“I am skilled enough. I amworthsomething in a fight.”
“It is not your skill or your worth, Leathf hear. It never was.” Tara cups my cheek in her hand. An oddly affectionate gesture of goodbye. “Your path and ours will just be different, for a while. It does not mean they won’t come together again some day.”
I watch her leave with the others. Feel as adrift and alone as I have since that first morning waking up in Gráinne’s hut. Tara’s not wrong, but there’s more to it. She still, deep down, doesn’t believe I really want to be there with them. She still doesn’t believe I have a heart for the fight they are about to walk into.
But I know what I want, now, and it’s not just answers from Lir. I’ve found something here in this place. With these people. They mean something to me, something I haven’t felt since Suus. Something I cannot lose again.
This evening, I’m going to have to make sure they see that.
XLVIII
BENEATH THE FESTIVAL OF PLETUNA, CATEN SEETHES.
The city’s celebrations rattle around us, a harsh and echoing drum of discontent. Strained performances on street corners bring forced laughter or hesitant cheers; the anxious revelry saturates chilly streets that are emptier than they should be, and where they are not, are comprised instead of tightly clustered mobs who eye one other menacingly. Games, which were everywhere a year ago, are all but absent. Twice already, we have heard furious shouts in the nearby alleyways. Quickly, abruptly silenced.
A year ago, these streets were wild with carousing and merriment. Bright lights and crowds and flowers and decorations everywhere. I despised it. It’s all a tense blur now. I remember tailing Relucia. Remember being attacked by the men that Aequa hired, and being certain I was going to die.
Not a night I thought I’d wish I could go back to, but here we are.
“Are you really sure it’s the best idea to bring your pet out into all this?” Relucia murmurs the words as she clings to my arm. Outwardly, as girlish and naïve as ever as we navigate the uneasy festivities. I know her well enough to see the constant assessing behind her wide-eyed examinations, though.
I glance back, though I have no need to. Diago’s massive, menacing form pads a few paces behind us. He’s adapted with surprising ease to the city, over the last few months. More inclined to obedience when I ask something of him now, but he also radiates an air of calm disdain for everything he sees, his gaze a noiseless sneer as he observes the Octavii and Septimii flowing very distinctly to the edges of the street as we pass. “Absolutely.” Quite aside from the security of his presence, he’s made Relucia visibly nervous since she collected me from Domus Telimus.
“He may interfere with whatever you need to do tonight.”
The reminder, unnecessary though it is, sends a sick wave through me. “Your disappearing friend told me I had to make sure I was noticed. Diago is the easiest way to make sure that’s true.”
Behind me, Diago rumbles something very close to a growl.
Relucia flinches and says no more, I think deciding it’s not worth theargument. We turn down a dimly lit alley. A faster route. Even as Sextii, not one we’d take without our shadow. “They’re planning to put Lanistia in a Sapper tomorrow.” She says it quietly. More to the darkness ahead than to me.
My fist clenches, one of my fingers twinging at the motion. The nausea somehow worsening. “I know.” Weeks of fighting it, now. I even addressed the Senate about it, a month ago, publicly reaffirming my confidence in her and pleading for leniency. Since then, I’ve used Ulciscor to pass on some of what I learned at Solivagus, but idiotic Catenan politics have barred me from visiting her in prison. Ulciscor understands. Says Lanistia understands. It doesn’t make it feel any less like I’ve abandoned her.
“My father put me in one when I was fifteen.”
We keep walking, silent as I turn the soft admission over. When I look at her, she’s staring straight ahead. Studying the deeper darkness in our way.
“Why?” I let my horror infuse the word.
“Coin.” She finally glances at me. Examines my face for a long moment and, apparently seeing something she needs to, continues. “There’s plenty to be had, if you know where to sell Will. Tempting, for a knight whose family doesn’t have a name. Whose provinces are not producing enough taxes and whose investments are failing.” Her face is a mask in the faint and flickering dim as we walk.
I feel ill. I know such a black market exists—eighteen months at Letens was more than enough to hear the rumours—but I’d associated it only with adoptions, men and women looking to turn a quick profit by selling the Will of a child they never really knew.
“For how long?” I whisper the words as we emerge into a new street, the lanterns bright and a small crowd clapping some display or another. Their eyes dart as they do so. As if even applause might somehow provoke anger.
“Three years.”
I don’t know what to say. It’s monstrous. I want to tell her I’m sorry. Iamsorry. “That’s … evil.”
“Evil?” Relucia gives a bitter chuckle. “He was placed in an impossible position. Condemn his entire family to becoming Octavii, or sacrifice one of them for hope. His evil wasn’t taking three years of my life, Vis. It was being part of a system which could demand it.”
We’re approaching the Catenan Forum now, festively lit with its multihued lanterns highlighting friezes and statues and perfectly shaped Will-carved stoneeverywhere. A stark contrast to the brooding mood. Pletuna demands public rather than private celebrations, else I suspect the streets would be empty tonight.
I say nothing for a minute. “I have a friend who was in a Sapper, too. For a year. He still manages to be a good man.”
“We all pretend, Vis. You. Me. Him. That’s what survivors do.” She says it simply. Not trying to convince me. Simply sure of its truth. “I’m not looking for sympathy. I just want you to understand that you’re not the only one to have had something taken from you. I saw it in that fight in the Theatre, the first time I laid eyes on you. I see it in you now.” She stops. Locks her gaze to mine. “We can’t get it back. We both know it. You act as though we’re enemies, but you want to protect others from our fate as much as I do. And you may not want to do it with violence, but … gods. What other choice do we have, now? We can spout a lifetime of words and they will echo and fade, and history will not remember a single one. I don’t like it either but when power is so entrenched, so impossibly distant, blood becomes the only possible currency of change.”
Diago’s low growl behind us reflects my mood. I don’t say anything.
