Chapter 48
XLVIII
BENEATH THE FESTIVAL OF PLETUNA, CATEN SEETHES.
The city’s celebrations rattle around us, a harsh and echoing drum of discontent.
Strained performances on street corners bring forced laughter or hesitant cheers; the anxious revelry saturates chilly streets that are emptier than they should be, and where they are not, are comprised instead of tightly clustered mobs who eye one other menacingly.
Games, which were everywhere a year ago, are all but absent.
Twice already, we have heard furious shouts in the nearby alleyways. Quickly, abruptly silenced.
A year ago, these streets were wild with carousing and merriment. Bright lights and crowds and flowers and decorations everywhere. I despised it. It’s all a tense blur now. I remember tailing Relucia. Remember being attacked by the men that Aequa hired, and being certain I was going to die.
Not a night I thought I’d wish I could go back to, but here we are.
“Are you really sure it’s the best idea to bring your pet out into all this?
” Relucia murmurs the words as she clings to my arm.
Outwardly, as girlish and na?ve as ever as we navigate the uneasy festivities.
I know her well enough to see the constant assessing behind her wide-eyed examinations, though.
I glance back, though I have no need to.
Diago’s massive, menacing form pads a few paces behind us.
He’s adapted with surprising ease to the city, over the last few months.
More inclined to obedience when I ask something of him now, but he also radiates an air of calm disdain for everything he sees, his gaze a noiseless sneer as he observes the Octavii and Septimii flowing very distinctly to the edges of the street as we pass.
“Absolutely.” Quite aside from the security of his presence, he’s made Relucia visibly nervous since she collected me from Domus Telimus.
“He may interfere with whatever you need to do tonight.”
The reminder, unnecessary though it is, sends a sick wave through me. “Your disappearing friend told me I had to make sure I was noticed. Diago is the easiest way to make sure that’s true.”
Behind me, Diago rumbles something very close to a growl.
Relucia flinches and says no more, I think deciding it’s not worth the argument. We turn down a dimly lit alley. A faster route. Even as Sextii, not one we’d take without our shadow. “They’re planning to put Lanistia in a Sapper tomorrow.” She says it quietly. More to the darkness ahead than to me.
My fist clenches, one of my fingers twinging at the motion.
The nausea somehow worsening. “I know.” Weeks of fighting it, now.
I even addressed the Senate about it, a month ago, publicly reaffirming my confidence in her and pleading for leniency.
Since then, I’ve used Ulciscor to pass on some of what I learned at Solivagus, but idiotic Catenan politics have barred me from visiting her in prison.
Ulciscor understands. Says Lanistia understands.
It doesn’t make it feel any less like I’ve abandoned her.
“My father put me in one when I was fifteen.”
We keep walking, silent as I turn the soft admission over. When I look at her, she’s staring straight ahead. Studying the deeper darkness in our way.
“Why?” I let my horror infuse the word.
“Coin.” She finally glances at me. Examines my face for a long moment and, apparently seeing something she needs to, continues.
“There’s plenty to be had, if you know where to sell Will.
Tempting, for a knight whose family doesn’t have a name.
Whose provinces are not producing enough taxes and whose investments are failing.
” Her face is a mask in the faint and flickering dim as we walk.
I feel ill. I know such a black market exists—eighteen months at Letens was more than enough to hear the rumours—but I’d associated it only with adoptions, men and women looking to turn a quick profit by selling the Will of a child they never really knew.
“For how long?” I whisper the words as we emerge into a new street, the lanterns bright and a small crowd clapping some display or another. Their eyes dart as they do so. As if even applause might somehow provoke anger.
“Three years.”
I don’t know what to say. It’s monstrous. I want to tell her I’m sorry. I am sorry. “That’s … evil.”
“Evil?” Relucia gives a bitter chuckle. “He was placed in an impossible position. Condemn his entire family to becoming Octavii, or sacrifice one of them for hope. His evil wasn’t taking three years of my life, Vis. It was being part of a system which could demand it.”
We’re approaching the Catenan Forum now, festively lit with its multihued lanterns highlighting friezes and statues and perfectly shaped Will-carved stone everywhere.
A stark contrast to the brooding mood. Pletuna demands public rather than private celebrations, else I suspect the streets would be empty tonight.
I say nothing for a minute. “I have a friend who was in a Sapper, too. For a year. He still manages to be a good man.”
“We all pretend, Vis. You. Me. Him. That’s what survivors do.
” She says it simply. Not trying to convince me.
Simply sure of its truth. “I’m not looking for sympathy.
I just want you to understand that you’re not the only one to have had something taken from you.
I saw it in that fight in the Theatre, the first time I laid eyes on you.
I see it in you now.” She stops. Locks her gaze to mine.
“We can’t get it back. We both know it. You act as though we’re enemies, but you want to protect others from our fate as much as I do.
And you may not want to do it with violence, but …
gods. What other choice do we have, now?
We can spout a lifetime of words and they will echo and fade, and history will not remember a single one.
I don’t like it either but when power is so entrenched, so impossibly distant, blood becomes the only possible currency of change. ”
Diago’s low growl behind us reflects my mood. I don’t say anything.
Relucia watches me, then sighs. Starts walking again. “One day, Vis, you’ll see. But for now? I really just wanted to let you know that Lanistia will be safe.”
I follow her. An ember of hope suddenly burning, almost against my will, given the source. “What do you mean?”
“The shifts will be more chaotic tonight. It’s been arranged.”
I exhale. She means it. At least, I can’t see why she would lie about this. “Why?”
Her look says I know the answer.
I nod. I’m not going to thank her. Lanistia escaping will cause more political instability, doubtless how she was able to justify it. But I make sure the motion is grateful.
Something loosens in her shoulders, despite her tirade. She really wanted me to know.
Sunset is burning its way into the ground as we round a corner and emerge into the vast Catenan Forum.
Encased on all sides by columns and statues and grand temples.
The brightly glowing Aurora Columnae towering at its head, chained off and guarded.
In theory this is a holiday where rank is ignored, where Octavii can mingle with Quartii and neither should even know.
But I can already see Praetorians lining the base of the stairs near the massive obelisk, moving quickly to stop anyone approaching who looks as though they may not belong.
Unlike the rest of the city, the remainder of the massive space is heaving with people.
Tables of food. Drink flows freely and yet the mood is almost unbearably tense, a grim fog blanketing it all.
There are performers, actors and jugglers and spectacular displays of Will, but few pay them any real attention.
It is boisterous and muted. Crowded and loud and as far from celebration as it can be.
Abruptly less crowded, though, once those closest to us catch sight of Diago.
I restrain a smirk as a few panicked shrieks pierce the general hubbub, the more easily startled of the attendees scrambling away from the alupi stalking into the Forum behind us. I pretend not to notice either that or the whispers that form our wake, allowing Relucia to cling to me.
“You have some admirers,” murmurs Relucia.
I follow her gaze and barely contain a curse. Some in the crowd—not many, but enough—have conspicuously dangling sleeves, left arms tucked discreetly beneath their cloaks. Not enough to fool anyone, but … vek. My lack continues to be my most recognisable feature, apparently.
I take a breath and ignore them, spotting Ulciscor halfway up the steps, just inside the line of Praetorians.
Cloaked in deep golden light, talking to two others in hushed tones, but his gaze roves constantly and stops only when it settles on me.
A look somewhere between rueful amusement and consternation as he makes some hurried excuses and moves to meet us.
“Let them through,” he says calmly to the Praetorian who was moving into our path; the man nods what I suspect is a relieved accession before stepping to the side again, one eye still on Diago’s prowling form.
Ulciscor’s gaze lingers on the alupi as he ushers us farther in.
“I told you not to bring him.” Ulciscor’s voice is low as he embraces his wife.
“He was rather insistent. And his pet made it harder to refuse.” She glares at me primly. As if I have brutishly forced her into this embarrassing situation.
“Then that was a poor decision, Vis. Even more so now.” No patience to Ulciscor’s rebuke.
“Tonight was meant to be a gathering to discuss terms. A chance to talk outside the blustering of the Senate floor. But something is off. The Tertii and Dimidii from Military rushed off about thirty minutes ago and haven’t returned; no one knows why.
People are starting to get nervous.” He eyes Diago again. “Go home.”
I can’t, of course, as much as I’d like to. “Give us a few minutes to mingle. To be seen. Perhaps at least we can show there’s no rift within the family. I know it won’t change much, but it might help.”
“And then the dear boy can walk me home,” adds Relucia, patting her husband’s arm.
“I think most people have already realised you’re here,” mutters Ulciscor, but he nods. Hesitates, then puts a hand on my shoulder. “Be careful, Vis. If things go wrong here tonight, it’s not something you’ll be able to think your way out of.”
I nod. Surprised, despite myself. Genuine care in his voice, and it would only benefit him for me to stay.
“Will a few minutes be enough?” I ask Relucia as we part from Ulciscor.
Her eyes rove the sea of people. “I’m sure if it’s not, you will come up with something.”
I turn my attention to the occupants of the upper level.
Even here, people huddle in tight, familiar groups.
Most are ignoring the entertainment. Not just actors and acrobats but three cages, lit by floating lanterns, reveal lions that prowl and snarl and snap at passersby.
Some few partygoers are using Will to float scraps of meat almost within range of the creatures, only to snatch them away again at the last second to too-raucous, uneasy laughter.
Diago, as if as disgusted as I feel, growls at the sight.
“Rotting gods,” murmurs Relucia, disdain dripping from her tone as she watches the same thing. “Small men so desperate for power that they will take it from wherever they can. How did we get here?”
“By telling them it’s the only way to get it, and that it’s all that matters.” I lay a comforting hand on Diago’s head. His rumbling stills, though there’s a noticeably larger circle of space around us now.
“Hm.” Relucia eyes me. Nods. Seems about to say more, when her gaze flicks to over my shoulder and there’s suddenly a light touch on my arm, turning me.
“Vis.” Aequa is in a sleek blue stola that emphasises her form. Her raven hair is meticulously arranged, curled artfully at the front and plaited into an elaborate bun at the back.
I take a moment to say anything. I don’t think I’ve seen her dressed up since we travelled to the naumachia together. “Hail. You look nice.”
“One of us has to. Come on. The others are here.” She tugs my arm impatiently.
Relucia is watching speculatively. She waves me on. “Don’t go far,” she says, tone light. When she sees my hesitation, she glances at Diago and adds, “It’s not as if it will be hard to find you.”
Whatever is happening tonight, I don’t want to drag the others into it. But to refuse now will look strange, and besides—this might be the only opportunity for us to all speak together for a while.
I nod to Relucia, and beneath the glowering light of the Aurora Columnae, allow Aequa to pull me into the crowd.