Chapter Four
CHAPTER FOUR
Sarai stared at her plate. Roast meat—when was the last time she’d even had meat?—and vegetables glistened in a golden sauce. She wanted to scream.
Cisuré nudged her, looking worried. “You should eat.”
“She just watched a man burn.” Anek reached for the soup ladle. “It’s enough to turn anyone’s stomach.”
But not yours . They’d taken Ennius’s death the same way they apparently took everything else. With equanimity.
Magi bustled about the Academiae’s candlelit dining hall, long tables bursting with food and chatter. The Petitors had their own round table. Students nudged each other, pointing at them, before speeding off when Harion waved back.
Sarai numbly speared a chunk of beef and brought it to her lips. It didn’t smell like human flesh. She almost laughed. Yesterday, she hadn’t known what a roasting man smelled like. She chewed, barely registering the flavor. The tightness that had built in her chest throughout her journey back from the Aequitas grew a little sharper with every breath.
Not now . She couldn’t panic in front of everyone.
A few magi-in-training sidled up to the table, bashfully extending their congratulations. She took the chance to shovel down food, her plate nearing empty by the time Harion resurfaced from the compliments with an even larger head.
“Gods, to be that young.” He laughed .
Anek rolled their eyes. “You’re only nineteen.”
“In a few days, we age out of the Academiae. Then, it’s on to purchasing a domus. We aren’t measly Candidates anymore.”
“Measly Candidates get to eat here. Petitors have to fend for their meals.” They bit into a skewer of spiced beef. “By Harvest, I’m going to miss this spread. Taverns just aren’t the same.”
“Try getting your name on a waitlist for a scutum,” he muttered. “The Metals Guild said it’d be three months . What the fuck do I do if lightning hits my home?”
Anek shrugged. “Wish you were a measly Candidate safely cloistered in Lisran Tower.”
Sarai made a mental note to join the waitlist. If it hadn’t been for the garden folly last night, her fate wouldn’t have been dissimilar from Ennius’s. Her stomach soured, recalling who’d led her to that folly.
She forced down a final bite. “Is Kadra always like that? It was like he knew that Ennius was guilty.”
“He probably did,” Anek confirmed. “That man is uncannily accurate at reading people.”
“He’s vile.” Cisuré set down her glass with a thud. “It’s a travesty that he was elected.”
“Well, people love him.” Harion swiped some beef off Cisuré’s plate. “He speaks to their, ah, bloodthirstiness. Get used to it, Saint. As of today, we control all those people.”
“We serve them,” Sarai said coldly, blocking his fork as it attempted to thieve from her plate. Anek’s gaze flickered to her as Harion snorted.
“This from the girl who just burned a man alive on Kadra’s orders.” He rapped his fork against the table. “Climb off that self-righteous horse.”
Years of practice kept her face blank. “You’re on a pretty high horse yourself, lecher. I could help you dismount.”
“Sarai.” Cisuré gripped her wrist, eyes pleading.
“Oh, Sarai,” he mimicked. “I’d make your goodbyes now, Saint. Your friend won’t last long. ”
Sarai arched an eyebrow. “Harion, you’re wasted as a Petitor. There’s a future for you in shoddy soothsaying.”
His smile was pure spite. “Listen here, barmaid. Your vows were to your Tetrarch first, and everything else second. It’s in the fucking wording. But you, on your little self-righteous crusade, just showed everyone that your loyalty is to your own judgment. Now, Kadra is the most popular Tetrarch we’ve seen in decades. What do you think people will do to you for slighting him? Between them and him, you won’t last a month with the impression you’ve made.”
Hav?d, he has a point . Determined to wipe off his smirk, she shrugged. “Bet on it if you’re so sure, then. A hundred aurei if I survive three months.”
Anek choked on their drink. Squeezing Cisuré’s shoulder when she made to protest, Sarai held out a hand. Harion gaped, then seized it with greasy fingers. Holding back a flinch, she withdrew quickly.
“A hundred aurei it is.” His eyes gleamed. “I’ll see your corpse soon.”
A crimson veil slammed over her vision. Reining in the memory, she pasted on a pitying look. “If only—” She froze.
If only that were true . Her fork clattered on her plate. Gold winked from her sleeves, and she almost screamed at the realization that she was still wearing Kadra’s robes.
“Sarai?” Cisuré whispered.
Her lungs constricted, bright spots filling her vision. The dining hall went hazy, the sharp tightness in her chest, warning her that she’d put the panic attack off for too long.
She stood quickly. “Just tired. Goodnight.”
Ignoring Harion’s jibes, she wove past throngs of students to the hall’s main doors, breaking into a run once outside. Preoccupied with steadying her breathing, she barely noticed at first when the cobblestones below her boots grew speckled. Then, she did.
She raised her head. Silhouetted against the night sky, Sidran Tower’s spire leered in greeting .
No . Backing away like it was a blackstripe bear, she took off toward Lisran Tower, not stopping until she’d raced up the spiral staircase and bolted the door to her room. Tearing off Kadra’s robes, she collapsed on the carpet. Ugly sounds tore from her, sobs mingled with stifled screams. Pulling her knees to her chest, she rocked back and forth, wiping at her cheeks.
Anyone who sees her. Can be bought. When the vigiles had abruptly ended their investigation and thrown her out of Edessa, she’d guessed that her assailant must have been someone powerful. But plotting revenge had kept her sane, and after a couple years, she’d started to believe the mad consolatory tale she’d spun. Where she saved up for tuition, attended the Academiae, and became such an exceptional Petitor that when she inevitably found her assailant, no one doubted her word.
Sarai laughed bitterly. I’ve been a fool. How was she to take down a Tetrarch? This was Marus all over again. Wealthy men who sat above the law, spilling blood because they could . What chance did she have against a monster?
“The law needs to change,” she’d once bitterly told Cisuré before the Fall, when they’d witnessed Marus drunkenly beat a tunnel rat to death in the tavern. Frozen behind the counter, she’d clutched the cup she was polishing like a shield as Marus had pounded him into the table. Cisuré had stared at her plate, eyes glazed over as she retreated into an inner world that violence couldn’t touch. The man’s neck had snapped like a twig. He’d slid off the table onto the floor. Marus hadn’t even remembered doing it the next day, but everyone had immediately and fearfully agreed that the tunnel rat deserved it.
“Why does the Corpus even exist?” she’d spat, scouring the man’s blood off the tiles. “Why not have Marus write his own laws at this rate?”
Dead-eyed, Cisuré had shrugged. “Without established order, people have no incentive to behave.”
“Then what incentive does Marus need? ”
“There’s no changing him.” Cisuré had looked defeated. “This man should’ve just gotten himself out of poverty. You did. He had the chance for a good life too. If he hadn’t been a tunnel rat, he’d be alive.”
At the time, Sarai had thought it ungrateful to argue that a good life shouldn’t involve her risking her neck on snowgrape vines, so she’d simply accepted a teary-eyed Cisuré’s hug. But something within her had gained consciousness that day, morphing over the years into a force she’d caged and shoved into slumber. But now, she wanted nothing more than to allow it free rein. To hold a blade against the column of Kadra’s throat and ask him why.
Because there was more than one explanation for what he could have done. She’d considered an alternate theory over the years—that the voice’s owner had been trying to protect her by healing her, giving her a new identity, a new face. Yet, he still hadn’t intervened when she’d been hastily thrown out of the city.
Sarai breathed into her cupped hands as her body calmed. Friend or foe, he was there that night. And she would extract what he knew if it meant tunneling into his head and shattering it.
Someone knocked on her door. Tottering to her feet, she glanced in the mirror, wincing at the puffy-eyed creature within. Hav?d. Opening the door, she feigned a lengthy yawn.
On the other side, a familiar face waved. “I expected you to make a splash, barmaid,” he slurred. “But I didn’t think you’d go that far.”
“Magus Telmar?” Sarai gaped. “Are you drunk?”
“Not really.” He attempted a bow and nearly face-planted into the doorjamb.
Sarai took in the wineskin in one hand, the other on the banister to prevent a tumble down the stairs.
He looked about shiftily, then dropped his voice. “ Ibez .” He held out the wineskin in encouragement. “Nine-tenths pure.”
By Ruin . Aside from her parents having met their end smuggling the stuff, she’d heard enough of the potent brew of fruit, spice, and wheat to know that it was a bad idea diluted, let alone pure .
“Telmar, I’m pretty sure that’s illegal.”
He chortled. “Mighty fine, though.”
Right. She darted a glance at the landings below, rife with students. The last thing she needed was for a gossip like Harion to see her with a drunk magus.
She stepped out of the doorway. “Is there a reason you’re here?”
“Yes, yes.” He patted himself and fished out a crumpled scroll. “Brought you a present.” His features went eerily blank. “Not sure it’s a present. There’s a raeda downstairs for you. The … coachman told me to give you this.”
Frowning, she took the scroll. “Thank you. Did the coachman mention the sender?”
Something flickered in his glazed eyes. “Oh, you’ll know.”
Foreboding skittered down Sarai’s spine. Her gaze dropped to the seal, and she nearly slid to the floor at the “K” imprinted in black wax. Snapping the seal, she scanned the sharp, bold handwriting.
Stay at my tower until you purchase a domus in my Quarter.
At least he got straight to the point.
“I’m to help bring your things down.” Telmar stared at the ground.
So Kadra thought she’d immediately ride off to his home, did he? Her mouth formed a grim line. Then again, what better place to begin investigating the Fall?
“I’ll handle it,” she said quietly.
“Can you?” A tinge of lucidity entered Telmar’s voice. “After this morning?”
“I didn’t want Ennius’s blood on my hands if he was innocent.”
“At what cost? You just made yourself a target.”
“To whom?” she whispered. “In Arsamea, you said every Petitor from last year’s Robing died. Was it the same for the years before? What’s really been happening to them?”
He pressed a finger to his lips. Laughter sounded below them and he spoke quickly, words slurred with the drink .
“When one died, the others fled. If they didn’t, they joined them. That hasn’t changed for four years, so someone will die this year. If you mean to survive, barmaid, then keep that stubborn chin of yours down . Don’t look farther than the end of your nose—” Awareness left his eyes.
“Why?” Forcing herself to grip his shoulders, she shook him, trying to stop the ibez from taking him under. “Did the Petitors really commit suicide? Who should I be watching for?”
Telmar squinted. “Barmaid!” He patted his pockets. “Did I give you your present?”
Shit . Releasing him, she nodded. “Thank you for the scroll.”
Looking on the verge of tears, he flashed a watery smile and stumbled downstairs, nearly careening into Anek. They moved out of the way, shooting Sarai a curious look. She cursed as Harion’s gleeful face emerged behind them, followed by Cisuré.
“Late-night visitors already?” Harion eyed her. “Elsar only knows what they see in you, though Telmar isn’t much of a prize. Never sober—”
She threw the scroll at his head. “He was here for this .”
Catching it, Anek stared at the message. Cisuré read over their shoulder and blanched.
“Well,” Harion pronounced. “You’ve made quite an impression.”
Sarai’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t Petitors usually reside near their Tetrarch?”
“The point being ‘near.’ Kadra’s telling you to live with him.”
“This isn’t right.” Cisuré stared at the parchment like it had grown fangs. “New Petitors get a few days to pack our things, make our farewells. You’ve only just had dinner, and he’s summoning you this late—” She crumpled the scroll. “This is an abuse of power.”
“Looks like you’ll be losing the bet.” Harion raised his hands when Anek shot him a withering glance. “There’s a chance.”
“Don’t go.” Cisuré tossed the letter in the fireplace. “In addition to never taking a Petitor, Kadra has never allowed anyone into his tower. Who knows what he could do to you there? ”
“Wisdom alive, he won’t eat her.” Anek gave Sarai a meaningful look. “The choice is yours.”
I’ll be staying at his home. It could have answers , evidence. Granted, she’d probably join Ennius on a pyre if Kadra caught her snooping, and she was in grave danger if he had the suicide-inducing ability Harion thought he did. But I could ruin him.
“I’ll go.” She shook her head when Cisuré protested. “For better or worse, I’m his Petitor.”
“Finally, a decision,” Harion groused. “You women certo take your time.”
“Probably because we’re surrounded by men waiting for us to stumble so they can find purpose,” Sarai muttered. He glowered.
Anek and Cisuré helped her pack her few possessions, while Harion ran a blood-boiling commentary on the unfashionability of her two tunics. When he finally left, Sarai let out a barrage of curses that earned her a dig in the ribs from Cisuré.
“Harion’s mostly all bark,” Anek said. “It’s well known that any woman who spends an hour in his company regrets it.”
Sarai snorted, shoving Kadra’s robes into her satchel. “What about the Tetrarchs? Cassandane looks like she’d be highly sought after.”
Anek chuckled. “She prefers the company of women. Nothing unsavory about her.”
“No, that would be Kadra,” Cisuré muttered. “Everyone knows that he accompanies his vigiles when they cavort at pleasure houses.”
Lovely . “Harion called him a ‘block of ice.’”
“Because despite going with his people, he never engages in their activities,” Anek added. “Hasn’t touched a pleasure worker or had romantic liaisons even before he took office.”
“Who’d want to sleep with that?” Cisuré laughed scornfully.
Who indeed. Sarai thought back to her first real glimpse of Kadra on the dais. Hard-eyed, untouchable. Exuding power without so much as lifting a finger. This was a man more interested in blood than any other sport .
She locked the door with quiet finality, Cisuré promising to return her key to the Night Office. Outside, the moons hung low.
Tension rippled through her. “Where do the Tetrarchs live?”
“Here.” Anek gestured at the grounds. “In the four tallest towers. They double as vantage points from which to control stormfall when it strikes.”
Cisuré still looked grim. “Kadra resides in Aoran Tower to the west. Every Tetrarch’s tower is heavily warded, but his has the strongest, fully cloaked in illusion magic. No one knows where the entrance is.”
So why let me in? The question followed them to the Lisran Tower Gate where her third raeda of the day waited, painted in the black and gold of Kadra’s colors. She shivered. It looked like a gilded hearse.
Inclining her head to the coachman, she turned to Cisuré, sighing at the deep furrows between her eyes. “I’m not going off to war.”
“You may as well be.” The other girl hugged her fiercely. “Don’t be reckless. Send word if you need any help, and for the Elsar’s sakes, don’t—”
“Lose my temper, I know,” Sarai said wryly, the warning drilled into her over many years.
“Kadra has a way of getting into people’s heads. Keep him out.”
“My head’s always been a hard nut.” She patted Cisuré’s shoulder. “I’ll be fine.”
“You will,” Anek said dryly. “Kadra is many things but offing a Petitor who publicly defied him is too on the nose. Even for him.”
Somehow that didn’t make her feel better.
With a parting nod to Anek, Sarai climbed into the carriage, feeling like her last tether to normalcy had died along with Ennius. Then again, perhaps that was best—to lack all illusions as she entered a monster’s lair. Drawing the raeda’s curtain aside, she waved as the coachman clicked his tongue and hooves clattered to life.
I’m sorry, Cisuré . She watched her friend’s pinched face fade to a flesh-colored blur. But I’m going to have to get very reckless.