On This Unworthy Scaffold by Heidi Heilig (best pdf reader for ebooks TXT) 📕

“I can see the Prix de Guerre,” I say, my heart pounding—the monk is there too, on the bow. “I can see Le Trépas.”

“I thought you were still in Aquitan!” Akra’s own voice is panicked, but I am staring in horror as the soldiers drag another man to the bow.

“No . . .” Despite the smell of salt spray and the wind in my face, for a moment, I am back in the paddies at Malao. But this prisoner is alive—for now. He struggles as they tie a harness around his waist. “I’m here,” I say through my teeth. “I’m going to stop him.”

“But what’s the plan?” Akra’s voice is sharp. “You can’t just rush in again!”

Trying to focus, I tear my eyes away from the soldiers. “Theodora, you stay with the griffin,” I say, loud enough for both her and Akra to hear. “Take the book to Nokhor Khat. I’ll get to the ship and deal with Le Trépas.”

“Just like that?” Akra snorts again. “There are no souls here for you to use. You don’t even have a gun, do you?”

“Don’t you?”

“Me and the other dead soldiers,” Akra says. I grit my teeth, but my thoughts have scattered again, fleeing like the spirits as we draw ever closer to Le Trépas. A gun won’t work, anyway. How will I kill a man with no soul? I have to find his soul first—bring it back to his body. That’s what the Keeper told me. Where would Le Trépas have hidden it? I had thought we’d have more time to figure it out.

Something nags at the back of my mind . . . something like the answer. Know your enemy and know yourself. I know Le Trépas, don’t I? I should know this.

Then, in a flash—clarity. I don’t need to know where it is. The monk himself had taught me how to find it: how to rip old souls from fresh bodies. How to call them back from wherever they’d gone. All I need is a drop of his blood.

“Does the cabin door lock?” I call to Akra.

“It should,” he replies.

“Can you shoot him, then shut yourselves inside?”

“Of course,” my brother says. “But it won’t kill him, will it?”

I scoff, disbelieving. “You sound worried that it might.”

“No,” Akra says quickly. “It’s just . . . the door won’t hold forever.”

“All I need is his blood,” I say. “It won’t take long.”

“You sound a lot more sure than I feel,” Akra says, and I can’t help but smile.

“I’m playing my role,” I say. “Can you play yours?”

“I have four bullets left. Just give me the cue. Wait,” he says then, hesitating. “Leo wants me to tell you something.”

“Leo?” I say, my heart quickening. At my back, Theodora stiffens. “What is it?”

“He says . . . he says he finished your song.”

I can’t help it—I laugh. “I can’t wait to hear it.”

Behind me, Theodora taps me on the shoulder. “Tell my brother I love him, will you?”

“Theodora sends Leo her love,” I say to Akra, and my own brother groans.

“I’m more ready to die than ever,” he says, and I laugh again. Then I push the griffin down toward the ship.

The night is deep, the moonlight thin, but if the monk were only to look up, he would surely see us silhouetted against the sky. But he is too focused on the soldiers’ work at the bow, so I take a deep breath and call out in my best stage voice. “Le Trépas!”

His eyes flash white in the dark as he sees me, but Akra knows a cue when he hears one. At the stern, the cabin door swings wide. Over the sound of the waves, a gunshot rings out, then another. Le Trépas stumbles, falling to one knee. The monk whirls, furious, sending his soldiers toward the cabin as Akra ducks back inside and shuts the door. The dead men crowd close, hammering at the door with bloody hands.

If they can break through to the cabin, I have no doubt they’ll tear my brother and Leo to pieces. I need to hurry. Pushing the griffin lower, I leap from her back, rolling as I land. When I gain my footing, I catch a glimpse of Theodora’s pale face as the skeletal beast carries her off. “Keep her safe,” I shout as the creature wheels away. “Take her to Nokhor Khat!”

At the sound of my voice, Le Trépas turns. Blood trickles from his side, and from a wound on his right leg; my brother is a good shot. Still, there is a smile on his face, as though he can’t feel the pain. Can he feel anything? He takes a step toward me, leaving a scarlet footprint behind him. “Did you think a bullet could stop me?” Le Trépas drags his fingers through his own blood. “Not even the old general made that mistake.”

I take a breath, stepping back, staying out of reach. “I only wanted to know if the rumors are true,” I call. “If you’re really immortal.”

“I told you once that I could give you the powers of the gods,” the monk says, taking another step. “You didn’t believe me.”

“I believe you now,” I say, letting fear creep into my voice. My eyes flick from his face to the open threat of his bloody hands. I need his blood for my plan to work—but I’m sure he wants mine too. “What do you want from me?”

“I want your help, of course,” the monk says, as though the answer is obvious.

“To defeat the Aquitans?” I circle as I back away, trying not to get trapped against the curve of the bow.

“That’s only the beginning,” he replies, creeping ever closer. The blood on his fingers gleams wetly in the torchlight. “Just imagine how powerful we could be. Life and death, hand in hand.”

Life and death. What of knowledge? Know your enemy . . . I shake my head, trying to clear it. I have to focus. The monk is so close. I can read the tattoos that spill over his shoulders and down his bare