The pressure in my throat, behind my eyes, becomes unbearable. I’ve avoidedthinking of him. Ever since the funeral. Shied away from the pain of those memories because I’ve had more pressing concerns. Moreimportantthings to do.
What kind of friend does that?
Grief, my mother once told me, is love’s most honest expression. The last and hardest aspect of truly, truly caring for someone. She said it at her own mother’s funeral rites, tears in her eyes even as she tried to comfort a boy too young to understand why he was so sad, why his grandmother couldn’t be there anymore. She explained through choking sobs that without grief, love would be meaningless. Because it is impossible to truly love something that cannot be lost.
I remember that day, and I remember my friend, and I weep.
It’s a formless, confusing pain that wrings me out, chokes the sobs from me as I sit on the edge of the bed and hold my head in my hand. I’m not sure if my tears are for the boy whose time was cut short, or myself for having to bear his absence. But it helps. I force the memories. Smile at some, even as I sniff.
I don’t know how long has passed when I hear the scuffing of feet on stone.
I furiously wipe my face and stand, rapidly bringing myself under control. When I turn, Livia is standing awkwardly a few feet away.
“The Principalis just found me. He said you might be here,” she says quietly. A question in it, but softened after seeing me like this. She knows we travelled here so that I could talk to Veridius—ostensibly to find out all I can about the Iudicium attack—but he’s kept her from the rest of us for the entire day, and she wants to know why.
I grunt. Not trusting myself to speak, for a moment, and then, “These are for your father.” I gruffly hold out the pages I took from the bedpost.
Livia frowns as she takes them. Pales as she takes in the writing, her original intent in tracking me down forgotten. “How …”
“Callidus gave them to one of the students—he was trying to help them. Instead, they blackmailed him.” I hold her gaze. “It’s why he was in Seven.”
Livia says nothing for a few seconds. The pages tremble slightly in her hands as she reads through them.
“He always was an idiot.” A half laugh accompanying the words. Affectionate and exasperated, all at once. “Who was it?”
“Doesn’t matter. They’re dead.”
She gives a short nod. Looks around. Taking the space in properly. “This is where he slept?”
I smile. Barely manage to contain the fresh swell of emotion. “Sat at that desk every night. Read for hours after everyone else went to bed.”
“Sounds about right.” Her gaze stays fixed on the chair. Smile wistful. Picturing it too. After a while she shakes herself, tapping the pages against her other palm. “Thank you.”
I nod, just slightly. She means it.
“The others are waiting in the mess hall. We didn’t get much that was new out of the Principalis today, but we can talk about it over dinner.” I’ll figure out what to tell her on the way.
I take a couple of steps toward the door, then realise she’s not following.
“I’ve eaten already. I think I’ll wait here.” Livia’s back is to me. Gazing at her brother’s desk. “Just for a little while.”
I nod in understanding, though she can’t see it.
Leave her to her thoughts.
XLIII
MY TORCH CRACKLES AND FLICKERS, CASTING A SHIFTing red across the clearing. A stiff sea breeze sweeps chill air up through the trees, rustling leaves and rubbing creaking branches together. Aequa, Eidhin, and I stand in roughly the centre of the open space, my two friends peering uneasily into the shadows ahead.
“We’re close?” asks Aequa.
“He should be able to hear me.” I focus on my sense of the alupi. Not more than a few hundred feet away, I think. “Diago!”
The other two flinch at my call. “Him and half the Academy,” Eidhin mutters.
“We’re far enough away.”
Eidhin, I suspect, wishes we weren’t. Tense as he peers around. “And we arenotimbuing ourselves?”
