Chapter XXX
XXX
WHILE MY FATHER OFTEN INSTILLED IN ME THE IMPORtance of appearances, it was Ellanher who first explained to me that showmanship in victory mattered more than at any other moment.
“They may remember the facts of a result, darling,” the muscled, playful organiser of the fights at the Letens Theatre told me one night, not long after I had started.
“But they will always judge you on the how. On the after. You have to make them believe, my dear boy, whenever they see you step out onto that stage. Because it is faith that makes us cheer, and a triumph forgotten is no different to defeat.” A philosopher at times, that woman.
Right now I want to exult, to celebrate the improbability of this success. And I want to sprint and check that Iro and Marcellus and Felix are alright. And I want to collapse to the ground and cover my head, ignore the world and try to figure out what in the gods’ graves just happened out there.
But everyone is watching. The senators. Tertius Ericius. Tertius Decimus.
So I act as if Aequa passing the finish line is the most normal thing in the world. As if it were not only what I expected, but the only possible result. I have to make them see that this isn’t some miraculous victory. This is the natural order of things. Inevitability in action.
I’m still holding Iro’s Will; as the Septimii rush through the settling dust to tend to him, and the impossible thrill of the victory fades, I spot his ashen-faced father among the concerned.
I ignore the inward twisting of what I have to do.
This is Caten; even in victory, showing mercy to the wolves only invites later trouble.
And while I hope Iro is alright, his father brought this upon himself.
I focus on the Will I’m using. Iro originally imbued my chariot, now destroyed; normally that Will would have reverted to him, but I have no doubt that hasn’t happened.
Can I even release it? There’s no way to distinguish his Will from the rest flooding my body.
No obvious partition between his and mine.
I’m thirty feet from the crowd around Iro’s prone form. Twenty. Those not urgently working on the injured boy are looking up. Watching me.
I brace myself, and stop self-imbuing.
It’s all I can do not to break stride as the Will strengthening my body vanishes, leaving me only with the strain and aching muscles of what I just went through. I quickly self-imbue again, barely avoiding an embarrassing stumble as Tertius Decimus finally looks up to see my approach.
The strength that floods through me is less intense than before. By the time I reach the edge of the small crowd, I’m confident I am no longer using his son’s Will to supplement my own.
There’s a heavy silence. I can’t see Iro properly behind the people crowded around him.
They’re murmuring to one another in anxious, hushed tones.
I see bandages being applied. Blood mixed with dust caked on the hands of a couple of men as they work urgently.
There’s no motion from Iro’s limbs, one of which is splayed at an unnatural angle.
Vek.
Tertius Decimus meets me before I can get any closer. Stands in my way. Face flushed. Expression as dark as any I have ever seen.
I tamp down my instinct to say that I am sorry. To say that I genuinely, truly hope Iro is alright. Both are true. Neither will help.
We stare at each other for several seconds.
“It seems you are to remain Domitor. Congratulations, Telimus.” He eventually speaks. Civilly enough, no doubt for the benefit of those around us, but I can almost hear his teeth grinding.
“Pardon, Tertius?” I hold his gaze. No doubt what I’m after. A slight intake of breath from a few of those closer, even if most are pretending not to listen. I hate to push, but this exchange is important. Will be relayed a thousand times before the end of the day, if I know Caten.
Tertius Decimus, somehow, turns a deeper shade of red. “My apologies. Congratulations, Catenicus.” He says the word as if it’s poison. Perhaps it is, for him. The name I got for my role in the event in which his only daughter died.
It doesn’t make it reasonable, but part of me understands, I think. Even sympathises. I’m an intrusive, offensive reminder of what he’s lost. In some ways, I suppose I am his Hierarchy.
More concerned movement over by Iro. They’re lifting him with cautious care.
Today’s not going to make things any better.
“Thank you, Tertius.” I make sure there’s no trace of irony.
Try to show that was all I was after, that I simply wanted the acknowledgement and that I have no desire to humiliate him into the bargain.
“It was a close race. It reminded me why Iro and Indol were so highly ranked in the Academy. I hope I get the honour of working alongside them again, in the future.” Loud enough for everyone to hear.
Make it clear there are no grudges. That I respect them.
It’s not much, but it might go some way to soothing any tensions this stunt of Tertius Decimus’s has caused between Governance and Religion.
The Tertius’s expression doesn’t change, but thankfully he doesn’t slap away the metaphorical hand I’m extending, either. “Of course.” He turns to follow the physicians tending to Iro.
“And Tertius, if you don’t have any objections, please call me Vis. Those who know me know I don’t enjoy being reminded of what happened last year.”
Silence. Tertius Decimus hesitates. Still brimming with barely contained fury, but thinking, at least. “I will remember that.” He stalks off after the knot of men carrying his son.
All eyes are still on me. All I want is to go somewhere private, to collapse to my knees and close my eyes and try to figure out the potential consequences of what just happened.
But I have to talk to Aequa. Indol. Tertius Ericius and Livia and probably a dozen Governance senators who will all be even more eager to meet me now. So I force the issue to the edge of my thoughts. Walk away to the edge of the track. Lay calmly on the sand as if enjoying the sun, and wait.
Aequa’s the first to reach me. She sits beside me, looking down at my reclined form with a raised eyebrow.
“Good race,” I say casually.
“Pretty good,” she agrees. She almost manages to stay composed, but the corners of her lips give her away.
The smirk is infectious. I let my mouth creep into a smile too.
The shared moment is a relief, a small release that I’m grateful for.
Even though she has no idea what just happened with Iro, she can at least appreciate the insanity of what we just accomplished.
Aequa sighs, still smiling, and reclines next to me, staring up into the blue sky. “You alright?”
“My legs are gods-damned sore. You?”
“My body’s still not sure whether it wants to sprint a few miles or sleep for a week. Other than that? Fine.” She raises her head, glancing over to the side. “Better than Marcellus and Felix, at least.”
“Rotting gods. I’m a terrible person.” I half rise, only for Aequa to wave me back down again. “They’re alright?”
“Saw them both on the way over. Physicians are still with them, but they’re awake.
Marcellus was moaning about a broken arm, so I guess he may or may not have a broken arm, and that’s the worst of it.
And Felix was grinning like a madman and gave me the victory sign when he spotted me, so I’m guessing he’s fine too. ”
I chuckle. “Good.” Relieved, even for Marcellus.
“Iro?”
My humour fades. “I don’t know.”
She glances across at me, hearing my worry. Touches my arm in light reassurance. “Not your fault he’s an idiot.”
Before either of us can say more, there’s a shadow off to my left, and I squint up to see Indol sidling closer. He grins awkwardly at me. “Always knew you thought you could beat everyone with a hand tied behind your back.” Hesitates. Smile fading. “Sorry you had to prove it.”
I swivel to my feet again—I’m better at the motion than I was, though one-armed it remains more awkward than not—and consider him.
I’m still furious that he went along with Decimus’s plan without apparent protest, but part of me knows he didn’t really have a choice.
This isn’t the Academy anymore, where the Thirds talked and even the Praeceptors listened.
Surviving means going where we’re told, doing what we’re told.
We’re pieces on a Foundation board, for now.
I extend my hand and he clasps my wrist gladly. Whatever tension was left vanishes with the act. We weren’t ever close friends, but we got along, and there was always respect between us. “Not your fault.”
“It’s a bit his fault,” Aequa calls up, stretching and then sitting. Her friendly smirk to Indol indicates goading rather than any real anger, though.
“It’s a bit my fault,” concedes Indol ruefully. He sighs. “Nice piece of diplomacy back there, by the way. Not crowing. Between that and your staying Domitor, today may even turn out not a complete disaster for relations in the Senate.”
“No crowing? You didn’t even crow?” Aequa peers up at me reproachfully.
Indol’s mouth quirks, but he glances over toward Tertius Decimus’s coterie. Iro has been carried from sight, but the Tertius himself is looking over at us darkly. “Time to get yelled at. But …” He hesitates. Lowers his voice, but includes Aequa. “We should stay in contact.”
“Tricky,” I observe grimly.
“I know. But there’s more going on than anyone’s telling us. Did they test your blood?” His smile is relaxed, even to my confirmation; to anyone watching he’d look as though he were simply wishing us well.
“They did.” I mimic his genial demeanour.
“I’d like to finish our conversation from the Iudicium, too.”
I nod slowly. “Have you spoken to your father?” That’s what he’s referring to. My none-too-subtle implication about Dimidius Quiscil, about his involvement in the attack.
“No. And not my father, anymore. As of two weeks ago.”
“I’m sorry.”