The Will of the Many (Hierarchy Book 1)

THE STABLES ARE APART FROM most other structures in the Academy. The smell of horse dung flares my nostrils as I get closer, and I can hear the occasional clopping of hooves within. I find myself loitering before heading inside, though. Assessing. It’s more isolated than I expected here, and I’m not more than a few hundred feet away from the eastern wall separating the grounds from the rest of Solivagus. Treetops beyond sway in the breeze.

I can’t see anything else, but if my orientation is right—and Ulciscor was correct about their location—the ruins I need to investigate should be somewhere not too far beyond.

I gaze at the barrier. Fifteen feet high, stone spikes along the top tinted gold by the setting sun. Difficult, but not impossible. Certainly not compared to getting through the guarded Will cage at the entrance and back again. All I need is some way to scale the wall, and a period where my absence won’t be noticed.

Night would be the best time to do it, of course. It’s just all but unviable while I’m occupying the same room as more than fifty other boys.

Eventually, I make myself move on. I need to be patient. Spend these first few weeks simply settling in, not doing anything risky.

Septimus Ascenia, a raspy, brusque woman in her fifties, is waiting for me in the stables. She tersely explains how to muck out the stalls. Emphasises in no uncertain terms that I’m not to touch a hair on any of the animals if I value my life. Leaves me with a pitchfork and the promise that if the job’s ever not done to its usual high standard, she’ll be dragging me back at whatever hour she happens to notice.

The next ten minutes pass in monotony as I scrape piles of hay-riddled horse dung from the floor and carry it to the designated area outside. It’s not difficult work, and it gives me a chance to settle. To review. I’m comfortable with how today went, I think, especially considering the preceding one. The work in Class Seven was dull, but I feel like I’ve made a good start in impressing Ferrea. And I’m confident she’ll approve of my answers to her test.

“Anyone in here?”

The female voice echoes through the stables; I stop mid-scoop, then lay the pitchfork against the wall and stick my head out of the stall.

“Emissa?” It’s the girl from Class Three. Her dark hair is bound back away from her face, and she’s changed out of her finer clothes and into the more practical attire of a simple tunic bound at the waist.

“Evening, Vis.” She gives me a sunny wave.

I step out of the stall, smiling back. “What are you doing here?”

“Penance.”

“Ah.” I raise an eyebrow as she walks over to the nook where the implements are kept and snatches up another pitchfork. “You know what you’re doing, I take it?”

“It’s a popular punishment around here.” She struts into the stall I’m working on, spinning her tool in a showy twirl before stabbing it into the hay. “Though if yesterday’s anything to go by, I imagine you’re going to find that out for yourself soon enough.” Bright green eyes betray her amusement.

“I’m already here for two months. That will be quite enough experience for me, thank you.”

“Rotting gods. Two full months?” She shakes her head as she starts working. “Better than the alternative, I suppose.” A definite question to the observation.

I tell her how I avoided expulsion as we scoop wet shavings into a bucket. Emissa listens with an entertained smile, her company making the work less onerous.

“Lucky,” she says as I finish, giving a quiet laugh. “I might try and spread that around a little more, if I were you.”

I frown. “Why?”

“Well, you hitting a Sixth and getting away with it isn’t exactly a precedent anyone higher than Class Seven will like, around here. Even if it was justified. Half of them will think you’re getting special treatment, and the rest will think it devalues their own position.” She falters. “And… I’m fairly sure Iro has been telling the lower classes that’s what they should be thinking. As well as suggesting that your reputation from the naumachia has been exaggerated for political purposes.”

I restrain a curse. “Why would he do that?”

“No idea. He might believe it. Or maybe it’s something he’s been asked to do by his father. Either way, he seems to have taken a disliking to you. And I don’t think the Fourths will take it too much to heart, but the Fifths and Sixths… well. Even if they don’t believe Iro, they won’t want him to see that.” She winces as she sees my expression. “Sorry.”

“Not your fault.” My good mood sours. I’m already unpopular with the Sevenths, but I was hoping that if I could advance quickly into Class Six, it might not matter.

Worse, I’m stuck here during dinner for two whole months: the punishment seemed like a reprieve at the time, but more and more I’m wondering whether Veridius might actually have preferred this outcome. Isolating me, rather than expelling me and drawing attention as a result. Whatever the case, it’s going to be hard to improve my reputation if I’m never around. And from watching the politics of my father’s court, I know how swiftly even unfounded rumours can turn ruinous.

“I think you did the right thing, by the way.” She doesn’t look up as she sifts through another batch of hay for droppings. There’s a modest flush to her cheeks as she says it.

“Hitting Eidhin?”

I get an eye roll of mock reproof. “Stopping him. Nobody else would have.”

“Thanks.” I scrape my shovel beneath a pile of dung. The fresh odour hits my nostrils with force, and I wrinkle my nose. “Though at the moment, I’d argue the others are the smart ones.”

“Oh, they are,” she agrees readily. “I only said you did the right thing.”

I concede a chuckle at that.

“How were your first classes today?”

I hesitate. “Class Seven was… less demanding than I expected.”

“That’s diplomatic.”

“Yes it is.” I scrape some clean shavings to the side. “Any advice on how to move up a few classes?”

“Really?”

“Of course.”

“Well.” She leans on her pitchfork, pinching the bridge of her nose as she thinks. “It’s about impressing the Praeceptors, I suppose, more than anything else. Ferrea is easy: be nice to her. If she likes you, and you show her you’re smart enough, she’ll force the issue straight away. From Class Six, though…” She screws up her face.

“What?”

“Dultatis.” The way she says the name isn’t exactly respectful. “It will be up to him to advance you, and he’s…” She sighs. “He’s friends with Praeceptor Nequias—think a shorter, fatter, more weaselly version. To me and any other ‘true Catenans,’ they’re polite. Friendly, even. But anyone like you, born in…”

“Aquiria,” I supply.

“Aquiria, or anywhere outside the heartland, they have a tendency to look down on. I’m not sure that any amount of impressing Dultatis is going to help with that.”

“Oh.” That sounds less than ideal. “Good to know.”

“Sorry.”

The conversation moves on to lighter things, and soon enough we’ve finished one stall and are onto the next. Horses stamp their feet as we pass, as if trying to get our attention. The sunlight has faded outside, but Will-triggered lanterns burst to life as soon as the light dimmed and now cast a rosy glow across the stables.

We chat the entire time, mostly about the Academy and what I can expect over the coming weeks. There’s an easy, immediate connection with Emissa; she has an effortless likeability about her, a vivaciousness that seems unaffected. It also doesn’t hurt, I’ll admit, that even in her work clothes she’s undeniably pretty.

I have to be wary of that, too, though.

My parents would often warn me that attraction—the rush of flirtation, the excitement of seeing someone reciprocate your interest—can become compulsion, if left unchecked. A desire that encourages poor decisions. The king and queen of Suus, of course, were warning me of girls more interested in my position than me, but the principle remains the same. And I can already feel the tug in my chest when Emissa laughs at something I’ve said, my instinctive smile in response. Can sense my enjoyment of the conversation edging past being just appreciative of the company. It’s not something I can afford to ignore.

“I have to admit,” I say as we’re loosening and spreading fresh shavings around the final stall, “after seeing what things are like around here, I didn’t expect to be having a friendly conversation with a Third tonight.” I leave the hint of a question in there. I don’t really want to ask—don’t want to threaten the pleasure I’m taking in the company, I suppose—but it seems unusual, that she’s so willing to ignore the rigid-seeming social barriers of the Academy. Coincidental that it’s her here with me tonight, too. One of the few people in the entire school who I’ve already met.

I’ve been trying to ignore it, but Ulciscor’s concern from after the Transvect attack still sits uneasily in the back of my mind.

“I’ll do what the Praeceptors want while they’re watching, but honestly? It’s ridiculous that we can’t socialise outside our classes. For me, that leaves five other people I’m allowed to talk to. And I don’t like more than half of those.” She grins. “Also, we’re shovelling manure together. I feel like that tends to level things out a bit.”

I chuckle, though I can’t help but feel the tiniest flash of disappointment, too. This won’t carry over beyond tonight, then. At least it probably absolves Emissa from any suspicion. She hasn’t asked any prying questions. She’s even only mentioned the naumachia in passing, though I know she must be as curious as anyone else about it. I’m grateful for her restraint. It feels like it’s dominated every other conversation I’ve had since it happened.

Between the banter and the extra set of hands, we’re replacing the water in the last stall before I realise it. Despite my sudden reluctance to finish, we’re soon stowing our tools and walking back to the quadrum together.

“I should report back to Ferrea and get my dinner,” I admit as we reach the vast cobblestone square. Torches flare and sputter in a stiff breeze. No one else is around. “Do you need to see her, too, or someone else?”

“Neither. I’m off to study.”

“I thought you said you were doing penance?”

She’s untying her hair, starting to angle away in the direction of the girls’ dormitory. “I never said anyone set it. I just… felt bad. That I didn’t do more to help, yesterday.” She’s still smiling at me. Her green eyes sparkle in the torchlight. “I’ll see you around, Vis.” She’s turning with a cheerful wave and walking away before I can respond. Doesn’t look back.

I stare after her for a full second before starting back into motion, vaguely annoyed to find a smile on my face.

I head into the Curia Doctrina and down into the mess, where Ferrea said she would be waiting. Sure enough, the woman’s sitting alone at one of the long tables.

“Vis.” She looks up in surprise as I approach. “You’re finished?”

“I am.”

“Ascenia will be dragging you out of bed in the early hours if you haven’t done everything perfectly.”

“I know.” I consider mentioning Emissa’s contribution, but it will only make it seem like I got away with doing less than my punishment required.

“Very well. Your food’s waiting for you in the kitchen. After that, you’ll need to go to the dormitory and collect your things.”

Cold washes over me. “Why?” Surely Nequias and Eidhin haven’t figured out some way to get me expelled after all.

“Because you need to move up a floor. There’s a bed waiting for you in Room Nine.” She stands, gifting me with an approving beam. “Congratulations. You’ll be reporting to Praeceptor Dultatis in the morning.”