I DREAMED OF GOING HOME so often, that first year after the Hierarchy came. Sometimes I even thought I was home. I stayed near the ocean because I couldn’t sleep without the lapping of the waves. I kept southward. Sometimes going for weeks without seeing anyone. But I would slumber on the beach, or in a forest nearby, and I would wake to the smell of salt and the hissing slither of water on sand and I would, just for a moment, think I was there again. Camping with my family, maybe. Or simply napping in the afternoon sun.
Then one day, after I remembered where I was, what had happened, I broke. Wept for hours. There was this ache in me that I’d been pressing down over and over, but even after I’d shed my tears it was still there. A chasm I could never fill. So I struck inland. I had to get away. Even though it was riskier. Even though I could no longer fish for food, was taking myself increasingly out of my comfort zone. Staying so connected to home, to what I’d lost, was more than I could bear.
It’s been more than three years since then but as our Will-powered ship scythes through the vibrant, brilliant blue toward Suus, my ghosts return. It’s everything—not just the sight but the smells, the sounds, the gentle warmth of the sun against my face. The very idea that in ten minutes or so, I’ll be stepping back onto the land I fled so long ago, again be among the people my family once led. Already there are places I’m envisaging, faces I’m remembering that I’d pushed to the corners of my mind long ago. Will it feel the same, or will it just be another part of the Republic now?
“Vis. Are you alright?”
I ignore my aching chest and paste on a smile, glad that the moisture in my eyes is covered by the sea spray off the bow. Emissa, Indol, and Belli are standing a little off to the side; Emissa’s the one who asked the question. “I don’t do well on the water,” I lie.
Indol chuckles. “Better than Belli, at least.” Emissa wrinkles her nose at the reminder, while Belli glowers queasily. She didn’t make it to the railing before her bout of retching.
“You’ve been on a boat before?” Emissa stares out toward the island, though it’s clear she’s talking to me.
“Once or twice. My family lived near the Edaro River, just north of Cartiz. I went with my father downriver sometimes to the capital for supplies.” I make a face, selling the hurriedly crafted lie. “It was nothing like this, though.”
“The Edaro? I thought that was largely rapids. No good for trade until we dredged it,” Belli observes absently.
Vek. Was it? “The stretch we used was calm enough for a small vessel, as long as you knew what you were doing.” I allow a small pause, as if melancholic. “I didn’t know they’d changed the river.”
The others seem to accept the statement. Why wouldn’t they? It’s not something that can be proven. Still, I’m already uneasy. Off-balance, thanks to the steadily growing shape of Suus off the prow.
The conversation drifts away from difficult topics again. Friendly enough. I’ve gotten to know Indol and Belli a little better after the eleven-hour Transvect journey which deposited us a few miles from the strait. Indol is a perfect Catenan: handsome, confident, the son of Dimidius Quiscil. He’s got a quick wit when it suits him, but he’s often content to sit back and watch the conversation unfold, only chiming in when he has something valuable to contribute. There’s no doubting his intelligence, though. He’s Nequias’s current favourite, the one considered most likely to win the Iudicium.
I should hate him—he’s the closest thing the Hierarchy has to a prince—but I don’t. In fact, somewhat annoyingly, I find myself rather liking him.
Belli is a strange one. Daughter of Quintus Volenis, the Sytrecian governor. Lineage from the south, though, judging from her pale skin and long red hair. She’s not unfriendly, exactly, but… absentmindedly condescending, at times. The other two have offhandedly implied that she’s the smartest among them, the best strategist. The best at running the Labyrinth, too. She hasn’t tried to correct them.
And then there’s Emissa.
It still feels strange to be so openly companionable with her around others, but she makes no effort to hide the fact that we’ve been friends for a while. The other two don’t seem surprised, either. Her presence, our familiar banter, has been the one thing that has helped take my mind off our destination. Kept me sane.
Our boat draws steadily closer to the shore. I try to focus on the conversation, but my heart can’t help but wrench. Cliffs I used to climb, beaches I used to play on with my sisters. The way the warm, salty wind caresses my face. The crashing and hissing rhythm of the waves.
This was home.
The pier has changed, I notice as soon as it resolves in the distance. It was once a small, wooden thing, sturdy but unremarkable. Now it’s a stone monstrosity, wider and jutting a hundred feet deeper into the ocean, waves railing against its smooth, Will-cut edge. Not just for small boats like this anymore. There’s a whole array of new buildings a little farther away, up the path, where once there was the lighthouse and nothing more. Shops, from the looks of it, set up to trade with the mainland. A few people wander between them. Despite the new scar on the landscape, everything looks peaceful.
I should probably be pleased about that. I’m not sure if I am.
A hard-looking woman with a pockmarked face and tinted glasses greets us on the dock. Indol introduces her as Sextus Auctia, apparently the Dispensator of the Quiscil household. She’s pleased to see Indol, polite to the rest of us as he introduces us over the raucous shouting of fishermen and the lapping of waves.
“The Magnus Dimidius is waiting for you,” Auctia says soon enough, indicating that we should follow. We trail after her. The others looking around curiously. Me, trying not to be overwhelmed.
“It really is beautiful here, isn’t it,” murmurs Emissa to me as we walk.
“It is,” I say softly. Commanding bluffs. Vibrant green forests. Glittering ocean. Growing up, I took it all for granted. Even my memory never quite did these vistas justice.
“I’m so glad my father decided to have the summit here,” enthuses Indol, overhearing us. “I’ve only been once before, and that was a couple of years ago. It wasn’t as nice back then. We needed more security, and a lot of the infrastructure wasn’t as advanced.”
I bite my tongue. Taste blood in my mouth.
“I can only imagine,” chimes in Belli, looking around. Not disdainful, exactly, but she doesn’t strike me as one to appreciate natural beauty. “Wasn’t this one of the last places to be civilised?”
“They didn’t use Will at all. It was basically tribal.” Indol grins. “My father was lucky. Several senators wanted the palace, but he was part of the mission to take it. Put in his claim to it a few days after. The Sextus in charge of the island lives there too, but he’s more of a caretaker while we’re away.”
My fingernails are digging painfully into my palms. I gaze around under the guise of fascination, unable to look at Indol or any of the others. It’s a little easier to deal with this time, at least; I’ve already been part of a few such conversations since we left the Academy. Casually discussing Suus’s conquering, as if it were a footnote. Belli even described it as “bloodless.” I wasn’t able to talk for near ten minutes after that.
Still. I hate it. I hate the idea that my home is now a holiday destination for senators, I hate that they think of it as ever having been anything less than civilised, and I hate that they’re so nonchalant about what was done to me and my family. Perhaps this was part of why Relucia arranged all this. Maybe she thought it would stoke my passion for the fight again.
At the moment, it’s working. Not even the excited sparkle in Emissa’s eyes can stir anything but ugly feelings.
We walk up the cliffside path—another change; rather than a simple track, there are elegant stairs carved into the stone—and come within sight of the palace.
I stumble.
If only small things have changed below, the building we’re approaching is almost unrecognisable. Gone are the beautiful etchings over the entrances, the ones that relayed the history of my people, the ones my ancestors spent years carving. Gone is the character-filled hewn look of the sandstone.
In its place is a monstrosity. Walls smoothed, polished, and painted garishly in the colours of Caten: orange and white and purple. New friezes decorate the palace’s outside and though they’re just as impressive as any I’ve seen elsewhere in the Hierarchy, they’re nothing to do with Suus. They show Catenan heroes. Catenan ideals. Catenan victories.
It’s such a slap in the face that I can’t contain my visceral reaction. My breath shortens and I can feel blood rushing to my face, unable to stop noting every gory detail. The palace’s bones remain; the doorways are all in place, the structure is the same size and shape as it once was. Simpler, probably. More expedient to change only the façade.
“Impressive,” murmurs Belli from behind me.
I clasp my hands behind my back to keep them from shaking. I don’t know why I expected otherwise, but the palace… it was Suus’s jewel. More than five generations of my family had lived there. Some part of me thought of it as sacrosanct. Too beautiful to touch, even for Caten.
Aside from the stomach-turning despoilment of my former home, the walk to the palace goes well. I see people off on the horizon, but they never get within hailing distance let alone close enough to recognise me. I hang toward the rear of the group, silent as the others prattle on about what they’re seeing. I’m glad no one asks me anything. If I have to talk, there is no guarantee I can be civil.
We’re ushered inside, and part of me is relieved to find that the interior, at least, remains familiar. The marbled floors are the same. The layout is just as it was, with a grand, winding staircase off the main foyer, multiple doors branching off into separate wings. I’m so caught up in my study that I almost miss the group standing off to the side, waiting to greet us.
“Magnus Dimidius,” says Auctia, bowing slightly in deference. “Your guests have arrived.”
There are several men in the party by the stairs, but no mistaking to whom she’s talking: the one stepping forward takes all my attention, and I can tell from the collective intake of breath that I’m not alone. He’s a little over six feet tall, broad-shouldered and handsome, but it’s not just his presence. He exudes power. Radiates it. Like some kind of instinctive survival mechanism, I can’t take my eyes from him.
“Indol!” Dimidius Quiscil beams as he spots his son, wrapping him in an embrace that feels like it should crack Indol’s bones. The boy’s unfazed, though, laughing and slapping his father on the back as they part again. They seem close.
I keep my breathing steady. This is one of the men responsible for the invasion here, for killing my family. And now he’s sharing a happy reunion with his son. In my old home. My hands twitch as I think about all the different ways I might be able to take him by surprise, right here. It’s probably lucky how quickly I realise none of them will work.
Indol’s introducing us all; the Dimidius is doing the rounds, asking quick questions and generally indicating that yes, Indol’s talked about us, and yes, he’s very impressed by what he’s heard. A senator through and through. I mask my disdain with a force of will I wasn’t sure I had in me. Calm, push the emotions to the side. I’m not a prince of Suus, not anymore. I’m Vis Telimus Catenicus, and Vis Telimus Catenicus is honoured to have been asked here.
“And this is Vis,” says Indol as the two of them reach me.
“Of course! Ulciscor’s boy. Catenicus. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you for some time.” He sticks out his hand, offering me the greeting of an equal. I can see Indol’s eyebrows quirk a little off to the side. It’s a move meant to honour what I did at the naumachia. One he doesn’t have to make.
I hesitate, almost as much from surprise as anything else. Then, chest close to bursting from reluctance, I clasp his arm and wear a flattered, grateful smile. “An honour, sir. Truly.”
It feels like something dies inside me at the words.
“Your father should be here in the next few hours, but I would like very much to carve out some time to talk more with you, too. Perhaps at dinner?” The Dimidius looks around, including everyone in the statement. “Beginning tomorrow, I will sadly be inundated with matters of state, but I’d be very pleased if you would all join us for a meal tonight.”
I don’t say anything, but don’t do anything to signal disagreement with the others’ enthusiastic responses, either.
“Of course, there will be certain rules to follow once tomorrow comes,” continues the Dimidius. “The eastern wing of the palace will be off-limits to any of you for the next three days. Including you,” he adds with mock-sternness to Indol, who chuckles good-naturedly. “We cannot be lenient, either, I’m afraid. Anyone breaking that rule won’t be returning to the Academy. No exceptions.”
Quiscil speaks jovially, but there’s something in his voice that changes at that last part, and I can hear the seriousness of it. The others can, too. We all nod.
It’s not until the Dimidius instructs Auctia to show us to our rooms and moves off that I notice the man in his entourage trailing after him. He’s perhaps in his forties. Short, stockily built, with rapidly thinning black hair and the darker skin of a Suus native. In his Catenan uniform and tinted glasses, I almost don’t recognise him.
It’s Fadrique, one of my father’s old advisers. In charge of… trade, I think? An important man.
And one who tutored me, for a time. Who most definitely knew me.
I don’t move, do everything I can not to shrink back. He’s not looking at me. He saw us come in, though. He must have at least glanced at my face.
I fade to the back of the group, heart constricting, then watch as he leaves with Dimidius Quiscil. He doesn’t look around, doesn’t give any indication that he’s curious about me. Perhaps he didn’t see me—or perhaps, as Relucia predicted, I’m simply unrecognisable. I didn’t place him immediately, after all, and I’ve been on the lookout for familiar faces.
The relief of his leaving is quickly supplanted by icy anger. The man was supposed to be a loyal subject, a friend to my father and my family. And now he’s working for the Hierarchy? He’s a Sextus, too, judging from the glasses. Surely the highest-ranking position on the island. To be awarded that, he likely would have had to make a deal before my family’s bodies were cold.
“You look a bit dazed.”
I jump at the voice by my shoulder. It’s Emissa, amused at my distractedness.
“My first time meeting a Dimidius.” We start after Auctia, who’s showing us to our quarters. I know the way. We’re not heading toward my old rooms—those would surely be reserved for the senators—but the palace has an extensive guest wing. The passages through the cliffs have some access points there, too, though they’re fewer.
“Impressed?”
“He’s certainly hard to miss.”
She laughs. “That’s one way to put it.”
She seems like she expects me to keep the conversation going, but I’m in no mood. We lapse into silence.
I make sure not to lag behind as we walk. Every corner we turn is a reminder of what I’ve lost, but I’m rapidly becoming numb to it, and I can’t afford to get distracted. If I’ve guessed our destination correctly, there’s only one room there with access to the tunnels.
“You can take your pick of these rooms.” Auctia indicates the entirety of the guest hallway as we arrive. It’s adorned in Catenan colours, Catenan tapestries. “They’re all the same.”
I’m slipping past Indol and heading for the third room along before she finishes; it will seem a strange impatience to the others, but nothing more than that. They’re still standing with Auctia when I push the door open.
From the moment I enter, I hate everything about the room. Massive though it feels to me now, I can’t help but remember how much bigger my own quarters were. How much nicer. I can hear the comforting sound of waves through the window, but it’s tainted by the decor: banners and Will-carved furniture, Hierarchy colours everywhere. As if Caten is a plague that has infected everything I love.
I shut the door behind me, not caring if the others will think it rude. Slump against the wall. Slide to the ground. I hold my hands out in front of myself, watching them tremble. Just focusing on them. Trying, trying to get myself back under control.
I don’t think I can do this. I can’t keep up the façade, not here.
My breath comes in gasps, then sobs. I bury my head between my knees, hands clasped over the back of my head, and close my eyes. Let the tears come. Softly though, in case someone’s just outside. Even my grief has to be stifled.
Minutes pass. The wash of sorrow fades, abates enough for me to grit my teeth and find my resolve again. I just have to get through this. The Iudicium is only four months away. Reach it. Win it. Maybe find a way out from under Relucia’s thumb in the meantime.
Hard, but not impossible. And if I can do it, I can get away from all of this.
I stand, locking the door and finally assessing the room tactically rather than emotionally. There’s a plush-looking bed up against the far wall, a couch and a desk in the corner. Like most outlooks from the palace, the stunning view is from right on the cliff’s edge. No danger of someone walking past and seeing in.
And then there’s the fireplace. Every room along this hall is laid out identically, so there’s nothing unusual about it, nothing to make it visually distinct. But—to my immense relief—it hasn’t been altered, blocked over, or remade. Why would it?
I kneel in front of it. Fireplaces don’t get used often on Suus; even our winters are mild, and it’s only during rare cold snaps that we ever feel the need for heating. I lean in, making sure not to get old soot on my clothing, and fumble around up the chimney.
The hidden lever, small though it is, clicks to the side without too much effort.
The back of the fireplace swings away from me, revealing a yawning black space beyond.
I crouch there, staring, for several seconds. It still works. A piece of my memory the Catenans haven’t touched. I do my best to place where this particular entrance connects to the tunnel system, but I almost never used this one.
Careful again to avoid getting soot on me, I snag the hidden door and pull it shut. No time to explore now, and I still have three days until the majority of the senators leave and the highest ranks hold their final meeting. I’m going to need an excuse to be in here and undisturbed throughout that evening. An illness will probably work best, but it will have to be convincing. I should be seen to be coming down with something for at least a day in advance.
I examine the fireplace to make sure there are no telltale signs of my activity, then unlock my door again. Someone will be coming to fetch us to dinner soon.
For the moment, best to just brace myself for more defiling of my memories, I suppose.
