Chapter 19. Now Luca
NOW: LUCA
The roar of fires and voices filled the street as I walked through the crowd gathering in front of the Commander’s tent.
Asinia was posted outside the opening, his eyes drifting back and forth from the Illyrium to the river.
When he spotted me, he gave a curt nod and the legionnaires stepped aside, making way for me.
Roskia’s face was aglow beside the largest of the fires.
I watched as he clapped soldiers on the back in a series of greetings.
It had been weeks since Vale had extended him an invitation to the front, and he was making the most of it.
His wide smile made him look like the politician he was—an opportunist dressed in the worn armor of a seasoned legionnaire.
And from what I’d seen, the soldiers who filled our ranks liked it.
Asinia seemed to be thinking the same, his narrow eyes watching the Centurion and his tribune, Demás, closely. Asinia had never liked Roskia, even when we were just barely men learning to swing a sword correctly. Roskia had never made a secret of his dislike for Asinia, either.
Long before he was Vale’s tribune, Asinia had been a man of few words, and that was one of the reasons I trusted him.
He didn’t play games, weave rhetoric, or subtly defy orders.
And he’d been with Vale and me since the beginning—the day we’d crossed the Sophanes River.
In a few days, we’d be side by side again when we stepped back into the Citadel for the first time.
Vale was standing over an unrolled map when I came into the tent, his focus unbroken by the commotion outside.
Carved wooden pieces were set throughout the whole of the Lower City, identifying the territory occupied by the rebellion.
It was still strange to see them outnumber the smooth white stones that marked the areas still held by the last of the Loyal Legion.
The Citadel District was the only thing left to take.
Immediately, I assessed Vale, unsure whether he seemed better or worse than the day before. He looked as if he hadn’t eaten or slept in some time, and my eyes trailed around the tent until I spotted a bowl of untouched stew.
The Commander’s brow furrowed, hand tracing the soft hide as he followed a path through the tangle of streets depicted on the rendering.
I waited as he set down one of the white stone markers on the map and then moved it twice.
We knew those streets. They’d been home for years.
And now here we were, plotting how to tear them from the Loyal Legion’s hands.
I knew Vale well enough not to interfere when he was concentrating.
He was a brilliant soldier, but one who thought only in straight lines.
I’d never aspired to wear medals on my chest, but Vale had been a natural leader, even among the young men of our cohort when I was first thrust into the training ring.
That would have been true whether his father was the Consul or not.
He was a good Commander. A far better one than I could be.
When he finally looked up, his face relaxed a little.
“He’s here,” I said.
“Alright.” He sighed. “Then let’s do this.”
Vale abandoned the maps, his shoulders straightening as I found a place to stand shoulder to shoulder beside him.
“Where’s your tribune?” he asked, eyeing the opening of the tent.
“Obeying orders,” I answered.
Vale glared at me. “He’s to stay with you. I was clear about that.”
“My bow needed stringing,” I lied.
Vale dropped it. It would do us no good to appear divided in front of the legionnaires, no matter how small the argument. Not when Roskia was biding his time, waiting for any sign of weakness in the rope that tethered us.
“He’s not going to like this,” I murmured.
Vale’s jaw clenched. “No, he won’t.”
“We get across the river, then we deal with Roskia,” I reminded him.
We needed the Centurion and the loyalty of his legionnaires if we were going to take the district. We weren’t fool enough to think we could keep our hold on the city without them. But Roskia was a drought-ridden field waiting to catch flame. And when it did, we’d have to be ready to put it out.
Roskia appeared at the opening of the tent, unfastening the brooch at his shoulder. The cloak fell from his back in one fluid movement before he’d even made it inside. He draped it over his arm in an elegant manner before he handed it to Demás, who immediately ducked out to stand guard with Asinia.
“Commander Saturian.” Roskia gave a respectful bow of his head, speaking Vale’s family name with a familiar warmth he never pretended at with me.
Vale took Roskia’s arm, gripping his elbow in a more casual greeting. He knew how to play on Roskia’s ambitions, making him feel like he was part of the fold, and Roskia couldn’t help reveling in it. I was tired of watching them play this game.
“Thank you for coming.” Vale gestured for Roskia to sit, and he took the stool beside the table, immediately pouring himself a glass of wine from the silver pitcher.
In addition to cheese, Vale had also gone to the trouble of having fruit—something I hadn’t seen in months. I wondered now how he’d managed it.
“When my Commander calls, I come,” Roskia said. “What can I do for you?”
“We’re finalizing our plan to take the Citadel District,” Vale answered, leaning against the edge of the table beside him. “And I’d like your input.”
Roskia shot me a suspicious side glance. “Of course. I’m happy to help in any way I can.” He lifted the silver cup to his lips.
“Good.” Vale nodded. “I’d like to cross the Sophanes in three days’ time.”
“Days?” Roskia bristled. “Why wait? There’s nothing stopping us from doing it tonight. Now, even.”
“It’s not just the district we need, Roskia. We have nothing if we don’t have the grain,” Vale replied patiently.
Roskia set down his cup and folded his hands in his lap. “Don’t tell me you want to make a deal with them.”
Vale let his silence answer the question.
Roskia looked as if he was trying not to laugh. “You can’t be serious.” But the smile fell from his lips when Vale made no effort to appease him.
“I am,” Vale said.
“They aren’t going to accept that.” Roskia pointed behind him, where the sound of voices was still loud around the fires. “There have been too many of our men lost, Commander. Someone has to pay for it.”
“I plan to meet with the Consul tomorrow. I will propose an arrangement that allows anyone in the Citadel District to leave the city through the gates before we cross the river.”
“Sir.” The fury could barely be heard in Roskia’s voice as he spoke, but it was there.
Vale continued, “Those who choose to leave will forfeit their medallions and, effectively, their citizenship to Isara. Those with seats in the Forum will relinquish them, their villas, their wealth.”
Roskia stared at the table, visibly seething.
“I think it would be a great mistake to allow those murderers to walk out of Isara with no recompense for what they’ve done.
We’re not just talking about the loss of our soldiers.
We’re talking about the mothers and fathers who have lived beneath their boots.
Our ancestors in the Lower City who have survived in squalor while they dine on their rooftops and get drunk on their wine. ”
“I know,” Vale said heavily.
Roskia scoffed. “Do you? I was born in these streets, like most of the men in this legion.”
And there it was. That was the weapon Roskia always kept concealed in his pocket, ready to fling out at a moment’s notice. Vale was their leader, but Roskia was waiting for his chance to remind the legionnaires that the Commander wasn’t really one of them.
“If you leave the Magistrates and their families alive, they will keep their claim to their seats in the Forum,” Roskia pressed. “Even if they’re on the other side of the wall, they will want it back. With enough time, they’ll try to come get it.”
That was something Vale and I had discussed at length. According to Isarian law, the only way to open a Magistrate’s seat was for the Magistrate to die with no heir. There were those who wouldn’t be upended so easily.
“There have been enough bodies in the streets, Roskia. Enough blood in the river,” Vale said.
Now we had ventured into another unspoken argument—the Magistrates hanging from the bridge. Roskia had been toeing the line of defiance for almost two months, bolstering the Commander with the credit for the murdered Magistrates and priming the legion for a bloodbath in the district.
Roskia’s hands lifted into the air. “Look, you said you wanted my input, so let’s talk about a compromise. One that will work for everyone.”
“What kind of compromise?” I asked, already not liking where this was headed.
“Open up the gates and let everyone in the Citadel District who wants to leave. Everyone except the Consul and the Magistrate families. Anyone with claim to a seat in the Forum.”
Vale’s gaze shot to me and I clenched my jaw, trying to hold my tongue.
This was exactly what I’d been trying to avoid.
License to exact revenge on Magistrate families was license to take the life of the only person in the district I was trying to keep alive.
It had been a delicate and, at times, perilous balance.
“Require the forfeit of their medallions, as you’ve said.
But anyone with the family name of a Magistrate cannot be allowed to leave.
The legionnaires will lose faith, Commander.
I promise you that.” Roskia’s face was still turned toward Vale, but his gaze was aimed at me now, and the mask he wore slipped just enough for me to see the familiar look in his eye.
“They’ll wonder what exactly you’re trying to protect over there. ”
There was a knowing in his voice as he said it, making a chill run up my spine.
No one except Vale knew what happened the night before Vitrasian was executed, but it was a secret that had grown into a blade hanging over my head.
The legionnaires believed in Vale in part because they believed in me—Matius, son of Matius.
Not the man in the Magistrate’s robes. I was a son of the Lower City who’d crossed the Sophanes and brought the Citadel District to its knees.
And if the legionnaires lost that, I didn’t know how far their loyalty to Vale would go.
No one could know, I tried to reassure myself. So, why did I feel like Roskia did?
Vale stood, breaking the tension before it could snap between us. “The Consul will never agree to that.”
“I know, which will only work in our favor.” Roskia continued, “The Consul can’t lose his Magistrates because without them, he has no power.
And when he chooses them over everyone else in the district, they’ll probably do our job for us.
No matter which side of the river you live on, it isn’t the Isarian way to separate the sins of a father from his bloodline. ”
Vale went rigid, the implication bleeding into the air like poison. He had disavowed his father, the Consul, but as long as he was alive, there would be whispers about where the Commander’s loyalties lay.
I kept my mouth shut, not wanting to give Roskia more reason to accuse Vale and me of being in league together despite what was best for the New Legion.
Vale looked a shade paler now. “Let me think about it.”
Roskia rose to his feet, his tone changing. “You have whatever you need from me when we cross the Sophanes. You know that,” he said seriously. He was a soldier first, that much had always been true. He knew how to put his feelings aside, and that was maybe what worried me most about him.
“I do,” Vale answered.
Roskia knew disobeying orders would cost him, so he’d found ways to step around them. His leadership in the rebellion would give him fame for the rest of his life, but he’d need Vale’s favor if he was going to be granted a position of real power in the new Isara.
He gave Vale another small bow before he left, Demás following on his heels.
Across the table, Vale was staring into the flame of the lamp. “That went as expected.”
I leaned forward. “His ambition will outweigh his hunger for revenge.”
“I hope you’re right.” He exhaled.
“We can’t do what he’s suggesting. We can’t just slaughter entire families. If we’re building a new Isara, we can’t start that way.”
“He may be right that we won’t have to. We can make the deal and let it play out. Chances are that the Consul will do exactly what Roskia said and dig his own grave,” he said.
“That doesn’t solve the problem. There’s still the matter of what to do with who’s left.”
Vale nodded.
“Where have you gotten with the messages?” I changed the subject.
“Still working on it.” He paused, taking a breath before he spoke again. “You know, if Roskia is already wondering if you have interests left in the Citadel District, he’s probably not the only one.”
“I know,” I said hollowly.
He unclasped his scale armor, pulling it over his head carefully and dropping it onto the bench beside him. “Anything else?”
I swallowed, glancing again at the uneaten food on the table. The last thing Vale needed was to be part of covering up the fact that I had a Magistrate’s daughter in my tent.
“No,” I answered.
He went back to the maps, picking up one of the white stone markers, and I watched as he lost himself to the endless work of war. The guilt of it weighed heavy on me.
The spiraling towers of the Citadel were visible in the distance, where the window to the Hall of Scribes was open to the view of the city. A lot could happen in three days, like Vale had said. But if Roskia was already convinced there was something I was hiding, I had even less time than that.