XX

“I NEED SOME AIR.”

I’ve spent the better part of the last hour getting to know the people who have just given me half their Will, now. They’re unfailingly polite; a couple are uncomfortably fawning. I’ve put up with the latter with as much good grace as I can. It’s a formality, anyway, as Livia is undoubtedly the intended representative of the group. Chances are, I won’t have a lot of direct contact with any of the others once we finish here.

“We’re in a courtyard.” Livia looks disinclined to care.

“Just a couple of minutes. The adjustment to having this much Will was harder than I thought.” Show some vulnerability. Sometimes it helps.

“You’re not supposed to leave.”

“Then come with me.” I give her what I hope is a charming smile.

“You know that would still be leaving, right?”

“I suppose.” I shrug, still smiling. Make my tone light. Vek. “Just wanted to clear my head before Placement.”

“A clear head’s not going to help if you’re dead.” Her tone is a hair short of scolding, despite her age. Not that I can blame her. It’s an obvious objection, just one I’d vainly hoped she wasn’t confident enough to make. “Placement being today was supposed to be a secret, but that crowd out there is here for you. You don’t think that’s strange? It’s a good way to hide an assassin.”

“So that’s why the gates are still locked?”

“I would imagine.” She squints at me. I’m not sure whether it’s suspicion or something else. “Take a walk around the complex, if you have to, Catenicus. But we leave in fifteen minutes.”

I take the advice with a nod, wondering again at her brusqueness, especially by comparison to everyone else. Livia wanders away, and I slip through an archway into the shadows of the colonnade before anyone mistakes solitude for availability.

Fifteen minutes. Rotting gods.

Assuming the Will-carriage is driven as others are in Caten, it will move quickly as soon as the compound gate is open and just expect the crowd to jump out of the way. I could trail my arm out the window, possibly. If Eidhin was in position, it would be enough. But he doesn’t even know Placement is being held elsewhere; he would have to spot the carriage, realise I’m inside, and get close enough among the crowd to touch me, all within a few seconds of our appearing.

I jog up a flight of stairs, then another, as I picture the outside of the building. Ground and second floors had no windows but on the third, there was a balcony. Small, but definitely there.

There are a few people walking the inner terraces, but no one pays me any attention as I try the first door. Peer through. Open, but only windows here.

The next is Will-locked. Vek. No getting in there.

The third has a long glass door at the far end. I can see the stone balustrade just beyond.

I slip inside. Hurry to the balcony. The milling press below is even larger than when I arrived, crowding the already busy Catenan street. I scan the swarm for any sign of Eidhin—usually he stands out, with his red hair, pale skin, and massive bulk—but I can’t see him. Not that it means he’s not here. If he is, given Caten’s current divisions, he’s probably very wisely keeping to the outskirts and hoping he doesn’t get recognised as being from Military.

Behind me, the door clicks shut. “Quite the popular man, Catenicus.”

I flinch around. The newcomer saunters toward me, white scar from chin to forehead twisted by a cheerful grin. My hand twitches to the empty spot on my belt where a dagger would normally be. “You.” Deep breath. Force down the momentary rage that threatens to boil over. Relucia said he would make contact, but this has to be the worst possible moment for it.

“Indeed.”

“What do you want? Someone will be coming to find me soon.”

“Not to fear. We shan’t be long.” He paces. Restless, constantly in motion. Knife in hand. The same one as from the Iudicium, I think. He plays with it absently. Sharp metal flowing between his fingers. Studying eyes never leaving me. “I did intend to time our little chat to coincide with your test this morning, at first. But it turned out you had it entirely under control.” He smiles approvingly.

“You knew about that?” Caution briefly forgotten. “I was warned about them taking my blood, but what were all those questions?”

“It was a mendax animus test.” He sees my blank look. Waves a casual hand. “Difficult to explain. The important thing is that you passed. And now, you need to succeed in Placement.”

“That’s the aim,” I say curtly, recognising that my curiosity isn’t going to be rewarded with a follow-up. Not that I have the time to waste, anyway. Less than ten minutes until I’m meant to be driven out that gate.

“Of course. Of course. But you are… lessened. It will be difficult.”

“I know.” It hurts not to argue it, but Will requires physical conditioning to wield. The disadvantage is undeniable.

“I may be able to help, if you are interested.”

“How?”

He tuts. “Manners, dear boy!”

My jaw clenches. I was never sure if this man actually killed some of my classmates, or whether he was simply with the people who did. But I have no time, and he’s right. If he can help… “Please.”

“Hmm.” He raises an eyebrow. “Unconvincing, but I am curious to see what you can do. Are you still able to sense the Will around us?”

Part of me wants to ask, or dissemble, but I already know what he’s talking about. I’ve thought about it a lot, this past month, and it’s the only thing that makes sense. “No. It faded after the Iudicium. Though it did come back briefly, when I touched the Aurora Columnae.”

“It will return in time, as you learn to look for it. Assuming all remains well in Luceum.” He sighs. “It’s not necessary, but it is an excellent counterpart to an ability you have called Adoption. Adoption allows you to take control of any Will imbued into something, no matter who imbued it.”

I cough a disbelieving laugh. Certain I’ve misunderstood and then, under the man’s steady gaze, certain he is insane. “That’s not possible.”

“Nor is being able to sense concentrations of Will. And yet you have experienced it. Along with many other ‘impossible’ things, recently, no doubt.” He shrugs. “Believe me or do not, Catenicus. But if you touch an object that has been imbued, you can use the Will within it.”

Silence. My mind races. It goes against everything we learned at the Academy. “How?”

“From what I understand, you simply need to make physical contact, and keep the object in your mind as if you were the one imbuing it. Other than that?” He shrugs again. “The joy of discovery, my boy. I never had the ability, myself.”

I glower. “Very helpful.”

“And yet worth knowing, given your situation. Especially if you’re not going to reclaim the rest of your Will from whoever you’re ceding to.”

I hold my breath. “He should be outside. In the crowd. But they barred the gate, stopped anyone from coming in. I don’t know how to get to him.” Perhaps he has a way to help.

The man’s mouth twists. Amusement as he glances out the long window. “Ah,” he says apologetically.

I stare at him. The implication clear enough. “It was you? You told people I would be here?”

He spreads his hands. Not so much regretful, as an indication that he thought it was necessary. “Locked gates mean lax security. Fewer eyes. More spaces for conversations such as these. And I did think this morning would be more complicated.”

I exhale. Frustrated. Feeling the seconds tick away. He’s not going to help with Eidhin. Gods, he still seems more amused by the whole thing than anything else. “How did you convince so many people to come?”

“Convince them? My boy. I only had to whisper your name; Caten already talks of little else. The thrill of a storied hero presented with yet another challenge. Can he overcome? Has he been wronged, the way his prior victories have been so thoroughly ignored? Will his youth be swallowed by the political maw of the Senate?” Theatrical, revelling in the drama of the questions. “You know of the divisions between Governance and Military and Religion, of course, but do you think those truly matter to the Octavii and Septimii who work the fields and mines? No. They watch in fear. They wonder when the ambitions of their betters will lead to the deaths of their children. And then amidst it all, is you. The man who saved them. The man who survives. These people are desperate for a hero, Catenicus. Hidden away though you have been, your popularity only grows.”

I’m silent after he finishes. Mind racing. He’s right; I’ve been so shut away that I have no idea what people think of me now. What he’s describing is far from definitively beneficial: every senator inside and outside of Governance would be wary of such popularity.

But it may have its uses, too.

The stranger waves a hand as he continues to pace. “Our time grows short, so listen carefully. In five months, at the Festival of Pletuna, there will be a gathering at the Forum as there is every year. You need to be in attendance, and you need to make sure everyone sees you. Really takes note of you. You’ll also need a way to conceal your identity that night, when the time comes. A mask. Something to hide your missing arm.” He pauses. “And you must ensure you have learned how to perform Adoption before then.”

“Why?”

He chuckles. “You know better than to ask.”

I feel my hand ball into a fist. This list he’s given me… it doesn’t sound promising. “And if I were to refuse?”

His smile fades. For the first time, he stops moving. “You know better than to ask.”

My breath is tight. This man’s hands are as bloody as Relucia’s, but unlike hers, they do not seem to be that way for a reason. “So this is all for the Anguis again?”

“I suppose. But for much bigger things than that too, Catenicus. For the world. Have you seen the way the Aurora Columnae glow so brightly? Time is running out.” He glances toward the door. “But if it helps to sweeten the deal—once you have done what I ask, I will give you every single senator who agreed to our little adventure on Solivagus. The names of every man and woman in Caten who knew your friends would die.”

I freeze. The time pressure forgotten. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I no longer need them. But I do need you.” His smile shows too many teeth. “Until then, Catenicus.”

The air warps and before I can move, before I can say anything, he is gone.

I PACE. FIVE MINUTES, IF that, until livia indicated we were to leave. The conversation with the man—I still have no name for him—has left me reeling, especially his parting words. But I don’t have the time to digest it.

I steel myself, and walk out onto the sunlit balcony.

Nothing for a few seconds. Then a shout. A single cheer, joined and then joined again until it becomes an excited wave of noise. Someone has caught sight of me, spotted the absence in my sleeve. Fingers point and voices raise; people are calling out to me, enthusiastically trying to ask or tell me things, but individuals are lost in the cacophony.

I study them desperately. They’re too packed in, too animated to spot if my friend is down there. But what I can see is their weariness. Even at a distance, even through their excitement at my appearance, they wear it in every shout and every line. It’s recognisable only for how commonplace it is.

“Hail, friends!” I shout it, holding up my arm for a lull which is quickly granted. Morbidly thankful for the Will of my Septimii, allowing my mind to move fast enough for this. I have always despised speaking in public. “Thank you for coming. My time is short today but I wanted to tell you this directly. I wanted you to hear it from me because it’s you who are the heart of our great Republic and it is you, in my eyes, who are most deserving of its provision.” I make full use of the oratory skills that have been drilled into me over the past year. The strategic fluctuations of voice. The dramatic pauses. The emotive hand gestures, though some I cannot perform effectively for obvious reasons.

A murmur of disgruntled agreement into the hush. Faces upturned toward me, even more intent than before.

I continue. “As I was recovering from my wounds two months ago, I was introduced to a man who had suffered an injury similar to mine. He had just returned to Deditia after serving for twenty years. Butaria, then Nyripk, then Aquiria. Twenty years.” Some part of me aware I could still stop. Probably should stop. Good though this cause is, supporting it isn’t going to do me any favours within the Senate. “As a young, newly married man, he had been promised riches and promotion. He found neither. Instead, he came home still a Septimii, to find his family starving and his wife forced to sell his farm to the very senators who had sent him away.”

It’s made up, but common enough that no one will question it. I see eyes straining after me, down below. Attention rapt. They hear their own tale in my words.

“Since that day, I have walked among you here in what is meant to be the greatest city in the world. I have walked her streets and I have heard your stories, stories that are frighteningly alike that first one. I have seen your faces and I have seen your pain and I have wept.” I take a deep breath. Long enough. If Eidhin is down there, he must surely be paying attention by this point. “So I pledge this to you now. I will put my support behind Magnus Sextus Aquila and his demand for land reform. Cerbyd nawr. I will add my voice to the thousands that already cry out for the fair redistribution of property, so that you may once again earn the fruits of your own labour.” I pause. Let silence wash over them, just for a second. Then I raise my fist in both solidarity and farewell. “This I swear to you. I stand with you. Stronger together, my friends.”

I turn, and step off the balcony.

“CATENICUS!” The roar chases me back into the room. Rattles the glass as I shut the door. “CATENICUS!”

My heart pounds. Cerbyd nawr. “Carriage now.” The Cymrian is clumsy; the entire attempt was clumsy. But if I’d let the entire crowd know I’m about to leave, Eidhin’s task in getting to me would be infinitely more difficult. And Cymrian’s officially a dead language, one that surely won’t be recognised or easily remembered by any of those below. Unless I am unlucky, those two words will be discarded as something that simply wasn’t heard correctly. Forgotten in any retelling.

The door bursts open almost as soon as I’ve closed the one to the balcony, and Livia glares at me. “Were you just making a rotting speech, Catenicus?”

The chants outside continue echo my name.

“Ah. Well…” I bare my teeth in a sheepish approximation of a smile.

“Gods’ graves.” She shakes her head in disgust. Unamused. “Come on. Time to leave.”

We make the walk back to the courtyard, where a well-appointed Will-carriage waits, sharp-eyed Darius in the driver’s seat. Livia gets in with me. Within a minute, the gates are opening and we are lurching into motion.

“You should draw the curtain,” observes Livia.

“It’s important that they see me. That they know I’m not hiding away.”

She rolls her eyes, but doesn’t argue.

The carriage trundles into the crowded street. We’re already gathering speed, our driver aiming to scatter the gathered onlookers.

“Catenicus!” The single shout goes up and then more voices. I lean out the window and grin, raise my hand and thrust it out. Accept the enthusiastic slaps and briefly clasped hands of the crowd as the carriage slows to turn, and they swarm.

And then, energy.

It floods to me in a moment, an instant. I don’t even see Eidhin, though he must be close and he’s not a small man. But suddenly, my blood is racing through my veins. Everything is sharp.

I lean out for another few seconds, then slide back into my seat. Face smooth. Concealing any sign of my utter, utter relief.

Livia eyes me with disdain, then turns and stares out her own window at Caten rolling past. I study the back of her head. “Do you know where we’re going?”

“Sciacca.”

“Why?”

“Politics.” A breath, and then as a concession, “I don’t know the details.”

The sound of stone beneath wheels fills the space between us; I’m tempted to let it continue, but I’m going to be working with Livia for the foreseeable future. I need to establish some sort of rapport. “So. Have you been through these tests?”

“Of course.” Dismissive. Treating it as a stupid question rather than me trying to open a conversation. I try not to bristle.

“What were they like?”

“Simple enough.” Still not turning from her inspection of the city slipping by. I think she’s going to leave it at that, then she sighs. “You’ll need to demonstrate your strength. How much you can lift when you self-imbue. Then whether you can imbue objects, and how many at the same time. Whether you need line of sight to maintain it. That sort of thing.”

“Those seem like strange skills to test for Placement. They can all be improved with training, can’t they?”

“The point is to measure your natural ability, before you can practice.” Her impatience says this should be obvious. “Think of Placement as measuring your… ceiling, in terms of talent. The results will follow you for the rest of your life.”

“Sounds like I should make an effort, then.” I force a grin.

It doesn’t have the desired effect. Livia’s eyes narrow. “Everything you do from now on is a reflection on Governance, Catenicus. On my father. So yes. You gods-damned well should.”

The creak and clatter of the carriage settles between us once again.

“Have I… done something to offend you?” I’m at a loss. I didn’t expect to be treated like family, but I was her brother’s friend.

“Why would you think that?”

“Because… you seem to be a little… confrontational?”

“Would you prefer I was intimidated?”

“Would it make you more civil?”

Livia’s lips twist into a scowl. She stares ahead grimly.

I throw up my hands. “Look, we have to work together. If you have a problem with me, now is the time to air it.”

“My problem?” Livia doesn’t look at me. Her cheeks are flushed with anger. “My problem is that I don’t trust you. Not even slightly.”

“Your brother did.”

“And now he’s dead.” She finally turns to glare at me. Her eyes glisten. Her voice is ice. “He’s dead, Catenicus, and you are using my father’s grief to get revenge for it. You may be a hero. But what is the point of heroes if they don’t save the ones you love?” The crack in her voice is sadness and frustration and emptiness. She turns back to her window, and every line of her body is stiff with pointed disinterest in my presence or further conversation. “It doesn’t matter. You will fail today, your star will fall, and soon enough you will be gone from my family’s lives forever.”

I watch her. Open my mouth to speak. Think better of it. Nothing I say will help, right now. Sometimes people simply need time.

And sometimes, not even that works.

We roll toward my Placement examination in grim, uncomfortable silence.