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Aequa could’ve been a gods-damned idiot sometimes, and she was highly aware of this, though she had preferred to never admit it out loud.
Or at least, never around the rest of the other students in the Academy, and never around her father. Especially not around the other Fourths — they were a whole other issue that she refused to address. She knew she was the least liked. She knew she had been the biggest target. Not much for now, though, which obviously wasn’t doing her pride any favours in the slightest.
Honestly, what had she been thinking, going about it like that? Staging a ruse to trick Vis in using Will, on the off-chance that he was actually using it, that he had it with him, and that he would opt to use it in self-defence? Even then, it was terribly arrogant of her, to be so sure that he was cheating in the Academy. Because she simply couldn’t wrap her mind around it any other way; she couldn’t accept that she could not always be the best. He had beaten her record, fairly, and it was absolutely miserable.
And now she had staked her ranking because of it — perhaps one of the worst punishments her ego could’ve ever faced, besides direct expulsion. She was lucky enough to have avoided that fate. Countless others hadn’t.
She remembered Praeceptor Scitus’ words to her, sharp and cutting through the weight of the situation, and the eerie silence that followed after her error.
(“It was a mistake!” For a half second, she had tried to sound sure. Like she had not done any wrong. It hadn’t worked. She couldn't believe it herself.
His words were ice. Scitus looked down at her using the same eyes that used to look at her with pride. There was no pride in his tone now, no encouragement, no defence. There probably couldn’t be, any more. “Yes, and now you’ve staked your ranking because of it.”
Aequa had felt her stomach churn into knots.)
She had apologised that day. She was honestly unsure if Vis would've ever forgiven her at all. It truly was her fault, in the end, and if she were Vis, she’d never talk to herself ever again. The fact that she had been the cause of it, and nobody else, was the deepest wound.
(“I owe you an apology,” she said, after everything had gone down. And she had pleaded for him to not tell the others, knowing they would have the time of their lives for her messing up like this. They had always been looking for plausible excuses to make remarks at her, ones that didn’t include backhanded mentions of Scitus' previous favouritism. She remembered respecting him, Vis, for not telling them. She remembered sinking into herself, shortly afterwards. Guilt was possibly one of the worst feelings a human could have — or maybe for her own — because Aequa could never handle being wrong . It didn’t sit right, to make a mistake. To feel like a mistake.)
And all this had taken place because she couldn't help but notice that Vis was a gods-damned liar.
Either that, or maybe he hadn’t lied at all, and there was something inconceivably wrong with her that she somehow didn’t know about. She dug her nails into her wrist at the thought of it, mortified with herself and the situation she had caused herself, and the fact that she had staked her ranking, and would be the lowest ranked Fourth. She couldn’t imagine what her father would say. He’d be displeased, no doubt. Showing off about her progress in school was one of his main habits.
(Rotting gods.
What had she done?)
After all, Vis had been nothing but nice to her until the dreaded Festival of Pletuna, where she had somehow managed to ruin things, everything , for herself. Had this really all been her fault? Had Vis been telling the truth all this time, that he was some sort of academic prodigy, despite growing up as a ‘middle-class Aquirian war-orphan’, as he had always described?
Aequa thought back to the Naumachia, the day she met him. She hadn’t been very impressed with him then, especially not with his family either, and she didn’t really want to be there at all. But it was until the Anguis attack when she realised that Vis was the sort of person who knew plenty more than he let on — and wasn’t it obvious enough after that? Had she really been the only person who had noticed it? Had it all been inside her head, finding excuses because of some stupid, unbridled academic insecurities? How would he have noticed the sewers, anyway, if he had never been to the Naumachia, nor the city, at all? He was so sure of the route, of the location. Was he just that observant, to care where the sewers had been? So lucky that he knew the sewers would be accessible during the attack, and only because he had gone to the latrines earlier on?
Aequa remembered it well.
The bloodshed and screams of terror, and of Melior and his voice. Of how frozen she was, at first, and how it was one of the very rare times she had ever shed tears in front of somebody else — if not only for a short moment, before having focused on assessing the arena for an escape. She saw it in her nightmares, in red blots of ink that look nothing remotely like blood but reminded her of it, in the foul smells of city corners, in thick throngs of people below the Transvects which she rode, and in the dark of the night. It was like a shadow that loomed over her, trying to lead her to remember. She didn’t want to remember it. And yet, she had good memory. It was one of the few times in which her own memory became a weapon used against her.
She thought about the grotesque disentanglement of bodies, and choking along with him as she and Vis had trudged through the empty stands, and she thought of the severed limbs she had spotted on the ground as he led her to the entrance of the sewers as an escape. He saved her, after all, and she had admitted it several times to plenty of other people, and so why couldn’t she just stay put? Why couldn’t she just have minded her own business, instead of dissecting every bit of information, and every single off interaction she had with him, and every single strange thing and obvious lie he had said? Then, she’d still be well off in the Academy. Then, maybe, he’d still tolerate her presence, and so would Praeceptor Scitus.
Then, Scitus wouldn’t shake his head at her whenever she so much as glanced at him. Then, the few people that bothered her would stop avoiding her.
(“Nobody can use Will,” she had told him lowly in the Naumachia, feeling something churn in the pit of her stomach. She had said this after analysing all the people around them, and realising that none had gone and managed to fend Melior off fast enough. She remembered, though very scared and feeling very small during that day, squinting at the horrified, yet strangely calm expression that Vis had, as he helped her escape. It was strange. Vis Telimus was strange. His entire character he had built, his family, his past that hardly even made sense , and why couldn’t anybody else see?)
That was one of Vis’ weaknesses, something far from academics or fighting or anything of the sort, but because he was excruciatingly easy to read. Anybody from hundreds of feet away could tell that Vis disliked Ianix, because Vis was so unknowingly, blatantly obvious about it. He would scrunch his face and shoot him looks of detestation from across the Curia Doctrina. And anybody could tell that Vis felt overwhelmed with the crowds of the city, because as she led him through the streets to the Naumachia and rode in the carriage with him, only a few times had he ever remembered to change his expression to something that wasn’t visible discomfort. He had been good at acting and terrible at it. He had showed signs of goodness and he had acted off during other times — acted like someone capable of violence, acted like someone who lied. He lied a lot for someone who was supposed to be a hero.
Aequa couldn't figure him out.
She remembered it all, from reaching the exit of the sewers, the smell and her squirming, her sigh of relief as she finished the trudging, from Vis wishing her luck, and from Vis diving into the murky water, to go back to Melior — for a reason she still could not and still refused to believe.
(“And towards the end, I thought of it as an opportunity,” Vis had said, at the end of his short tour of the Academy, from where she guided him around, though reserved and secretly unbelieving of his grand, valorous claims. Or perhaps she had just interpreted them in that way.)
What did he say, when she had to end the conversation, because a Seventh and a Fourth in public wouldn’t fare well?
(“I’ll see you when I’m a Fourth.”
Aequa snorted at this, appalled at his confidence, but nodded and laughed anyway. “When you’re a Fourth, of course.”
She didn’t believe him.)
How wrong she had been, those days. Aequa shook her head at the thought, but another clouded her mind — the previous one, the previous memory.
'And towards the end, I thought of it as an opportunity.'
It was understandable to think it would help in the Academy, that it certainly would be an opportunity, but how in the hells had he been so sure of it? Hundreds had died that day, hundreds with bigger weapons, and bulkier armour, and people that weren’t as young as him. Hundreds with more experience, hundreds of thousands that had been weathered with time and sharpened with skill. Was it a sort of gods-damned destiny, for Vis, to always end up the hero? To always end up the best?
Because it hurt. It felt pathetic. It made her feel small, and Aequa did not like to feel small, and Aequa did not like feeling wrong. Things like this used to come easy to her, so why couldn’t it now? Why couldn’t she understand?
She remembered when the news spread later that day, that Vis had somehow, in some way, managed to kill the leader of the Anguis, with only saintly bravery and a gods-damned stylus he had found along the way. It was unprecedented news. She had been so sure he had died the moment he had left her in the sewers. She thought his fate had been sealed. How many times would he continue to slip out of death's grasp?
It was an honourable, brave, even, and a heroic thing to do — that was what many people had said — and she agreed wholeheartedly, if not for the looming fact that if he managed to kill Melior, then he could’ve managed to harm someone else, and perhaps in more ways than one. After all, besides Iro’s — well, whatever he was saying about Vis to the others — there had been plenty more reasons why everybody in his previous classes had been so avoidant of him.
True, Eidhin Breac had been foolish in trying to attack Callidus Ericus in front of everybody like that, let alone at all, but it had been ten times foolish and just as reckless for Vis to go and risk his place in the Academy to defend Callidus. Though they were friends now, Callidus did not look like he appreciated the help the first time around. Vis did manage to reveal that he had at least some sort of hidden anger issue problem. The same way killing Melior was deserved, it still technically made him a killer. And sure, aggressively defeating someone in a fit of rage during a duel would be maybe more than a little deserved, but it still showed that he was very much not incapable of violence. Fighting with his bare hands seemed to come natural to Vis. If he hadn't been using Will, he had definitely still had experience with...whatever that was, beforehand. Nobody could find anything this easy, the way he did. It did not make sense.
After all, it had been so painfully suspicious. Feriun and Vis had been the last to not return from the Festival. And then Feriun had not come back. And when Aequa had visited the Telimus Family, Vis had not been there, and, “on a walk”, as described by Ulciscor Telimus. Which implied that Vis had been out an about the moment Feriun had gone missing.
It made sense, and yet so little. Feriun reportedly had killed himself — but it did not make sense. Sure, others had thought of reasons, but when the circumstances had been so oddly put together, Aequa had thought it was up to her to reveal the truth, and so she had confided in Praeceptor Scitus. Because this was at the time where he believed her every word, where she had been one of his brightest students.
Was it possible, somehow? For Vis to have found a way to harness Will? Telimus was, although infamous, a powerful name. Could there have been strings pulled; discoveries made? Perhaps Aequa had a point, and she still had a chance for redemption?
Ha.
Clearly, not.
(Aequa had raised her hand during class, after everything had gone down in the Festival of Pletuna. She had a chance, here, to prove she was worthy. After all, during classes, her hand had always been referenced.
Scitus’ voice had been stern. “Vis.”
The class was in shock.
Even Vis, who seemed to have attempted to gather his thoughts before answering. Aequa herself had been breathless, and lowered her hand. She had sunk down, back into her seat. The others were staring. They were always staring. This time, half others were staring at Vis. Nobody knew why.)
And now, Vis was a Third.
Not Aequa. Not her, when she had a clear pathway to that position already, until she had wrecked it all herself.
Being second best was not easy — she had known this all her life, really, but had never needed to face it head-on until it slapped her right across the face. Because one time ago, before the time of Vis Telimus, she was the impressive one. She had been the fastest to climb the rankings. And she had done it, done everything, with a broken arm during the start of the school year, and had been promoted twice in six months. She was the one with the brilliant mind — and where had it all gone? Down the sewers, surely.
(“Was it hard?”
Aequa nearly choked at the gall of him. “Two promotions in six months? Nobody else has done it!” She stared at him, and the corner of his mouth quirked up the tiniest bit before it twitched back to a neutral expression, and Aequa realised he was still going to wheedle anyway. Vis Telimus — and she’s only met him today, before the Naumachia — was in this off-putting friendly state that simply could not be real, especially when her father has reminded her that he was probably spying for Ulciscor Telimus, anyway. He was a liar, as well, in her father’s words. He had probably been trained by Ulciscor for a significant amount of time, surely, and was probably planning with the Telimus name for her father and the Principalis’ demise. He was probably gunning for her right now.
Vis shrugged. “But was it hard?”
Little would this Aequa know that Vis would soon go on to make her record look feeble in comparison.
“Yes,” she had responded, irritatedly now, and wanting to bash her head against the carriage door. She really did not want to be here. Let alone in the Naumachia, with him. What sort of Catenan Academy student attended the Naumachia, anyway, and at this ripe age? “It was, obviously.”
“Impressive,” said Vis, and then he sat back, looking hardly serious about it. He smiled to himself. Aequa only glowered at him. It was the most she could do, when she couldn't just get up and leave. She wished she could, if not for her father counting on her to keep an eye on this newly adopted, Telimus son.)
She remembered when Vis had just beaten Ianix, and became a Fifth. She remembered betting, along with the Fourths, on how long Vis would take to become part of their class — whilst secretly forming her now admittedly, self-conceited theory on Vis cheating. (Axien had won the bet, which he had goaded about for the following few days.) It all seemed like such a long time ago. Now, she was the least-ranked Fourth, bottom of her class, and Vis Telimus was a gods-damned Third.
Maybe the attack on her ego had done more than lower her standing. Maybe she deserved it, (and she probably did). Despite her being upset that she had wrecked her rankings for herself, she had also been so…full of herself. Insufferable. She had known at least maybe an inkling of this, or, alright, definitely more, but it was only when she was scolded by her favourite Praeceptor and had hurt perhaps the only classmate that respected her when she realised that she and her behaviour had been absolutely out of line.
Aequa, despite having previously been the top as a Fourth, did not have a good chance of being offered a spot for the Iudicium, considering there would be a list of the Fourths and their ranks provided for the Thirds. They would not pick the lowest ranked Fourth. It would be ridiculous. They would all pick the others, and Vis would probably go about and pick Eidhin and Callidus or something — (he was quite predictable when it came to things like these).
And she knew Praeceptor Scitus well — and how he’d always stayed true to his words.
Aequa had staked her ranking. There was no changing that. It was only during the very, tiny margin where she may be offered a spot in the Iudicium (she was not and no longer close with any of the current Thirds, so, this was wishful, childish thinking), and in which case, she may be able to save her own ranking. And yet, then, only during the far tinier margin where she and her team somehow managed to win the whole Iudicium.
“Aequa?”
The voice came from Cassia.
Aequa snapped out of it. She had forgotten she had been eating with the other Fourths this entire time, mostly picking at her food and chewing at her own gums. “Yes?”
“You’ve been digging your nails into your wrist this entire meal. Gods, is the food beneath you as well?” Cassia tended to say things like these. It came as a bit of surprise, considering the Fourths had been avoiding her since her — since Scitus’ change in demeanour. But it was normal. The Fourths did things like that, networking despite their own, hidden ideologies. Most students at the Academy usually did.
Aequa did not reply, which seemed to bore the rest of the students at the table, and they had continued their topic of conversation — the Iudicium.
Not a surprise, but not a pleasant topic considering Aequa's recent musings.
Marcellus lowered his tone. “Do you think any Third would pick Belli? She’s smart, sure, and a previous Third, and uh — well, she used to be the best at Foundation. Well, before Vis beat her at that. But anyways, she used to hold the record for the best first try at the Labyrinth, right? Before Vis came along, I suppose. Anyway, still — it would be really awkward, wouldn’t it? Imagine just watching her fail like that, in front of everyone. And then leaving her in the dust over here, not even talking to her. And then offering her a spot just like that. Do you think she'd accept? I don't know, personally. And it's not like any of us really talk to her.”
Aequa shook her head to herself, but did not try to include herself in the conversation any longer.
“She’d accept,” Cassia responded, voicing Aequa’s own thoughts, though Cassia hushed her voice softer, into a near whisper. Belli was still in the area.
(This led Aequa to inwardly scoff, because Belli may no longer be a Third, and now a sulky Fourth, but Belli would still be eagle-eyed enough to spot the Fourths conspicuously glancing her way, anyway. From the corner of Aequa’s eye, she could see Belli straighten herself, furrow down her brow, and fix her eyes to be sharper. She likely knew the topic of discussion, although she was visibly far away and there would be no way for her to actually hear.)
Cassia carried on. “—Though not if it was offered by Vis — that would just be stupidity on his part; she’d probably betray him or the like, the first chance she is provided. But if she was offered a spot in the Iudicium by anybody else, she’d accept, and do her best to help that Third win — or win herself, depending on whatever this year’s Iudicium is. Bet you, she’d do anything to watch Vis fail after all that. You can read the way she looks at him, now that he's sitting at the Third’s table, like she wants to kill him. She was all eyebags and frizzy hair the weeks before, but as the Iudicium nears, you can sort of see her becoming less so. Funny, though.”
The Fourths then proceeded to start a friendly debate on who would be chosen by the Thirds first. Axel and Cassia were most confident about their positions, though they would consistently glance in Aequa's way, which was irritating enough. The table grew a little more energetic; louder, and more Fourths joined into the conversation to the point where their topic of discussion was blatantly obvious to the rest of the student population. Belli seemed to overhear as well, and began to glare at her own food, but something within her seemed to stir. Half of the Fourths, however, continuously glanced at Aequa from their sides, but Aequa refused to entertain their presence, and so quickly finished her own meal, and then stood up. She was done with the lot of them.
(She knew the Praeceptors were still eating, and she knew that Scitus could see her as she left the area, his watchful eye now cold.)
Aequa knew it was her fault. She knew she deserved this, and she had accepted this the hard way. As she imagined her name at the very bottom of the Fourth’s rankings, on a parchment for the Thirds to use for the Iudicium, she subsequently and privately admitted her defeat.
“You want me to…what?”
They were standing outside the girl’s dormitory, and Aequa was wondering if she was hallucinating or somehow, in some way, not hearing Vis' words correctly.
She stared at him, blankly.
“Be part of my team for the Iudicium,” Vis repeated patiently. He was too calm about it. It was really weird.
Aequa only blinked at him, bewildered, wondering if this was part of some elaborately orchestrated joke that he had thought of, or even had been dared to do by some of the Fourths. She shook her head at herself, admonishing. Vis wouldn’t do that. She knew that now, surely. He wasn’t like her — he could never be that desperate to stage a cruel ruse, and she should’ve been grateful. She should’ve been grateful he hadn’t mentioned her ruse at the Festival at Pletuna to any one of the Fourths at all. The biggest bruise was the fact that she was wrong, and he was right, and perhaps he might’ve been good.
Aequa managed to cough up a reply. “Me,” she said, flatly, pointing to herself, as if to clarify. Surely, he had gone mad.
“Well, you’re the best in Class Four by a long way.”
Aequa scoffed. “Clearly not.”
“You made a mistake, thinking I was cheating,” Vis clarified patiently, albeit a little clumsily, (and the mere reminder of that mistake made Aequa want to bash her head against the wall), “But I understand why you did it. And if you went about trying to prove it too…vigorously…then, well, you wanted to win. It’s a quality I can use. And I know you want the chance to improve your standing.”
(This was a good point.)
(A very good point, actually.)
Aequa looked away, her forehead crinkled. And then she shook her head, feeling awfully foolish now. Vis, offering her on the team for the Iudicium? What sort of strategic move was that? Surely, it would just mess everything up for him, wouldn’t it? She decided that he must’ve been desperate, if he was going to offer a spot for the person who tried to expose and expel him — she couldn’t even imagine the sheer amount of people he must have asked before he had resorted to her. “But why would you risk it? What makes you think I won’t go out of my way to sabotage you instead of help you? Why would you give me a chance like that?”
Vis cocked his head to the side, shrugging. He was way too relaxed in this situation, and it would scare her if it wasn’t so oddly funny. “Honestly? Because you apologised.”
Aequa scoffed again, giving Vis another blank look. And then she guffawed loudly, and her laugh had to sort of echo around the corridors before she came to the realisation that he was being serious. He meant it. Aequa buried the urge to laugh again, fixing her expression, looking at him with incredulity and an inkling of her own piqued curiosity. “Because I said I was sorry?”
“Because I think you meant it.”
She had, that day. But it didn’t make sense for him to trust her on her words, and on how he personally interpreted them. Trusting a student at the Academy was foolish. Everybody was out for themselves in this place, and that was the Hierarchy.
But she’d try to prove herself, this time. She’d try to mean it again.
She'd try to deserve this...trust.