THE RISE AND FALL OF waves crashing, muted by walls but distinct and so, so familiar. For the haziest, most wonderful moment, it’s years ago and I’m back in Suus. In my own room. Safe.
Reality reasserts itself, ugly and sharp.
I’m lying on a bed. There’s a dull, throbbing pain in my side. People are talking in hushed tones. It takes me a few breaths to process it all, to remember that last I knew, I was on the floor of the Transvect’s control cabin as we ploughed through the murk of the receding storm.
With an effort I stay still, eyes closed. Focus on the voices. There’s an annoying tickle in my throat, but I suppress it.
“We’re going to get in trouble.” Male. Whispered. More annoyed than worried.
“Better than being bored.” A feminine voice, this time. Soft as well, but cheerfully wheedling. “Aren’t you curious? That Transvect turned up from Tensia looking like it was more ash than stone. Most of it was missing! And the only people who know what happened are the Quintus, and him.” From the way she says it, she’s pointing at me. “Come on. We can be subtle about it.”
“Of course I’m curious. I just don’t—”
The feather in my throat becomes too much and I cough, as lightly as I can, but the way the conversation cuts off indicates they know I’m conscious now. I feign waking—not that they’ve revealed anything particularly illuminating—and then crack an eyelid.
“Hail?” I rasp the word at the ceiling.
“He’s awake.” A scuffling of movement, a mutter of protest from the male. Then there’s a cup being pressed into my hand and the face of a girl about my age comes into view, peering down at me. She has smooth, light olive skin and bright green eyes. Straight brown hair cascades forward over her face as she grins sunnily at me through the strands. “Welcome.”
I grasp the cup and then prop myself up on one elbow, my body immediately regretting the motion. I’ve been tended to, bandaged and bathed, but I still ache everywhere, my side especially. With the driving terror of the crash and ensuing fight no longer pulsing through me, I’m beginning to realise just how badly bruised I truly am.
“Who are you?” I gulp the water gratefully after asking the question, using the time to take stock. A boy—again, my age—stands a little back from my bed, looking disgruntled. He’s the very image of handsome Catenan stock, with thick, fashionably tousled black hair and a jutting jawline. Intelligent brown eyes examine me curiously, but he doesn’t respond.
Beyond him, the room we’re in is a long one. I’m in one of five separate single beds. The others are empty. Thick, seamless stone makes up the walls, upon which hang a variety of tasteful paintings, mostly peaceful landscapes interspersed with an occasional portrait. I don’t recognise any of the people depicted.
Along the shorter wall, though, opposite the sole entrance, a massive symbol is etched into the stone: three separate lines stretching upward to a common goal, forming a pyramid. The words STRONGER TOGETHER are written underneath.
Just in case anyone forgot who was in charge, I suppose.
“My name’s Emissa. The scowl-y one is Indol. Don’t drown yourself,” Emissa adds, eyeing a dribble from my steadily emptying cup.
Behind her, Indol scowls. “I’m not…” He seems to realise he’s proving Emissa’s point and shakes his head, breaking out into what appears to be a genuine, if rueful, smile.
“Where am I?” Their ages, and the Transvect’s original destination, means I’m already fairly confident of the answer. Better to know, though.
“The Catenan Academy. The Catenan Academy’s infirmary, to be specific. You arrived last night on a Transvect. Well. A part-Transvect. A well-cooked part-Transvect.” Emissa leaves no doubt that this is something that requires explanation.
Behind her back, Indol rolls his eyes apologetically at me. “Maybe let’s ask him his name first?”
I test each of my limbs, relieved to find them all working adequately. “Vis.” My torn and bloodied tunic has been replaced by a simple, well-fitting white one, but I have no shoes or cloak. “What happened to the Quintus who was with me?” There’s nothing to suggest I’m in trouble here—no hint of a guard, and I’m not bound—but I feel trapped all the same. The sooner I find Ulciscor, the better.
“Talking with some of the Praeceptors.” Emissa makes a dismissive motion. “He’s a Quintus. He’s fine.”
“And I’m sure he’ll be by soon,” adds Indol, addressing me but clearly meaning it for Emissa.
“How long have I been here?”
“Half the night. It’s just past dawn.” Emissa studies me. Intense and curious. “What happened to you?”
“Subtlety incarnate,” mutters Indol, not quite under his breath, behind her.
“Our Transvect was attacked.” I’m thinking as furiously as my fresh-from-unconsciousness mind will allow. How much did Ulciscor see before he was knocked out? What should I tell him?
“By who?”
“I didn’t get names. On account of all the fire and the crashing and the running,” I clarify.
“Excuses.” The corners of Emissa’s mouth are turned upward. “So the Quintus saved you?”
“Something like that.”
“Strange. Because Belli—she’s in our class—overheard him and Praeceptor Nequias talking not long after you turned up, and she swears that it sounded like you’re the one who…”
She trails off at the sound of the door opening. All three of us turn to see a girl leaning anxiously through, breathing hard. Her skin’s pale beneath a mass of curly auburn hair that hangs almost to her waist.
“Someone’s coming,” she hisses, beckoning urgently, acknowledging my presence with her eyes but directing the gesture at the other two.
“Rotting gods. Told you.” Indol scampers toward the door.
Emissa makes a face at me that’s somehow amused and panicked and apologetic all at once. “Feel better. And, if you don’t mind, if anyone asks…”
“You were never here.”
She flashes another smile, then flees after Indol.
I lie back on the bed once they’re gone. So Ulciscor’s already discussed the attack with others here. He’d remember confronting the Anguis—but not necessarily know that they were Anguis—and then nothing, presumably, until whenever he woke up. Probably on the Transvect sometime between the Tensian wildlands and here.
I should avoid mentioning that he killed a man. I’m not sure the consequences for a Magnus Quintus would necessarily be severe, Birthright or no—but he’d surely see it as disloyal.
I’m interrupted after not more than a minute of thought by the door opening again. The sole man who slips through brightens as he sees me.
“You’re awake.” He’s in his mid-twenties. Handsome, with short, ruffled dirty-blond hair and thoughtful blue eyes. The white cloak of a physician is draped across his shoulders. “How are you feeling?”
Despite the situation, my tension eases a little at his genuinely concerned tone. “Fine.” I’m betrayed by a wince as I shift, sharp pain tugging at my side. “Where am I?” He’s likely only here to check on my health, but no need to let him know I’ve spoken to anyone else.
“The Academy. You’re safe. As is Magnus Quintus Telimus, I’m told,” he adds with brisk efficiency as he checks my dressing. “And you’re not ‘fine,’ I’m afraid. The Quintus bandaged you up as best he could, but even with salves and rest, that wound is going to take a week or two to heal.”
“Could have been worse.” My teeth clench as he begins grasping each limb in turn and pressing, pulling, rotating, and generally probing them systematically. Every touch seems to find a fresh bruise. “Is that necessary?”
“Have to check nothing’s broken.” He shakes his head in vague dismay as he gets to my bad shoulder, noting its resistance and the pain on my face. “What happened here?”
“It took a hit when we jumped out of the Transvect.” He looks at me, puzzled. “While it was still in the air,” I elaborate.
The physician pauses, just enough to show nonplussed amusement. “Ah. Well. That would do it,” he allows with exaggerated mildness. “I think the medical advice would be to not disembark that way next time.”
We share a grin.
“There was an explosion not long after we left Letens, and our section was burning. Plus it looked like the whole thing was going to crash. Which it did.” I twitch beneath his ministrations, relatively gentle though they are. “Magnus Telimus took the brunt of the fall.” I’m not sure if I should refer to him as my father yet, given the need for senatorial ratification, so I don’t.
“That cut in your side wasn’t from a fall, though.”
“No. We were attacked. I caught a sword.” No way to deny it.
The physician moves on from my shoulder. “Even with the Quintus there?”
“He got knocked out. I’m not sure how.” I’m still a little groggy, finding it hard to focus. This is probably ground I should be steering the conversation away from.
There’s respect in the man’s appraising glance this time. “So you fought them by yourself? How many were there?”
Definitely dangerous territory, but it will look strange if I become reticent. “Three left, when Magnus Telimus got hit. I was still hiding at that point. I managed to take them by surprise, and only one of them was armed. It’s all a bit of a blur, to be honest. I was lucky.” I think that covers everything Ulciscor might have seen.
“Sounds like a nasty business.”
“It was.”
The physician makes a sympathetic sound, moving on to carefully unwrap the bandage around my wound. It’s smeared with some sort of thick green unguent, and dark red fluid still seeps from the stitched-up slash, but it’s not as bad as I expected.
“You said only one of them was armed,” the blond-haired man says absently as he works, dabbing the gash clean with a damp cloth and then applying more salve. “How did the Quintus end up with an arrow wound?”
Vek.
“It came from somewhere else in the forest. I never saw who shot him.” I’m proud of how smoothly I recover, no hesitation to the answer. “I expected to be shot too, but…” I shrug, immediately regretting the motion as pain washes through my torso.
“Strange.” It’s not delivered with even a trace of suspicion, thankfully. More of a distracted observation. “Was there anything unusual about the arrow?”
“I don’t know. It hurt Magnus Telimus more than I expected. Nothing specific, though,” I hedge. Feeling my unease build, even through the patina of haze coating my mind. Too many questions.
“Not even when you took it out of his leg?”
I’m saved from another scrambling lie by a commotion outside, voices raised. The argument’s muffled, but I recognise Ulciscor’s commanding tone even so.
The door opens and another man sticks his head in. He’s swarthy and slim, wearing horn-rimmed spectacles with clear glass in them. I can’t help but notice the dark bags around his eyes as he gives the man tending my injuries an enquiring look.
The physician sighs, more resigned than irritated. “Let him in, Marcus. He’s Vis’s father now, after all.”
The head at the door vanishes, and a moment later Ulciscor is striding through. His black cloak is gone, replaced by a pristine white tunic and toga with a single purple stripe, indicating his senatorial status. He has clearly bathed, but otherwise looks just as he did yesterday. No obvious bandaging on his leg. He doesn’t even look like he’s favouring it.
His eyes—a shade darker than usual—don’t leave me as he walks over. There’s a bleak quiet to him. He stops just short of my bed, then turns to the physician.
“Hail, Veridius.”
