Chapter 18. Now Maris
NOW: MARIS
“Up.”
The tribune’s voice broke the spell in the room as I stared into the empty hallway where Luca had just disappeared.
I’d spent several seconds thinking that maybe I’d imagined it.
That my mind had conjured him in the dim, smoky light or that the gods were playing a cruel trick on me. If they had, I would have deserved it.
But it had been him. The way my blood was still rushing in my veins was evidence of that.
“Up,” the tribune said again.
This time, I obeyed, giving another fearful glance to the empty corridor.
This wasn’t how I’d planned it. I was supposed to slip into the camp unseen with Iola and be back at the villa by sunup.
But now several legionnaires had seen my face, and the moment I was recognized, any chance I had of getting out of here would be gone.
The same thought had been all over Luca’s face as his eyes jumped over the room, trying to find a way out of this for us both.
I stood, letting the chiton drop over my legs.
“Your palla. We need to hurry.” The tribune waited.
I lifted the fabric to drape over the crown of my head and he led us out of the room, turning right out of the chamber instead of left, like Luca had.
The tribune’s thick wool cloak rippled behind him as he walked, his heavy steps and rigid shoulders the only evidence that anything was wrong.
If Luca hadn’t had a tribune who was sworn to him when he found me in that room, I wasn’t sure what he would have done.
But the Centurion brooches fixed to Luca’s shoulders had made my stomach drop.
They were like targets, drawing every arrow that flew across the river.
And of course he’d risen through the ranks.
Luca wasn’t just a soldier. What he did that day in the Forum as Vitrasian lay dying was the first whispered word of revolt.
No one could believe that a young man who’d been plucked from the Lower City had turned on his own and taken almost half the legion with him.
In those first weeks, there had been one question asked again and again in the Citadel.
How had the quiet, solemn son of Magistrate Matius inspired a rebellion that had torn the great city of Isara in two?
The tribune led us to one of the doors at the back of the Illyrium just as the first beams of golden sun were reaching over the dome of the Citadel.
Even after this part of the city was taken, I’d never seen the temple’s fires go out.
The smoke from the forge could be seen from anywhere in Isara, and it had become something like a pulse as I looked out my window each morning. A sign that not all was lost.
The camp looked almost empty now, with a few legionnaires making their way toward some kind of commotion in the distance.
The largest of the tents was erected away from the river, where the flag of Isara flew over its pitch on a bronze staff.
It was the same symbol that was emblazoned on the doors of the Citadel and stamped into the floor of the Forum.
Now it was the battle cry of the ones who’d destroyed it all.
“Here.” The tribune stopped in front of one of the last tents in the row.
Whatever was going on at the other end of the camp, it had drawn the attention of nearly every soldier. Everyone except the tribune. He held back the opening of the tent and gestured for me to enter. I took a tentative step inside, looking around the bare quarters. Luca’s quarters.
Only one lamp was lit in the corner over a small table, and the cot was dressed with a single blanket.
A simple wooden desk held several stacks of parchment and an array of small items I couldn’t make out in the dim light.
But I could feel him, like a scent clinging to me.
This had been his home in the months since I’d last seen him.
This was where he fell asleep each night and woke each morning.
It had seemed so much farther away than it was.
As if he’d existed in another world. It felt impossible that all this time, we’d been in the same city.
“Are you hungry?” The tribune’s voice broke the silence.
He met my gaze straight on with a sharpness in his eyes that told me he didn’t trust me. And why should he? He didn’t have to know who I was to know I wasn’t on his side.
“No,” I lied.
I could hardly claim to be hungry when I’d spent the last few months in the Citadel District, where the city’s grain was kept.
Withholding the dole had been one of the Consul’s strategies to turn the tide of loyalty against the New Legion, forcing the Lower City to manage with meager rations. It hadn’t worked.
The tribune offered the food on the table anyway, sliding the small plate toward me before he fetched the porcelain bowl in the corner. “Eat.”
I waited for him to step outside before I reached for it, taking the wedge of cheese and breaking it into two pieces. I could hear him filling the bowl at the fire outside as I chewed, jaw aching.
The sounds of the camp stirring made me feel uneasy.
Across the river, the district was doing the same.
I didn’t know how long it would take for someone to notice my absence, but if the Consul called for a tribunal, my seat would be empty.
With my allegiances already questioned, I would have a hard time explaining that.
The tribune came back inside, placing the porcelain bowl on the table. The water steamed, light rippling on its surface. Draped over one arm, he had a new chiton and palla.
He let them hang over the chair in the corner, eyes avoiding mine now. “Clean yourself up. If you need stitching, I can do it.”
“That won’t be necessary.” The words came out hoarser than I expected.
He gave me a single nod before posting himself just outside the opening of the tent.
I took up the cloth at the edge of the bowl and washed, gently wiping the dried blood from my jaw and scrubbing the dirt from my legs.
The water darkened by the second and it dripped to the ground beneath me, rust-red trails snaking over my skin.
It hurt—all of it. The tight, broken skin at my elbows and knees. The scrapes on my palm and the cut that scored my lip. The ache in my heart—that hurt more than anything.
I peeled off the chiton and put on the new one, tying the belt around my waist before the glint of gold at the corner of the desk caught my attention. The nib of a stylus reflected the lamplight, a utensil too refined for the humble quarters.
I took a step toward the desk, studying its contents.
Luca’s handwriting covered the parchment, a slanted but uniform script that marched over the pages even when the ink was fading.
He wasn’t patient enough to pick up the stylus and dip it in the pot.
It wasn’t until the writing was illegible that the ink pooled again, sloppy and imprecise.
They were equations, a string of numbers and symbols written in a language I didn’t understand.
I sifted through the pages, where fragments of mathematical theory, methods of triangulation, and prime numbers were sketched out.
They were interspersed with notes on astronomy, biology, and even drawings of the bones in a human hand.
More fresh sheets of parchment were stacked beneath a heavy bronze weight and a small ivory box was at the corner of the desk. I sat down on the chair and lifted the lid, sighing when I saw what lay inside.
It was the ring Luca used to wear—a jade signet his mother had given him. I’d never seen him without it.
I glanced back at the opening of the tent before I picked it up, turning it in the light.
The stone was etched with a cypress branch, the gold band scuffed and dented.
When had he taken it off? Was it the day Vitrasian died?
The day he crossed the Sophanes River? When was the exact moment he decided to tear himself from who he was? From me?
I set the ring back down, reaching for a small curling paper set along the edge of the desk.
It was flattened as if it had been unrolled.
I slid it toward me with one finger so I could read it.
But it was blank, only the sheen of godsblood pressed into the parchment visible.
The faint prickle of familiarity stirred in the back of my mind. I’d seen one like it before.
The light shifted as the tribune pushed back inside, and I lifted my hand from the desk. When I turned around, he was already standing at attention in the corner of the tent. His gaze was fixed straight ahead, his posture stiff, like he was ready to draw his sword on me if he had to.
His eyes were the color of amber glass when they caught the light, but his was a face I didn’t know from the Citadel District.
He was probably a young man from the Lower City who’d been promised grain if he enlisted with the New Legion—the same fate Iola had been trying to avoid for Zuri.
Or maybe he was someone hoping for a place of power and influence in the new Isara.
The city was filled with both kinds of soldiers.
He didn’t say a word as I sat on the edge of the cot and let myself lay back.
My hand brushed over the blanket, and, without my permission, my fingers curled in the fabric.
I pulled it toward me, pressing it softly to my face before I inhaled, breathing Luca in.
All at once, every moment came flooding back.
Every moonlit whisper, every laugh, every kiss.
Flashes of before skipped through my mind like flickers of light.
The dimple at the corner at his mouth and the shape of his hands.
The way his face looked when he was thinking.
But that Luca was gone now. He vanished the day Vitrasian died.
The tribune’s eyes landed on me for just a moment.
“You’re his tribune?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“That means you’re sworn to protect him with your life?”
He nodded.
“Then tell me your name.”
His expression shifted so slightly that I almost didn’t catch it. “Why?”
I reached up, finding the talisman around my neck. “So that I can pray for you.”
It was a long moment before he answered. “Théo,” he said. “My name is Théo.”