too long.

"No." The word sprang from my mouth, surprising me. I had convinced

myself that his journal had been the final straw after two years of torment.

The painful memories flooded with a force that shook me and left me

trembling.

After I had regained consciousness from the beating, I'd found myself

sprawled naked on Reyad's bed. Flourishing his journal before me, he ordered

me to read it, taking pleasure in watching the growing horror on my face.

His journal had listed every single grievance he had against me for the two

years I'd been with him. Every time I disobeyed or annoyed him, he noted it, and

then followed with a specific description of how he would punish me. Now that

Brazell no longer needed me for his experiments, Reyad had no boundaries. His

sadistic inclinations and overwhelming depth of imagination were written in full

detail. As I struggled to breathe, my first thought was to find the knife and kill

myself, but the blade was on the other side of the bed near the headboard.

"We'll start with the punishment on page one tonight." Reyad purred with

anticipation as he crossed to his "toy" chest, pulling from it chains and other

implements of torture.

I flipped back to the beginning with numb fingers. Page one recorded that I

had failed to call himsirthe first time we met. And for lacking the proper

deference, I would assume a submissive position on my hands and knees, and

then be whipped. He would demand that I call himsir. With each lash, I would

respond with the words, "More,sir, please." During the following rape, I would

address him assir, and beg him to continue my punishment.

His journal slipped from my paralyzed hands. I flung myself over the bed,

intent on finding the knife, but Reyad, thinking I was trying to escape, caught

me. My struggles were useless, as he forced me to my knees. With my face

pressed into the rough stone floor, Reyad chained my hands behind my neck.

The anticipation was more frightening than the actual event. In a sick way,

it was a comfort, because I knew what to expect and when he would stop. I

played my part, understanding that if I denied him his intended moves, I would

only enrage him further.

When the horror finally ceased, blood covered my back and coated the

insides of my legs. I curled into a ball on the edge of Reyad's bed. My mind

dead. My body throbbing. His fingers were inside me. Where he would always

be, he breathed into my ear as he lay beside me.

This time the knife was within my reach. My thoughts lingered on suicide.

Then Reyad said, "I guess I'll have to start a new journal."

I did not respond.

"We'll be training a new girl now that you've failed." He sat up, and dug

his fingers deeper into me. "Up on your knees. Time for page two."

"No!" I screamed. "You won't!" Fumbling for a frantic second, I pulled the

knife out and sliced at his throat. A surface cut only, but he fell back on the bed

in surprise. I leaped onto his chest, slashing deeper. The blade scraped bone.

Blood sprayed. A warm feeling of satisfaction settled over me when I realized I

could no longer determine whose blood pooled between my thighs.

"So that's what set you off? The fact that I was going to rape you again?"

Reyad's ghost asked.

"No. It was the thought of you torturing another girl from the orphanage."

"Oh, yes." He snorted. "Your friends."

"My sisters," I corrected. "I killed you for them, but I should have done it

for me." Anger surged through my body. I cornered him. My fists struck out

even though I knew in a tiny part of my mind that I couldn't hurt him. His smug

expression never changed, but I punched again and again until the first rays of

dawn touched Reyad's ghost. He vanished from sight.

Sobbing, I sank to the floor. After a while, I became aware of my

surroundings. My fists were bloodied from hitting the rough stone wall. I was

exhausted and drained of all emotions. And I was late for breakfast. Damn

Valek!

"Pay attention," Ari said. He jabbed me in the stomach with a wooden

knife. "You're dead. That's the fourth time today. What's the matter?"

"Lack of sleep," I said. "Sorry."

Ari gestured me to the bench along the wall. We sat down and watched

Maren and Janco, engaged in a friendly bow match on the far side of the

storeroom. Janco's speed had overpowered Maren's skill, and she was on the

retreat, backing into a corner.

"She's tall and thin, but she's not going to win," Janco sang. His words

aimed to infuriate her—a tactic that had worked before. Too often, Maren's

anger caused her to make critical mistakes. But this time, she remained calm.

She planted the end of her bow between his feet, which trapped his weapon close

to his body. Then she flipped over his head, landed behind him, and grabbed him around the neck until he conceded.

My bleak mood improved a notch watching Maren use something I had

taught her. The indignant expression on Janco's face was priceless. He insisted

on a rematch. They launched into another rowdy duel. Ari and I remained on the

bench. I think Ari sensed that I had no energy to continue our lesson.

"Something's wrong," he said in a quiet voice. "What is it?"

"I—" I stopped, unsure of my answer. Should I tell him about Valek's cold

shoulder and change of heart? Or about my nightlong conversation with the

ghost of the man I'd murdered? No. Instead I asked him, "Do you think this is a

waste of time?" Reyad's words about procrastination had held a ring of truth.

Perhaps the time I spent training was merely a subconscious ploy to avoid

solving my real problems.

"If I thought this was a waste of time, I wouldn't be here." A trace of anger

colored Ari's voice. "You need this, Yelena."

"Why? I might die before I even have a chance to use it."

"As I see it, you're already good at running and hiding. It took you a week

to get up the nerve to talk to Maren. And if it was up to you, she'd still be calling

you Puker. You need to learn to stand and fight for what you want." Ari fidgeted

with the wooden knife, spinning it around his hand.

"You hover on the edges, ready to take off if something goes wrong. But

when you can knock the bow from Janco's hands, and sweep my feet out from

under me, you'll be empowered." He paused, and then said, "If you feel you

need to spend your time on something else, then do it…inadditionto your

training. Then the next time someone calls you Puker, you'll have the confidence

to tell her to go to hell."

I was amazed at Ari's assessment of me. I couldn't even say if I agreed or

disagreed with him, but I did know he was right about my compulsion to do

something else. He didn't know what it was, but I did: find the antidote to

Butterfly's Dust.

"Is that your idea of encouragement?" I asked in a shaky voice.

"Yes. Now quit looking for an excuse to stop training, and trust me. What

else do you need?"

The quiet intensity of Ari's voice caused a chill to ripple up my spine. Did

he know what I was planning, or was he guessing? My intentions had always

been to get the antidote and run to Sitia. Run away, run away, run away. Ari had

been right about that. But running south would require me to be in top physical

condition, and to have the ability to defend myself from guards. However, I had

been evading one important detail: Valek.

He would follow me to Sitia, and crossing the border wouldn't make me safe from him. Even Irys's magic couldn't protect me. He would consider my

recapture or my death a personal responsibility. And that was what I'd been so

afraid to face. What I'd been dancing around. I'd been concentrating on training

so I wouldn't have to deal with the dilemma I feared I wasn't smart enough to

solve. I had to enhance my strategy, to include not only obtaining the antidote,

but dealing with Valek without killing him. I doubted Ari had the solution.

"You might beat Valek with these blows." Janco puffed while blocking

Maren's bow. "He'll laugh himself silly at how pathetically weak they are,

giving you the perfect opening."

Maren remained silent, but increased the pace of her attack. Janco backed

off.

Janco's words stirred in my mind. An odd little long-shot plan began to take

shape. "Ari, can you teach me how to pick locks?"

He considered my words in silence. Finally, he said, "Janco could."

"Janco?"

Ari smiled. "He seems harmless and happy-go-lucky, but as a boy he got

into all kinds of mischief until he was trapped in a tight spot. Then he was given

the choice of either joining the military or going to jail. Now he's a Captain. His

biggest advantage is that no one thinks he is serious, and that's exactly what he

wants."

"I'll try and remember that the next time he's cracking jokes and my ribs." I

watched Maren beat Janco a second time.

"Best three out of five, my lady can not deny," Janco called tirelessly.

Maren shrugged. "If your ego can handle it," she replied, swiping at his feet

with her bow. He jumped, avoiding her attack with an athletic grace, and lunged.

The rhythmic crack of wood striking wood filled our practice room.

Ari stood, assumed a defensive stance, and somehow I found the energy to

face him.

After the workout, the four of us were resting on the bench when Valek

arrived. Maren shot to her feet, as if she thought being found sitting idle was a

crime, but the rest of us kept our relaxed positions. I found it fascinating to

watch the small changes in Maren's behavior whenever Valek was around. Her

rough edge softened, she smiled more and tried to engage him in conversation or

a match. Most of the time he would review fighting tactics with her, or conduct a

practice, and she would preen like an alley cat attracting the biggest tom. But

this time he wanted to talk to me. Alone. The others left the room. Maren shot

me a dark look with the force of one of her bow strikes. I would pay for this

tomorrow, I thought.

Valek paced. With an uneasy feeling, I hoped that he wasn't searching for a rock to throw.

"What's wrong?" I asked him. "Is it about tonight?" Excitement over

exposing Margg soured to nervousness when I thought of the risk I'd be taking.

The idea that this might be another waste of time surfaced. Damn Reyad's ghost!

He was making me doubt everything. The leak impacted my life. Someone had

tipped off those goons at the fire festival, and Irys had known I was in the forest.

Margg needed to be plugged.

"No. We're all set for tonight," Valek said. "This is about the Commander."

He paused.

"What about him?"

"Has he been meeting with anyone strange this week?"

"Strange?"

"Someone you don't know or an adviser from another Military District?"

"Not that I've seen. Why?"

Valek paused again. I could see his mental wheels turning as he considered

whether or not to trust me. "Commander Ambrose has agreed to admit a Sitian

delegation."

"That's bad?" I asked, confused.

"He hates southerners! They've requested a meeting with him every year

since the takeover. And for the last fifteen years, the Commander has replied

with a single word: no. Now they're due to arrive in a week." Valek's pacing

increased. "Ever since you became the food taster and that Criollo showed up,

the Commander has been acting different. I couldn't put my finger on it before,

it was just a nagging feeling, but now I have two particular incidents."

"The change in his successor and now the southern delegation?"

"Exactly."

I had no response. My experience with the Commander had been the

complete opposite of what I had expected from a military dictator. He

considered other opinions, was firm, decisive and fair. His power was obvious;

every command was instantaneously obeyed. He lived the spartan life that he

endorsed. There was no fear in his advisers and high-ranking officers, just an

unflappable loyalty and immense respect. The only horror story since the

takeover that I'd heard was about Rand's mother. Of course, the assassinations

before were infamous.

Valek stopped and took a deep breath. "I've misdirected some Criollo to

our suite. I want you to eat a piece whenever he does. But you're not to tell

anyone, not even the Commander. That's an order."

"Yes, sir," I replied automatically, but my mind reeled over his calling the

suite "ours." Did I hear that right? I wondered.

"Keep your meeting with Margg tonight. I'll be there."

"Should I tell Margg's contact about the southern delegation?"

"No. Use the change of the Commander's successor. It's already floating

around as a rumor, so you'll just confirm it." Valek strode from the room.

In case someone would discover our training room, I hid the practice

weapons, removed all visible traces of our presence and locked the door. On my

way to the baths, my thoughts dwelled on the meeting tonight. Distracted, I

walked by an open doorway. An oddity. In this section of the castle, most of the

doors led to storerooms and were kept locked.

Movement blurred to my left. Hands grabbed my arm and yanked me

inside. The door slammed shut. Complete darkness descended. I was flung face-

first against a stone wall. The air in my lungs whooshed out from the impact. I

turned. My back to the wall, I gasped for breath.

"Stay put," a male voice growled.

I aimed a front kick toward the voice but met air. Laughter taunted. A

candle was uncovered. The weak yellow glow reflected off a long silver blade.

Terrified, I traced the knife to the hand, then along the arm, and up to the face.

Nix.