“One of us has to. Come on. The others are here.” She tugs my arm impatiently.
Relucia is watching speculatively. She waves me on. “Don’t go far,” she says, tone light. When she sees my hesitation, she glances at Diago and adds, “It’s not as if it will be hard to find you.”
Whatever is happening tonight, I don’t want to drag the others into it. But to refuse now will look strange, and besides—this might be the only opportunity for us to all speak together for a while.
I nod to Relucia, and beneath the glowering light of the Aurora Columnae, allow Aequa to pull me into the crowd.
XLIX
“EVERYONE’S HAVING A NICE TIME, I SEE.” I LET MY GAZErove the sullen crowd as Aequa leads. Diago nudged his head under her hand in greeting, then retreated to trail after me again. The mob parts hastily before us.
“You should have seen it twenty minutes ago.” Not a lot of humour to Aequa’s observation.
“Ulciscor said something about Military’s leadership leaving?”
She nods grimly. “Everything seemed … alright, before that. Tense, but a bit hopeful. And then their Dimidii and Tertii just got up and walked out.” Her voice gets quiet. “I don’t think it was a statement; they clearly instructed the rest of their people to stay. But everyone’s panicking anyway. Tertius Ericius has been running around trying to find out what’s going on.”
I nod, spotting the Censor talking urgently to a group of surly-looking senators, identifiable thanks to their purple stripes despite the festival’s etiquette. “Did the others come?”
“They’re all here.”
Our small group of Academy graduates has carved out a spot in the shadows of the Temple of Jovan’s colonnade, high enough to watch over almost the entire Forum, dark and concealed enough that no one is really giving them a second glance. No one within twenty feet, and no questioning looks. Though that changes as I approach.
“Rotting gods.” Felix sighs, stamping his feet against the chill of winter’s approach. “Leave it to Catenicus to put every eyeball in the gods-damned Forum on us.” Humour in the observation, but he still edges away slightly as the alupi comes to stand at my side.
“We are not trying to hide,” rumbles Eidhin.
“We’re not trying to be the centre of attention, either.” Indol flicks the corner of his tunic with an apprehension that seems to mirror the others’. “Hail, Vis.”
“Hail, everyone. Don’t worry. I can’t stay for long, anyway.” Aequa comes to stand at my side as I examine the group. A half dozen of us, all up. Aequa and me, Indol and Felix, Eidhin and Emissa. We’ve kept in touch, as best we can through the walls erected by our respective factions. Using imbued stylii like theone Indol gave me, mostly. “Does anyone know why Military left?” I’m anxious to know if anyone has news, but no point ignoring the obvious.
“They haven’tleft. Most of us are still here,” points out Emissa quickly. “There had to have been some emergency they had to deal with. I’m sure they’ll be back with an explanation soon.”
“Would have been a lot better if they had given one on the way out,” mutters Aequa, eliciting a few murmurs of assent. Emissa’s mouth twists in irritation, though it’s a reasonable observation.
“They did appear to be in a rush,” Eidhin interjects before anyone can say anything more. “Whatever is happening, I do not believe it is designed to cause friction.”
“But it has,” points out Felix. “They have to know how important tonight is, all the pyramids voluntarily together like this. And they have to know what their leaving must look like. My father told my sister and mother to get out as soon as it happened. Everyone who matters from Religion and Governance is here. If they attack …”
“They won’t.” Indol, to my surprise. He looks at me. Certain. “I don’t know what this is, but Military won’t make the first move. They want legitimacy and for things to stay the same. They betray the Republic—gods, on tonight of all nights—and they lose their chance at that forever.”
“You’re sure?” When he nods, I try not to show the persistence of my unease. Indol doesn’t know his father as well as he believes. “Alright.” I lower my voice. “Any other news?”
“You were right about theNavisalus. It was one of four ships that went missing on the Sea of Quus in the weeks before the attack. Presumed sunk or lost to pirates.” Felix speaks up first, keeping his voice to a murmur. “It took some digging through the paperwork, but it was owned by Tertius Ciserius.”
There’s an awkward lull, and though no one looks at him, Indol shifts at the news. Ciserius is close with his father; the man likely came for meals at his house. “He would not have acted without my father’s knowledge,” Indol eventually says heavily. Eyes on me.
I nod grimly. I’ve already told him what I told Eidhin, and Aequa, and Ulciscor—that I overheard the Anguis talking during the Iudicium about theNavisalus, and high-ranking senators’ foreknowledge and support of the attack. That my warning to him was based on suspicion, not proof. But given what he already knew, he had to have guessed that this confirmation was coming.
“It’s not irrefutable, though,” observes Felix glumly. “And we don’t have names.”
“We’ll get both.” I inwardly wonder, again, whether I can even hope to trust the word of Relucia’s strange contact. But Military by now have to know that they were outmanoeuvred; the Anguis cannot hope to use them again. So giving me the conspirators, and thus likely sowing more chaos into the fragility of Caten, seems very clearly to serve the Anguis’s purposes. “If we do—Emissa, have you spoken to your father?”
She nods slowly. “If the evidence is there, he’s willing to help.”
“‘Willing to help’?” Aequa coughs a soft laugh. “I’m sure it’s a real sacrifice for him.”
“It’s still dangerous. We won’t get anyone on board with something like this unless the reward is big enough.” Emissa’s response is tight. She turns to me, dismissing Aequa. “If you find anything we can use …”
