The Will of the Many (Hierarchy Book 1)
The Will of the Many: Part 2 – Chapter 47

“YOU’RE A GOOD STUDENT. SMART. Dultatis held you back for far too long.”

Praeceptor Scitus absently rakes back his shaggy black hair. It’s just before dinner, and we’re in his private office. It’s not as spacious as Veridius’s, and certainly doesn’t have as good a view, but it’s neat. Shelves line the wall and books are arranged by what looks like topic, dividers between sections. The desk, large though it is, has only a perfectly stacked sheaf of papers in the top-left corner, a pen, and a lamp. There’s not a speck of dust anywhere.

I hear it coming, so I ask. “But?”

“But if you’re going to join Class Four, you need to start connecting with your classmates. And I’m not talking about you being friends with Sevenths and Sixths, either. ‘Stronger together’—you remember that, right? I need to know you’re going to keep that in mind.”

I look at him, nonplussed. I don’t know what I was expecting, but this wasn’t it. “What if my classmates aren’t interested?” I wasn’t exactly a popular figure, even before the Ianix fight.

“Make them be. Charm them. Bribe them if you have to—I don’t care.”

“That… won’t be easy. Half of them seem afraid of me.”

“They are afraid, and it’s more than half.” Scitus scratches his scruffy beard. “And I don’t blame them. You have a reputation as a killer, Vis. One who was in the right, but—someone who has taken another human life. And then everyone watched you bash in Ianix’s head. Which, again, was justified,” he agrees as I open my mouth to protest, “but it doesn’t exactly say ‘welcoming.’ ”

“Maybe I like it that way.”

“Nobody likes it that way—and even if you do, I don’t care. I’m telling you what you need to do in my class, as a baseline. Otherwise I’ll send you right back to Five, no matter your other attributes.”

“Why?”

“Fourths and Thirds end up in the Senate. Every single one of them. Yes, I want my senators to be intelligent. Strong. Capable of wielding an immense amount of Will. But none of that matters if they can’t convince others. If they have no charm. If they can’t build networks and actually make a difference in the Republic.” He says it all with calm conviction. “This is a skill too, Vis. An important one, no matter how much you wish it were otherwise. So show me that you’re willing to work at it.”

There’s not much I can do but nod. There are only six months until the end of the year, and a month of that is the trimester break. Plenty of time to advance and take my shot in the Iudicium, but not if I get on Scitus’s wrong side. Especially as, at least from Emissa’s and Callidus’s accounts, Class Four is a significant step up in competitiveness.

“Good.” Scitus examines me. “The first thing you need to do is sit with your classmates at meals. Ericius will need to replace a mealtime partner from Seven, if he wants one.”

“Fine.” I’ll miss the comfortable routine of eating with Callidus, but he’ll understand. He’s even suggested previously that I might be forced into just this situation.

“And you’ll have to spend your time after dinner studying in the dormitory with them, too.”

“No.”

“No?”

I shake my head. “I’ve been tutoring Eidhin.”

“He’s in Six. I don’t care if you’re friends. Focus on your peers.”

“I’ll make friends—that’s fine. But don’t expect me to abandon my old ones, or break an oath I’ve already given.” I hold his gaze. “Or is that what you want from your senators too? A complete lack of loyalty?”

Scitus considers, then allows a small, reluctant smile. “Point taken. Continue with your evenings, then. But I won’t accept it as a reason for falling behind.”

“Understood.”

He rises, indicating that I should follow suit. “Then welcome to Class Four, Vis.”

I HEAD TO DINNER IN The mess, which is well underway. I pause by Callidus’s table.

His usual cheer dies away a little as he looks up and sees my expression. “Ah. It’s time?”

“Just had the conversation with Scitus,” I confirm apologetically. “ ‘Spend every meal with the class.’ I’m supposed to make friends with them.”

He almost chokes on what he’s eating. “Right up your alley.”

“Shut up.” I grin to show I’m joking. “You watch. They’ll be eating out of my hand in no time.”

He sighs. Gestures. “Well. Tomorrow morning before breakfast, then?”

“Always.” I clap him on the shoulder, then start up toward Class Four’s level of the mess.

The eleven other students around the table are laughing about something, but quiet as they spot my approach. I adopt a friendly, relaxed posture. Force myself to act as if I’m looking forward to this.

While friendships have never come easy to me, I do know a little about getting people on my side. I was going to be a diplomat, once. I have a fair idea of how to ingratiate myself with others.

I just, on the whole, never cared for it. Having to feign interest in those you don’t like, or at least don’t know well enough to have an opinion on. Pretending to have their interests at heart when in reality, you’re just figuring out how to make the best use of them. It’s all so… disingenuous.

I arrive at the table, standing awkwardly at its head. Normally I’d try to look confident, but my reputation’s such that showing a small amount of uncertainty might actually help. Make me relatable. “I’m Vis.” I glance over at Aequa, hoping she’ll take the lead here. She’s the only one I’ve spoken to before.

There’s silence—surprised, I think, more than standoffish—and then Aequa leans back. “Took you long enough.”

“We had bets on when you would make it through Five,” explains the girl sitting next to her, studying me intently. She has emerald-green eyes in a pinched face that accentuates her cheekbones.

I smile at her. “Who won?”

“That would be me.” The boy closest to me stands. He’s confident, with curly black hair that frames a chiselled visage. “Axien.” He extends his hand.

I shake it, the warmth of my reaction not entirely faked. I didn’t expect to be rebuffed, exactly, but there was certainly no guarantee of a gracious reception here.

There’s another hint of hesitation, and then I’m offered a seat and the others begin introducing themselves. It’s unnecessary; everyone in the Academy knows who’s in Three and Four. But I let it happen anyway, part of the social contract. Aside from Axien, there are six boys—Lucius, Felix, Marcellus, Atticus, Tem, and Titus. The girls are Cassia, Ava, Valentina, and of course, Aequa. All of them from powerful families, with either high-ranking senators or regional proconsuls as parents. None of them are enthused by my presence, but nor are they inclined to brusqueness, either. It’s a start.

“You got promoted faster than most of us thought,” observes Valentina, the green-eyed girl sitting across from me. Her accent, not to mention her blond hair and pale skin, indicates southern blood. “Only Aequa thought you’d be faster. How did you do it?”

“Well I didn’t have to punch anyone this time. So that was nice.”

There’s a moment, and then some chuckles around the table. The tension eases a little. I wait until there’s quiet again, then shrug. “I put in the work. Plus I already knew a lot of what we were learning. Praeceptor Taedia thought I’d acquit myself adequately in Four, and it seems Praeceptor Scitus feels the same.”

“Tell us,” says Tem, brown eyes curious as he leans forward. His teeth are white against dark skin. “Where in the gods’ graves did you learn to use the Amotus? We’ve been debating about it since you beat Ianix. There are rumours, of course, but…” He motions, indicating his dissatisfaction at not hearing it from the source. “It was very impressive.”

“I fought in the Victorum in Letens, when I was an orphan.” Fighting in the games isn’t something that’s going to impress the children of patricians, but everyone knows my background anyway. It’s what I’ve been telling anyone who will listen; only Callidus, as far as I know, suspects there’s anything more to it. Better this half-truth than uncomfortable questions later.

“Ah.” His gaze flicks to Aequa before returning to me, as if checking for her reaction.

The conversation proceeds fairly well from there, as I’m peppered with questions that range from my upbringing to, of course, the naumachia. Aequa, I’m pleased to see, remains friendly. Hopefully it means her enquiries about when I left the Necropolis came to naught.

While everyone’s willing enough to talk, Axien, Titus, Atticus, Tem, and Cassia are the most immediately friendly. All from Military families, I realise soon enough. It’s a divide that quickly becomes obvious: Lucius and Marcellus are from Religion, and they seem content to have their own private conversation for most of the meal, while Aequa, Ava, Valentina, and Felix—while participating in the wider discussion—seem more inclined to have quiet asides among themselves, too.

It’s a dynamic I noticed becoming prevalent in Class Five, and Callidus has remarked on it happening in Seven as well. He thinks it’s a natural outworking of increasing tensions in the Senate. I’m beginning to agree. It was probably a popular topic at the Festival of the Ancestors, which is when these divisions seemed to start.

“Is it true you actually won the Labyrinth in Six?” asks Ava, a short girl who wears her black hair in a tight braid. Her father’s a Tertius in Governance, from memory.

“Well. We got disqualified, but it was because Dultatis said that communicating in another language was cheating.”

“How is that any different from using pre-arranged signals?”

“Good question,” I agree wryly.

“You’ll have a better running partner than Tiberius, then, Aequa.” Felix chuckles. At the mention of the boy, a few of the group glance down to the level below us. I follow their gaze, spotting the glum figure among the other Fifths.

“Not a high bar,” notes Axien.

I glance askance in Aequa’s direction.

“We’ll be paired for the Labyrinth. Best and worst ranked,” she says, a little apologetically. “Tiberius was… not the best. Don’t worry. Our next run isn’t for a few days yet. We have time to work out a code.”

I accept her observation, though the mere thought of the Labyrinth makes me mildly uneasy; despite Veridius’s implying that I could practice it early in the mornings, my discoveries since mean that I haven’t been back by choice. We only ran it once during my time in Class Five, too. An abject failure: my partner was both awful at manipulating the control bracer, and then thoroughly misremembered our agreed-upon signals when he ran.

But the Fourths practice it every few days, and the Thirds even more often. I’m going to have to get used to it.

Dinner comes to an end, and I judge it as successful an introduction to my new classmates as I could have hoped for: I’m unlikely to enjoy meals the same way I did sitting with Callidus, but no one in the class is actively combative. It’s a good sign.

I pass Praeceptor Scitus on the way out. He glances up, and I acknowledge him with a nod. He gives an almost imperceptible one back. Approving.

I replace myself smiling as I head for the Academy Bibliotheca.

“I HEAR CONGRATULATIONS ARE IN order.”

I give a sweeping bow to Eidhin as I join him at the table in the near-empty Bibliotheca, tossing down the text I’ve chosen for tonight’s study in front of him. “Just moved my things.”

“How are the new quarters?”

“Acceptable,” I say airily, grinning as the other boy scowls at me. I slip into the seat opposite. “Nice. They’re nice,” I amend, more sincerely this time.

My new lodgings on the second-to-top floor of the dormitory are, in fact, very nice. Emerging onto the landing was like stepping into another world: the floor was richly carpeted, the hallways wide and inviting, and the same floor-to-ceiling archways that Veridius has in his office lined the left of the entrance corridor, providing an incredible view out over the Sea of Quus. There were mosaics on the wall opposite that, while I don’t have an eye for what passes for fine art in Caten, looked expensive, too.

More importantly, with just the eight boys in Class Four and an entire floor to ourselves, I now have my own room. Which means that if I do need to embark on any more late-night trips, they won’t carry anywhere near the risks of last time.

“I’m glad they meet with your approval.” Eidhin grumbles it in Common. He enunciates carefully, but the flow of his words is considerably more natural than it once was. Our recent emphasis on grammar is paying dividends.

“Dultatis say anything?”

Eidhin’s lips twitch into something dangerously close to a smile. “No. But I suspect he knew. He was in a fouler mood than usual.” He preens slightly. “Though that may also have been thanks to my embarrassing him in front of Praeceptor Taedia and the entire class, this morning.”

“How so?”

“I corrected his Common. Twice.”

I laugh aloud. “Then our lessons have truly paid off.” I raise my mug of water, and he clinks his to mine solemnly.

We sink into the routine of our studies after that, a combination of text work and practicing speech in Common. It’s a hard grind, this late in the day, but our integration of texts from Class Four helps. I don’t learn anywhere near as much as I do with Callidus in the mornings, but it’s enough to make the process rewarding for me, too.

“None of the Sixths would even know this, let alone be able to express it so clearly,” I say admiringly, sitting back as Eidhin finishes our session by explaining a complex, high-theory imbuing concept to me entirely in Common. “You really should at least be in Five.”

“Four, if you’ve managed it.”

“Bah.” I make a dismissive gesture, smiling, recognising the jest despite Eidhin’s words being delivered with absolute sincerity. I’m more accustomed to his humour now, able to spot when he’s making a joke. Most of the time, anyway.

We begin clearing up. “You sat with the Fourths, this evening.” Eidhin’s switched back to Cymrian, indicating he’s done practicing for the evening.

“Scitus told me I needed to try harder with other people. He basically forbade me from sitting with Callidus.”

“Hm.”

I’ve come to recognise the meanings behind Eidhin’s noncommittal grunts, too. “You don’t think I should have?”

“It is your decision to make.”

I give him a mildly annoyed glare. “I want to move up to Three. If I’m going to do that, I need to have the Praeceptor on my side.”

Eidhin shrugs. “As you say.”

It’s delivered with indifference, a complete lack of judgment. I still feel it, though. “You wouldn’t do the same?”

He shrugs again. “It is the way of the Hierarchy.” A no, from the manner in which he says it.

I’m stung by that, probably far worse than by anything else he could have said. “What do you mean?”

Eidhin looks reluctant. Knits his brow. “They ask something small of you. A thing you would prefer not to do, but is not so terrible. You think you are working your way up, but in fact they are changing you. Moulding you into what they think you should be, one compromise at a time.” He says it simply, but there’s rock-hard belief beneath the words. “I am not suggesting you should have ignored what Scitus said. I am just saying that in this place… each man has to replace his line. Has to replace it ahead of time, and be resolved never to cross it.”

I don’t say anything for a few long seconds. I think it’s the most Eidhin has ever said to me at once.

“I know,” I say eventually. The old scars pull on my back. “You don’t need to worry about me on that count, Eidhin. I have my line.”

The muscular boy looks surprised, as if expecting disagreement. He hesitates.

“It was the Principalis,” he says abruptly.

“What?” I have no idea what he’s talking about.

“That first day you were here. When you punched me.” Gruff, but something mortified in the deliberate, succinct way he says it. It’s a painful revelation for him to make. “The morning you arrived, the Principalis pulled me aside. He said that several people would be aiming to send Callidus’s father a message. Implied that perhaps if I were to knock him down in front of everyone, it may satisfy their need to hurt him without him being seriously injured.” He sneers. At himself, I think. “And he implied that if I did this, he might replace a way to… help me with something. A problem from before the Academy.”

“Oh.” I grimly process the information. Veridius really did plan the whole thing, then. Perhaps not with the intent of getting me expelled—he did have the opportunity to step in and stop me when I gave Eidhin his Threefold Apology—but at least in order to make me look bad. To put me on the back foot and ensure my barely born reputation as Catenicus wasn’t allowed too much air within these walls.

Not a surprise, I suppose. It’s still troubling.

“I am sorry.”

“I stopped worrying about it long ago. Callidus did, too.” I see where his outburst about the Hierarchy came from now. “Thank you for telling me, though. I’m glad to know.”

He nods, eyes fixed on the floor.

“You… don’t talk much about your life before the Academy,” I press on cautiously.

“It was not my favourite time.”

I chuckle. “All of it?”

“All of it.”

My amusement wanes. I don’t think he’s joking.

The conversation seems to have ended; we finish packing up and start the journey back to the dormitory, walking in silence. The night’s warm and still, an echo of a summer long since fled. There’s an animated conversation between two students on the other side of the quadrum, but we’re to all intents and purposes alone.

“I was in a Sapper.”

It takes me a long moment to process the words, to turn them over in my head and make sure I haven’t misheard. “What are you talking about?”

“Before the Academy. That’s where I was.” Eidhin’s gaze is fixed straight ahead. His voice is flat. “For almost a year.”

I gape into the darkness in front of us, flustered. “In a Sapper? I… why?”

“Because I killed people. Three Praetorians.”

“Three Praetorians,” I repeat, a little faintly. Highly trained men and women of at least Sextus status, wielding Razors.

We’ve reached the dormitory. Eidhin’s huge form is silhouetted against the orange flames of the torches on the walls. “I understand that this could… change your opinion of me. If you wish to be released from your obligation, I will bear you no ill will. On my honour.”

I shake my head. “No. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

“Even if I wish to say no more on the matter?”

“We’re friends. You don’t have to tell me.”

He studies me, then gives a short acknowledgment. “Tomorrow night, then.”

He turns and walks off. But I swear I see him smile as he does so.