LXVIII

CATEN BURNS.

The gaping wounds of the city seep rubble and smoke around me, the snapping of sporadic fires a counterpoint to the anxious silence that creeps along every street and alleyway of the suppurated heart of the Republic. Alta Semita, with its stone structures, still retains some memory of its former self in the layout of streets, if not their ethos. Ahead, though—Aquilae District—at least one in five buildings are no longer. More, probably. The docks beyond are a carcass. The great Will-based machines there mute and still. And the predawn clouds above Praedium say the fires have not yet been controlled in the west, either. Governance’s fire brigades have been stretched too thin. Even here, still some distance away, the air is a sick haze of charred homes and charred flesh.

I press on, not seeing anyone for minutes at a time and then when I do, only in the distance, people dashing away, recognising that anyone walking alone is either too powerful or too broken to risk passing. Tens of thousands of Octavii and Septimii were trapped here in the initial madness of the Festival of Pletuna, hiding in their homes until the worst of the fighting was done. Three days later, with the city’s borders sealed, Governance and Religion began distributing the Proscriptions. Massive lists of names they drew from the Census of people living in Caten, and whose Will was going toward Military pyramids no longer sanctioned by the Senate. For anyone on those lists, Birthright was revoked. Along with the public proclamation that if you handed in the head of someone on such a list, their property and possessions became yours.

It took one more day for Caten to become a slaughterhouse.

Diago pads through the leaden morning behind me, ever watchful. The blaze on the horizon is mirrored in his eyes as he tests the air. In the ten days since the Proscriptions, we have been attacked in broad daylight three times. The first by a Military Quintus whose hiding place I simply stumbled across. I was lucky to escape. The last two times have been by opportunistic looters. Too blinded by greed and lust and rage to recognise who I am until far, far too late.

My alupi did his job, and not once were there survivors.

The shattered remains of the Forum, when we reach it, bristle with Sextii despite the early hour. Cloaked in either green or blue, but none are out of uniform and those two colours are very clearly not mixing. The southern side where I enter is watched by Governance, and I receive an acknowledging nod as I pass through the initial cordon. As one of Tertius Ericius’s officers, my days have been a strange mix of running messages and participating in strategy sessions. But I’m here most of the time. I’m recognised by even the Tertii now.

I skirt the rubble that still covers much of the formerly pristine space, picking my way through ruined buildings to the Temple of Jovan, one of the few structures functionally intact after the chaos of the festival night. Climb the stairs and am admitted, the guards at the door eyeing a trailing Diago nervously but making no move to stop him from entering with me.

“Catenicus!” Livia’s the first to spot me. Stops her note-taking and jogs over, voice pitched to a conspiratorial whisper so as to not interfere with the intent discussions on the other side of the room, where a dozen or so people cluster around a table. “They almost caught him last night.”

“The masked man?”

“They’re calling him Carnifex,” she confides with a confirming nod.

“I heard. And, I heard. It was in Alta Semita, apparently. Close enough that the Quintus looking for him dragged me out of a bath to make sure he hadn’t snuck into my house.” I pitch my tone between amused and irritated.

Livia’s eyes widen, but before she can ask more, her father’s voice booms across the room. “Catenicus! Finally. Come.”

Livia rolls her eyes at the interruption, unseen by those at the table. “They’re going to refuse to start without you, one day. War or not.”

“As it should be.” Callidus’s sister has been far more amiable, friendly even, over the past couple of weeks. I give her a quick grin and join the group on the far side of the massive space, who are ignoring the general bustle of activity around them. A mix of Quartii, Tertii, and their most trusted retainers; the Dimidii and Princeps are rarely seen here, having created separate headquarters in Alta Semita and Praedium. A perfect encapsulation of the city, right now. Governance and Religion theoretically working together, but each district is under clear control of one or the other. United, except not trusting each other enough to risk a meeting of their most powerful members.

A few of the senators note my approach with accepting enough acknowledgements, even if their glances at Diago are far less comfortable. It’s my peers from the Academy who provide the friendliest looks. Aequa smiles, genuinely happy to see me. Marcellus and Felix, standing to either side of Magnus Quartus Aelius, a dark-skinned Jatierren, nod to my arrival. Marcellus once again wearing his tinted glasses despite the dim, an affectation I find especially annoying on him.

And then there’s Indol, here working for Tertius Decimus. Eyes and cheeks hollow as he slaps me on the back when I come to stand beside him. Lack of sleep painfully evident. Truth struggling against loss, neither allowing the other any measure of rest.

I smile a greeting that contains no trace of the crushing guilt I feel every time I see him.

Iro’s father himself is among the group, too, as he has been most of this week. Today, to my surprise, he nods to my inclusion with surprising civility.

I give a cautious response in kind. The man has pointedly ignored me thus far when we’ve both been here. Perhaps Iro’s health is finally improving. Or perhaps the spectre of what is to come has finally become enough for him to put aside our differences.

“I hear you got a visit last night, Catenicus.” Quartus Iovita doesn’t look up. Military, and the sole woman among this group. Also one of the more formidable of it. “I hope it was no inconvenience.”

“Not at all. Tanrius was pleasant and professional. He seemed to feel he was quite close to catching Carnifex, too. Did he?” Iovita shakes her head, and I grimace. Tempted to press on with my questioning, but everyone here is curious, and most of Governance and Religion are still displeased that Military have taken point on finding him. Someone’s going to ask.

“Does he have any leads, at least?” Quartus Aelius rewards my patience almost immediately.

“He is getting closer.”

“So, no.”

Iovita finally raises her head, meeting Aelius’s gaze calmly. It is Aelius who looks away first.

“Catenicus. We’ve just had a report of Corenius moving his legions south. Here.” Ericius commands my attention, pointing to a marker on the massive map pinned to the table. “He’s still at least a week away from Caten without a Transvect. You were close with his daughter. Any insights?”

I peer at the positioning. Northern Masen. Clear lines, supplies and plenty of high ground. “He’s a cautious man. And he won’t be desperate to take Caten. He has a lot of support out in the provinces, and already controls two Aurora Columnae.” I don’t hesitate, though it feels a betrayal. I need these men to trust me. “If I had to guess, I don’t think he’s marching on us. Not yet. I’d say he’s just relocating. Strengthening his position and waiting to see how the others proceed, before making a move.”

“Agreed,” says Quartus Laurentius—ratified by the Senate as the next Princeps, technically, though given their price was his committing all of his Will to the defenses, few in the room treat him as such—as some around the table nod, while others look annoyed. I’m only a Quintus and my voice isn’t one that will sway these men, but my reputation, and Ericius’s confidence, has afforded my opinion some respect in these meetings.

As, to be fair, has my ongoing flow of accurate information.

“Any word from your source, Catenicus?” prompts Tertius Faustus, the first to voice the inevitable. Ostius’s information over the past two weeks has been plentiful and verifiably accurate, and has saved us from several martial missteps. Though I’d like to think my contributions to these discussions have mattered, in reality it’s the intelligence I’m getting that has given me regular access to this group.

Ostius’s intent, no doubt. Positioning me again, even as he’s helping me. I feel his medallion sitting against my chest, ever-present. Every move a way to further his own agenda.

“Yes.” I tell them about the plans Baine revealed to me. Redivius’s intended feint at the docks, and then his use of the rerouted Transvect. Ostius’s previous reports have given me both credibility, and an easy excuse for having the information in the first place.

I say nothing of Eidhin. As soon as I start to want anything, it will be seen as weakness. Or perhaps evidence of my being manipulated.

When I’m done, there’s a grim silence.

“This is more significant than anything else your source has given us,” observes Tertius Kanifer, an olive-skinned Nyripkian man from Religion. “I would once again very much like to know who you are communicating with.”

“As would I,” says Magnus Quartus Claudius, his high-pitched voice cutting across the group. Aequa’s father has been broadly supportive of me, but I think he’s also been mildly displeased that I’m invited here more often than his daughter.

“For all we know, all the previous information has just been to set us up. Get us to commit to the wrong position when the real attack comes,” agrees Laurentius quietly. “We only have the one legion.”

I nod, sympathising with his reservations, at least. I’ve already assumed that the information I’m getting from Ostius is being carefully doled out, used to nudge events in a particular direction. But whatever inferences I can make from that have not yet been enough to form a clear picture of what he really wants.

“I’ve said this from the start. I am confident in the information, but I cannot tell you where I got it. I will not.” I meet their gazes. Once, I would have been terrified of this group. Would have inwardly trembled at their mere proximity. But that time has long passed. I have spent months working around them and for them. Observing and learning. They are just men. Not even particularly smart men, in many cases. Grasping and charismatic, ruthless and quick with words, but here thanks more to their bloodlines than intellect. “I understand your concerns, but the fewer people who know, the safer my contact will be.”

Dissatisfaction, but a grumbling acceptance that indicates the answer’s expected. Most of them think I must be using this information for my own advantage, to advance myself. That’s fine. It’s what they would do. It’s something they understand, even if they don’t like it.

I suspect a few of them still worry I might be working for Military because of my adoptive father, too, but the information I’ve passed on has disadvantaged Magnus Quartus Servius’s camp as much as anyone. I have to assume that’s where Ulciscor is: he’s in the man’s pyramid, after all. But I’ve had no word from him since the festival.

The conversation moves rapidly on. First to the defences; men and women are sent running with instructions over the next half hour as plans are made. After that, a lot of the discussion centres around long-term supply lines as much as the attack tonight; the evacuation of the legions by the various Quartii pretenders is beginning to show signs of destabilising the provinces, and food in Caten is going to start running very short, very quickly. Rationing is already in place, but the argument revolves around whether it needs to be more strict.

The overwhelming disaster of it all hits home anew as I listen grimly. The price of the Republic’s constant expansion, the internally fragile patchwork of dependencies that have built up to allow for it, never more evident than now. It’s just as my old tutor Iniguez said, all those years ago. The Hierarchy is a monster that has to feed to survive. And inevitably, once it has eaten everything else, all that is left to consume is itself.

Five years ago, a naïve young prince of Suus wanted this.

I stay for a while, Diago at my feet. Contributing when I can, though the bulk of the decision-making comes from the Tertii. Everything they propose seems sound, but I can never quite shake the knowledge that our numbers are too low and that aside from Laurentius, these men are far more political strategists than military ones. Those who do excel at command are, unfortunately, naturally on the sides we find ourselves facing. The only reason we haven’t yet been annihilated is that our enemies see one another as more of a threat than us.

Twice, I catch Decimus watching me silently. Expressionless. I uncomfortably ignore him and, when the meeting finally breaks, draw Ericius quickly aside.

“I would like to be in the group that defends the docks.”

“You know we can’t risk you,” he says, not looking up from the wax tablet he’s reading. “Both because of this information you’ve been getting, but also because you’re too much a symbol. The others won’t admit it, but with these fools out there breaking a century of tradition and raising their own pyramids, we need the loyalty of the Octavii and Septimii more than ever. Losing you would be a serious blow to that.” He grunts, finally glancing up at me. “And I suppose I would personally prefer it if you didn’t die, too.”

I grin. I don’t entirely trust Callidus’s father, but I don’t dislike him. “Thanks. I can be careful, though.” I motion to Diago, who is sitting at my side.

He studies the alupi, then me. “Redivius’s Cymrians,” he says suddenly. “Yours and Callidus’s friend will be with them.”

“Eidhin. Yes, I think so.”

He sighs. “What’s your plan?”

“Redivius is on the Iudicium list. Eidhin will take any chance he can get to turn,” I lie. “If I can talk to him, I can get him to defect. Maybe even spy for us.”

Ericius taps a finger against the tablet. “Alright.” He throws a glance at the other senators, most of them still huddled in tight clusters around the main table. Understands immediately why I didn’t bring this up with the larger group. “I can’t get you a command, but I’ll make sure the right people know you’re allowed to be there.”

“Thank you.” That’s all I was hoping for; the last thing I wanted was to try and find Eidhin while dodging my own side. “Anything else you need me for, right now?”

“Not unless you can conjure a legion or two.” The Censor says it lightly but there’s grim truth behind the joke. Knowing about the attack tonight should give us an advantage, but there will be losses, and those are something we cannot afford. Without more soldiers, we’re eventually going to be overwhelmed by one Military Quartii or another. “Go. I know you and your friends like to debrief among yourselves after these meetings. After that, find Faustus. He needs another set of eyes on logistics.”

I accept the handing off of my services without complaint. In war, you go where you’re most needed. “As you say, Tertius. If I don’t see you before tonight…”

Ericius nods solemnly. Clasps my wrist. “Stronger together, Catenicus.”

I FIND MY ACADEMY PEERS in a side room once reserved for the priests to prepare animal sacrifices. Its east-facing windows provide a view mainly of rubble and beyond, a dark cloud over Aquilae District, which was worst hit in the initial riots. Even the looters have largely abandoned its smouldering remains.

I ignore it as best I can. I’ve helped set off events that I have no control over anymore; I’m adrift on a river of violence, facing a broken dam that I can never build back. I barely notice the horror of the destruction this time. It’s a familiar backdrop, now.

“Anything new?” I ask it briskly as I sit between Aequa and Felix, opposite Indol and Marcellus. No time for niceties, these days. One of us will inevitably be summoned in a few minutes.

Indol leans forward and pushes a single sheet of paper across the table. “They caught Magnus Quintus Blasius yesterday evening.” He nods seriously as my gaze turns sharp. “He was hiding in Aquilae. Took out a dozen of Laurentius’s men, but they got him.”

“Rotting gods. How have I not heard—”

“Laurentius asked Decimus to keep it quiet. Not secret,” he emphasises, “and someone from Governance surely knows too. But that list is everywhere. He doesn’t want a riot for the man’s head.”

I exhale. One of a half dozen names on the list still alive. “Any way you can get to him? Or at least find out what he’s said?” I don’t bother asking access for myself: we’ve been meeting like this less for friendship’s sake, and more to ensure that the men named by Military’s dead leadership aren’t overlooked in the chaos of war. Don’t quietly get the opportunity to make deals to save their own skins, or have their crimes absolved by distraction.

Indol shakes his head. “Laurentius doesn’t trust me any more than he does you. I don’t even know where he’s being held.”

I grunt, nodding acceptance to the observation. Both of us are effectively defectors from Military, with Military fathers who would have opposed Laurentius’s claim for Princeps. Hard to blame the man for his suspicions.

“I might be able to find out where he is.” Marcellus’s announcement draws dubious gazes from the rest of us, and I catch my own weary reflection in his tinted glasses as he cringes a little beneath them. His actions during the Iudicium didn’t endear him to any of us, and he knows it. Still, he’s always had charisma and has advanced rapidly through Religion. He’s well placed to hear things, and as such, it makes sense that he’s here.

“How?”

“Tertius Kanifer is in charge of the prisons on our side of the city. They wouldn’t risk holding Blasius anywhere without a Sapper.”

I grunt as Indol and Aequa both nod. Marcellus is Kanifer’s attendant, and he’s right—if they’ve captured a Quintus, there aren’t many places to keep him. “If you get a location, let us know.”

Silence, and then, “To do what?” It’s Aequa asking the pensive question.

I glance around at the others before answering. Assessing. The others want justice, or maybe just revenge. And I do too, but there’s extra motivation for me. Likely another reason Ostius gave me the list, other than just to sow chaos and “reward” me.

I have no idea how much the surviving Military collaborators know about the Anguis. Whether one of them may be aware of Relucia.

And knowing of the Military facility at the Necropolis, now, I simply cannot risk her being exposed.

“Just to keep track of him, for now. Make sure he’s not being given any deals. Maybe find out any information he’s given up.” No suggestion of doing anything the senators would disapprove of. Indol and the others might have been willing, two weeks ago. Not now. Their world has changed forever, and they’re surviving only on the idea that the people in charge actually know what’s best.

“Let us know, Marcellus,” agrees Indol quietly.

Marcellus nods. A reluctant motion, but he makes it nonetheless.

I stand, assuming our usual short exchange of information is at an end.

“Something else you should know, Vis.” Indol again. His expression is so grim that for a second, I wonder if he’s found out something about me. “I had a list of inmates in South Caten Prison pass through my hands a couple of days ago.”

I frown. Turn back to him. “Alright.”

“Lanistia Scipio was on it.”

No one says anything as I process the news. My emotions twisting from confusion to concern to anger. This has been kept from me. “In a Sapper?”

“It didn’t say.”

Vek. The plan to free her on the night of the festival must have failed. I should have taken the time to check. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” I let a sliver of ire into my tone.

“Because it’s in Aquilae, and I know you.” He gestures apologetically. “The last thing Caten needs is Catenicus lighting fires.”

I grimace. Aquilae is Religion-controlled territory. I take a breath, mind racing. He’s right. So why tell me now? What’s changed?

My heart stops.

“The attack.” I say it with slow trepidation.

Indol nods. Pained. “Most of those Sappers are flowing to Military. You know how they work?”

I nod, dread building. A Sapper forces ceding to a particular person and—aside from all of the prisoner’s Will being given, rather than just half—that works exactly like any other ceding. Freeing someone from their Sapper does mean they go back to ceding only half their Will, but the link itself cannot be broken without it being relinquished by whoever’s on the receiving end.

Or by death.

“The plan is to wait until there’s an attack underway,” finishes Indol grimly.

Aequa’s been following the conversation, turning increasingly flushed as she understands. “That’s barbaric.”

“A cruel war is quickly over,” quotes Marcellus, adjusting his glasses.

“What about Birthright?”

“I don’t think Birthright exists anymore.” I close my eyes. Smart, as awful as it is. There are thousands in those Sappers across the city, and most of them are ceding to Military. Cutting off the flow of Will at the right moment could be an enormous advantage.

I feel the bruises and bandaged wound beneath my toga. Kadmos’s tea lets me ignore it all in movement, though. And I did get more sleep last night than I often do, these days, even after Baine’s visit.

I would have liked some extra rest before going to find Eidhin, but I’ll manage.

“Thanks for letting me know.” I give him a genuinely appreciative nod. “Tertius Faustus needs me. I should find him.”

“I’ll walk with you.” Aequa’s been watching my face intently.

Indol and Marcellus bid their farewells, and we walk out. Aequa’s silence only lasts just past the door, to check we’re alone. “I’m coming with you.”

“No idea what you’re talking about.”

She punches my arm. Hard.

“Ow.” I haven’t decided whether I can afford to go in as Carnifex—probably not, given that Indol would immediately make the connection now—but I at least need the option. Aequa being around will make my task harder. “No.”

“Yes. I’m a Quintus too, and I know people you don’t. I can get us in.” She eyes Diago. “Without making a scene.”

“Then get me in. There are going to be consequences, after. There’s no need for you to get caught up in them.”

“If you’re right about tonight, nobody’s going to care tomorrow morning.” She smiles sunnily. An expression she often uses to indicate there’s no moving her.

“Gods. Fine.” I snort a relenting laugh. “Thanks,” I add, more sincerely.

“Of course.”

“Speaking of tonight,” I add, smile fading. “I could use your company then, too.”

I tell her about Eidhin, about his father’s visit, as we walk the hallways. There’s bustle everywhere, people talking urgently in hushed tones. Many of the senators are back around the table, gesticulating at the map. Aequa ignores it all and listens with her familiar, unspeaking intensity.

Except for the circumstances surrounding my being Carnifex, I don’t leave anything out. “I’ll be there” is all she says when I’m done, and I realise with a warm glow that I never expected anything else.

We meander and talk a little further, but eventually find our way to the entrance; Tertius Faustus will be expecting me, and I know Aequa has things she needs to do too. “Dusk?” We’ve agreed it’s the best time for it. Late enough that at least some of the prison guards will have been drawn away for the defence of the city, but early enough that we can still get to Eidhin after.

“Dusk,” Aequa confirms. She hesitates. “Oh. And before you go… I hear Emissa’s alright.”

I miss a step, then glance across. “Really?”

She gives a wan smile. “Report on Corenius’s camp came in yesterday. She’s been spotted there.”

I exhale. I’ve tried not to think about it too much, but I’ve been assuming Emissa is with her father. Hoping. She would be a valuable hostage for any of the other Military pretenders. “Thanks.”

“Of course.” I can see there’s more, so I wait. She examines me. “We’re probably going to end up fighting her.”

“I know.”

“Do you still love her?”

I blink. Uncertain as I interrogate the question. Most other people and it would be too forward, far too personal for me to even consider answering. But Aequa and I have been through the naumachia and the Iudicium and more together. Aside from Eidhin, she knows me better than anyone.

“Can you really love someone you don’t completely trust?” I ask eventually. The same question I’ve asked myself too many times, since the Academy.

She considers. Nods slowly, and squeezes my arm in farewell.

“See you tonight, Vis.”