NECESSITY HAS MADE ME INTO a convincing actor, over the past few years.
The trick, I’ve decided, is to make myself believe what I’m saying is true. Not just tell a lie, but envisage the circumstances in my head. Imagine how I’d feel, what I would have done. Erase the truth of my past and replace it with a false one, not simply layer it over the top.
So when I trip going down a stair while carrying my breakfast, slamming into the student in front of me, I make sure not to brace for the impact. My chin hits the floor. Pottery smashes. And when my left hand folds awkwardly underneath my body, still holding the knife I was carrying all too casually, I don’t stop it from digging into the raw, still-seeping wound I’ve been hiding since rising this morning.
I don’t have to fake my agonised roar.
I curl around my hand in the messy aftermath, writhing, food and shattered plates all around me. Conversation in the mess has all but stopped. Blood wells, any scabbing formed from the previous night vanished.
Several Fourths—I’m on their level, currently—peer at me, murmuring among themselves as they spot the blood trickling down my wrist. I hear a snigger from somewhere lower. One of the Sixths, probably.
“Idiot.” The student who I collided with picks herself up and brushes crumbs from her top. She’s a Fifth. Short and wiry. I don’t know her name. She glances disinterestedly at the blood dripping from my closed fist. “Watch where you’re going, Sixth. And learn how to carry utensils.” That brings a low chuckle from some of the Fourths.
She shakes her head in disgust and walks off back toward the kitchen, presumably to replace her ruined meal. Praeceptor Ferrea’s shadow takes her place. “Is it bad?”
I show her my palm. She recoils, then waves me toward the door. “The infirmary, then. Ulnius will see to it.”
I gain my feet awkwardly and hurry off as one of the Octavii from the kitchen approaches with mop in hand. The chattering conversation of the room has returned to its usual dull thunder, though I do see a few people still watching me. Callidus down at our table, looking genuinely concerned. Aequa giving me sideways glances from over in the corner. Eidhin observing my departure with an inscrutable expression as I pass him and the other Sixths.
I reach the door to the infirmary and use the small bell on the wall, which is Will-locked to another one out back. A minute later, Ulnius hurries into view.
“Vis Telimus.” The white-cloaked man’s cheer fades and his brow furrows as he takes in the way I’m cradling my hand, immediately limping forward and grasping my wrist gently. “Show me.”
I unfurl my fingers, wincing as blood pulses from the newly reopened wound.
Ulnius guides me over to a nearby seat, then grabs a cloth, dips it in a bowl of water, and starts dabbing away the blood. “How did this happen?”
“I tripped on the stairs at breakfast. Cut myself on my knife.”
His daubing falters for a heartbeat, and I can tell there’s something he doesn’t like about my explanation. “Sharp knife,” he observes after a moment.
“I fell right on it. I was holding it by the blade,” I admit sheepishly.
He doesn’t stop what he’s doing, doesn’t look up at me. “Lucky, then. An inch lower, and you could have slit your wrist. Higher, and you might have lost the use of your fingers.” He grabs his tools, eyes darkening as he starts to suture with a steady hand, quick and neat. “Funny coincidence. The Principalis was asking if I’d seen any unusual injuries only an hour ago.”
“Unusual? Like what?” I grunt through gritted teeth.
“He didn’t say.”
I force a grin through the pain. “I’m assuming self-inflicted wounds due to idiocy don’t count.”
“They do not.” He crouches in front of me. Fixes me with a look. “But you need to be more careful.”
I lose my smile. Nod into the meaningful silence that follows.
Satisfied, Ulnius straightens, adjusting his white cloak. “This won’t heal quickly—you won’t be able to use it normally for a couple of weeks.” He begins dressing it. “Come back every second evening to get the bandages changed. Don’t use it unless you have to.”
“What about mucking out the stables?”
“If that’s something you’re meant to be doing, then it falls into the category of ‘you have to.’ Just find me straight away if the stitches come loose.”
I expected as much. “Understood.”
“Then we’re done.” He finishes the dressing with a cheerful flourish. “Stronger together, Vis. I hope not to see you for a couple of days.”
I chuckle. “The same to you.”
Alone once I’m out in the hallway, I lean against the stone wall and exhale, letting myself stop and just gaze out over the grey, crashing ocean far below. My hand’s aching. I’m exhausted. I still feel a juddering chill every time I dare think about what happened last night. And I’m about to face a full day of watching the other Sixths run the Labyrinth, while I’m given no further chance to prove myself.
Life is far from good. But for now, at least, it seems my position here is safe.
“MADE IT ALL THE WAY down here without slicing yourself open,” observes Callidus through a mouthful of fish as I slide into the seat opposite him at our regular table. “Well done.”
I glower at him. “I suppose I earned that.”
“Rotting gods you did. If I’ve seen a more spectacular failure of basic human movement before, I don’t remember it.” Callidus’s humour slips to at least a hint of sympathy as he motions to my bandaged hand. “How bad is it?”
“Bad enough to hurt. Not bad enough to get me out of stable duty.”
“Ah. The worst amount of bad,” Callidus commiserates. He leans back, stretching lazily. “Other than that, I assume this morning went about as well as usual?”
“I was late because of the accident, so at least I didn’t have to sit through everyone failing.” The more I see of my classmates’ clumsy attempts to run the Labyrinth, the more frustrated I become at being stuck in Six. “Honestly, I probably came out ahead.”
Callidus chuckles and looks about to say something more when he gets a strange look on his face, attention suddenly locked onto something over my shoulder. I twist to see the Thirds coming down the stairs. Iro peers down his aquiline nose at me as he spots my inspection. Indol gives me a slight acknowledgment.
My eyes, somewhat instinctively, go to Emissa. Her long brown hair is bound up tightly today; the Thirds are probably about to do some sparring or other physical work. She’s deep in conversation with Belli, but as they reach our level, she murmurs something and breaks off, veering over. Belli, looking surprised and mildly uncomfortable, trails after her.
“Catenicus.” Emissa stops at the end of our table, bright green eyes focused squarely on me. She smiles as she says the name, dimples forming. “You got all the way to eating without serious injury this time, I see. Nicely done.”
“Callidus already made that joke,” I tell her with mock sourness, recovering from my surprise. Emissa’s never gone out of her way to talk to me away from the stables before.
“Of course he did.” She sighs, still smiling, glancing briefly at my friend. “How are you, Callidus?”
Callidus doesn’t realise he’s being addressed at first. His gaze, I realise, is fixed rather firmly on Belli, who’s standing a pace farther back and is looking around disinterestedly, intent on showing she’s not really part of the conversation. When Callidus does register Emissa’s words he blinks, as if waking, then issues a half smile in her direction. “Afternoon, Emissa. Better than him, I suppose.” He flicks his thumb in my direction.
Emissa agrees with an amused quirk of her eyebrows, then turns back to me. “I was hoping you might settle something for us. Rumour has it that you ran the Labyrinth yesterday with Eidhin over there”—she jerks her head toward the Sixths, not looking—“and won? On your first attempt?”
I break from giving Callidus a pointedly speculative look, which he’s studiously ignoring, though the flush to his cheeks indicates he saw it. “That’s right.”
“But then you got disqualified for cheating?”
“We got disqualified because Dultatis is an ass.” I say the words louder than I should, but fortunately, either no one hears or no one disagrees. “I just used Cymrian to call out instructions, rather than code. It should have been counted.”
Emissa glances back at her red-headed companion. “See, Bel?”
Belli focuses her attention on Emissa, as if Callidus and I aren’t part of the conversation at all. “If he got disqualified, it doesn’t count. And we’re still just taking his word for it.”
“Except the part about Dultatis,” I note.
“Except the part about Dultatis,” agrees Emissa solemnly.
Belli fidgets, and I notice for the first time that her right hand is missing a finger. She registers my gaze and tucks the offending limb behind her, a familiar enough pose that I realise she must do it fairly often. Then she snorts, glancing between Emissa and I before ostentatiously rolling her eyes. “He was only up against Sixths, anyway.” She stalks off, mass of waist-length red curls bouncing with the motion.
Emissa lowers her voice conspiratorially. “We were the fastest to clear the Labyrinth, during the entry exams—it’s part of what got us into Class Three. We made it through on our fourth attempt.” She glances ruefully at Belli’s disappearing form. “Belli’s not so bad. She can just be a little competitive, sometimes. Doesn’t like to believe anyone can do a thing better than she can.”
Callidus nods in absent agreement until he sees my glance and catches himself. Emissa doesn’t seem to notice, attention back on me.
“I’m surprised you even heard about it.” I’m pleased word has spread. If the other Praeceptors take note, it will help my case for advancement.
“People talk. Especially about you.” Her bright green eyes dance. Amused by my genuinely surprised look. “They really don’t know what to make of you, you know. Between the naumachia and what you did to Eidhin, running the Labyrinth one minute and stupidly injuring yourself the next… well. You’re not boring.”
I make a small, bemused motion. “Better than the alternative, I suppose.”
“Emissa!” It’s Belli, impatient as she waits at the bottom of the stairwell out of the mess.
Emissa sighs. Looks about to go, then pauses. “How bad was your hand? Really?”
“Just a cut. Won’t stop me from doing anything.”
“Good.” She flashes another smile at me. “I’ll be seeing you.”
“Good to talk!” Callidus calls after her, not missing the fact that she didn’t even glance in his direction upon departure. He laughs as Emissa makes a rude gesture without turning around, then focuses back on me. His glee is from ear to ear. “Someone’s popular.”
“Not interested,” I lie firmly. He’s been making similar intimations ever since I mentioned Emissa helping me in the stables.
“Liar.”
I ignore him. “You know, I never noticed before that Belli is missing a finger. Did that happen recently?”
“No. She was bitten by a Yellowsnake when she was thirteen. They had to amputate to save the hand.”
I feel a smirk pulling at the corner of my lips.
Callidus scowls as he spots it. “She gets chilblains from it in the winter. Everyone in the class knew,” he mutters defensively, flushing.
There’s a brief silence. He seems a strange mixture of eager to talk and genuinely uncomfortable, when it comes to Belli. “You never did get to tell me why you’re a Seventh,” I say eventually, overcoming my inclination to tease him. “You were obviously in Class Three long enough to be on friendly terms.”
“A few weeks.” Callidus takes another bite of his meal, chewing. He swallows. “Alright. You swear to keep this to yourself?” When I confirm I will, he leans forward, lowering his voice. “It’s mostly because of my father.”
I grunt. Unsurprised.
“How much do you know about the political situation in Caten at the moment?”
“Not a lot,” I hedge. “Ulciscor mentioned there have been some conflicts in the Senate lately, but I got the impression it’s not anything new.”
“Yes and no. There’s always been tension between the senatorial pyramids, but things have been getting worse over the past few years. Much worse. At least according to my father.” Callidus keeps his voice low, though he’s in no danger of being overheard amid the hubbub of the mess. “Military have always been the preeminent of the three, agreed?”
“Of course.” A Military Sextus and a Governance Sextus are technically equals, but put them in the same room, and there’s no question who would be considered superior.
“That’s because the Republic is built on expansion.” Callidus warms to the explanation. “Military either win a war or negotiate a treaty, and then Caten has a fresh influx of wealth for the next few years—gold, resources, Octavii. Their successes stocked the treasury, paid the armies. They were the reason we kept getting stronger, were able to constantly do more. They were the heart that kept our blood pumping.”
“Were,” I repeat, picking up on the past tense he’s using. I think for a moment. “But now there’s no one left to conquer?”
“Exactly.” Callidus is pleased I’m following the logic. “Which means no more riches or glory. Less importance, fewer funds. Garrisons need to be reduced, standing armies disbanded—but that hasn’t been happening. Not anywhere near as fast as the rest of the Senate wants, anyway.”
“Oh?”
Callidus nods grimly. “It’s tense. When the armies disappear, Military’s power goes along with them, and Military have made it clear they have no interest in letting that happen. Governance and Religion could veto funds for the troops, of course, if they were willing to work together—but as things stand, that could be what Military are waiting for. Nothing would encourage an army to march on Caten like the threat of not being paid.” He takes a breath. “So everyone’s outwardly cooperating, but the whole thing’s poised on a knife’s edge.”
“Rotting gods. I had no idea.”
“Not many people do. A potential civil war isn’t exactly something the Senate likes to shout from the rooftops.”
I chew my lip. Civil war? My old tutor Matias would have been thrilled to see his theories were so accurate—and back then, I would have been delirious at the thought of the Catenan Republic tearing itself apart, too. But Suus is gone. The Hierarchy stretches across oceans. A civil war would be a world war, fought with Will on all sides. It would be bloody beyond imagining.
“That’s terrifying, but I don’t see how this relates to you being a Seventh,” I admit.
“Well. As I see it, two things could happen. One: things keep escalating, and there’s open conflict before the end of the year. We become hostages in all but name here—and you know who my father is. A son in Class Three is someone he has to worry about. A son in Class Seven isn’t.”
I study him. “But he’s still your father. Surely that won’t make a difference to him.”
“He’s already all but disowned me. He’s not interested in mediocrity, and my sisters both have prospects just as good as mine were when I started. Religion know all that, so my value as a bargaining chip is negligible now. Which is how it should be.” He rolls his shoulders and quickly moves on. “The other option is that this year passes without things spiralling out of control. Aside from whoever gets Domitor, everyone in Class Three or Four is going to get seconded to Military for their ten years of service, no matter what position they choose.” He gives me a meaningful look. “Military. For ten years. With the possibility of civil war at any time. And my father will still be Censor for the first three of those.”
“Whereas a Seventh could choose a low-level Governance position,” I finish slowly. “What about option three? The civil war never happens?”
“Then I thank the gods, accept I miscalculated, and move on with my life.” The way he says it leaves little doubt as to whether he thinks that’s likely, though.
I take a bite of my fish, giving myself a chance to think. The political situation doesn’t shock me; Ulciscor’s suggestion that Religion are looking for a weapon here certainly hinted at something more than the usual internal tensions. And while Callidus’s decision seems extreme, it does make some sense. Bloodlines are important in Caten, yet it’s achievement and status that are seen as truly valuable. If there really is a war coming, Callidus removing himself from the equation could be vital for his father.
“You’re a loyal son,” I say eventually. I don’t think Callidus has taken this upon himself due to fear, no matter what he says.
“I’m a son who doesn’t want to end up in a Sapper,” Callidus corrects with a chuckle. “It’s not as if I can’t advance after I graduate, anyway. The Ericius name opens many doors.”
I’m curious to pursue the discussion, but the chime signalling the end of the meal interrupts anything more he might have said. We stand, the scraping of our chairs across the floor mimicked around the mess.
Callidus sighs. “Enjoy watching everyone else be incompetent.”
“Enjoy pretending to be incompetent.”
We grin at each other, a shared sympathy in the banter.
I begin the long trek back out to the Labyrinth.
