The Will of the Many (Hierarchy Book 1)

I WAS TWELVE, THE DAY my father asked me what gave us the right to rule.

I lie there in bed after my night talking to Fadrique—still not sleeping, despite the dawn creeping through the window—and for some reason, it’s all I can think about. It was summer, and he had brought me to the top of the East Tower, the one that provides a vantage over the entire island. I knew he wanted to talk to me about something important. He was quiet as we climbed the stairs. Thoughtful. It made me nervous, sure I was about to be castigated for something.

We watched the horizon for a while once we reached the top, not saying anything. Then he finally turned to me. Handsome, tall, powerful. Black hair and sun-dark skin and brown eyes that spoke of strength and consideration and kindness. A king in every sense of the word.

“Do you believe you would make a good ruler, Diago?” His deep, calming voice was almost wistful, but I could hear the intent.

“Of course,” I replied without thinking, indignant.

“Why?”

The question threw me, and I knew immediately I’d been caught out. I floundered. “Because I care about our people.” Undoubtedly the wrong answer, but I was stubborn. Preferred to pretend to know something than admit I didn’t.

“You care about them.” My father said the words deliberately, drew them out and tasted them. “That is one aspect of being a good ruler, certainly. But many people care about Suus, and they are not leading it. So let me rephrase. What do you believe makes a good ruler?”

I thought for a while. “Education. Knowing how to govern.”

“Many could be taught. And most would attempt to learn more diligently than you,” he added, a gentle stab that came with a smile.

I rolled my eyes. “Fine. I don’t know. Enlighten me on the qualities of a good ruler. What do I need to be?”

My father sighed. “Smart.”

“I’m smart,” I protested.

“And strong.”

“I can be that.”

“And brave. And kind. And cunning. And frugal. And generous. And disciplined. And moral. And cutthroat.” He paused for a breath. “You need to be caring, and judgmental. You need to pre-empt but never unfairly. You need to be completely honest with your people, but be mindful of what information could harm them. You need to—”

“It’s impossible,” I said, somewhat impatiently. “You’re saying there’s no such thing as a good ruler.”

“There isn’t.” He sounded surprised that I got the answer so quickly, though he didn’t compliment me on it. “And this is the risk of our world, Diago. The flaw of our system is in its head. In us. The qualities of a king change the kingdom. And not one of us is perfect enough to have a right to lead.”

I stayed silent, trying to understand what he was getting at. “You don’t think we should rule?”

“I didn’t say that.” My father stretched, the muscles in his arms cording as he offered them to the sun. “I want you to understand that no country’s governance is perfect. Anyone who looks at a system of people and thinks the system is the problem, is a fool. But I also want you to understand that the Hierarchy’s is far more insidious. Because it’s not imperilled by a flaw. It is built on one.”

“The Hierarchy?” I was puzzled. The Hierarchy were a wall, smooth and strong and impossibly tall. They were an insurmountable obstacle, a force beyond my comprehension. “What flaw?”

“Greed.” My father turned to me then, and his dark eyes held mine. The wind whipped us, a chill to it that far up. “Greed is by definition the moral ruler of the Hierarchy, Diago. All decisions are based upon it. It is not the strong who benefit in their system, no matter what they say—it is the weak. It is the ones willing to do anything, sacrifice anything, to rise. It rewards avarice and is so steeped in a wrong way of thinking that those within it cannot even see it.” He shook his head sadly. “There is no form of government that is immune from mistakes or from corruption—but it is the Hierarchy’s foundation, Son. Never forget that.”

Those words have stuck with me through the years. Not just because they revealed, for the first time, the depth of my father’s disdain for the Catenan Republic—though that is one reason. But because they were like scales falling from my eyes, even then.

The sun is rising outside my window. I haven’t slept. There’s joy from my conversation with Fadrique, a release at having been able to talk to him. But there’s new pain, too. Knowing how Suus has suffered, exactly as my father thought it would. Knowing that people like Fadrique have been punished for doing the right thing. Tiredness will come later, I know, but for the moment I let my emotions carry me.

I rise, dress, and wash in the basin provided. The mirror shows dark circles under my eyes, but given my supposed illness, it’s not damning. I could easily remain in my rooms for the rest of today, but the sooner I rid myself of the information I gathered last night, the better. And it would be best to show myself in this state, anyway. Give the appearance of a gradual but steady recovery.

I take Relucia’s stylus from its box in my desk, then slip back into the tunnels. It only takes a few minutes to trace over the details from my wax tablets. Then I add what I overheard. The dissatisfaction from the other senators about the naumachia. The Navisalus. The request for weapons and Will designs. I don’t leave anything out.

Once I’m done, I break the stylus in two and wipe the wax slates clean. No trace of what I’ve done.

It’s not ten minutes later that there’s a cautious knock on my door, and I open it to find Emissa standing outside.

She crosses her arms when she sees me, appraising. “You still look terrible.”

“Saving you was harder work than I thought.”

She laughs and punches me gently. “Are you joining us on the beach this morning? I promise to stay away from the lagoon.” She keeps smiling, earnestly hopeful.

I grin back at her. “I think I can manage that.”

She glances around discretely, then leans in and gives me a soft, quick kiss. “Good.” She’s looping her arm through mine and marching me down the hallway before I can react.

I happily allow her to pull me along. Everything seems different this morning. Same people, same beach, same clear sky and warm sun and blue, shining ocean. But I don’t feel like a stranger intruding in my own home anymore. I’m not comfortable, exactly. I know it will never feel like it did. But speaking to Fadrique has changed something in me. Sanded the jagged edges off my pain. This isn’t just the beach where Cari died. This is where I spent years before that, playing with her. Tormenting her. Teaching her. Growing up with her.

It’s why I can smile now, when Emissa makes a joke. Can participate in conversations without feeling like I’m forcing myself to. And why I don’t feel so alone when I beg off exercising with everyone else, citing my ongoing recovery.

To my surprise, after a while, Indol comes and sits next to me as the others continue their sprints. We watch, reclining on the golden sands, soaking in the sunshine.

“How long has it been since you were here?”

He asks the question idly, still gazing out over the glittering waters; it’s abrupt, but casual enough that I’m briefly confused.

Then I understand what he’s getting at, and my heart constricts.

“A couple of days.” I give him a quizzical glance, refusing to let him see my panic. “I haven’t been down here since two mornings ago.”

He rolls to the side, fixing me with a stare. “Not what I meant, Vis. But I think you know that.”

I don’t respond, continuing to plaster a bemused look on my face. No matter what Belli thinks—or anyone else, for that matter—Indol is the smartest student in Three. He simply doesn’t flaunt it in the same way Belli does. And he’s so genial, handsome and athletic and easygoing. So naturally popular that no one seems to want to think of him as brilliant, too.

“I saw the way you looked, when we first got here,” Indol continues lazily, returning to his back and closing his eyes, drinking in the morning sun. “It doesn’t matter how good an actor you are. There’s something about coming home that you can’t hide.”

“Home?” I force a chuckle. “I told you where I grew up. It wasn’t far from here,” I allow, “but I’ve never been here.”

“You’ve done well, not showing it. But aside from your panic when you heard where Emissa was, the other night? You might want to stop walking the clifftop paths without looking. Haven’t you noticed how cautious everyone else is up there? Rotting gods, a fall could kill you. But you act as if it’s nothing. And then there’s the palace. You pretend not to know where you’re going, but I can tell. Something about the way you move through doorways. You know every inch of that place.” He stretches. “Tell me that I’m wrong.”

“You’re wrong.”

Indol cranes his neck, checking that the two girls haven’t come any closer. They’re talking, not paying us any attention. “Look, I don’t know what you were. Friend of the royal family, maybe? The son of one of their advisers? But it’s clear to anyone with a brain that you’ve had training. No orphan makes it this far.” He shakes his head, then looks at me again. Gaze intense. “I don’t care, exactly. What I want to know is, why lie about it?”

My mind races. He’s too sure of himself: if I deny it, I’ll only make things worse. And he doesn’t have an inkling of who I really am.

“You heard what everyone was saying when we got here. You heard the jokes they were making.” My face reddens, though luckily the difference between embarrassment and anger isn’t always obvious. “Who’s going to take me seriously if they know I’m from a place like this? I’d be a barbarian to them for the rest of my days.” I put all the disdain I can muster into my tone.

I’m not sure I could have done this yesterday. It hurts, pretending to scorn my own home, my own people. But I’m playing a role. Like Fadrique said at one point last night, it’s what my parents would have wanted. They would have wished things were different, but they still would have chosen a life for me over a noble death.

Indol looks immensely pleased that he’s been proven correct. That’s good. If he thinks he knows all there is to know, he won’t ask questions elsewhere.

“Don’t worry. I’m quite good at keeping secrets,” he says eventually. “Under the right circumstances.”

“So am I,” I say meaningfully.

Indol doesn’t understand for a moment. Then he glances from me to Emissa, then back again.

He groans softly, and nods.

We don’t talk again until the others join us.

AFTER THE INSANITY OF MY first days back at Suus, the next three weeks pass in relative peace.

Training with Emissa, Indol, and Belli continues to be challenging; particularly academically, the subject matter is more advanced than anything I’ve been exposed to thus far. Usually related to the technicalities of wielding Will, often referencing concepts I’ve never even heard of. The first few days I feel out of my depth. It’s only because Emissa spends her evenings with me, and sometimes helps me catch up, that I start to feel like I can hold my own.

And for all my making peace with the past, Emissa is the reason I don’t go insane. She’s the reason I can walk the palace hallways and smile. It’s not that we’re inseparable—sometimes I like to study alone, and sometimes she prefers to train with Belli or Indol rather than me—but when we’re together, we’re together. Gravitate toward each other naturally, unconsciously. Talk all day, and still want nothing more than one another’s company in the evening. It’s more than a distraction. Here of all places, she makes me feel like I’m still moving forward.

The others’ jokes soon die down as they see we’re making no real attempt to hide our relationship. Belli, at some point, realises that Indol isn’t reciprocating her interest and gracefully slides back into aloof friendship. I casually ask Emissa if she ever noticed anything between Belli and Callidus; she says there may have been something, early on, but nothing so obvious that anyone took note. The conversation makes me wonder how my friends are faring over the break. As much fun as I have with Emissa, I do miss spending the days with Callidus and Eidhin as well.

Part of me starts to feel uneasy at the sensation. Once this year’s done, the plan is supposed to be to never see any of them again.

I avoid town for the most part: easy enough, as after our first experience, the others do the same. But on our last day, as afternoon fades, I decide to go for a stroll. And before I really know my own intentions, my feet are leading me toward the harbour. The sun’s low in a cloudless sky, more orange than gold. Bright across the water.

And then I’m walking into the tavern.

It’s quiet inside. About how it was when I came here with the others a month ago. I catch a few looks from patrons at the far tables, but I pay them no heed. Take a seat by the window. Stare out over the harbour. A Will-powered vessel is pulling away from the extended dock, cutting through the swells. I ignore it. Focus on the smaller fishing boats farther out, their sails furled. Not everything has changed.

After about twenty minutes there’s motion at my shoulder, startling me from my reverie. It’s Menendo, the hulking barkeep who threw us out on the first day. I look up at him. Despite what Fadrique said, I still half expect to be told to leave.

The big man doesn’t meet my gaze. He just sets a plate and drink down in front of me. Oysters, crab, lobster. I can smell the sweetness of wine in my mug. As fine a meal as I would have seen at the palace when my father was king. A traditional king’s feast on Suus.

Menendo leaves without a word. I resume my introspective gaze over the ocean, and eat. It’s better food than the Dimidius could ever have provided. Prepared to perfection. Exactly as I might have had years ago. I feel more comfortable, more at home in that moment than at any other point over the past month.

I take my time. Savour the meal, the view. The feeling of being among my people again. The sun sets, spraying purple and gold across the sky.

When I leave, I walk over to the bar. Take the coins I grabbed from Fadrique’s hoard from my pocket and press them firmly against the counter. They click as I set them down. My father’s shadow in the silver.

I leave without saying a word, without looking back.

The clean air and smell of salt fills my lungs as I wander the cliffside path back to the palace. I needed this. Needed this month, needed to come back here and see my home one last time. But it’s over now. I’m feeling more comfortable in my ability to compete with the Thirds, yet increasingly realising that my advancement is what’s going to be the sticking point. Not because I’m not good enough—I am—but because, at least according to the others, there’s no one obviously unable to keep up in Three. No one with deficiencies that would let me usurp their position.

I’m going to have to do more than simply continue to top Class Four. I’m going to need to do something to get everyone’s attention.

And I’m going to need to figure out how to do that soon, because we’ll be back at the Academy tomorrow.

And now there’s less than three months until the Iudicium.