XLIX

“EVERYONE’S HAVING A NICE TIME, I see.” I let my gaze rove the sullen crowd as Aequa leads. Diago nudged his head under her hand in greeting, then retreated to trail after me again. The mob parts hastily before us.

“You should have seen it twenty minutes ago.” Not a lot of humour to Aequa’s observation.

“Ulciscor said something about Military’s leadership leaving?”

She nods grimly. “Everything seemed… alright, before that. Tense, but a bit hopeful. And then their Dimidii and Tertii just got up and walked out.” Her voice gets quiet. “I don’t think it was a statement; they clearly instructed the rest of their people to stay. But everyone’s panicking anyway. Tertius Ericius has been running around trying to find out what’s going on.”

I nod, spotting the Censor talking urgently to a group of surly-looking senators, identifiable thanks to their purple stripes despite the festival’s etiquette. “Did the others come?”

“They’re all here.”

Our small group of Academy graduates has carved out a spot in the shadows of the Temple of Jovan’s colonnade, high enough to watch over almost the entire Forum, dark and concealed enough that no one is really giving them a second glance. No one within twenty feet, and no questioning looks. Though that changes as I approach.

“Rotting gods.” Felix sighs, stamping his feet against the chill of winter’s approach. “Leave it to Catenicus to put every eyeball in the gods-damned Forum on us.” Humour in the observation, but he still edges away slightly as the alupi comes to stand at my side.

“We are not trying to hide,” rumbles Eidhin.

“We’re not trying to be the centre of attention, either.” Indol flicks the corner of his tunic with an apprehension that seems to mirror the others’. “Hail, Vis.”

“Hail, everyone. Don’t worry. I can’t stay for long, anyway.” Aequa comes to stand at my side as I examine the group. A half dozen of us, all up. Aequa and me, Indol and Felix, Eidhin and Emissa. We’ve kept in touch, as best we can through the walls erected by our respective factions. Using imbued stylii like the one Indol gave me, mostly. “Does anyone know why Military left?” I’m anxious to know if anyone has news, but no point ignoring the obvious.

“They haven’t left. Most of us are still here,” points out Emissa quickly. “There had to have been some emergency they had to deal with. I’m sure they’ll be back with an explanation soon.”

“Would have been a lot better if they had given one on the way out,” mutters Aequa, eliciting a few murmurs of assent. Emissa’s mouth twists in irritation, though it’s a reasonable observation.

“They did appear to be in a rush,” Eidhin interjects before anyone can say anything more. “Whatever is happening, I do not believe it is designed to cause friction.”

“But it has,” points out Felix. “They have to know how important tonight is, all the pyramids voluntarily together like this. And they have to know what their leaving must look like. My father told my sister and mother to get out as soon as it happened. Everyone who matters from Religion and Governance is here. If they attack…”

“They won’t.” Indol, to my surprise. He looks at me. Certain. “I don’t know what this is, but Military won’t make the first move. They want legitimacy and for things to stay the same. They betray the Republic—gods, on tonight of all nights—and they lose their chance at that forever.”

“You’re sure?” When he nods, I try not to show the persistence of my unease. Indol doesn’t know his father as well as he believes. “Alright.” I lower my voice. “Any other news?”

“You were right about the Navisalus. It was one of four ships that went missing on the Sea of Quus in the weeks before the attack. Presumed sunk or lost to pirates.” Felix speaks up first, keeping his voice to a murmur. “It took some digging through the paperwork, but it was owned by Tertius Ciserius.”

There’s an awkward lull, and though no one looks at him, Indol shifts at the news. Ciserius is close with his father; the man likely came for meals at his house. “He would not have acted without my father’s knowledge,” Indol eventually says heavily. Eyes on me.

I nod grimly. I’ve already told him what I told Eidhin, and Aequa, and Ulciscor—that I overheard the Anguis talking during the Iudicium about the Navisalus, and high-ranking senators’ foreknowledge and support of the attack. That my warning to him was based on suspicion, not proof. But given what he already knew, he had to have guessed that this confirmation was coming.

“It’s not irrefutable, though,” observes Felix glumly. “And we don’t have names.”

“We’ll get both.” I inwardly wonder, again, whether I can even hope to trust the word of Relucia’s strange contact. But Military by now have to know that they were outmanoeuvred; the Anguis cannot hope to use them again. So giving me the conspirators, and thus likely sowing more chaos into the fragility of Caten, seems very clearly to serve the Anguis’s purposes. “If we do—Emissa, have you spoken to your father?”

She nods slowly. “If the evidence is there, he’s willing to help.”

“ ‘Willing to help’?” Aequa coughs a soft laugh. “I’m sure it’s a real sacrifice for him.”

“It’s still dangerous. We won’t get anyone on board with something like this unless the reward is big enough.” Emissa’s response is tight. She turns to me, dismissing Aequa. “If you find anything we can use…”

“I’ll let you know.”

We converse for a few more minutes after that amidst the harsh slur of discontent and anxiety that floats up to our position from across the crowded Forum. Felix does most of the talking, low-voiced and grim as he fills us in on the information he’s been privy to with Quintus Fulvius, who’s in charge of infrastructure maintenance—and thus, has to stay apprised on potential Anguis activity. The escapees from the naumachia, led by Vulferam, have apparently been recruiting in Melior’s name to the north. There’s a suspicion there too, now, that Military have been dragging their heels in rounding them up. Making sure they’re a big enough threat to be noticeable before acting. But no proof of it, of course.

We all listen intently to the details. As betrayed as the others all feel by their leaders’ involvement in the Iudicium, none of us have forgotten the Anguis’s role.

“Gods. It will be such a relief when Military are under control again, and actually do their jobs,” mutters Aequa, shaking her head as Felix finishes.

“Not that the rest of the Senate has exactly been ‘under control.’ ” Emissa frowns. “They’re not the only ones causing these problems.”

“You know what she means. The Anguis are Military’s responsibility,” rumbles Eidhin.

“I know exactly what she means. I wish she would just say it out—”

A low growl from Diago, who has been silent up until now, cuts her off. The others flinch and look at the alupi uneasily, as if only just reminded of his presence. I put my hand on his head reassuringly. Saved from having to intervene. There have been a few of these irritable, sniping clashes already. Nothing serious, but there’s no escaping the fact that as much as we all want the same thing, the influences of the past few months are starting to bleed through.

I’m about to redirect the conversation when I’m stopped by a voice from behind. “I think it’s time you walk me home, Vis.” It’s Relucia, climbing the stairs toward our group. Smiling blithely, with a perfect undercurrent of girlish, vulnerable worry.

Vek. My heart lurches. Amidst all of this, I’d almost forgotten why I’m really here tonight. “Alright.”

“Already?” Felix sounds disappointed. I think he’s enjoyed the notoriety of being in this group.

“You should all leave, too. We’ve talked. None of us need to be here now.” I try to emphasise it to them as much as I can without sounding like I know something they don’t.

There’s a reluctance, but eventually Eidhin nods his agreement, and the others soon follow. We embrace one by one, murmuring nothing but polite farewells under Relucia’s gaze. Still, there’s something to the goodbyes. They linger just a little more than they normally would, even for friends not seen in a while.

It might just be me. But it feels like it could be for the last time.

Relucia and I are not quite down the stairs and into the main section of the Forum, Diago’s stalking presence clearing an easy path, when my name rings out again through the growl of the unsettled gathering. I turn, heart sinking as I recognise the voice. Sure enough, Livia’s slim form is weaving her way toward us, gaze fixed firmly on me.

“It’s the Tertius’s daughter. She’s been trying to see me for weeks. She’ll follow us if I don’t get rid of her.”

Relucia mutters something under her breath. “One minute. He’s waiting.” She hurries off ahead, just out of earshot, as Livia hurries up.

“You’re leaving?” She looks dismayed.

“I said I’d walk my mother home.”

“You have to stay. People are watching to see what you do.”

“Then hopefully they’ll leave too.” I meet her gaze. Relucia’s impatient shuffling in the corner of my eye. “Does your father know you’re here?”

“What does that matter?” Her defiance wilts a little beneath my unrelenting stare. “No. I haven’t seen him yet.”

“He won’t want you to be. Believe me.”

“And?”

“And he is a smart man, Livia.” I think quickly. “Aequa is just up the stairs there; she’s about to leave as well. She’s only a few streets from your house. I’m sure she’d be happy to walk you home.”

It’s a miscalculation, I immediately see. She scowls. “So you’re just ordering me around, now?” A slight flush. Stupid of me. Clumsy. Her pride was wounded on Solivagus, and I’ve barely seen her since. Taking charge so abruptly now will only put her back up.

“I want you to get out of here.” I put my honesty into the words, this time. Gentler, caring rather than commanding. “If something happens tonight, your father and the other senators can look after themselves. People like you and I will either be crushed or used against them.”

Diago, who has been padding behind me silently, pushes forward. Gently butts his head against her arm. She flinches, but she had several hours to grow accustomed to Diago on the Transvect ride back from Solivagus. She strokes his head cautiously. Looks around. Something in her gaze shifting, almost imperceptibly. I see the faintest trace of the fear she must be feeling. That we’re all feeling. “You think it will come to that?”

“I think it could.”

Behind her, a particularly raucous round of abrupt, forced laughter makes us both twitch. “Gods’ graves.” She mutters it, then makes a vaguely embarrassed gesture. Still young enough to be told off for cursing. “Will Aequa mind?”

“Tonight? She’s not stupid. Gods, she’ll get upset if you don’t go with her.”

“Alright.” Her skin is tinted purple in the coloured light that illuminates the statue we’re standing beside. She moves as if to go, then hesitates. “You’ve been avoiding me, since Solivagus.”

“I’ve just been busy. Mainly making sure he settled in.” I nod toward Diago. It’s mostly true. That, and spending every other second I had practicing using either Adoption or Harmonic imbuing in preparation for tonight.

She smooths her dress. Unsure of herself. “I didn’t tell my father, you know. About you getting rid of me to go and do… whatever you did.”

I study her. She thinks that’s why I’ve been avoiding her. Better than wondering what I’ve been up to, I suppose. “Why?”

“Because I know you’re trying to find out what happened. I know you’ll do what you can to find the people who… who killed my brother. I don’t want to make things harder for you by getting you in trouble.”

I nod slowly. She’s being genuine, I think. “Thank you.”

“And I just wanted to let you know,” she presses on. A little desperately, as if anxious to force the words out. “What I said. In the carriage, on the way to Placement.”

“It’s alright.”

“It’s not.” Awkward in the admission as she stares at the ground, brow furrowed. “Callidus wasn’t your fault and it was cruel to have said otherwise.”

She glances up, just long enough to meet my gaze, to check that I’ve heard and understood. Then she smiles tightly and strides off.

My heart eases as I watch her go. Some part of me feels responsible for her. I think, maybe, that’s what Callidus would have expected of me.

“Are you quite done?” I’m lost enough in thought that Relucia’s voice by my left ear makes me start. I remember our façade just in time to smile instead of scowl as I turn to her. Cheerfully offer my arm for her to loop hers through. And we walk jauntily again, Diago padding after us, this time through the ring of Praetorians and into the shadows of brooding Caten’s evening.

AS SOON AS WE’RE OUT of sight relucia takes the lead, guiding me through several alleys adjacent to the Forum before finally stopping in front of an entirely nondescript wooden door set into a high wall. A residence, identical to a hundred others in the area. She knocks gently and a moment later, we’re slipping inside.

“You’re late.” It’s dim in here, and the owner of the brusque voice is veiled in shadow, only just enough of his narrow features visible for me to be sure it’s him on the other side of the table. I feel a renewed flush of sick anxiety. No backing out. No escaping. Not now.

“Hail, Ostius. Somebody decided to bring his pet. It got a lot of attention.” On cue, Diago stalks inside after us. He bares his teeth and issues a rumbling growl of warning across the room.

The man—Ostius; strangely relieving to finally know his name—is surprisingly unperturbed, at least from what I can make of his silhouette. “An alupi?” He takes Diago in. “My, my. I thought these things only defended the Nexus here. How interesting. You and I must exchange stories soon, young man.” He sighs. “I can imagine he caused quite the stir. Well done. I assume, though, you know he won’t be able to tag along for what comes next.”

I keep my face smooth. Nexus. One of those strange terms I found myself unwillingly speaking aloud in the ruins. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I have no idea what he’ll do without me around.” Diago will likely wait patiently wherever I tell him to—I’ve tested exactly that a few times since arriving back from Solivagus, and he seems to reliably obey—but it’s an excuse to find out more in advance. “Depending on where we’re going, I can make sure he stays out of sight.”

“Just a short journey. It’s not a question of subtlety, though. Simply logistics.” Ostius pauses. Peers forward. “Although…”

He strides into the light, eyes completely black, ignoring a warning growl as he seizes the alupi’s head between his hands and crouches so that his nose is only inches from Diago’s. There’s a second of shocked silence as both Relucia and I just stare, and then before I can say anything, he’s stepping back again with a delighted chuckle. “Oh, my boy! I stand corrected. Your alupi is most welcome to join us.”

Diago is still growling, but it’s more unsettled than angry now. I lick my lips. Of all the eventualities I anticipated for tonight, this was not one of them. The alupi being allowed to stay by my side can only be a good thing.

Right?

Vek.

Ostius is already moving on, entirely disregarding the giant wolf to stand in front of Relucia. All taut confidence and authority. “Where are they?”

“In the Basilica.”

“Perfect.” He hands Relucia something. “Everyone is in place?”

“Yes.”

I watch curiously. Their dynamic is so different from the first time I saw them together, back when I thought Relucia was in charge. Not that there was anything specific that led me to believe it. Just the body language, the tones of voice. But something in the interim has shifted. Ostius treats her, oddly, with less respect than he does me.

He turns to me. “You have a mask?”

“I do.”

“And a way to disguise yourself, otherwise?” He nods to my arm.

“Diago’s going to give me away,” I point out dryly.

“Diago? Oh.” He registers I’m talking about the alupi, and smiles. “How droll. Don’t worry about that. Your arm?”

I frown, but see I’m not getting any more from him. Concentrate.

The hundred iron triangles I’ve been keeping as a snug layer of protection beneath my shirt begin to quiver. Slide, flowing upward and into the dangling sleeve on my left. Slowly they coalesce, fitting into place, filling out the cloth. At the end of it, the glimmering iron outline of a hand appears.

I calmly reach into my pocket, pull out a glove, and tug it over the smaller triangles that form the fingers, completely concealing any trace of the metal.

“Gods’ graves.” Relucia stares at me with what I think is a newfound respect.

“Indeed,” murmurs Ostius. A glint in his eye as he examines me. “How much control do you have?”

I raise my gloved metal hand, and slowly unfurl the middle finger in his direction.

“Oh you are fun, my boy. Relative Harmonics, I assume? Differently-sized pieces but all the same form, to most effectively use the link. You just need to know how you want them to fit together.” He paces around me. Squeezes the arm, confirms that it won’t move. “Low weight, mostly Will-locked except the joints. Easy enough to change its form when you need to. Yes. Hm. And you must have forged these, too! More reliable than stone, a little of your own Will already in every piece. Clever. Very clever.”

I restrain a scowl, annoyed that he deduced it all so quickly. Harmonic imbuing is one of the most difficult skills to learn, and mentally locking similar objects to one another comes at a high enough cost that it’s usually eschewed by Sextii. The benefits, generally, aren’t considered worth losing the majority of your Will on a single imbuing.

But there are two major advantages, for my purposes. The first is that after the initial outlay of Will, it’s much easier to add components to a Harmonic arrangement than it is to imbue them normally—it’s the only way I can control enough of these pieces at once to serve my purposes. And the second is that while difficult to initially construct, a Harmonic imbuing is actually quite easy to maintain once it’s established.

“And your mask?” Ostius has finished his inspection, though still looks almost childlike in his apparent delight at my ingenuity.

I separate more triangular pieces from my chest, this time letting them move up and settle over my head. They soon sit warm against my cheeks and scalp, a complete metallic encasing of my face, hair, and neck. The only openings are for my eyes, which will be completely black once I pour the last of my Will into self-imbuing, and a thin slit to breathe through. I know from looking in the mirror that the effect is eerie.

“Striking,” says Ostius with an approving nod. “Intimidating. Memorable. Yes. Yes. This will do nicely.”

I hold the mask and arm in place. The arm in particular is easy, almost natural—partly from months of training but I think partly also because of what Lanistia suggested, what feels like an eternity ago. It doesn’t feel like an extension of my body, as imbued objects normally do. It’s instead the replacement of something that I still, in many ways, expect to be there. “For what?” I flex my gloved false hand. Several of the pieces of iron in it are more heavily worked than the others. Reinforced and razor-sharp. I’ve been practicing with those, too.

“Much better to show you.” Ostius swivels and almost dances over to me, his step light with anticipation. He grips me by the shoulder and places a hand on Diago’s neck. The alupi growls as my own anxiety rises. “Keep that mask on until I tell you.”

His eyes flood to black.

It’s a moment and it’s an eternity. I am frozen in place and not even my lungs will respond. Unbearable compression threatens to crush me. Unbearable decompression tries to flay the skin from my body. I cannot scream. I cannot breathe.

I see Relucia watching us but she is not moving either. There is no sound. Everything is shaking and folding and popping and twisting and fading. I take it in and cannot understand it, cannot make sense of what I’m seeing.

Then I hear it. Just for a second. Deep. Bringing me back to a terror far worse than whatever is here now.

Thrum.

And we’re somewhere else.