The Will of the Many (Hierarchy Book 1)

I’M LYING ON MY BED, staring at the ceiling, when the knock finally breaks the morose hush.

“Vis. Son.” Ulciscor’s enthusiasm seems genuine as I open the door, all the more so for Lanistia being the only other person around. He offers his hand. “I’m so glad to see you.”

“You too, Father.” The nomenclature feels more bitter on my tongue than usual, but I clasp his forearm in familiar greeting, summoning an understanding nod. We can’t talk about anything important, not here. I’m expected to put on a show until whenever we do get a chance to speak in private.

I embrace Lanistia next, kissing her lightly on both cheeks.

“You’re well?” Lanistia asks as I step away again, her dark glasses flashing.

“Well enough. And lots to tell you both.”

Ulciscor’s eyes gleam, but otherwise the man hides his excitement well. “Excellent. But for now, we’ve been told in no uncertain terms that we are not to come to dinner without your company.”

“Of course.” I smile wanly and move to pull the door shut.

“Wait! Before we go.” Ulciscor rummages in a pocket, then produces a small, thin box. “A gift from your mother. To let you know how proud she is of your advancement.”

I take the slim wooden case, opening it. A beautifully crafted gold-plated stylus lies on velvet within. Stronger Together is delicately inscribed on the stem.

“It’s beautiful. You’ll have to thank her for me.” I duck back into my room and tuck the box into a desk drawer before rejoining the other two. We start walking.

The day’s bright outside the wide archways, blue sky broken only by wisps of white far above. I breathe in as I look out over the view, letting it wash over me, focusing on it rather than the corpse of my home. There are more boats docked on the massive pier below. The senators have started to arrive in number.

We make small talk for the few minutes it takes to walk the near-empty passageways to the dining hall. Ulciscor is excited at my elevation to Class Four—a note of what seems to be genuine pride in his congratulations—and then unabashedly pleased when I briefly tell him about the Festival of Pletuna and Aequa’s attempt to “unmask” my cheating. I’m not sure whether his delight is more at my rapid advancement in the class, or that it’s come at Aequa’s, and therefore Advenius’s, expense.

I try to match his enthusiasm, but my heart’s not in it. Hard to blame Aequa for thinking as she did, regardless of her actions.

We reach the dining hall. Gone is the long table in the centre, replaced by several smaller ones, each surrounded by three broad couches in the Catenan style. The floor has been overlaid with gold and obsidian in an intricate Catenan mosaic. The walls are decked in Catenan art. Catenan sculptures skulk in each corner.

None of the Thirds are here yet. The room’s filled, though, at least two dozen mostly older men split off into groups of two or three as they laugh or murmur together. I recognise only Dimidius Quiscil and his wife, who are reclining on couches around the unmistakeably preeminent table at the far end of the room.

Before I can properly take it in, a senator is introducing himself. He’s Magnus Quintus Omus. I remember the name from Lanistia’s lessons. I politely ask after his holdings in the east. He’s pleased I know who he is.

We speak for a spare few minutes, and then Omus is replaced by the next senator. And the next. And the next. It goes like that for at least the next half hour as Ulciscor shows me to each in turn like a proud father. I do my part. Smile, shake hands, offer the occasional compliment or other pleasantry. Every single one commends me on my bravery at the naumachia, and most go on to say that they expect to see me doing great things once I reach the Senate. I try to sound enthusiastic in response.

Finally, though, I feel a gentle tap on my shoulder, and turn to find Indol behind me.

“My father has asked that you join us, Vis.” He motions politely with his head toward the far table. Not a slight, but it’s clear the invitation is for me alone.

Ulciscor’s not fazed, urging me away in assent. “We’ll speak later.”

“Thanks for the rescue,” I murmur as we head across the room. Finally having a chance to look around again without coming across as bored, I spot Emissa and Belli at a table in the centre of the room. Like everything else in the Hierarchy, the seating arrangements indicate rank, and I’m interested to see that the Thirds are placed between the Quartii and Quintii. Emissa gives me a small wave as she notices my inspection, which I discreetly return.

“Don’t thank me yet,” says Indol cheerfully as he guides me over to his parents.

“Catenicus. Welcome. Please, join us.” The Dimidius’s easy demeanour seems at odds with the power emanating from him; genial though the words are, they still come out an irresistible command.

“It’s an honour, sir.” I perch on the couch indicated, trying to look appropriately flattered. The words are ash in my mouth, but I can’t risk showing him even a hint of my anger. The Dimidius isn’t someone to be trifled with.

“So what do you think of our little island here?” Quiscil asks as Indol moves off to join the other two Thirds, leaving us alone.

“It’s beautiful, sir.”

“It is, isn’t it?” The Dimidius looks around, as if admiring the additions he’s made. “It’s come a long way in three years.” Thankfully I’m spared from responding by the arrival of the first course: pheasant, lobster, and raw oysters among the dishes, nothing new to me, but exotic for most Catenans. Even the dinnerware is gaudy, silver encrusted with semi-precious stones. I keep my eyes on the food, worried that if I look up, Quiscil will see my simmering fury.

“I’ve been looking forward to speaking with you, ever since the naumachia.” Somehow both casual and intense. “I’ve heard the stories, of course. Read the reports. But you. You were there. You saw it up close.” He leans back, downing an oyster in one smooth motion. “Tell me everything.”

He means it. He’s not just asking from form. Not going to take what I say at face value, either, I can tell.

The next hour is one of the most tense I’ve spent. Quiscil’s not shy about asking direct, probing questions, which come constant and hard and focused. It doesn’t help that I’m still off-balance, thrown by my surroundings. My answers feel neither quick nor smooth enough, despite the many hours of rehearsal I’ve done to satisfy exactly this sort of grilling. Hopefully the Dimidius just marks it down to my being intimidated.

Though he’s cautious, clever in his approach, it doesn’t take long for me to spot the angle to Quiscil’s interrogation. Of course. He’s not suspicious of me—he simply wants to know as much as he can about the weapon the Anguis used. Undoubtedly interested in both finding a defence against it, and acquiring the power for his own means. It’s probably why I got the invitation here in the first place.

Once I realise what he’s after, my answers become easier, even if the nervousness remains. To make matters worse, Fadrique makes several appearances during our conversation, quietly relaying information into the Dimidius’s ear before disappearing again. At least I haven’t spotted anything unusual in his behaviour.

That doesn’t stop my muscles from tightening every time he walks in the room. I’ve been sure not to talk too much in his presence, either. I’ve worked for more than three years on smoothing away my accent, but I’m terrified that hearing my voice might prompt a memory which sight alone hasn’t.

After a while we’re joined by two other senators—both Magnus Tertii, it turns out—but even when the Dimidius’s attention is elsewhere, the dinner’s interminable. The food is all wrong: there’s fish, but it’s broiled in the Catenan manner; fresh clams, but clearly prepared by someone other than a cook from Suus. The Dimidius proudly proclaims the authenticity of the dishes to us, describing some as local delicacies. Tells wildly inaccurate, exaggerated versions of Suus’s history. Regales everyone with stories of the conquest from three and a half years ago, about how bloodless it was, about how eagerly the populace welcomed the advancement of the Hierarchy. Of civilisation.

It takes all I have not to spring out of my seat and leave. To feign enjoyment and play along. Ignore it. Get Relucia’s information. Leave all of this behind. I don’t know how many times I repeat it to myself.

“Vis.” The female voice finally sounds softly in my ear during a break in conversation, accompanied by a light touch on my shoulder. I turn to see Emissa standing behind me. She smiles at me, then addresses Quiscil. “I apologise for interrupting, sir, but I need Vis here to settle a debate between myself and your son. Do you terribly mind…”

Quiscil glances between me and her. “Never keep a lady waiting.” He holds out his hand as I stand, concealing my utter relief. “A pleasure, Catenicus. I trust we will speak more, once the summit is over.”

I clutch it firmly. “I look forward to it, sir.”

Emissa steers me away. Her eyes dance as she looks across at me. “You know, I think that might be the first time I’ve seen you so utterly uncomfortable.”

I wince. “That obvious?”

“No, no. You’re quite good at hiding it. But I could tell.”

I glance over at the table where Indol and Belli are sitting. We’re not heading there. “I take it there was no dispute?”

“No dispute. Just boredom.”

I grin at that, despite myself, despite the surroundings. “So you’re saying I’m an improvement on those two?”

She makes a vague, indecisive gesture with her hand. “I’m saying you’re different, at least.”

I bump her reprovingly with my shoulder, and she grins back.

We wander to a dimly lit corner and stop at an unspoken signal, turning to face the room and observe in a small pocket of privacy. The conversation between us remains light, idle but comfortable. There’s entertainment: a poetry recital which we mock quietly but mercilessly, followed by acrobatics which are surprisingly impressive. At one point Emissa points out a senator whose face looks exactly like the whole roasted turtle being brought out on a platter, and I almost choke on my wine with laughter.

Despite everything, the horror of my surroundings starts to fade, just a little. My chest doesn’t feel as constricted. Even when we’re not joking about something, my smiles feel… genuine.

The next two courses go by before there’s movement from the corner of my eye, and I turn to find Ulciscor wandering over to us. “A friend of yours, Vis?”

“Emissa Corenius.” She offers her hand.

Ulciscor clasps it and bows over it politely. “Ah, of course! I know your father. A shame he could not be here. We have had many robust discussions in the Senate.” He beams to show he doesn’t mean it in a negative way. “How are you finding the Academy?”

“Challenging, of course. I’m looking forward to the end of the year and moving into public service.”

“No plans for family?”

“I’d prefer to improve my position first. I still have five years before there are tax implications.”

“Of course. Of course. My wife was the same.” He nods to her. “A pleasure, Emissa, but I do have to steal Vis away, I’m afraid. There are a lot of senators still anxious to meet him, and they’re only here for a few days.” The last is more for me than her. A slight reproval.

Emissa takes the cue with good grace. “Nice to meet you, Magnus Quintus.” She gives me a final, half-pitying smile farewell, then drifts away back toward where Indol and Belli are sitting, deep in conversation.

Ulciscor watches her go, not moving. “You need to be careful of that one, Vis.”

“I know. I am.”

“It didn’t look that way.” He finally glances at me. “She was the one who gave you the drink after the Transvect attack.”

“She was.” I meet his gaze. Some of the relief I’ve felt while talking to Emissa starts to fade. “I’m being careful.”

He studies me for a few long moments. “Alright.”

I trail after him back into the fray of senatorial inquisition. Somehow, though the next hour or two lasts an eternity, the evening draws to a close and people begin to retire. I make my excuses as soon as I think is polite. I’m almost blind with weariness—much of it an emotional toll, I know—as I finally get back to my room, shutting and locking the door behind me. I want nothing more than to collapse onto the bed and shut my eyes. Leave this day behind.

Instead I force back a yawn, light the lamp from my desk and shutter it, and then stumble over to the fireplace.

THE TUNNELS ARE PITCH-BLACK ASIDE from the dim light of my lamp. Smaller than I remember, the sides brushing my shoulders at points. I hurry to the east, wracking my memory at every juncture. I’m not intending to be long in here, but it’s been years, and the Hierarchy knows about these passageways. I need to check there are no guards, no Will-based alarms, no ways blocked off between my rooms and the halls where I expect the senators will hold their summit.

There’s nothing, though, as far as I can tell. Perhaps, with my family dead, the Catenans simply decided these secret ways weren’t worth worrying about. Few others on Suus knew of them, and their one external access is all but impossible to traverse. Hardly a security risk in what is now little more than a holiday home.

The silence weighs on me as I shuffle carefully along, marking the way I’ve come at intersections by scoring small marks on the stone with my dagger. The scratching echoes into the darkness whenever I do so, but it’s a necessary precaution. As much time as I once spent in here, it’s easy to get turned around in the dark.

There are three halls I think would be large enough to accommodate all the senators. Each, thankfully, still have their listening slots: head-height doors that slide soundlessly to the side, blending perfectly with the surrounding stone when closed. Even knowing about these tunnels, the Catenans may never have spotted them. None emit any sound tonight, as expected.

I’m on my way back when I pass the entrance to the Great Hall.

I pause. It makes for a fourth possibility, I suppose. It’s where my father used to sit and accept submissions from our people. Even with all the changes here, I’d be surprised if it was being used for the summit, though. It’s too large, too overwhelmingly grand. There are better spaces for the purpose.

Still, I linger, ear pressed up against its listening slot. Like the others, there’s flat silence.

I should move on, but morbid curiosity drags me over to the door. I crack it. Peer through. It’s empty, though the lanterns are lit.

I used to spend hours watching my father give verdicts on cases in here. He heard them all himself. Never delegated. When I was younger, he would explain his decision to me after each one. Then the last year before the attack, he started asking me what I thought the verdict should be. Making me explain my reasoning before telling me how he was going to rule. I wasn’t always right—sometimes I would miss a legal technicality, or misunderstand an aspect of an argument. Sometimes, rarely, we simply disagreed on who was in the right. Most of the time, it was depressingly dull.

The ache in my chest as I miss it is a deep, hollow pain.

As with everything else in the palace, the hall is different now. The familiar furnishings are gone. Like the dining room, Catenan tapestries and statues are everywhere. But the memories remain.

I stand there for a minute. Two. Just being there. Feeling the pain of it, but not wanting to stop.

Eventually, though, there’s some distant sound that snaps me from the moment, sends me fleeing back into the passageways and hurriedly, quietly clicking the hidden door shut behind me.

I go back to my room after that. Melancholy. Drained.

After meticulously cleaning myself and the floor of any sign I’ve been scrambling through the fireplace, I collapse onto the bed. Close my eyes. Today has been a nightmare. Maybe the hardest day I’ve had to endure since the last time I was here.

Still, at least there was one reprieve. I think back on my time with Emissa this evening. Find myself half smiling again at some of her witticisms, a glad warmth in my stomach as I lie there. I don’t know if I could have finished the day sane, if not for her.

Eventually, I sleep.