“Afraid so.” She smiles tiredly in my direction. “It’s gone now, though. I think as long as I don’t have any extra Will, it won’t trigger. And it was manageable for a while there; I can probably help haul Ulciscor up the stairs from here, if you want to risk it. But I don’t think I should try for anything longer than that. Sorry.”
I say nothing. Trying to focus on the present but lacking forward motion now, my mind is a wreck. Pain battling heartache battling anxiety battling wrath. Any one of them alone might be crippling.
“You know something about it, don’t you.”
I force myself back to now. Hesitate and then immediately know by my hesitation that I’ve admitted it. “You wouldn’t prefer to hear about what’s happening out there?”
“I’ll figure that out soon enough. You’re stalling,” she adds.
I gaze at the damp, glistening wall ahead. The stench is worse around the stairs, and my mouth is perpetually covered with cloth. I knew the question was coming, had considered my response earlier this afternoon. What to say, what to hold back. What could give her comfort and what would only make things worse.
But that all seems so distant, now. So pointless. Once we leave here, depending on how long this war lasts and where we end up, I may not see her in years. If ever again.
My chances for honesty are not infinite.
So I tell her.
I don’t go into the same detail as Veridius did; aside from anything else, there’s not the time. But I explain in the broadest possible terms about Solivagus, and the other worlds, and the Cataclysms. About Veridius’s version of events at her own Iudicium. The fact she tried to save Caeror. The fact he may yet even be alive in another world. I aim for speed rather than clarity, the weight of everything draining my voice of emotion and inflection. Lanistia listens without interrupting. I’m done in less than ten minutes.
“Don’t tell Ulciscor about Caeror,” I finish quietly, almost as an afterthought. Lanistia, I trust to approach this information with some level of circumspection. My adoptive father is another story. “I don’t think it will help him. I’m not even sure it helps you, but … I thought you should know.”
“It’s more than I’ve had in seven years, Vis. It helps. Thank you.” She gives me a gentle shove. “Speaking of your father. If your legs are up to it now, I’ll be fine here by myself for a few minutes.”
“Alright.” I stand, and though the pain returns immediately, between the extra Will and their brief respite, it’s manageable. “Don’t wander off.”
She snorts. I take a few steps, but before I can start my cautious way downward, she calls out to me again.
“And Vis?” Her voice is hard. “Caeror’s his brother, and I’m his friend. I’m going to tell him. Don’t ever ask me to keep something like that from him again.”
I grimace silently. Think about arguing but there’s no time, and no point.
Head into the fetid dark of the deep cells.
I PLOUGH MY WAY PAST NAKED BODY AFTER NAKED BODYplastered across the polished white of the Sappers, too many of them dulled and smeared with reddish brown and black. My lantern-light illuminates each in turn, and though I have Ulciscor’s cell number, I keep one eye on the prisoners’ faces as I pass.
Even so, I almost don’t recognise Relucia.
I stumble to a stop. The one side of her face that I can see is puffy, her long brown curls plastered over half of that. Strands stick to the blood-soaked Sapper behind her. Bruises cover her wrists and ankles. A sight I recognise all too well. It’s from where she thrashed in a panic against her restraints.
I hesitate for a long moment. Carefully place my lantern on the ground, and walk over to the crank in her alcove.
This will start a timer. There’s a Religion or Governance Septimus receiving Will from her, and while under normal circumstances her loss might trigger an official enquiry to Military, this will trigger an alarm. Especially so close to the attack.
I winch her carefully free.
She’s only been on the Sapper for a few days, clearly; it doesn’t take long for her breathing to change, for colour to seep into her cheeks and awareness back into her filmy eyes as she dangles on the chains. There’s a rattling as she tests her bonds. Then a flailing as she realises where she is.
“Get me away from this thing.” She croaks the words, barely wheezes them out. She hasn’t seen me yet, is twisting around wildly. “Get meout.”
I anchor the winch, then walk around into her view. Her eyes widen as she takes me in.
“Diago.” I don’t know whether she uses my real name as a deliberate ploy to appeal to me, or if she’s just panicking and it’s the name that comes to her mind. Luckily there’s no one else to hear. “Diago. Thank the gods.”
“Don’t thank them yet.” I ignore the deep horror I feel at what she’s been through. Keep my voice cold, and my gaze steady on hers.
“What?” She looks at me as if not understanding and then begins to shake. Pleading in her eyes and there’s no deception in them, for once. “No. You’re not that cruel. Just get me up and we can—”
“Tell me everything you know about the Anguis, about the Iudicium, about the naumachia. Names and plans. The weapon Estevan used.Everything.”
