The Will of the Many (Hierarchy Book 1)

I STILL REMEMBER THE TIME I had to give my first official speech at Suus. A small thing, a few words of introduction to a feast. I was all bravado until the afternoon before. Then something snapped. My heart wouldn’t slow down. My hands shook. I threw up.

“I don’t want to do it,” I eventually told my father. Voice small. Head bowed.

He sat me down. Put his arm around me. Said nothing for a while.

“You should be glad you’re nervous,” he told me finally.

I remember laughing bitterly, sure he was joking.

“It’s true.” He was always so gentle. “Nervousness means there’s a fear to be faced ahead, Diago. The man who is never nervous, never does anything hard. The man who is never nervous, never grows.” He stroked my hair. “Do all you can to think of it as an opportunity. A blessing. No matter how it makes you feel in here.” His hand pressed lightly against my chest, covering it.

I place my own hand to my chest now, imagining it’s his touch. Feel my heartbeat. Hold tight to his words as the Transvect skims the chop of the Sea of Quus.

Though I’ve been to Solivagus before, I have no memory of actually arriving, and today I’m the only person on board. So I soon find myself pressed up against the window, watching with unabashed curiosity as the island looms on the horizon.

The sun’s well past its zenith as the Transvect first flits along the sparkling water and then eases to a crawl, sliding low past one of several white monoliths jutting from the depths. It did the same thing on the way out, last time. It’s the only way across the Seawall, according to Ulciscor: anything else that attempts to cross the submerged stone barrier that rings the island—ships, even just people swimming—is sucked down by some unseen force. Dragged to the bottom of the ocean floor and held there.

From the bleak way he said it, it wasn’t a theoretical knowledge.

The wood and stone around me gives the shudder of a waking animal and starts to build speed again. I try to estimate how far we are from the shore. A mile, perhaps? The Transvect skims the waves for a few more seconds before prying itself upward. The sheer bluffs that guard the shoreline gradually begin to drop on the approaching horizon.

I move to the other side, trying to catch a glimpse of the ruins Ulciscor told me about when we were here. We’re too low, though, and Solivagus is an obscuring green mass of steep hills and deep canyons.

I’ve been jittery all trip, but it’s only now, as the Transvect finally crosses the threshold of the island, that the first real pangs of anxiety start to hit. All of the chaos and stress of these past months has been about this. Preparing for this.

There’s no more room for mistakes.

“Vis Telimus?” A white-cloaked man is waiting alone on the platform as I step out of the Transvect. A crooked, blunt nose dominates his craggy face.

“That’s me.” I present the stone identification tile Ulciscor gave me with what I hope is a winning smile.

The stranger smiles back, revealing a missing tooth. He doesn’t look much past forty. “I’m Septimus Filo. But call me Ulnius.” He accepts my tile and then eyes the satchel slung over my shoulder. “Is that everything?”

“It is.”

He holds out his hand and beckons for me to give it to him. The motion’s economical more than demanding. “I’ll have it taken to your quarters.”

Which means it will be searched first, of course. But there’s nothing to find. I hand it over.

“Follow me. And keep close.” Ulnius starts walking. There’s a slight limp to his gait. “We’ve had some reports of alupi around here, these past couple of weeks.”

“Wolves?” Ulciscor mentioned them.

“Big wolves.” The way he says it, he’s understating. “They usually know better than to come near the Academy, though. I doubt there’s anything to worry about.”

I’m not exactly reassured, but it’s not as if I have a lot of choice. I trail after the man.

“Did you recover well from your injuries? After the last time you were here,” he adds, seeing my confusion at the question.

“Oh.” The white cloak registers, and then more vaguely, the name. “You’re the Academy physician?”

“I tended you when you and the Magnus Quintus first arrived,” he confirms. We start up the steepest part of the path. Ulnius seems to have no trouble with it.

“Everything’s healed well. Barely a scar.” I hesitate. “Thank you.”

“Please. I get to boast that I sewed up young Catenicus himself. I should be thanking you.”

I give an awkward chuckle in return. As little as I’m pleased by the name, I’m going to have to get used to it.

We walk for a minute, just the leaves rustling to accompany us. The trail branching off to the east—the one Ulciscor thought might lead to the nearby ruins—soon appears, but I don’t let my gaze linger. Whatever lies out there is going to have to wait for a while yet.

Ulnius looks several times like he wants to say more. Eventually, he does, faltering to a stop.

“Before we go any farther, I… need to say something. The Principalis is probably about to tell you how that name of yours doesn’t mean anything in here. That you still have to earn your way. And as far as your lessons go, he’s right. But… look. One of my sisters was at the naumachia. And she survived, praise Arventis.”

He falls silent. Searching for the words. I let him.

“I talked to her, about a week ago. I’d heard the stories already, but watching her actually remembering it…” He exhales. Meets my gaze. “Whatever you need, Catenicus. While you’re here. After graduation. Whenever. Just let me know.”

He dips his head earnestly, then turns and presses on up the steep path.

IT’S NOT LONG UNTIL WE’RE admitted through the discomforting Will cage of the Academy entrance, Ulnius pointing out the various buildings he thinks will be of interest as we walk the manicured path down to the quadrum. The massive stone square is eerily quiet compared to the last time I was here, only the tinkling of its central fountain audible. That’s to be expected, though. The sun’s dipping low. Everyone is surely taking dinner by now.

Ulnius guides me into the Praetorium, then up a winding staircase. Knocks confidently on the door at the top.

A moment later, Veridius’s youthful visage is smiling out at me.

“Vis! Welcome. Please, come in.” His expression is warm, genuinely pleased. He turns his smile on Ulnius. “Day’s almost done. Did we make it?”

The physician smirks. “Estellia from Five came in with a cut on her hand about an hour ago.”

“Bah.” Veridius laughs ruefully, managing to infuse even that simple word with unaffected charm.

“So I’ll let you know when you can take my shift?” Ulnius looks pleased with himself as Veridius gestures in amused defeat. “Vis. Principalis.” With a nod to both of us, he disappears back down the stairs.

I enter Veridius’s office, which is the only room on the first floor, judging by the lack of doors leading elsewhere. It’s well-appointed but not grandiose: a desk in the centre with a couple of seats opposite, a couch in the corner, one wall lined with full bookshelves. On one shelf, displayed without ostentation, is a circlet of golden leaves that must be Veridius’s Crown of the Preserver. Windows face both north and south. In one direction I can see the breadth of the quadrum. The other provides a spectacular view over the treetops of Solivagus and beyond, the ocean.

And, peeking out from behind one of the mountainous rises, what I think could be the ruins Ulciscor told me about. They’re barely visible on the horizon, little more than a glimmer of stone among the trees.

“I’ve worked with worse views.” Veridius is following my gaze. His thoughtful blue eyes turn back to me, and I shuffle my feet, unable to help feeling as though he knows what I was focusing on. “How’s the side?”

“It’s healed well, thank you.”

“Good. Walk with me? I have other duties to attend, but I wanted to at least be the one to show you to your quarters.”

I trail after him downstairs and into the quadrum.

“So. Magnus Quintus Telimus thinks very highly of you. His letter of submission was glowing.”

“I’m pleased to hear that, Principalis.”

“How did you meet him?”

“Good fortune. Our paths crossed in Letens, and…” I shrug modestly. “He’s been searching for someone to take in, to support. Someone who might be able to do well here. I was a little older than what he had in mind, but I’m grateful to be given the chance to prove myself.” It’s what Ulciscor and I agreed upon—uncomplicated, and with relatively uncontroversial implications. Most people will see a childless senator spotting a talented orphan and assume we struck a bargain: me gaining access to the Telimus name, and Ulciscor gaining a powerful, beholden family member if I do well here. An unusual move, but not without precedent. Not outside of decorum.

“Good fortune indeed,” murmurs Veridius. There’s no sarcasm to it, no insinuation. We’ve left the quadrum, heading away from the clifftop. Painted statues of the gods line the path here, and traditional pyramidal shapes infuse much of the decorative work in the gardens. A few cork oaks dot the green expanse; in the distance I can see a couple of students reclining in the shade of one, books in hands. A shallow stream cuts through the grounds. Everything is quiet and perfectly kempt. An oasis against the wilds beyond the wall.

Veridius pulls me to a stop. Delays as he examines me, then sighs.

“I can only assume that Ulciscor has told you of the past I share with his family.” He’s placid as he says the words, neither blame nor concern to them. “And thus, of the things he believes I did to his brother. To Lanistia. Am I correct?”

I’m caught off guard at the directness of the question. “Yes.”

“Which means I can safely assume that he has asked you to do something, while you’re here.” He waves a hand at my expression. “I won’t insult you by asking for the details. But I do hope you realise that Ulciscor’s accusations are those of a man who loved his brother, not of a man with cause. Caeror and Lanistia were my friends. My good friends.” His voice has gone quiet, and there’s heartache in it. Genuine sorrow. If it’s a performance, it’s a good one. “He acts on his pain as best he can, and I find it hard to blame him for that—so I swear to you, you will get no disadvantage from me because of it. But nor will I look the other way if you break the rules in service of his misguided revenge.” He holds my gaze as he says it. It’s a simple statement of fact, delivered firmly and gently. He just wants me to have fair warning.

“I understand.” I’m thrown by the man’s candour. I should be strenuously denying any hint of Ulciscor having ulterior motives, but doing so right now would feel childish.

The Principalis clasps his hands behind his back as he starts walking again, and I take a couple of jogging strides to catch up. “So. Do you prefer Vis, or Catenicus?”

“Vis.”

“You don’t like the honour?”

“It’s not that,” I lie quickly. “I just prefer not to think about it.”

Veridius is sympathetic. “Of course. Of course. And along those lines, I have asked Aequa and I will ask you as well: please don’t go into the details of what happened. Most of the other students only have rumours that they dismiss as exaggerations, currently. And those few who are aware of the truth don’t need to be reminded of it. Better all-around if we just keep the focus on what we do here.”

“Alright.”

“Thank you. I read the reports, by the way. This weapon the Anguis used is monstrous. You are a true hero, Vis.” Heartfelt. Completely sincere.

Despite myself, I can’t help but feel a brief flush of pride. Followed by immediate irritation at my own reaction. Rotting gods, but the man is charming.

We keep walking. A brisk sea breeze sweeps in, dulling the last bite of the sun and whipping the Principalis’s toga dramatically behind him. I can see him wanting to ask more about the naumachia, but instead he moves on. “So what are your goals here, Vis?”

“To rise to the highest class I can.” An obvious one, and something Ulciscor assured me there was no point being shy about. If I let the Praeceptors know my intent to advance, they’ll pay more attention to me.

“And how high do you think that is?”

“Hard to say, when I haven’t had a class yet.”

Veridius chuckles. “Truth.” He steers us to the right, along a new branch of the path, returning the friendly waves of a couple of passing students in the distance. “There’s been some talk of placing you in a higher class, thanks to your… new profile. What do you think of the idea?”

I vacillate. He’s actually asking, or at least seems to be.

“I think I should start in Class Seven.”

He runs a hand through his tousled, dirty-blond hair, looking vaguely surprised. “You want to?”

“Of course not.” I’ll probably regret this—if I push the idea, Veridius might allow the head start—but it’s what feels right in the moment. “I’d be displacing someone without proving myself. I need to work my way up, the same as everyone else.”

Veridius thinks and then nods, again in that approving way that makes me feel as though I’ve done exactly the right thing.

For the next few minutes, he probes more. About my past, my education. But it comes across as curious rather than suspicious. Rote, to an extent, but friendly—questions he asks every student. He’s getting to know me. When I shy away from giving specifics, he doesn’t press. It’s not an interrogation.

I don’t know what I expected from him, but this is different. Disarming. Exactly what I would have wanted from an introductory conversation, in fact. He tells me a little about life here. Reiterates how the classes work—the bulk of the students are in Class Seven, and then a steadily decreasing, set number as the groups are considered more advanced. Forty-eight in Class Six, twenty-four in Class Five, twelve in Class Four. There are only six in Class Three, and those compete at the end of the year in the Iudicium for the final, elite placings.

I already know it all, of course, but listen patiently, more than happy to be doing that rather than answering questions.

We arrive at a tall, tapering cuneate building that I’d noticed from a distance several minutes ago. It’s intimidating up close, a couple of hundred feet wide at the base and almost a hundred to the jagged tip, decorative edging on each floor painted bright red.

“This is where you’ll be living for the next year,” says Veridius as he pushes the double doors wide. “The Sevenths all share a communal space, I’m afraid. You only get a bed and a desk.”

“I’ve had less.”

Veridius surprises me with a chuckle. “That’s nice to hear. Sometimes the reactions are not so understanding.”

“Really?”

“Most students are accustomed to the lifestyles of their parents.” He’s still smiling. “They all adapt. They just complain while they do it.”

We enter the cool interior of the boys’ dormitory. The entire ground floor is one enormous connected space, though it’s sliced into thirds by a series of short, dividing walls. A large Will dial on the wall shows that it’s almost seventh hour past noon. From the hush and lack of motion, we’re the only ones here. Cots and desks alternate along the walls, carefully positioned to give each set its own space, which is also denoted by a number carved into the stone. The orderliness of the arrangement is offset by the mess of crumpled, shoved-aside sheets on a lot of the beds and the paraphernalia strewn across most desks. And the floor, in many cases.

Veridius runs a displeased eye over the scene before beckoning me farther in. “There are some unused beds in here somewhere. I imagine they won’t be hard to spot,” he adds dryly.

We’ve been walking for about ten seconds when I catch movement from the corner of my eye.

“Callidus?” Veridius has spotted the figure too, sitting at a desk with head bowed in concentration. The boy starts at his name. He’s lithe and dark, with a thick mop of curly black hair and sharp features. My age, but small by comparison.

“Principalis!” Callidus is abashed as he scrambles to his feet.

“Why aren’t you at dinner?”

The young man’s brown eyes dart to the side. “I wanted to figure out something from class this afternoon. Get ahead early.”

“Hm.” Veridius sounds about as convinced as I feel. “Well, as you’re here, this is Vis. He needs someone from Seven to show him around. Starting with a meal.”

Callidus doesn’t hide his grimace. “Principalis, I have to—”

“Not a request.”

Callidus studies me. He looks more uncomfortable than anything else. “Of course.”

Veridius begins amiably quizzing Callidus about his study habits over the break as I wander a little way off to find a vacant cot. It’s easy enough to spot one, thanks to neatly tucked sheets and an accompanying desk completely absent of detritus. I half listen to the conversation in the background, but it all seems innocuous enough, even if Callidus continues to sound awkward in his answers.

“Bed number thirty-three,” I announce to Veridius. I can’t help but think of the numbering system in Letens Prison as I do so.

“Not superstitious, I take it?” the Principalis asks with mild amusement. I snort and shake my head. “Thirty-three, then. Your things will be waiting for you when you get back. Callidus will take you to the mess hall now, but if you have any concerns—if you need to talk to me about anything at all—don’t hesitate. You know where to find me.” He watches me to make sure I understand, to make sure I see that it’s a genuine offer, before ushering us back toward the entrance.

Veridius bids us farewell; Callidus eyes his retreating figure and then angles us along the path back toward the quadrum, significantly more reluctant now that Veridius isn’t watching.

“Sorry we interrupted you. If you’d prefer to just tell me where the mess is—”

“Thanks, but he’ll check I went with you.”

“Really?”

“Definitely. He noticed that I wasn’t at the midday meal, too.” Callidus isn’t resentful, just certain. “It doesn’t matter. I was getting hungry anyway.”

Still, as we enter the quadrum, I can’t help but notice the worried cast to Callidus’s features, the way he scans ahead. The square’s still all but empty.

“Vis, wasn’t it?” Callidus asks the question absently. “I’m guessing the Principalis wasn’t impressed that you arrived so late.”

“He knew about it in advance. Extenuating circumstances.”

Callidus glances at me, interest piqued. “Really?” Then he slows for a step. “Wait. Vis Telimus?”

I try not to wince. “Yes.”

“Huh.” Callidus guides me up the stairs of the Curia Doctrina, under the lavishly carved STRONGER TOGETHER and inside.

“You were at the naumachia.” Callidus’s curiosity has clearly overtaken his restraint. “You’re the one who killed Melior. You’re Catenicus.”

I nod, not really sure how else to respond.

“Rotting gods.” Callidus rubs the back of his neck as he processes.

Thankfully he doesn’t have time to say more; we’re passing between painted marble columns and descending a wide set of stairs, plunging into the muted roar of a hundred and fifty students talking among themselves.

The hall down here is massive, its entire eastern wall a series of archways cut from the cliff itself, allowing a spectacular view down over the glimmering ocean. We’ve emerged onto the lowest of five distinct levels, each one set about three feet higher than the next. The tiers looking down over us have fewer students sitting at their tables. At the uppermost level, it appears there’s just a single table with a few couches sprawled around it.

Nobody pays us much attention as we enter, but I can see Callidus casting a concerned eye over the room. “We sit down here.” He indicates the tables near where we’re standing. It’s the most crowded level by far, at least fifty students crammed in. “Sixths get the level up, Fifths the next, and so on.”

I continue to scan the crowd. Aequa’s up on the second-highest tier of the hall, her back to me. Above Aequa, reclining on the couches, are Emissa, Indol, and Belli—the three who snuck in to see me after the Transvect attack. In Class Three, just as Ulciscor said. Emissa and Indol are laughing about something, and Belli is focused on what looks to be a Foundation board. None of them have spotted me. There don’t seem to be any Praeceptors in the room.

“Where do we get our meals?”

“Upper level.” Callidus indicates a servery opposite the archways on the top tier. His gaze slides to the side, lingering on the half dozen students on the couches up there.

We head for the servery, Callidus with conspicuous reluctance. A few of the Class Seven students—Sevenths, as they’re apparently known—have noticed us now, but aside from my catching a few curious glances, nobody says anything. They don’t hail Callidus.

We’re only one level up when one of the Sixths spots us and freezes. Stops eating and rises. And rises. The pale young man is enormous; his auburn hair is cropped short, though there’s also light red stubble along his jawline. That and his burly physique made him look older than I assume he must be.

He’s sitting apart from the other students in Class Six, not in any of their conversations, but the heavy menace in the way he stands draws their notice.

“Ericius.” The boy growls the name, sharp blue eyes on Callidus. “Finally.”

Callidus has stopped in his tracks. “Of course they chose him,” he mutters, low enough that only I can hear it. He takes a breath and straightens, facing the other boy’s approach. “We don’t have to do this, Eidhin.” He rubs his neck. “I know it must be Prav, or Ianix, or maybe even Dultatis who asked you. But I’d really prefer we didn’t do this.”

“And yet we must.” Eidhin’s speech is slow, careful. Not comfortable with speaking Common. “Your father has made mistakes.”

“Well that makes two of us,” Callidus retorts.

It’s a flippant, nervous reply, not particularly directed. Yet something moves in Eidhin at the words. His face darkens to something ugly. “Say that again.” He’s only ten feet away. Advancing. The rest of the hall has started to quieten, most of the upper levels now having noticed the confrontation. Nobody’s moving to intervene.

I sigh, then step forward next to Callidus. Just far enough to be a cautioning presence.

Eidhin pulls up short at the motion, looking at me for the first time. “You are?” His tone is dismissive.

“Vis.” I paste on a friendly smile and take another step forward, between Eidhin and Callidus this time, sticking out my hand. “I’m new.”

“Yes.” Eidhin slaps my hand aside and moves to push past me. I know I should let him. He’s in Class Six, a rank above me.

But I’m moving back into his path anyway. Eidhin is much larger than me. Muscular. Callidus wouldn’t stand a chance in a physical confrontation, and doesn’t seem inclined to run despite that fact.

“Sixth.” I glance over Eidhin’s shoulder. It’s Emissa, calling out from the level above. The Thirds have descended a couple of levels to watch. All except Belli and the boy opposite her, anyway, who are still poring over the Foundation board in the background. “Don’t.”

She’s a Third, speaking with unmistakeable authority. Eidhin’s lip curls anyway and he moves to shove me aside this time, but I’m accustomed to dealing with men much bigger than him, and simply move so that he stumbles. I’m not trying to embarrass him, but a ripple of laughter runs through the onlookers. Which appears to be just about everyone, now.

“We’re only here to get some food,” I say quickly, holding out my hands palms-outward to show I have no ill intent. Already cursing myself for this decision.

Callidus says something from behind me, and I half turn instinctively.

Which means I don’t see Eidhin’s left hook coming until just before it connects with my ear.

I WORK HARD TO CONTROL my anger.

My nature has always been to be quick with a sharp defence, either verbal or physical—even before the Hierarchy took my family, my country, and everything else I’ve ever cared about. But that’s been an unaffordable luxury, these past few years. A bane to anonymity. So I’m always reminding myself not to be reactive. Not to draw attention. Step aside, stuff my fury deep down, and always keep to the background.

On the other hand, the Theatre was my release from all that. Fighting on that stage was one of the only ways I felt I could still stand up for myself.

So when Eidhin—this bullying stranger—actually lands a hit, I gods-damned well answer.

The blow’s a stinging one but I know how to take a punch and recover quickly; the larger boy’s eyes widen in shock and pain as I pivot in response and swing low, striking him hard in the stomach. A familiar, wheezing gasp as air rushes from his lungs. I step back. Let him double over and then coldly, furiously uppercut.

There’s a sickening crunch as I connect with his nose. Blood. Eidhin drops as if dead.

I stand there, red painting the knuckles of my right hand, and for a horrible second have to study the body on the floor to make sure Eidhin’s chest is still rising and falling. I’m used to fighting Septimii, used to pouring every inch of power I can find into every hit.

Probably shouldn’t have done that with Eidhin, even if he is bigger than me.

The whole hall’s gone silent, the weight of eyes on me crushing. Callidus is gaping at me, a half-awed, half-dismayed expression frozen on his face. I move before anyone else can, dropping to my knees by Eidhin and removing my toga, tucking it gently behind his head and then staunching the flow of blood with its hem. There will be consequences for this, but at least if I show contrition, it might not be as disastrous as it feels.

“You shouldn’t have done that.” The voice is angry; I look up again to see another Sixth rising from the table nearby. He’s athletic, strands of black hair falling over high cheekbones and a dark, brooding expression. Piercing green eyes glare at me, then at a hand on his arm. The girl beside him pulls the young man forcibly back into his seat. He goes reluctantly.

A breath later, Emissa, Indol, and two other Class Three members I don’t recognise are joining me, though they’ve seen what I’m doing and are moving to help, rather than showing aggression. Interesting. They’re in charge here, at least while there are no Praeceptors around. Their lack of outrage is encouraging.

“Idiot,” mutters Emissa with a shake of her head as she kneels opposite me, pushing her hair from her face and pulling a cloth from her pocket, dabbing some of the dribbling blood off Eidhin’s cheek.

“Me, or him?”

“Me. Your new friend’s father isn’t exactly popular at the moment; I should have known someone would want to send a message.” She glances up at me. “Though it does also apply to you, a bit. And him. Especially him. Let’s just call it all-inclusive,” she concedes, tone light as she quirks a quick smile, dimples forming.

I find myself grinning back. Her eyes are very green. I almost forget the situation.

There’s a loud cough from Indol, who’s hovering over us. “Nequias.”

“Rotting gods. Don’t argue with him; you’ll only make things worse. Good luck,” murmurs Emissa with a wry shake of her head, standing quickly. I do the same, following her and Indol’s gazes to the older man stomping his way over to us. He’s middle-aged and angular to the point of being gaunt, though toned beneath his fine tunic and red-hemmed toga. A sharp nose holds up a pair of tinted glasses, not dissimilar to Lanistia’s.

“What happened here?” He glances from Eidhin to me, looking like he’s already come to a conclusion. “Who are you?”

“Vis Telimus, Praeceptor.” I keep my voice respectful. Nequias is the Praeceptor for Class Three, the highest position in the Academy behind Veridius. “I only arrived today.”

“An exceptionally short stay, then. We don’t take kindly to Sevenths attacking their betters here.”

My heart drops. He’s not joking about the short stay.

“It wasn’t him, Praeceptor.” It’s Indol speaking up, to my surprise. I turn to see him meeting Nequias’s gaze. “Eidhin started the fight.”

“Not that it was much of a fight,” murmurs one of the other students, a girl with bright blue eyes whose name I don’t know. Beside her, Emissa hides what I suspect is mirth with her hand.

Nequias ignores the by-play, focusing on Indol. “Why would he do that?”

“He was targeting Ericius there. You can probably guess why. The new boy wasn’t standing for it.”

Nequias scowls, looking more rather than less angry at the explanation. “So Eidhin might have been going to start a fight with someone else, is what you’re saying. But our Seventh here actually did.”

“Eidhin swung first.”

“Swinging first in a fight isn’t the same thing as starting it.”

Indol’s jaw clenches, but he says nothing.

“Telimus. Telimus.” Nequias switches his attention back to me, rolling the name along his tongue as if suddenly discovering it. “Of course. Ulciscor’s boy. Catenicus. Don’t for a moment think your reputation will keep you from the consequences of something like this.”

Murmurs ripple down the hall as those closest to us catch what Nequias is saying. There’s no visible movement, but the sense of those farther away straining to listen becomes almost palpable.

“Of course, Praeceptor.” This is unfair, but I’m used to that. And it’s not that I trust Emissa—Ulciscor’s initial suspicion about her still plays on my mind, no matter his eventual conclusion—but her warning makes sense. Angering Nequias further is a bad idea.

Callidus is standing behind the Praeceptor, and I can see the lithe young man starting forward, mouth open to protest. I give him the slightest shake of my head. He’s a Seventh, too; I doubt he can say anything that will deflect the blame from me, but there’s a good chance he could get himself in trouble as well.

At the moment, he owes me. It’s not a lot, but I can use it.

“Indol, Ianix, get Eidhin to the infirmary and let Septimus Filo know what’s happened.” Indol moves to comply, as does the dark-haired Sixth who looked like he was going to defend Eidhin earlier.

Nequias glares at me. “And you? Follow. Now.”

He storms off toward the main staircase and I trail after him pensively, trying to ignore the weight of the eyes of what appears to be every student in the Academy.