XXXVI

IT’S STORMING WHEN THE FIRST day of the Festival of the Ancestors finally dawns.

The westerly sea breeze whips raindrops through the tall archways lining the mess, distorting the dim, raging swells of the sea far below. The chatter in the long hall is at a higher pitch than usual despite the weather, many students toting satchels like the one I have tucked at my feet, ready for the Transvect that’s due to arrive in less than an hour.

I look up from my meal as Callidus’s shadow falls over the table, my welcome slipping to a puzzled frown as I take him in. “Where are your things?”

“I’m not going.” Callidus sits heavily, sounding almost as surprised by the words as I am.

“What? Why?”

“Word from my father. I’m to concentrate on my studies.” He tries to force cheer into his voice, but there’s no hiding his downcast aspect.

“Oh.” Callidus doesn’t need to say more; Tertius Ericius’s disillusionment with his son is no secret. Still. The honouring of the ancestors is one of the most important traditions in Caten. It’s the essence of family. To be excluded from attending… “I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.”

I hesitate. Study my food. “If you just told him—”

“No.” Callidus isn’t angry, but his tone forestalls any argument. “I’ve said it before—he’s reacting the way he needs to react. I’m sure he realises what I’m doing, and is honouring the sacrifice by making sure it seems real. A year of being cut off is a small price to pay for the safety it brings.”

I accede, though I’m not convinced, and I don’t think Callidus is either. “What will you do, then, if you’re stuck here?”

“What everyone else not going will do. Study. Train. Enjoy a couple of days without most of the Praeceptors around. It won’t be so bad.”

I can still see his disappointment, but it won’t help to call attention to it. “At least you don’t have to go through the awkwardness of meeting your undoubtedly disenchanted mother for the first time.”

A hint of Callidus’s usual humour returns. “She’s coming to the Necropolis?”

“Word arrived last night.” It was ostensibly part of a longer message instructing me where to go if nobody met me at the platform, but I know Ulciscor sent it specifically to forewarn me. With his wife present, it will be much harder to debrief. “Relucia is taking a Transvect from Sytrece just to meet me, apparently. And I somehow doubt she’s going to be impressed by a Sixth.”

Callidus scoffs. “I know Iro and Dultatis haven’t done wonders for your reputation in here, but you’re still Catenicus out there. I think she’ll give you a little leeway.”

“Let’s hope so.”

I’m about to say more when a ripple of conversational pauses slides over the mess, and I twist to see Veridius coming down the stairs. The Principalis is a rare sight around the Academy, I’m discovering, usually eliciting immediate attention whenever he emerges from his office. I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen him down here.

Veridius reaches our level, scanning until his gaze comes to rest on Callidus and I. He stops at the end of our table, indicating a spare seat amiably. “May I?”

“Of course,” says Callidus as I nod my agreeance, careful not to show any discomfort. This is my first interaction with the Principalis since my expedition to the ruins two weeks ago. Not that it’s ever fallen far from my mind. I still wrestle with what I saw—or thought I saw—when I close my eyes each night, no matter my exhaustion. Find myself fretting over how, or if, it connects to the Labyrinth. Between that and the ongoing red nightmares of the naumachia, my sleeping hours have been less than restful of late.

“Your injury is healing well, Vis?” Veridius eyes my left hand, which no longer needs bandages. It’s said casually, cordially, with no trace of undertone. I still feel like he’s making a point.

“It is.” Ulnius did a good job, the scarring across the palm barely visible. I give Veridius a self-effacing smile. “Though the embarrassment of doing it so publicly may not go away quite as quickly.”

Veridius chuckles, again as naturally as if he had absolutely no suspicion about the timing of the wound. He either doesn’t—which I find hard to believe, no matter what Ulnius has told him—or he’s again proving to be a remarkable actor. “I was pleased to hear it hasn’t been preventing you from completing your penance at the stables. That’s partly why I stopped by, actually. You are, officially, done. Once you’re back from the Necropolis, you can start taking dinner with everyone else.” He slaps the table lightly with one hand and beams, apparently enjoying delivering the good news.

Then his eyes stray to the pack at my feet, and his expression grows serious. “But mostly, I wanted to assure you that security will be tight for your trip. Praeceptor Scitus will accompany you on the way there, and we’re issuing passes to every student to ensure that no one else will be allowed to board the Transvect coming back. The Transvect itself is scheduled to shuttle back and forth on a loop for the next two days, which means there is no way to know when you’ll be on it. And in between, the Necropolis is always well guarded. You will have nothing to fear from the Anguis.”

I shift uncomfortably. “Thank you.” Locked away here in the Academy, it’s been easy to forget that Sedotia and the Anguis probably want to kill me for what I did. Though, if they only wanted revenge, they could easily have revealed my true identity to the Hierarchy and watched me die. I’m not sure whether that makes their looming fury better or worse.

“I have to admit, I wasn’t sure whether you would be attending the Festival.”

“Well. I am a Telimus.”

“Of course. Of course. It’s just, Ulciscor is a very private man, and…” He looks uncharacteristically awkward, like he’s struggling to word what he’s trying to say. Then he sighs. “I’m sure there will be much talk of Caeror. Please pour out an offering from me, Vis. And remember what I told you about grief fading too easily to bitterness.”

I look at him, and he returns my gaze steadily. Sadly. “Your father is a good man. Whatever he has said to you, I am not accusing him of lying,” he adds softly. “I’m saying that sometimes we tell people what we have to believe. No matter how wrong it might be, or how much it might hurt them.”

He claps me on the shoulder, and leaves.

We watch until he’s out of earshot, and then Callidus frowns across at me. “I know what your father thinks, but the Principalis really doesn’t seem the type.” The historic tensions between Ulciscor and Veridius are well-known; I’ve already “admitted” Ulciscor’s ongoing suspicions to Callidus, aware that most people assume I’ve been sent here to find out about Caeror’s death anyway. Sure enough, he was unsurprised at the revelation.

“I am aware.” I watch Veridius stop to speak with some Fifths, whispering something play-conspiratorially to the group that gets peals of laughter in response. Everyone loves the man.

“And even if he was, I can’t imagine there’s anything left to find. Not after six years.”

“I am aware,” I repeat in a growl, giving Callidus a reproachful look. “It’s not going to stop me from looking into it, if I get the chance.” At least if I need to do something suspicious down the track, it’s a good excuse to enlist Callidus’s help without explaining the real reason why.

Callidus drops the topic with a gesture of defeat, and we talk of small things until the chime quavers through the mess. I sling my pack over my shoulder, part ways with the wiry boy—who looks mildly forlorn as he watches me join the column of students heading toward the main gate—and then trudge into the driving rain, through the Will cage at the Academy’s entrance and down to the Transvect platform, which the behemoth of stone and wood is already sitting alongside. I’m among the first to arrive, so I take a seat in one of the rear sections and settle next to a window. It’s a little more than an hour to the Necropolis, I’m told. If I’m going to spend it alone, I may as well have a view.

Heavy droplets lash the glass, partially obscuring the view down to the churning grey waves far below. I think about what would happen if the Anguis managed to bring down the Transvect while we’re over the sea. Then try not to.

“Hail, Vis.”

I look up from my bleak inspection, surprised to see Aequa sliding into the seat opposite. She rakes water from her raven-black hair, then irritably brushes damp strands from her shoulders.

“Aequa.” I’m too taken aback to say more than that. She hasn’t spoken to me since our brief conversation on my first day here. And there are still plenty of other empty seats.

Before either of us can say more, there’s motion to the side and then Emissa and Indol are taking the remaining two spots next to us, looking as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. Emissa grins at me. “I wondered if you would be coming.”

“You hoped. You hoped,” corrects Indol. “You’ve been dying for a chance to ask him about the naumachia.”

Emissa gives him a glare and leans across to punch him reprovingly on the arm. I watch, a little dazed by their abrupt appearance. Of course, Indol doesn’t know we’ve already talked about the naumachia as much as I’m willing to—an easy reminder not to mention Emissa’s visits to the stables. But it’s been more than a week since her last one, and the Festival of the Ancestors was far enough away that it never came up.

“I’m… surprised you’re allowed to,” I admit, glancing around at the three of them. “You do all know I’m still in Six, right?”

Indol’s dismissive. “We’re not in the Academy right now. We’re all equals out here.”

“Says the son of the Dimidius,” observes Emissa dryly.

Indol sighs. “Then we’re all potentially equals out here. Academy ranks don’t apply. Besides, everyone knows you should be in a higher class,” he adds to me.

“Thanks.” Emissa and Callidus have both said as much previously, but it’s nice to hear it from someone else.

“Dultatis really does seem to hate you,” adds Emissa helpfully.

“Thanks.” I say it with a more sarcastic inflection this time. “I am very aware.”

There’s a pause as more students file past. I glance up to find Iro’s disapproving sneer favouring our group. Both Emissa and Indol smile a greeting and readily meet his gaze. Iro’s scowl deepens, but he eventually breaks off eye contact and stalks away farther down the carriage.

Emissa watches him go coolly, then glances at Indol. “No Belli?”

“She’s not coming.”

“Huh.”

I stare after Iro. “He really doesn’t like me very much, does he?”

There’s a stiffening from Aequa, as if she wants to glance at the others but is restraining herself. “You don’t know?”

“Evidently not.”

“He lost his sister at the naumachia. She was nine.” Aequa looks uncomfortable. “His family’s unhappy you got named Catenicus, when so many people died.”

I grimace. There’s not much I can say to that. It explains a lot, though.

Emissa studies Aequa. “Are you sure? He’s seemed more bad-tempered than usual since the trimester break, but I’ve never heard him even mention it.”

“My father isn’t exactly the biggest Telimus supporter. He tends to make sure I’m aware of these sorts of things.” Aequa’s cheeks redden at the admission, and she doesn’t make eye contact with me.

There’s an awkward silence, and then Indol chuckles. “Sounds like my father.” He holds up a hand as I look at him. “No, no. Not against Telimus. But he’s always telling me where people are weak. Always telling me where he thinks I should squeeze.” He glances at Aequa. “Best thing to do is ignore them. We don’t have to play their games.”

Aequa gives him a small smile of gratitude.

“You should talk to Scitus,” Indol says suddenly to me. “About Dultatis, I mean.”

“It wouldn’t do any good,” Emissa counters before I can respond. “Dultatis has authority over his class; unless he does something against the rules, his judgment is all that matters.” She pulls back a long lock of hair that’s fallen over her face. “Of course, if you managed to prove the Praeceptor was doing something against the rules…”

“He’d need the entire class to back him up for that,” interjects Aequa. “From what I’ve heard, I doubt that will happen. Sorry,” she adds to me, almost as an afterthought.

The three of them launch into a spirited debate about how I can best work my way around Dultatis’s grudge, which quickly devolves as increasingly impractical—and startlingly violent, in some cases—ideas are suggested and discarded, to everyone’s amusement. Aequa remains a touch more aloof and reserved, but Emissa and Indol bicker and joke as if all four of us have been old friends forever. The confidence and security and ease of Catenan royalty on display, I suppose.

Soon enough we’re descending to the Sea of Quus, easing to a crawl as we pass one of the white anchoring points jutting from the waves. It’s a spectacular scene out the window; the late afternoon sun is struggling to break through clouds in the west, rays of light scything through and highlighting silvery-grey water that’s being whipped into a frenzy by the buffeting wind. Even within the carriage there’s a thundering whistle as the gusts hammer wood and glass and stone, and occasionally—somewhat concerningly, I have to admit—the carriage itself shakes, as if in danger of being pushed aside. I know the Will mechanisms will be more than strong enough to hold, though.

I pretend to gaze out over the water, but in fact I’m assessing. Really taking note of our speed. The Transvect’s slow enough that I could dive off easily enough, if I was in a position to do so, but getting back on is an entirely different proposition. The thing hovers at least ten feet above the water at its lowest.

“What about you, Vis?”

I’ve lost the thread of the conversation; I turn back to the group, hiding my frustration at the interruption with an absent smile in Emissa’s direction. “Sorry. What was the question?” We’re already accelerating again. The rain lashing the windows hits harder as we gather speed.

“How many times have you been to Agerus?”

“Ah. This is my first.”

“Lucky,” says Indol, a little dolefully. “It can be quite spectacular, if you’ve never seen it before.”

“You don’t want to go?”

Indol makes a face. “No, it’s fine. I almost told my parents it’s a waste of time, but they’d be horrified to even imagine I wouldn’t visit them once they’re dead.”

The next hour passes quickly. Aequa and I recount our experience at the naumachia for Indol and—supposedly—Emissa’s benefit. I can still hear some of Aequa’s lingering questions in the way she tells her side of the story. But she doesn’t voice her doubts, is nothing but complimentary toward me.

After that, Emissa and Indol complain about Nequias, and I easily match their stories with ones of Dultatis. Aequa, for her part, seems to have only nice things to say about Scitus. I watch her as she talks, unable to help but wonder why she sat with me. The other two I can understand—Emissa because we’re becoming friends, and Indol because he seems happy to play along. But there are other Fourths on the Transvect. It feels like Aequa’s here to observe, more than converse.

Finally, just as the clouds are clearing to show a golden glow in the west, we enter Agerus.

It’s immediately distinguishable from the surrounding countryside: vast fields stretch away into the distance, and all of them are lined with tombstones. Thousands upon thousands of them. Lantern-lit paths are cut between them, and bright flowers dot the ground everywhere. Clumps of people are already gathered around graves for as far as the eye can see.

The three Eternal Fires, burning strips that span at least a hundred feet each, separate the fields. Those are the flames into which most Catenan bodies go after the rites have been said.

Beyond, is the Necropolis.

The mountain range is immense, looming, concealing the horizon for miles to the left and right as we approach. The mountains themselves aren’t incredibly high—they stretch hundreds of feet into the sky, not thousands—but they’re steep.

And they’re dotted with crypts.

I’ve read about the Necropolis, first years ago at Suus, then a little more over the past week as this trip approached. These aren’t like the graves in the fields below, single tombstones which are tended once a year. These are entire mausoleums cut into the mountain, beautifully painted columns marking many entrances, statues of gods or flaming cauldrons outside of others. Steep sets of stairs wend their way among them. Whole generations are buried within, along with separate areas to privately celebrate the Festival of the Ancestors. Full rooms, where families can relax and eat in comfort as they honour their forebears.

In all, it’s a strange and morbidly beautiful sight. The mountains hide the sun from us, casting the entire plain into deep shadow; entering Agerus feels like passing from life into the fabled underworld of the Catenans. From the corner of my eye, I can see Aequa almost imperceptibly shiver as the darkness drapes itself across the Transvect. Our conversation peters out as we take it in.

Indol suddenly frowns, leaning to the side and pressing his head against the window. “There are a lot of people down there.”

I twist, and the others shift to the glass too as the Transvect begins its descent. Indol’s right: the granite platform is crowded, far more so than families waiting for the forty or so arriving students would account for.

The Transvect slides to a halt. Praeceptor Scitus walks the length of the carriage, ensuring everyone disembarks in an orderly fashion, handing out the tiles that will allow us back on board for the return trip. He leaves us until last.

“You lot come with me,” he says as Iro and a few others disappear out the door.

I rise uneasily, glancing out the window. A thick crowd still mills, despite half the students having already disappeared with their relatives. We leave the carriage. I note how Scitus stays close to my side.

As soon as we’re on the platform, a ripple of excitement passes through the horde. I shuffle. Everyone seems to be looking at us. At me. The lingering disquiet of what the Anguis might want to do to me is suddenly, sharply in my lungs.

“It’s him,” murmurs someone nearby, whispering too loud to their companion.

Ahead of us, a large man all but shoves Iro aside, ignoring the boy’s heated objection and coming to a stop in front of us. Scitus tenses. My heart reaches into my throat.

“Catenicus.” He’s looking at me. Growls the name into an abrupt hush.

Before Scitus can move to block him, he grabs my arm fiercely in the Catenan embrace of brotherhood.