Octavia comes forward, her eyes wide with fright. "What do you mean? What have you done?"
Elara touches the bottle of scotch where it rests on the tray table. "I believe Zelia had a touch of intuition about it that she chose to ignore. I've poisoned you all." She turns to me. “Ceres is safe.”
Relief floods through me and I sag back, the breath whooshing from my lungs.
Zelia seems to have turned to stone. Pryor has begun to cry. I watch her, torn between feeling horrified and victorious, between feeling astounded that Elara has taken such a drastic measure and gratitude that she’s saved us.
Octavia pales. "But you...you drank it, too.”
Elara sits down on her chair, the movement clumsy, like she’s losing coordination. She stares at her feet. "I'd never survive the suspicion once you three are dead and Vika has escaped. There's nothing I want to live for, anyway." She looks up at me and when she speaks again, she slurs her words. "Find Shale. R-raise that baby for me. Keep him safe. No m-matter what."
I nod, my eyes beginning to water.
"N-no!" Pryor yells, staggering to the door. The baby startles at her exclamation and begins to cry; I kiss his forehead to quiet him. Pryor tugs weakly on the door handle, but it is locked. Zelia stumbles over with the key, but before she even gets there, Pryor crumples to the floor, unconscious.
"Pryor!" Octavia tries to rush to her, but her feet tangle and she falls to the floor. She reaches out and puts her hand to Pryor's face. When she lifts it, there is blood on her fingers. "No," she whispers. "No...no." Her eyes drift closed, and she slumps over next to Pryor, as if she is asleep.
Zelia's eyes blaze. I see it and open my mouth to warn Elara, but I am too late. She turns with a yell, and out of nowhere, there is a knife in her hand. She stumbles to Elara and, half-falling, plunges the knife into Elara’s chest. Elara's mouth opens in a silent scream; a bubble of blood forms between her lips. There is a sucking sound from deep, deep inside her.
Horror at what I am witnessing seeps into every pore of my skin. I want to scream, to run away, to help Elara, but at the exact same time, I am motionless, paralyzed. My hands, of their own accord, press the baby to my chest. I am dimly aware that he is crying, but I can’t even turn my head to look at him. All I see is Elara, dying before me.
Then Zelia pulls the knife out of Elara’s chest, a great sucking accompanying the movement, making me sick, so sick. A fountain of blood spurts from the open wound on Elara’s chest and she puts her hands up to it, weakly, in disbelief. How can there be so much blood from one person?
Zelia staggers backward with the knife, its blade shining wetly. Then, abruptly, she crumples to the floor. The knife, its blade slick with Elara's blood, clatters against the stone, marking it with blood.
Elara is still gasping for breath, blood dripping down her chin now. I scramble to my feet and rush to her, staring at the river of blood gushing down the front of her pale green dress, puddling in her lap. In the dim light, it looks like tar. "Elara..."
She blinks. "Two weeks..." she manages to whisper. I can see that every word is another knife wound to her chest, but she struggles valiantly to talk. I hold her hand with the one I have free. I squeeze hard, trying to infuse as much warmth as I can into her cold, cold skin. “Two weeks until”—she stops and coughs, blood flowing from her mouth—“the war begins." She coughs again, the sound wet and rattling. More blood gushes from her mouth and she struggles to breathe. I squeeze her hand again, my mind spinning with the words she is uttering. Is it true? Or is this her near-death talk, utterly meaningless? "Y-you have to f-find a safe place by th-then. It’s g-going to be chaos.” She grips my hand tight, surprisingly tight for someone gasping out her last breaths. Her eyes sear mine. “K-keep the baby safe.”
I nod furiously, though I don't know if she's coherent enough to understand what she’s saying. Then Elara’s eyes roll back in her head and she slumps in her chair. The wheezing stops, the tiny room now filled with bodies and utter silence, the likes of which I have never heard before. The baby slumbers, completely oblivious to all that has just transpired.
I hear a sudden high-pitched gasping and realize it is coming from me. I let go of Elara’s hand, shut my mouth and pull my child close. "It's okay," I whisper, trying to keep my eyes off Elara and failing. I cannot feel anything. I am numb. I do not feel fear or sorrow or gratitude. There is just nothing inside me, a black hole. "It's okay. We’re okay."
I tie the baby to my chest using the blanket—covered in child birth fluids, but I have no choice—on me. Then I pick Zelia’s knife off the floor. I keep my mind completely blank as I dry the congealing blood on the blade with my dress. My heart is pounding, my mouth is dry, but my thoughts are carefully dammed behind a cement wall. I snatch the keys off the floor near Zelia’s feet and rush out of the cell. I have to find Ceres.
My legs seem infused with new energy. Liquid lightning streaks through my limbs. I run toward the stairs, flying past the cells, when I hear, “Vikki!”
I turn to find Ceres standing at the slats of one of the cells that I thought was abandoned. But before I can figure out which key is which, she pushes the door open. I blink at her. “It wasn’t locked?”
“No. El—Elara tr-tricked them. Sh-she told me...to wait.” She clutches at me, at the baby. Her face is shadowed, her eyes rimmed red with tears. “Wh-what happened?”
I shake my head. Blank. My mind is blank. A memory—a bubble of blood sprouting between Elara’s lips—comes to me, but I wrestle it out. “There’s no time. Let’s go.”
We run up the stairs and see Marisa at the very top, her eyes wild, her mask in her hands. "You’re free!" She grabs me close and leans down to kiss the top of the baby’s head. He doesn’t stir. Then she caresses Ceres's cheek, a tender smile on her face. A tear drips down Marisa’s cheek, winding its way through wrinkles and lines that tell the story of her life. I watch it in mute fascination. "I wanted to storm in there and snatch you away. But Elara's plan was so much better, I went along with it. Even though it took much longer."She looks back down toward the stairs. "Where's Elara? Is she in the cell still?"
I shake my head. "She..." I can’t bring myself to say the words.
Marisa seems to understand. She looks away for a moment. I watch her profile, I see her throat spasm as she swallows. Then she turns back to me, her eyes wet, shining. "You have to leave. It won't be long before people come, looking for them."
We follow her to a small door at the back of the building, which she opens using her key. "Go." Her voice is strong, authoritative. I can see why Elara trusted her so much. "And whatever happens, don't ever come back here again."
I remember Elara’s warning, about the war. "And what about you, Marisa? What will you do? It won’t be safe for you here either."
She smiles. "I've supplied the highest level officials with prostitutes and drugs. I'll find a home somewhere."
I grip her hands tight. The baby snuffles in his sling. "Thank you. For everything."
Tears cascade down her cheeks, but I still am not able to cry or even feel more than a hint of the sadness that seems to be overwhelming her. Perhaps something inside me died downstairs as well. "It was my pleasure knowing you, Vika," she says, using my real name for the first time. She must’ve caught wind of it when the women were holding me captive. "Now go."