“So are you really going to bring him with us tomorrow?” Aequa asks it, but I can hear from her tone that she feels the same way. Her face is flushed in the waning light of the torch.
“Unless he won’t come.” The Transvect uses an enormous amount of Will. It’s possible Diago won’t go anywhere near it.
“He will come.” Eidhin is watching Diago, and Aequa and I exchange a grinhe doesn’t see. Despite his protests and initial insistence that this was a bad idea, there’s unmistakeable affection in my large friend’s voice.
Diago looks between the three of us as we talk, as if following the conversation. Relaxed again, but still no mistaking him for any of the dogs that roam Caten’s streets. There’s no wagging tail, no hint of a desire to please. He’s just … interested.
I crouch by him. “We’re going back, now. But we’re leaving the island tomorrow. You can come with us, if you want.” I have no idea how much he understands. “I’ll come back here in the morning to find you. Stay?”
Diago considers me, then turns and pads into the trees.
“Yes. I’m sure him being in Caten is going to be just fine,” murmurs Aequa as she gazes at where the animal disappeared. She gives me a half smile.
I return it ruefully. “I’ll make it work.”
We head back to the Academy.
THE ENORMOUS, PYRAMID-NOSED MASS OF STONE ANDwood and glass that forms the Transvect hovers silent and still beside the Solivagus platform, doors open. Aequa and Eidhin stand a short distance away, waiting as I have a last conversation with Veridius. Livia is already aboard somewhere. She’s been quiet, barely looking at us this morning. I’m not sure whether it’s the lingering sorrow of seeing where her brother spent his last days, or anger that she was so bluntly excluded from our discussions yesterday. Probably some latent embarrassment that we took advantage of her interest in Eidhin to sneak away, too. I wouldn’t do it differently, given the chance, but it’s hard to blame her.
Diago sits on the sun-warmed stone about twenty feet away, facing us. Watching me expectantly. He was waiting patiently outside the Academy gate when we emerged, no need to even call for him.
“Fascinating.” Veridius studies Diago with black eyes. His self-imbuing is a reasonable prudence, but I’m relieved to see that Diago’s lessons from last night seem to have stuck; the alupi isn’t inclined to come near, but he hasn’t overreacted, either. “You really think he’ll be this restrained in Caten? He’ll listen to you?”
“He will.”
“Hm.” Veridius hesitates, curiosity clearly piqued, then takes a couple of steps toward the alupi. Diago’s lip curls lazily back, revealing long, jagged teeth. Veridius backs away.
“Good boy.” I call it, then toss him a piece of the cooked fish I snuck from the kitchen. It lands inches from his nose. To my irritation, he ignores it again.
Veridius just chuckles. Yesterday, I think, we saw a sliver of his true self—weary, sorrowful, desperate—but today, here and now, his usual affable charm is back on full display. “Well. He’s not what I meant when I said to protect yourself, but I suppose you could do worse. Just …” He raises a hand and then lets it drop again, sighing. “Just keep a low profile, Vis. Staysafe. And not just from the Concurrence. I know you want justice for what happened here—I do too—but I beg of you, do not risk the world to pursue it. You’re in enough danger without involving yourself in that.” Veridius didn’t have much new to tell us about the attack four months ago, but like everyone else in Caten, he’s heard the rumours. He knows senators were involved.
I say nothing, my thoughts unwillingly flashing to the Festival of Pletuna. Only three months away now. Without the usual Anguis threats of exposure hanging over my head, would I be able to ignore the temptation of the list of names I was promised? A moot point, I suppose: I can’t risk not meeting with Relucia’s strange contact, which is another reason I decided to bring Diago back with me. Whatever I’m meant to do that night, I cannot trust anyone I know to accompany me.
Veridius sighs again at my lack of response, and nods. “Stronger together, Vis.” He squeezes my good shoulder, then watches as I join the others aboard.
I turn to Diago, who’s still lolling in the sun. “Coming?”
The massive alupi stretches. Considers.
Pads lazily inside after me.
The Principalis raises a hand in farewell as the doors close and the Transvect lifts. Diago gives a soft, confused growl at the motion, but soon settles, laying his head on the floor uneasily.
The Transvect pauses, then slides forward toward the bright morning sun and Caten.
XLIV
LOSS IS HARDEST, ULCISCOR ONCE TOLD ME, WHEN IT ISquiet.
I am on sentry duty tonight. A thick, damp chill lies over the land as if to underscore the end of summer, a blanket of fog that swirls and creeps over the hills and through the shadowy trees beyond the reach of the torchlight. The inky waters below the crannog shift and slurp. Starless black glowers above. All has been quiet for hours.
And for the first time in a while, as I lean on the railing and peer out into the swallowing darkness, I cannot help but think about the world I left behind.
My idle thoughts first turn to my family. Not unwillingly, strangely enough. This sort of solitude reminds me most of Suus. The weather is its counterpart, the circumstances different beyond anything I could ever have imagined. But there is a peace in it. A sense of time simply passing, no panic to my thoughts, no furious planning for how I will survive the coming days. And so instead I think of my parents and my sisters, and I wonder what they would think of where I am now.
And I know the answer. There is honour here that runs deeper than anything I ever saw in the Hierarchy. They would have loved this place. These people.
Gods, I miss them. Not just their help, or their advice, or their comfort in the way that I have these past few years. I missthem. I want them to be here. To be able to share this with me. To be living this life with me.
