THE SUN’S GOLDEN GLOW HAS long since disappeared by the time I get the opportunity to head back to my quarters again. I walk the open palace hallways alone. It’s a clear night and the moon is already rising, its reflection a silver smudge on the swells far below. I glance across at it and shiver, memories sharp.
I’m weary tonight. Training with the Thirds began not long after our morning meal, and barely let up throughout the day, reminding me more of Lanistia’s brutal schedule than anything I’ve experienced at the Academy thus far. A constant mixture of physical and mental exertion, sparring moving on to an economics debate followed by a run that had my lungs burning by the end. After which, the other three—who barely seemed to be breathing hard—proceeded to quiz one another on imbuing mathematics that I could follow, but not meaningfully discuss.
As well as I’m doing in Class Four, there’s still more than a small gap between me and the Thirds.
Exhausted though I am, I know I’m hours away from sleep. The senators will be talking well into the night, so this will be a good opportunity to find out which hall is being used, test how well I can overhear them, and then listen in for a while. Relucia may not care what’s being discussed over these first few days, but that’s because she can find out from Ulciscor. And she won’t tell me anything she doesn’t think I need to know.
I’m lost in thought as I round the final corner to the guest wing, starting a little at movement up ahead. It’s Indol, looking as fresh as if he’d just woken, strolling in the opposite direction.
“You kept up well today,” he says as we come closer, his genial demeanour indicating he means no offense.
I chuckle. “It was a little harder than I’m used to.”
“You’ll adapt. Everyone does. Gods, even Sianus managed it.” He claps me on the back. I’ve always wondered whether his effortless charm is something he cultivates for the sake of the others, but it’s no less prevalent because we’re alone. He goes to move on, then hesitates. “I wanted to apologise. About this morning.”
I frown. “For what?”
“The way we were treated.” A shadow passes over his face. “As soon as the summit’s over, I’ll be having a word to my father about that innkeeper.”
“That’s not necessary.” When he looks at me quizzically, I shrug. “Send too many of them to the Sappers, and the whole island will be in an uproar. Your father has to walk a line between respect and control. We all understand that.”
Indol nods slowly. “I suppose. Yes. Thank you for reacting so well.” He’s feeling some of the burden of hospitality here, evidently. He glances out the window, toward the ocean. Smiles slightly. “You’re not taking Emissa up on her offer of an evening swim, I see?”
I shrug again, this time uncomfortably, though I cover it with a sheepish smile of my own. “I’m not sure it was exactly an invitation. But I’m exhausted, anyway.”
Indol chuckles. “Wouldn’t stop most people. And that lagoon is very private.”
I start to respond, but the words stick in my throat. “Lagoon?”
“You know—the one along the beach where we were today. She said she was going to sneak out and—”
I’m running before he finishes, leaving whatever else he was going to say behind.
I do the calculations as I sprint to the palace entrance; the hallways are mostly empty, but I have to skid around a few Octavii here and there, who give me surprised looks but make no attempt to stop me. The tide’s going out. The riptide will be strongest right now. And as far as I know, no one’s warned Emissa. I certainly haven’t heard anyone mention it—though this morning when the tide was coming in, the danger wasn’t there, and so perhaps no one thought of it.
The strongest swimmers I’ve known were never a match for that current. And Emissa, by her own admission, hasn’t swum properly in years.
Only moonlight illuminates the clifftop, but I run it at full speed, relying on memory as much as sight to guide my feet. I slip a couple of times on loose shale, treacherously risky given the steep drop on the left. When I finally reach the path leading downward, I skid to a halt, scan below. I’m a long way away, but this is the best vantage point.
For a long few seconds, there’s just smooth water, oily in the night.
Then I see her. A dark shape struggling, floundering pointlessly against the current. If she wanted any chance at all, she’d be trying to swim along the coastline, out of the rip. It won’t drag her under; if she simply floats and waits for help, I’ll be able to reach her. But she doesn’t know that.
I can’t make it down to the beach, then out to her—that will take minutes she doesn’t have.
Fear energising me, I sprint for Aznaro’s Bluff. The rip will drag her past there, and we used to dive from it as children. Occasionally. It’s a fifty-foot drop to the water. We’d do it in daylight, with someone else present. And we never told our parents.
I track Emissa’s shape as I run, willing her to keep her head above water. She’s still thrashing. Splashing wildly. She’s fit and healthy, but with the energy she’s expending, I don’t have long.
I reach the bluff and jump without breaking stride.
Prepared though I am, the drop lurches my stomach into my chest. Everything crystalizes. I stiffen and point my feet at the water, noting Emissa’s struggling form, almost absently calculating where she’s heading. I’m still going to have to swim for her. And I can only see her head now. She’s fading.
The impact is sharp, but I can see clearly and I’m prepared for it, embracing the chill of the water and orienting myself quickly. As soon as my descent slows, I push upward. My tunic’s dragging me down. I keep calm, strip it off and propel myself again. Eager for air by the time I break the surface, but not desperate.
I immediately strike out at an angle, toward where I know Emissa’s being swept. The swells are thankfully light tonight, but I can’t see her; I’m almost at the point of panicking when I register a weak splash about fifty feet ahead, followed by gurgling gasps.
I reach her in less than a minute. She’s flailing, half sobbing and half choking; when she realises I’m there she has a renewed rush of energy, clinging onto me. Her nails score my shoulder.
“Emissa! Stay calm!” She’s dragging me down. I sputter as I inhale water, trying to keep my voice stern and gentle at the same time. More panic will only make things worse. I grip her tightly, force her to make eye contact. “We’re fine, but you need to stay calm.”
“Vis?” She coughs the name, as if not believing what she’s seeing, and for a moment I think she’s not going to listen. But then something in her takes control. She adjusts her grip on me so that I can hold her up.
“Just keep your head above water.” I’ve been caught in the riptide, too; the shore’s already significantly farther away. “We need to swim along the shoreline, get out of this current first. Don’t swim against it.”
We eke our way out of the rip; it’s hard to tell when we’re free but at some point, I realise Suus isn’t getting any more distant. That’s good. As much as I’m trying to project composure, I was already more than a little concerned at just how far back we were going to have to swim.
The next hour is a nightmare of straining through dark swells, stopping constantly to tread water or float in an effort to conserve strength, supporting Emissa as much as I can, fearful that if I let go she’ll simply sink. Her panic’s well past, now, and she’s doing everything she can to help, but she’s exhausted. Barely hanging on.
I try to place where we are as the cliffs of Suus finally grow larger. We’ve drifted east, to where the wind-blown bluffs meet the sea. There’s no beach here, but I don’t think I have the strength to get us to one. There are caves nearby, ones my siblings and I used to explore by boat. They will have to do.
Eventually we get close enough for me to spot a deeper darkness in the towering stone: only a few feet wide, little more than a crack, but I remember it. It opens up inside. Will be dry and out of any wind that might start up. The night’s warm enough and the water isn’t anywhere near freezing, but there will be no way to dry ourselves.
“In there?” Emissa baulks as she realises where I’m pulling her toward, but either from trust or simply exhaustion, she doesn’t resist. We paddle through into the darkness. Almost immediately there’s stone in front of me and I’m hauling myself up, bare stomach scraping against the jagged edge, then using the last of my strength to pull Emissa after me. We both collapse onto our backs, gasping relief. Water splashes only inches from our feet, echoing through the chamber. This place is smaller than I remember. But the tide’s still going out. We’re safe enough.
Our rasping breathing rattles around the space for a while, that and the waves the only sound. Eventually we both quieten. My eyes have adjusted to the dim; the moon’s reflecting off the water at the mouth of the cave, providing enough light to see. I glance across at Emissa. She’s awake. Just staring up into the darkness. She flinches as she senses my movement.
“Are you alright?” I ask it as gently as I can.
She nods. Barely more than a spent lifting of her head. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.
I can’t help but cough a laugh. “For what?” I prop myself up on one side, facing her. “It’s not your fault.”
She bursts into tears.
I stare, frozen, unsure how to react. Then I lever myself into a sitting position and shift over to her, taking her hand awkwardly in mine. She responds by sitting, too, and throwing her arms around me. She’s shaking, her face buried in my shoulder.
We just sit like that. After a while her trembling stops, her breathing eases. I realise, with a soft chuckle, she’s fallen asleep.
I lay carefully back on the stone, keeping her head on my shoulder. She doesn’t stir.
Uncomfortable a bed though it is, I’m asleep within moments too.
SUNLIGHT’S BOUNCING OFF WATER AND rippling onto the cave roof when I open my eyes again.
It takes me a bleary instant to remember where I am, what happened last night. Emissa’s gone from her position beside me. I groan as I stir, every muscle reminding me of why people don’t have stone beds.
There’s movement from just behind, and then Emissa is settling beside me, looking out through the cave mouth over the glittering water. She doesn’t say anything for a time, then turns to me. Smiles. “I thought you said you didn’t swim.”
I smile back. “I said didn’t, not couldn’t.”
She holds my gaze. “Well I’m glad you can, then. Thank you.”
I’m suddenly aware of how close we are. Only a foot between our faces. I flush, looking at the water. “Are you alright?”
“Hungry. A bit tired. Nothing to complain about.” She’s still looking at me, still close. “Where are we?”
“I’m not sure.” I indicate the sun. “East side of the island? We might have to swim again to get to a beach. I couldn’t see one last night. If we wait for low tide, though, there might be enough shallows to just wade around.”
“Either way, at least we can stay right by the shore. Take it slowly. It doesn’t look too rough out there.” Emissa doesn’t sound as confident as her words, but I’m glad she’s already come to the same conclusion. “Lucky you saw this cave. It just looked like a crack in the cliff, to me.”
“Lucky Indol mentioned you were going to the lagoon.” I hate lying to her right now, but I have to cover myself. I made decisions last night that are going to look awfully suspicious. “I heard one of the locals talking about the rip there yesterday, how dangerous it was. I used to swim with my father when we went down to the coast—there were rips there too, and he was always worried about them. I should have said something.” I hunch forward. Frown through the opening in front of us as I consider what else I did. Knowing it was safe to leap from Aznaro’s Bluff is hard to explain, but I can pass it off as simple recklessness. What I’ve just said should cover most of the rest.
“You couldn’t have known.” Emissa lays a hand lightly on my arm. My skin tingles at her touch. I know I should pull away; I can hear Ulciscor’s warnings ringing in my ears. But I don’t.
There’s an abrupt intake of breath from Emissa; when I turn to see what’s wrong, she’s just staring at me. At my shoulder. Carefully, she puts pressure on my arm, compelling me to twist away. I resist as I understand what’s caught her attention, then realise there’s no point. Reluctantly turn my back to her.
“How?” she whispers, aghast.
I don’t reply for a long moment. “The orphanage.”
“They did this to you? That’s… that’s barbaric.” Real anger creeps into her voice as she processes.
“It’s just the way things were.” I keep my tone neutral. Give her another second to examine the scars, then deliberately point them away from her again. “It’s in the past.”
Emissa watches me. Sad, but not pitying. “Alright.” She looks like she wants to say more, but she sees something in my expression. “Alright.”
Something loosens in my chest. I go back to sit beside her. Neither of us talk for a while.
“You think they’ll be worried about us?” I finally ask. The sun’s already indicating mid-morning, and the four of us were supposed to start training at first light.
“Not for a while. They’ll probably just make assumptions.”
“Ah.” We exchange half-rueful grins. “Well. Indol might wonder, at least, after the way I rushed off on him last night. If he’s worried enough to go to his father—”
“He won’t. Indol hates his father.”
“What?”
“They put on a good show, but that’s all it is.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You will once this year’s done.”
I glance at her curiously and she flushes, looking angry at herself. A pause, then, “Indol’s not going to serve in Military when he graduates.” It’s a reluctant admission.
“What?” I’m sure I’ve misheard. It would be strange for any graduate of the Academy not to join their family’s faction. For the first son of the Dimidius of Military not to do so is unthinkable.
She gives a brief chuckle at my reaction. “That’s what I said when he told me. He’s moving across to Religion, apparently. Wouldn’t say why. I have some guesses, but…” She looks at me warningly. “You can’t say anything. And if you do, he’ll just deny it.”
“Of course.” I rub my forehead. “Rotting gods. That’s a big thing to tell.”
“I guess he must like me.”
“I meant, to tell me.”
The corners of Emissa’s lips curl upward as she shrugs. “I guess I must like you,” she says softly.
She leans in, cautious. Head bowed so that her forehead almost touches mine. Her breath’s warm on my face.
I know, somewhere in the back of my mind, that I should pull away.
I kiss her.
There’s sea salt on her lips as we stay like that for a few heartbeats, awkward and sweet and soft. Despite the past few days, despite everything, I feel giddy. Light-headed, short of breath, and delighted. We eventually part, drawing back only a little, gazes meeting. Her eyes are lit by the reflecting water, bright and vibrant green.
“Finally,” she murmurs, and leans in again.
LOW TIDE, IN A LOT of ways, comes too soon.
It’s a clumsy journey around the edge of the cliff; the stone’s rough and slippery, and we’re constantly buffeted by breaking waves. But it’s not dangerous. There’s a newfound lightness to everything; falls that would have been frustrating are cause for laughter and teasing, excuses to be caught or hauled up close by the other. We’re tired and progress is slow as the sun burns high overhead, but neither of us mind. The terror of last night seems a distant memory.
By the time the sloping sands of Solencio Beach come into view, though, I’ve had some time to think. What I’ve already said to Emissa should account for most of my apparent local knowledge, but I need to ensure Indol hears the same sooner rather than later. Suspicion is easy to prevent, far harder to dispel. I cannot risk allowing it to take root.
The fishing village off Solencio Beach is small, all locals but no one I recognise; soon enough we’re being given a hot meal and dry clothes, both Emissa and I promising repayment once we reach the palace. The Octavii here aren’t thrilled to find Catenan citizens washing up on their shore, but nor are they unkind. Exactly the response I’d hope for from my people. My good mood is brightened by their generosity of spirit.
I’m saved having to explain how I know my way back to the palace by a fisherman who offers us transport to the main harbour. He’s a cheerful fellow, sun-burned, bare-chested, and rugged, his constant stream of chatter on the hour-long journey an indication that he’s more than pleased at the company. I think he spots the way we look at each other, stand together, though neither of us is trying to make it obvious. His smiles are too knowing to be directed at anything else.
My lightness of spirit—only buoyed by the trip, the sun on my back, sea spray wafting as our small vessel scythes through the waves—inevitably dampens as we come in sight of the rebuilt jetty of the harbour, along with the anchored mass of slick Will-powered ships that brought the senators. I’ve found a moment of joy here with Emissa, but it doesn’t change anything. I still have a job to do.
So by the time we’re stepping off the boat, I’ve noticeably coughed a few times. When we’re ushered into the palace to the at first amused, then horrified expressions of Indol and Belli as we explain what happened—minus some details—I make sure to let my throat go hoarse. Sway on my feet, look grateful for the opportunity to sit.
I bravely wave off the concerns of the others, including Emissa. Smile wanly and assure them it’s just weariness. But once dinner is complete, I don’t object to being directed to get an early night. Which, to be fair, is not part of the act.
I’m sorely tempted to scout the tunnels again once I’m back in my room—I’ve already lost one night, and if I discover the meetings aren’t being held where I expect, I won’t have time to come up with a solution—but Ulciscor and the other senators will hear about our exploits once the meetings end today. The risk of getting a visit is too high.
My caution proves wise when a gentle knock pierces my consciousness sometime later in the evening.
I don’t have to feign lethargy as I stumble over to the door. The moon has risen outside the window. It’s late.
“You’re awake. Good.” Ulciscor assesses me as I open the door wider once I see who it is. “Are you well?”
“Could be worse,” I say noncommittally, giving my voice a slight rasp.
Ulciscor enters. Lanistia’s close behind, impassive, dark glasses reflecting the silvery light. Once they’re inside I shut and lock the door again. Ulciscor is using the excuse of checking on me, but he’ll no doubt take the opportunity to talk about more sensitive things.
“Well. Congratulations. You’ve managed to get all the senators here talking. Again.” Ulciscor sounds as though he doesn’t know whether to be impressed or exasperated as he slumps onto my bed. “Risking your life to pluck a drowning girl from the ocean. One who, if she had died, would have let you straight into Class Three. A hero straight from a gods-damned saga.”
I stare blearily at him. “I… apologise?”
He glares, then sighs and waves his hand wearily. “I thought I told you to stay away from her.”
“I didn’t think that extended to letting her die.”
“It didn’t,” interjects Lanistia, with a reproving look in Ulciscor’s direction.
Ulciscor nods, and I wonder if I’m imagining the motion’s reluctance. “I wouldn’t ask that of you. But word is already getting around that the two of you seem more friendly than ever, since you got back. And I know how friendly you already seemed two nights ago.”
I flush. “I’m being careful.”
Ulciscor sighs again. “Make sure you are, Vis.” He glances around, as though checking the room for some hidden listener. “Now. After the Festival of the Ancestors. Did you make it to the ruins?”
The extra tension in Ulciscor’s voice betrays his anxiousness. He’s been wanting this conversation since I left the Necropolis.
“I did. It didn’t go quite as planned, but… I saw it. Saw what I think Caeror was trying to tell you about, what Veridius and Religion have been hiding.”
I relate my journey and experience at the red dome in as much detail as I can, making sure to appear weak and tired, preparing for my apparent onset of illness tomorrow. Ulciscor just listens with head bowed, occasionally glancing up at me, otherwise moving only to take off his cloak as the room heats up with three bodies in it. His arms bulge as they jut from his tunic. His deep brown eyes return to studying the stone floor once he’s done, but I can tell he’s devouring every word.
Lanistia, true to form, barely reacts to anything I say. Not even when I explain about Artemius and Elia, about how their eyes were like hers.
When I finish, Ulciscor exhales, brow furrowed into the silence. Thinking.
“You’ll have to run it. At the Iudicium, I suppose, would be easiest.”
The words hang in the air, punctuated by the distant, echoing waves below. I don’t react for several seconds, certain I’ve misheard, or misunderstood, or that he’s joking. But he continues to look dourly at the floor, silhouetted against the glistening swells out the window beyond.
“You heard what I just said, right? About Artemius being torn apart by whatever it is down there?”
“I did.”
My confusion turns to anger. “No. I’ve held up my end of the bargain, and—”
“You have done no. Such. Thing.” Ulciscor stands abruptly, his voice low. Harsh. “I asked you to find out what happened to Caeror. What you’ve done is describe to me places Caeror might have been. Now, if you find proof of how he died—something you can bring to me, something I can then take to the Senate—before the Iudicium, then I absolve you of this. But if you do not, then it’s what you need to do. This is what will fulfil your obligation to me. Do it, and you can truly be of House Telimus. Or not. You will be free to go wherever you wish upon graduation, with no interference from me.” He looks at me, all cold determination. “It can’t save you, you know. This reputation you’ve been cultivating. Fail, and I will put you in a Sapper. No one will stand in the way of my rights as your father, and I’ll still have that right for weeks after the Iudicium is over. Have no doubt that I will exercise it.”
I gape. Stunned. So that’s why he’s been short with me tonight, why he wasn’t pleased about me saving Emissa. He still feels like he’s losing control of me.
“I… I’m not good enough at the Labyrinth. I’ll die,” I stutter eventually.
“Then improve. You still have four months.”
“Lanistia. Say something.” I turn to her, pleading for her to talk some sanity into the Magnus Quintus.
Lanistia sighs. “He’s right.”
“You see, Vis? You just—”
“Not you. Him. Vis is right.” Lanistia’s voice is steady as she turns to Ulciscor. “He’s done what you asked of him. We have information we can work with now.”
Ulciscor glares at her. “We won’t get this opportunity again.” He turns back to me. “I am sorry, Vis. I understand that this is dangerous. But I asked you early on whether you were willing to risk your life. You said yes.”
I’m lost. Speechless. For perhaps the first time, I’m seeing the depth of Ulciscor’s obsession—or at least, that his determination to find out what happened to his brother far outweighs any concern he may have for me.
“I suppose I don’t have a choice, then.” Bitter and dazed, the illusion of having achieved enough with that brutal journey to the ruins dashed. The heaviness of this place and my position here, briefly forgotten, returns to smother me.
“No. You don’t.” Ulciscor rubs his face tiredly. “We’ve already spent too much time in here with you. I doubt we’ll have the chance to talk again like this before I leave the island. Maybe not before the Iudicium, in fact. So is there anything else you need to tell me?”
I shake my head numbly.
He clasps me briefly by the shoulder. Grim. “Then gods guide you for the next four months, Vis.”
He leaves, not looking back.
Lanistia moves to follow him, but pauses at the door.
“You picked up the Labyrinth faster than most I’ve seen. Train hard. You can make it through.” She lowers her voice even further. A whisper of emotion in it. “Don’t die.”
She follows Ulciscor, leaving me alone once again.
