He glances at me. At my back. Grimaces his remembrance.
Both Lanistia and my adoptive father have been mostly taciturn since we arrived. Contemplative. They feel the surliness of the city too, undoubtedly. People sidle past with suspicious sideways glances. Clump in the mouths of alleys talking in hushed voices, or argue loudly and angrily in poorly insulated houses. Caten broods. A far cry from the joyful, festive nature it exuded last time I was here.
Of course, I’ve also given them plenty to ponder, spending much of the walk here—almost a half hour trudging through the dawn—reliving the Iudicium for them. The journey to the dome, the Labyrinth, the ring of bronze blades. The slaughter that followed.
“It’s brighter than the one at Letens.” I make the observation abruptly. It was the first thing I noticed. That golden light was present, back then, but only barely visible during the day.
“It’s not. They’ve all been getting brighter.”
I frown. “I hadn’t heard that.”
“It’s not talked about much, but twenty years ago they barely glowed at all. The prevailing theory is that it’s related to how many people have been through the ceremony.”
“Nothing to be concerned about, no doubt,” I mutter.
He grunts, but his mind’s elsewhere again. Almost certainly turning over what I’ve told him—as is Lanistia, given the way she’s completely ignoring our conversation—but I’m not worried. My lies were few and carefully crafted. I said nothing of the man with the scar, the one working with Relucia, who seemed able to vanish at will. Instead, I explained that I overheard the Anguis talking about how people high up in the Republic were helping them, just as they had at the naumachia. I never implicated Military, not directly. But I gave them the nameNavisalus. I know Ulciscor will follow it. I know where it will lead.
My adoptive father is many things, but he is not an evil man. When he realises Military are involved, aware that I will be pulling at the same threads, he will warn me.
And if he does not, it means he truly cannot be trusted.
Otherwise, my deceptions were simple and only by exclusion. I avoided mention of the strange pulses in my head that helped me evade the Anguis; though they no longer echo, they were odd enough that I feel the need to investigate them myself first. Emissa’s attempt to kill me, I simply awarded to an unknown attacker. Part of me feels foolish for the last. I don’t owe her anything.
Everything else, I related in as much detail as I could. Expounded when needed. Answered Ulciscor’s questions, which were many once I reached the Labyrinth, even as Lanistia remained grimly quiet.
My voice cracked as I told them about Callidus, despite my best efforts.
I finished with Veridius’s outrageous claim about stopping a new Cataclysm; since then, Ulciscor has said little. The way he looks at me now, I think perhaps he’s finally feeling the weight of what he forced me to do. There’s sorrow, there. Maybe even guilt.
Dismay too, though. I haven’t given him answers about Caeror. If anything, I’ve furnished him with even more questions. More threads at which to worry.
We lapse into tense silence again, letting the uneasy murmuring of the Forum fill the gap between us. We’re at the head of an orderly queue, mostly consisting of Octavii and their children, the majority of whom seem around twelve—the earliest age at which this ceremony is allowed. Many, parents included, bashfully look away when I turn. I’ve heard the too-loud whispers of “Catenicus” more than once since we arrived.
I ignore them, an art I’ve quickly had to learn since arriving in the city yesterday. When I was last here, people knew only my name. But word of the Iudicium has spread as only lurid news can. More heroics by the great Catenicus, and this time at great personal cost.
I resist the urge to rub the itching nub of my missing arm, and stare ahead bitterly.
“Ulciscor! Vis!” The female voice pierces the Forum’s susurrus, causing all three of us to turn.
“Relucia?” Ulciscor looks as surprised as I feel, if not as concerned.
“Husband!” The dark-skinned young woman with the curly brown hair all but throws herself into Ulciscor’s arms, kissing him fiercely before dancing back and assessing me with hands on her hips. “And Vis! My dear, brave boy.” She embraces me with exaggerated gentleness, as if worried she’ll cause my other arm to fall off. “How are you holding up? Don’t answer that; I am so sorry forwhat happened to you. And we are so proud to call you family. Even if you have decided to work for Governance. We will have to talk about that later. But what you did at the Iudicium was incredible. Are you fully recovered? I could barely believe it when Ulciscor told me your ceremony was to be today. I thought you would need months to heal! Does it still—”
“What are you doing here?” I interrupt the onslaught of questions. Manage to make my own sound bemused rather than angry.
Relucia laughs delightedly. “I timed my stopover on my way to Lyceria. Surely you didn’t think I would miss an event this important? You’re family, Vis!”
“Of course.” I smile, as if responding to a compliment. She knew about the Iudicium. She helped plan the attack that killed my friend. My fury flares a brief, threatening white before I drive it back into its usual icy ball. The Anguis are confident they own me now, and an enemy is never so vulnerable as when they think they are in control. So I’ll go along. Act the part. Eventually they’ll forget I’m against them. Eventually, I will get the names I’m after. “Thank you for coming. We must have dinner before you leave again.”
She beams at me. “My boy, I would have it no other way. A celebration of today. Of all your achievements! Lani, you’ll come too, of course?”
Lanistia’s attention, as it has been for the entire morning, is elsewhere. She glances over at her name, then shrugs and nods disinterestedly.
Relucia starts chattering away blithely to Ulciscor, and I take the opportunity to look around again. There are other familiar faces behind me now, though none approach. No surprise there; the Academy values students who wait to perform this ceremony. There are a few Sevenths. Ianix and Leridia from Six, Felix and Atticus from Four. Even Iro, some distance back. He catches my recognition and glowers back in customary fashion.
I find myself scanning the crowd for Emissa, though I know she won’t be here. My proof that she has already been through this process is undeniable.
“It’s been like this for weeks.” Ulciscor has joined me in my observation, saying it quietly enough that only we can hear. Relucia has moved on a short distance away to Lanistia, who is weathering the barrage of frivolous chatter with her usual impassivity. “And I fear it is only going to get worse.”
