I HAVE NEVER KILLED A man, though my training has taught me how. Come close a few times, since Suus. Always believed I could if I needed to.
As Estevan’s body sags against my chest, hot blood dribbling down the embedded stylus and over my hands, I’m aghast. Bewildered. Sick.
And, for a single, shameful moment, relieved that the decision has been taken from me.
I cradle my former countryman as the terrible build-up of energy around us vanishes, allowing an eerie hush to slither into its place. Waves lap the path, gentler now, motion driven by the steady escape of water somewhere far below. Occasional cries still echo through near-darkness, wails that speak of shock and grief, but most of those who remain in the stands are mute.
I bow my head over the body resting against me, just breathing. Mind clouded by shock and an exhaustion that’s hitting me too hard, even for what I just went through. People will be watching; I can’t look like I’m mourning a man who just killed tens of thousands. And I can’t have this strange stylus tied to me.
So, unspeakably queasy though it makes me, I use the smallest movement possible to pull the stone spike free. Warm, sticky liquid spills over my fingers and onto Estevan’s tunic. Then I stand, letting his corpse slide off me. It slouches to the edge of the narrow peninsula. Teeters.
With an effort, I use my foot to kick Estevan’s body off the side.
His form tumbles into the dark; there’s a splash and then he’s bobbing, floating face-down, barely visible. I toss the stylus the opposite way, toward the protruding mast of a bireme, trying to make it a wrathful act of disrespect. I don’t think many people will be able to see what I’m doing—the scant illumination created by the broken lanterns has all but vanished by this point—but I need it to look disdainful, not suspicious.
The stylus makes the smallest splash and sinks from sight. Even if it’s found, noticed amid the ruin of what’s happened here, plenty of other people carried stylii today. There will be no reason to think it’s the one I used. No reason to examine it for anything unusual.
The deed done and the driving terror that’s been keeping me going finally leaking away, I find myself staring down at my hands. Crimson drips from them as they shake.
It’s a few seconds before I register the cheers floating across the inky water.
I look up. In the distance, people are moving. Standing. Emerging from their huddles up against the blocked exits, shifting cautiously for a better view of the lake. Of me.
My whole body’s trembling from fear, from stress, from pain. The applause is just one more assault. I try to take stock, to figure out whether I’m missing anything that could give me away. Where is Sedotia in all of this? Has she already escaped? Will she be looking for revenge, given what I just did? There are too many people still in the destroyed stadium and my vision’s starting to blur; if she’s nearby, I can’t see her.
My knees give way and I slump to the ground. There’s blood where I’m lying, but I’m too tired to care. It’s not a natural exhaustion. My face hits sticky, cold stone.
I close my eyes and drift as ovation echoes around me.
WHEN I WAKE, I’M IN a bed. Warm and comfortable, albeit stiff. There’s a lot of light and it hurts to open my eyes; I spend several seconds adjusting, the glaring white pain fading into images.
I’m back in my room at Ulciscor’s villa. It’s late morning, judging from the angle the sunlight is pounding through the window. For an instant I think I’ve overslept, and my body tenses and tries to rise on instinct. An abrupt ache keeps me down, and I’m suddenly reliving flashes of my last waking moments before now.
Oh.
I test my limbs more cautiously this time; I’m sore, but nothing seems injured. How long has it been since the naumachia? At least the night and some of the morning. Probably longer, if I’m back here.
Nobody’s around, and the door is shut, so I allow some time to steel myself. Sitting up still makes the room spin. There’s a tray of bread and water on the sideboard, and after a few steadying breaths I’m acutely aware of how hungry I am. I tear into the loaf.
I’m still wolfing down chunks of torn-off bread when the door opens.
“Master Vis!” It’s Kadmos and, to my bemusement, he both sounds and looks pleased to see me. “How are you feeling?”
I swallow awkwardly, partially chewed mouthful forcing its way down my throat. “Sore.”
“From everything I hear, that’s understandable. Very understandable.” He’s still smiling. Beaming, in fact, to the point where I wonder whether there’s some terrible news he’s eager to share with me. “The Magnus Quintus will be delighted you’re awake.”
“Ulciscor’s here?”
“He is.” He doesn’t even flinch at my familiar use of the name.
I rub at my eyes. “How long have I been asleep?”
“The better part of a week, young master.” The sombre way he says it, I can tell there was some debate as to my chances of waking up. “Which means I should fetch the Magnus Quintus immediately.” He moves to leave and then hesitates. Nods to me, genuinely respectful. “I am glad to see you well, Master Telimus.”
The portly man leaves, fast enough that I don’t think he sees my jaw hanging.
I haven’t had enough time to digest Kadmos’s words or his deference before there’s motion again in the hall.
Ulciscor smiles as he fills the doorway, relief easing the lines of worry around his brown eyes. He’s composed but his close-cut black beard looks a touch scruffy, as though he’s neglected trimming it for the past few mornings.
“Well. About time,” he says, walking over to the bed and gripping my forearm in glad greeting. “How are you feeling?”
“Sore. Confused. A little worried that Kadmos just told me it’s been a week since the naumachia.” I look to Ulciscor for confirmation, squeeze my eyes closed in frustration when he gives it morosely. Vek. A week of training lost, then. Just like that. “Was I injured?”
“We don’t know. We couldn’t find anything physical, but after what Melior did…” Ulciscor peers at me. “You truly only feel a little sore? Don’t hide it if it’s worse. You’ve been accepting food and water, when prompted, and relieving yourself—but otherwise, you may as well have been dead.”
I shift uncomfortably at the thought and then gingerly stretch, testing everything. “Honestly, if I’ve been lying here for a whole week, this is probably just stiffness.”
“Good. That’s good. Let someone know straight away if something’s wrong, though.” He’s genuinely relieved. “A lot of people are going to be pleased to hear you’re alright.”
“Even Kadmos, apparently.”
“Especially Kadmos. Rotting gods, the man’s been hounding me to arrange a Vitaerium for you, of all things.” He waves a hand at my blank look. “They’re a little like Sappers, but for keeping people alive. Very expensive. Still something I might have tried, if I’d thought it would work on you.”
I’m glad he didn’t try. I haven’t heard of them before, but the thought makes my skin crawl. “I didn’t think he liked me much.”
“You were right. But with the credit you just did to the Telimus name, that won’t be the case anymore.”
I digest the comment in silence. I’m not under any suspicion, then.
“Melior?” I ask eventually.
“Very much dead.” There’s satisfaction in Ulciscor’s voice. He must see something in my expression because he holds my gaze, serious. “Feel no shame in the act, Vis. He was a monster and in taking his life, you saved thousands of others. Thousands.” He gives the last word real weight, trying to drive home its importance. “They say more than half of the people in the Arena survived, thanks to you.”
I nod hollowly. Collected enough now to quell any sign of sadness or regret. No matter what Estevan was doing, he was a subject of Suus. And he was fighting for people like me.
“What about Aequa?”
“She’s well. She’s asked to come by to check on you more than once.” He seems caught somewhere between amused and irritated by that. “Your… illness has given us a reason to forego your training with her, at least.” His tone indicates that’s a separate conversation. One he’ll be having with me sooner rather than later.
I chew my lip. Not wanting to ask, but knowing that I have to find out, eventually.
“What happened after I…” I trail off, gesturing to my head.
Ulciscor takes a seat opposite, then briskly starts running through events since Estevan killed himself.
The hours immediately following the attack were chaos, naturally enough. More than a third of the people inside the stadium died, by all estimates; the resulting, massive weaknesses in some Will pyramids caused a ripple of infrastructure problems that the Hierarchy is still scrambling to resolve. Small issues such as city lanterns not lighting, to things like a Transvect carrying more than three hundred soldiers crashing somewhere north of Sytrece.
It seems the Anguis expected this and planned accordingly, coordinating more attacks elsewhere in the capital. Three senators were killed on their way to oversee celebrations in the Forum. A dozen Sextii died in an assault on the Praedium District. Other raids, though, were turned back, the Anguis fighters annihilated when they discovered their targets weren’t as debilitated as expected.
Neither result makes me feel any better.
I don’t say much as the Magnus Quintus talks. Occasionally ask for a clarification here and there, or acknowledge something he’s said. I’m listening, but I’m also using the time to furiously catch up. Retracing my steps at the naumachia. Figuring out who might have seen something that could give me away.
“The gathering of large crowds in Caten has been temporarily prohibited, as a precaution. The public have been asked to submit the names of any suspected Anguis members for proscription, which will continue for another week. The Senate’s suspended until that ends.” Ulciscor’s moving on to the more recent consequences, now. “There were a lot of Magnus Octavii and Magnus Septimii among the casualties at the Arena, though. There’s been disagreement about how to fill so many key roles. Some squabbling over how to divide the strongest candidates, even within Military.” He sounds disgusted at that.
“Were you affected?” I’m suddenly curious.
Ulciscor’s confirmation is bleak. “I was walking through the Forum and next thing I knew, I was on the ground. It wasn’t painful. Just… shocking, to be diminished like that. To feel so much weaker. Like I’d suddenly been bound and blindfolded.” His voice is quiet. He rubs at his dark pate. “I only had seventeen deaths in my pyramid, and most of them were only Octavii. Some of the others had hundreds.”
I study Ulciscor. He’s sincere, I think. Far more open than he was the last time we spoke. The attack truly shook him.
“I’m sorry.”
He snorts softly. “You, of all people, don’t need to be. I cannot imagine how much worse it would have been without you. It will take us months to recover, but if you hadn’t done what you did, that might have been years.” The Quintus forces a smile. “At least national heroes have a much better chance of advancing through the Academy.”
I chuckle, but my humour withers as I realise Ulciscor’s serious. “Lanistia has been telling me it’s best not to draw attention. Do my impressing of people at the Academy, rather than build up expectations.”
“Gods’ graves, Vis! You just killed the leader of the Anguis and single-handedly stopped the most deadly attack on Caten in its history. The Senate has just hailed you Vis Telimus Catenicus! It’s far, far too late to arrive quietly.” My dismay must leak onto my face, because he laughs at my apparent modesty. “This is good, lad. Be proud! We Catenans do love our heroes. You couldn’t have asked for a more perfect introduction.”
Vek. He means it to be motivating. I feel like I need to bathe.
“What about the Anguis who are still out there?” I ask eventually. Sedotia doesn’t strike me as the type to forgive what I’ve done. In fact, I’m surprised she hasn’t already exposed me. The weight of that—the realisation of what is surely a looming threat—settles deep.
“Only a few people know you’re here, but we’ve arranged for extra protection around the villa anyway. And the Academy has pledged to increase their security as well.” Ulciscor’s apologetic about the latter. Knows it will make my job harder, once I’m there. “They’ve given you special dispensation to arrive on the first day of classes, too, rather than the usual three days beforehand. To give you as much time as possible to recover.”
“Kind of them,” I mutter, doing a quick calculation. A full two weeks left to train, then. Still not much.
Ulciscor eyes me, and I can see he’s finally going to ask what he’s been itching to since he arrived.
“Can you tell me… what exactly happened? From what I hear, many others died trying to do what you did.”
I supply my own version of the naumachia in as much detail as I dare. Fortuitously noticing the sewer entrance before the attack, guessing its purpose, and then realising that it might be a way out for Aequa. Chancing upon a dropped stylus on the way back. Noticing the way Melior seemed to build up to his attacks, and waiting until he was in the process, distracted, before I struck. Then succumbing to the strange energy around him.
I still have no idea what Aequa’s said, but when I’m done, Ulciscor, to my relief, seems satisfied.
“It’s possible that you were resistant to whatever he was doing because you’ve never ceded,” he muses, nodding agreement to an implication I’ve already made. “That’s tricky. It’s important we find a way to counter whatever power the man was using, but your circumstances aren’t something we want to make public. Too many questions.” He leans forward and gazes at the floor, deep in thought.
“Will I need to worry about that when you present me to the Senate?”
“What?” Ulciscor looks at me blankly, then, “Oh! Good news on that front, too. Your adoption was unanimously ratified before things were suspended. It seems that saving sixty thousand or so Catenan lives earns you some credit, even with senators.” He grins. “You should have seen Advenius’s face when he stood with the rest of them.”
I allow some amusement, then cough. “About that.”
“Advenius made it seem like I was a bad bet, and you panicked.” Ulciscor sighs. “Lanistia told me everything. I wasn’t pleased when I heard the news. But it’s water past the mill. Done and all for the better, as it turns out. We don’t need to speak of it anymore.”
A moment, and he sighs again—heavily, this time—as he sees my expression. “Or perhaps we do?”
“Advenius… Advenius said that your brother committed suicide. And Aequa told me that everyone believes that, except you. That your opinion about Veridius being responsible is common knowledge.” I’m still catching up, mentally, but I have to know, and I can’t summon a more tactful way to raise it. “I asked Lanistia, and she only said that you were sure Veridius killed him. She didn’t want to go into the details.” I shift uncomfortably. “It’s just… given our deal… that worries me.”
“You think I’m grasping at straws. Trying to restore my brother’s honour, rather than following evidence.” His expression doesn’t reveal what he thinks of that. “You think there might be nothing at the Academy for you to find.”
“No. I just want to understand why I shouldn’t think that.”
Ulciscor observes me impassively for a few more seconds, then leans back. There’s weary acceptance in the motion.
“As I’ve said, Caeror was in the group who first trained at Solivagus. For a while we thought the entire Academy cycle would be cancelled because of the grain riots, and he was devastated. Then so excited when they announced the move. We all knew before he even left that he was going to be in Class Three. My parents were so proud of him. So was I.” He’s talking deliberately now, a tautness to his voice. Like he’s trying to focus on the words and avoid the memories.
“The first trimester, everything seemed to be going well. He came home for the Festival of Jovan and was so happy about everything. His progress, what he was learning. His new friends. Including Veridius.” Acid enters Ulciscor’s tone at that. “And then two months later, he missed the Festival of the Ancestors.”
“That was unusual?”
“Very. And when I tried to go and see him, I got stopped. Blocked. Religion had told us there were new rules around visiting, but I didn’t think they’d enforce it.” He plucks absently at his sleeve. “But I didn’t think too much of it, either. Religion’s always been protective of the Academy. And you have to understand what being there is like. The outside world feels so distant. I just assumed Caeror had gotten caught up in the life.”
I nod, not saying anything. Not wanting to interrupt.
“We weren’t supposed to be in communication with each other, but security on Solivagus was still basic back then. No Will cage at the entrance, so after the festival, I managed to sneak him in a stylus that was sub-harmonically locked to one on my end. Too risky to use often, but he’d send me messages from time to time. Mostly jokes. Stupid things.” He cracks a wistful smile at that. “He seemed fine. Content, even. Just before the end of second trimester, he sent me a note to say he wouldn’t be coming to stay with me in Caten like we’d planned. He and two of his friends were going to spend the winter on Solivagus, to get ready for the Iudicium. I thought it was a little strange, but I was excited for him, too. Sad that I wouldn’t get to spend time with him, but he was seventeen, and it seemed pretty clear that he was with a girl, there. I wasn’t going to be the one to drag him away.”
His smile fades. “I’d just made Quintus back then, anyway. I was working day and night. My parents asked me a couple of times to use my influence to check on him, but I kept telling them it would be inappropriate. That he was alright.” He swallows. “The messages started drying up in that third trimester, but I assumed he was just studying hard. Then he sent me one about a week before the Iudicium. A long one. He really wanted to meet, but I thought he was just nervous, and… it would have been against the rules. He could have been expelled, and my position could have been affected. So I ignored it.”
There’s so much regret in that last sentence.
“Two weeks later, we got word that something terrible had happened during the Iudicium. There was an accident, and the girl Caeror was with had been terribly, permanently injured—was probably going to die. Caeror had blamed himself. Veridius, who was the only other one there, said that he was inconsolable. Couldn’t face the idea of going to a Sapper with the guilt. Went mad and threw himself off a cliff in a fit of grief, despite Veridius’s best efforts.” He finishes softly. The words are raw.
I’m silent, digesting for the first time how hard that would have been for Ulciscor. For his family. Not just the loss, but the manner of it. Suicide in the Hierarchy is the most fundamentally dishonourable act, the ultimate shame. The circumstances of Caeror’s death would be a stain against the Telimus name, even today.
None of that does anything to explain why Ulciscor is so convinced it’s a lie, though.
“I’m sorry,” I say. Hesitate.
Ulciscor sees my indecision, saves me the indelicate question. “I knew him, Vis. I knew him. I cannot imagine a soul less inclined to despair, no matter what had happened.” He holds up a hand as I open my mouth to respond. “But I hadn’t seen him in almost a year, so that alone wouldn’t have been enough.”
He reaches into a pocket, pulls out two neatly folded sheets of paper. He opens one on the table between us, the way he carefully smooths the creases almost loving. “This came two days before Caeror died. I almost threw it out without looking at it again. Didn’t want to torture myself.” He pushes it across to me. It’s old, the ink faded. “Tell me what you see.”
I scan the letter. It describes being nervous about the Iudicium. The writing’s messy and it’s stilted in places, rambling. But that’s all.
I shake my head. “I don’t see anything.”
“Caeror and I, when we were children, used to pretend we were spies in the Catenan army and pass coded messages to each other. Our favourite cipher was the rule of three—first letter of every third word after ‘brother.’ ” Ulciscor indicates the paper. “Look again.”
I do, taking my time.
“The first word is ‘translation.’ ” He’s right. There’s something hidden here.
Ulciscor pushes across the second sheet of paper. More writing, much shorter and in a different, neater hand.
“ ‘Translation right. Obiteum lost. Luceum unknown.’ ” I read the first part aloud, brow furrowed. “I remember hearing you mention this to Nateo, in the prison. But ‘Obiteum’ and ‘Luceum’… they don’t mean anything in any language I know.” I move on, silent again as I check the words on the second sheet against Caeror’s letter. Scintres Exunus worked. Gate still open. More strange pre-Cataclysm power. Only Veridius knows. It all matches.
I examine them a moment longer, then hand the sheets back. “You’re right, it’s a message. But it doesn’t make much sense.”
“There were dozens, before that one. I remember some of them seemed strangely worded, but I didn’t pay enough attention. The whole point of giving him the stylus was that he could write to me privately—I have no idea why he needed to use code. It never occurred to me to look for something like that. And I had no reason to keep the letters.”
“You think they would have provided context.”
“I do.”
I watch as he meticulously folds the pages again. “I agree that this is strange, but…”
“It’s not proof of anything,” agrees Ulciscor. “And I could have forged this letter myself, which is why I never showed it to anyone. But it was enough for me to find the girl Caeror had been spending so much time with. The one who got injured. She survived, but she was the daughter of a Sextus who couldn’t afford the ongoing treatment necessary. Veridius was trying to step in and take care of her, but I convinced my parents that we should intercede. That it would go some way toward… improving our image.” The words still leave a bitter taste in his mouth. “She couldn’t talk for months, but eventually, everything healed. Everything but her memory, and her eyes.”
He looks at me expectantly. My suspicions have been building as he’s talked, but even with the last part, I’m still certain I’ve somehow reached the wrong conclusion. “Lanistia?”
“Yes.”
I have a hundred new questions. “So she and Caeror…”
“Yes.”
Attractive or not, it’s hard to picture the woman romantically involved with anyone. “Gods’ graves. That’s…” I shake my head. Still bewildered, but a few more things are making sense now. “And you said her memory never recovered?”
“The Iudicium and the months before it are gone, for her. Whole other swathes of her life are missing too. The physicians said they might come back over time. They never did.” Ulciscor says it all in a flat monotone, but I can hear the strain beneath. “Veridius was the one who supposedly saved her. Carried her out of the forest, half-dead, and told the Praeceptors his story. By the time they got to Caeror, the alupi had done their work. No way to tell what had really happened.”
No wonder Lanistia didn’t want to explain it. “So she doesn’t remember anything?”
“She remembers Caeror. She remembers enough to know that he and Veridius found something out there. Something they were keeping secret. Those ruins in the woods near the Academy I told you about, and then the ones out to the west.” The man opposite rubs his shaven scalp. Voice quiet. Looking more tired, more vulnerable, than I have ever seen him. “She says that Caeror thought of Veridius as a friend. As a brother. At least, as far as her most recent memories go.”
He doesn’t bother to disguise his acrimony.
“But why would Veridius say he committed suicide?” Ulciscor’s right: put it all together, and it does seem like something is off. But that doesn’t make it any less puzzling. “Why not just say it was an accident? And if he was willing to kill Caeror, why save Lanistia? He couldn’t have known about her memory.”
“An argument Veridius himself made.” Ulciscor’s grim. “And neither I nor Lanistia have the answers. Maybe she didn’t see anything, or maybe he thought she was going to die anyway. But as far as claiming suicide? That was probably part of his deal with Religion—which he clearly did have, given that he defected to them immediately upon becoming Domitor. Suicide protected the Academy from any recriminations or investigations. Even my parents wanted it all put to rest as quietly as possible.” He rolls his shoulders, quick to glaze over that last detail.
I watch him, hiding a genuine wave of sympathy for the man that I know he would see as pity. “You should have told me all of this from the beginning.”
“It would have complicated your training. For you, because you would have questioned every demand Lanistia made of you. And for Lanistia, because I think she would have seen it and wondered if you were right to do so. But I was always going to tell you before you left.”
I move to protest, then subside. He might be right. I can only imagine how much Lanistia must hate Veridius, must be desperate to find out what happened to Caeror. To her. Enduring her relentless pushing, her endlessly aggressive lessons, with that knowledge in the back of my mind—it would have been hard not to wonder at the necessity of it all. To think that, just maybe, she wasn’t approaching my instruction as objectively as she should be.
“You’re telling me now,” I point out eventually. “I still have two weeks of training left.”
“I’m hoping you know each other well enough by this point to deal with it.” He eyes me. “And that you’re smart enough to see that Lanistia’s methods are working. Even after a week in bed, you look bigger than you did a month ago. Stronger.”
I concede his point with a grunt. The constant training and full diet has continued to bear fruit.
“She says you’re improving academically, too. Filling in the gaps. Even after losing a week, she thinks you’ll be ready.”
“Rotting gods. She actually said that?”
“Don’t let on that I told you.”
We share a grin, some of the weight of the conversation lifting.
We talk for a while longer, but the consequential matters have been dealt with. Ulciscor’s soon noting my drooping eyelids and suggesting that he instruct Kadmos to check in on me, and for Lanistia to give me the rest of the day before we resume training. I don’t argue either proposal. We say our farewells.
“I should mention, lad. I’ve already been back and forth between here and Caten too often these past few days—and I’m needed there. So this is the last time we’ll speak before you leave for the Academy. Probably the last time until the Festival of the Ancestors.” Ulciscor’s standing. Clapping me on the shoulder. An awkward, almost affectionate act. “Life and luck, Vis. Be careful.”
“I will.”
He leaves.
