I see only a father up there, still barely countenancing the idea that the son he loved is truly gone.
The Magnus Tertius soon recovers. Finishes. There’s no suggestion in his speech of downplaying Callidus’s importance to his family, nor any hint of embarrassment that he was only a Seventh in the Academy. It’s as expected, but I’m still glad, and not just for Callidus’s memory. If the Censor had moved to distance himself from his son, my hurried reasoning for getting myself assigned to him would be moot.
After him, others speak. A litany of earnest praise, half of which manages to compliment the Tertius as much as my brave, dead friend. Callidus would have found the sycophancy of it all hilarious.
The tributes continue until the last of the light has leaked from the sky. There’s a short procession to the base of the Necropolis, a few final solemn words from the priest.
And then it’s over.
I stand there for a while with Eidhin. Unspeaking. Not really knowing what to do, now. The crowd mills, a sea of low, restrained murmurs surrounding us. Many wait patiently to give their sympathies to Magnus Ericius’s family. I wonder how many just want to ensure that their presence here today is properly noted.
“Vis?”
I flinch at the voice. Turn to find Veridius standing a few paces away, his dark toga blending with the shadows. Alone, thankfully. His dirty-blond hair is, for once, neatly brushed. We haven’t spoken since he left the Academy yesterday—not since I chose to be assigned to Governance, rather than accept his offer to join him in Religion. Not since he claimed that he was trying to prevent another Cataclysm.
“Principalis.”
Veridius answers my cool greeting with a worried smile. His blue eyes are so full of concern, I can almost believe it’s real. “It seems I need to have a word with Ulnius when I get back. You shouldn’t be on your feet yet, let alone here.”
“He told me the same thing. Argued with me about it all the way to the Transvect.” Ulnius could have forced the issue—it would have been easy for him to involve the guards—but the Academy’s physician knew why I was leaving, and is a better man than that. A better man than Veridius. “I have already arranged for a physician to meet me tomorrow in Caten.” Something Ulnius did insist upon, before my departure. “I’m fine.”
“That is wonderful to hear, Vis. Such a rapid recovery is a good sign.” No trace of cynicism from the Principalis. No sign of frustration that I’ve released myself from his care. Just that genuine, caring attitude that I still find hard to believe is completely an act, even with all I know. “I am so pleased that—”
“What do you want, Veridius?” I imbue his name with impatient weariness. I’m no longer a student and in no mood for façades.
Veridius frowns briefly, then sighs and turns to Eidhin. “My apologies, Eidhin. Would you mind if I had a moment alone with him?”
My friend glances at me. “Would I?” He asks it in Common, unconcerned that the Principalis can hear. I’ve been vague about what happened during theIudicium—partly because I’m not sure how much to tell him yet, and partly because I’m just not ready to talk about it—but he knows I blame Veridius for at least some of it.
“This won’t take long,” I assure him grimly.
Once Eidhin has moved out of earshot, Veridius steps closer. Lowers his voice, though no one is nearby. “Have you thought about what I said yesterday?” No mistaking what he’s referring to. Between that and the wooden toy ship left by my bed, I’ve thought of little else.
“I said I’d listen to what you had to say, when I was ready.” I fight a wave of light-headedness. “It’s been one day.”
“And I thought you would be bed-ridden for considerably longer than that.” Calm and smooth, his sombre-but-compassionate expression unchanging. To any onlookers, simply a mentor consoling his former student. “Your life will be in danger the moment you reach Caten. I’m trying to stop what’s coming, but there are others who I believe very much want the opposite—and if they learn of your existence, you will not be safe.” He holds my gaze. Trying to impress upon me the seriousness of what he’s saying.
“Then you and I will have to make sure we don’t tell anyone.”
“That’s not …” He exhales. “I cannot imagine what you are going through, Vis. I can’t. But I beg of you—don’t let your pain blind you to what’s really going on. You have questions, I have answers, and gods know you’re smart enough to know that you need them. When you’re ready, send word. I will arrange a Transvect to Solivagus from wherever you need.”
I press down the desire to respond with another glib comment, and nod sharply.
As much as it stings, he’s not wrong.
“Good.” Nothing visible, but there’s a release of latent tension in the softly spoken word. Veridius glances around, looks about to finish the conversation, then hesitates. “While we are talking—your friends. They have been worried about you.”
I gesture to the empty space around us. “Evidently.”
“They were desperate to come over the moment the ceremony finished,” the Principalis admonishes. “I asked them not to. I thought, today of all days, it might be more overwhelming than helpful. But if I am wrong about that, I can let them know.”
I stare at him. Not sure how to respond. He’s right. I’m not ready. Notready to face their sympathy. Not ready for Indol’s questions. Not ready to hear why Aequa didn’t make it to Callidus at the Iudicium. And as far as Emissa is concerned …vek. Every time I think of her, I don’t even know what emotion I’m having. It’s all such a mess.
I hate that Veridius understands that, though.
“Tell them I’ll find them in Caten,” I mutter.
“I will. Don’t underestimate the tensions there right now, though. Divisions are deepening. From what I hear, you may find it awkward to speak privately with anyone outside of Governance.” Veridius smiles soberly, touching my good shoulder. Still maintaining that perfect, caring façade. “Be well, Vis. And truly—be careful in Caten, and don’t take too long to find me again. We need to start trusting each other.” He turns to leave.
