Chapter 20 #2
“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.