It’s subtle, but Magnus Ericius’s gaze sharpens. “If you wished to pursue the Anguis, surely Military would have been your best option,” he says carefully.
“Yes.”
Callidus’s father studies me, then nods. Understanding in the motion. I don’t believe the Anguis are responsible for the Iudicium, at least not solely.
From his reaction, neither does he.
Interesting.
His hands are clasped behind his back. He wears his pain openly as he considers the stark white tombstones stretching away across the valley. “They tell me you were with him, at the end.”
I swallow. “I was.” My friend suddenly in my arms again, bloody and broken. Struggling for every breath. And then not.
“They say you carried him. All the way back to the Academy.” He finally looks across at me. Gaze drifting to my left side.
“He was my friend,” I remind him softly. My voice does crack, this time.
The Censor’s face twists and he glances away again, reflecting my grief. A display of vulnerability, however brief, that’s dissonant with the unnatural strength radiating from him.
“You should know as well, sir,” I recover enough to press on. “He was only in Class Seven because he was being coerced. He made a mistake, trusted one of the other students—Belli Volenis—with Census documents that showed all the recent deaths in the Iudicium. He was trying to protect her. She took them and told him that if he didn’t drop down to Seven, she would hand them over to her father.” I take a breath. “She died in the Iudicium, and the documents are safe; he got them back a month or two ago. It was just too late to improve his standing. He … he really wanted you to know.”
Tertius Ericius squeezes his eyes shut. “When he slipped so far, so quickly, I assumed there was a reason. A good reason. And if there wasn’t, that he needed a firm reminder that he was capable of more.” He shakes his head. “But I shouldn’t have told him not to join us for the Festival of the Ancestors. I wanted him to come so that I could ask what was going on, but in the end …” His face twists. Regretting past decisions. Mourning time lost that he can never get back.
Then he eyes me. Suddenly suspicious. “And the documents?”
“Still at the Academy, but safe. Hidden. As soon as I can get to them again, I’ll return them to you. No matter what happens between us. You have my word.”
“Just like that?”
“I told him I would.”
He studies me. Brow furrowed, as if I’m a puzzle to be solved.
“They’re going to isolate you, Catenicus. Wall you off from anyone and anything to do with the Iudicium, or Military, or Religion. As well as any easyaccess to our high-ranking senators. Including me.” He glances around. Alone though we appear to be, we both know this is too dangerous a conversation to have out here. “I understand your aims now, I think. I would like to support them. But it would be difficult to do that for a Sextus.”
Unease settles in my stomach as I absorb the implication. “Sir?” Graduating the Academy as Domitor traditionally should make me a Quintus, with everyone else from Class Three in line for a similar promotion within the next couple of years.
“You will be publicly honoured, of course. Feted for your heroism and sacrifice, as well as your achievement. Well provided for.” The Tertius says it with matter-of-fact calm. “But quite aside from their suspicion, there are many in Governance who wonder how your reduced physical capacity will affect your ability to wield Will. You will be asked to go through Placement, the same as everyone else.”
I don’t say anything for a few seconds, expression carefully neutral. Every Academy graduate has their ability to use Will assessed before being assigned to a pyramid. It’s an important process for most, a baseline measure of talent that is considered an indicator of how far one can rise in the Hierarchy.
But, we were always told, a formality as far as our initial ranks are supposed to be distributed. I’ve barely given it a thought.
Sextus rather than Quintus. Far, far easier to push me to the side. Ignore me.
I’m to be frozen out. Symbolic. Governance in name alone.
“But there is a Quintus position to be had.” Tone calm, assertive and confident. Showing none of my roiling horror at the thought. At the realisation that my injury may yet take even more from me.
“And you are still Domitor,” Tertius Ericius agrees easily. “Continue to rank highly among your peers, and none will have reason to suggest you should be given anything less than what you have earned over the past year.”
His gaze settles on me again. Meaningful.
The issue is that my missing armisa problem. There is a physicality to wielding Will. We’ve been taught over and over that the more hale the body, the easier it becomes. And, naturally, the inverse.
The Tertius moves on. “I cannot linger, but I am glad to have met you here tonight. Thank you for what you’ve told me, Catenicus. I see now why my son called you friend. Know that you have at least one more in Caten.” He dips hishead in farewell, respect in both words and motion. “Stronger together. I look forward to speaking more, once you have been through your ceremony.” He starts with a brisk, ungainly gait back along the path toward the distant Eternal Fire.
“Ceremony, sir?” I call after him.
