"That wasn't justice,' he murmurs without looking me in the eyes. I failed the test. He's right. It wasn't justice Justice is dispassionate; it is fair. I am the leader. I passed the sentence. I should have done it. In- stead, I gave license to vengeance and vendetta The cancer will not be cut away; I made it worse "At least Cassius is feared again,' Roque mut- ters. "But that's the only thing you got right. Poor Titus. I bury him in a grove near the river. I hope it speeds him on his way to the vale. That night I do not sleep I don't know if it was his wife or his sister or his mother they hurt. I do not know what mine he came from. His pain is my own. His pain broke him as mine broke me on the scaffold. But I was given a second chance. Where was his? I hope his pain fades in death. I did not love him till he was dead; and he should be dead, but he is still my brother. So I pray he finds peace in the vale and that I will see him again one day and we'll embrace as brothers as he forgives me for what I did to him, because I did it for a dream, for our people. My name, three bars beside it now, floats nearer the Primus hand. Cassius has risen too. But there can be only one Primus.
Since I cannot sleep, I take the guard shift from Cassandra. Mist curls around the battlements, so we tie sheep around the walls. They will bleat if an enemy comes. I smell something strange, rich and smoky. "Roast duck?" I turn and find Fitchner stand- ing beside me. His hair is messy over his narrow brow and he wears no golden armor today, only a black tunic striped with gold. He hands me piece of duck. The smell makes my stomach rumble. "We should all be pissed at you," I say. His face is one of surprise. "Tots who say that usually mean to explain why they are not pissed." "You and the Proctors can see everything, yes?" "Even when you wipe your ass." "And you didn't stop Titus, because it's all part of the curriculum." "The real question is why we did not stop you." "From killing him." "Yes, little one. He would have been valuable in the military, don't you think? Perhaps not as a Praetor with ships in the ink. But what a Legate he would have made, leading men in starShells through enemy gates as fire rained down against their pulseShields. Have you ever seen an Iron Rain? Where men are launched from orbit to take cities? He was meant for that." I do not answer. Fitchner wipes grease from his lips with the black sleeve of his tunic.
"Life is the most effective school ever created Once upon a time they made children bow their heads and read books. It would take ages to get anything across." He taps his head. "But we have widgets and datapads now, and we Golds have the lower Colors to do our research. We need not study chemistry or physics. We have computers and others to do that. What we must study is hu- manity. In order to rule, ours must be the study of political, psychological, and behavioral sci- ence --how desperate human beings react to one another, how packs form, how armies function, how things fall apart and why. You could learn this nowhere else but here." "No, I understand the purpose," I murmur. "I learn more when I make mistakes, so long as they don't kill me." How well I learned from try- ing to be a martyr "Good. You make plenty of them. You're an impulsive little turd. But this is the place to frag up. To learn. This is life ... but with medBots, sec- ond chances, artificial scenarios. You might have guessed that the first test, the Passage, was the measurement of necessity versus emotion. The second was tribal strife. Then there was a bit of justice. Now there will be more tests. More sec- ond chances, more lessons learned." "How many of us can die?" I ask suddenly "Don't worry about that." "How many." "There is a limit set each year by the Board of Quality Control, but we're well within the bounds despite what happened with the Jackal." Fitchner smiles. "The Jackal ..," I say. "Is that what hap- pened the other night when the medBots blitzed south?" "Did I say his name? Oops." He grins. "I mean to say that the medBots are very effective. They heal nearly all wounds. But will they be so effective when Cassius finds out who really killed his brother?" My stomach tightens. "He already killed Julian's murderer. Appar- ently you weren't watching." "Of course. Of course. Mercury thinks you bril- liant. Apollo thinks you're uppity. He really does not like you, you know." "I could give a piss." "Oh, you should care much more than that. Apollo's a peach." "Right. So what do you think? You are my Proc- tor." "I think you are an ancient soul." He watches me and leans against the rampart. The night is misty beyond the castle. From its depths, a wolf howls. "I think you're like that beast out there Part of a pack but deeply sad, deeply alone. And I can't puzzle out why, my dear boy. This is all so much fun! Enjoy it! Life doesn't get better." "You're the same,'' I say. "Lonely. You're all japes and snide comments, just like Sevro, but it's just a mask. It's because you don't look like the oth- ers, isn't it? Or are yOu poor? Somehow youre an outsider." "My looks?" He barks a laugh. "What does that matter? Think I'm a Bronzie because I'm not an Adonis?" He leans forward, because he really does care about what I'm going to say. "You are ugly and you eat like a pig, Fitchner, but you chew metabolizers when you could just gO to a Carver and fix yourself to look like the others. They could take care of that paunch in a second." Fitchner's jaw muscle flickers. Is it anger? "Why should I have to visit a Carver?" he hisses suddenly. "I can kill an Obsidian with my bare hands. An Obsidian. I can outwit a Silver in par- lance and negotiation. I can do math Greens only dream of. Why should I make myself look any different?" "Because it is what holds you back.' "Despite my low birth, I am of note. I am im- portant." His hatchet face dares me to contra- dict. "I am Gold. I am a king of man. I do not change to suit others." "If that's true, why do you chew metabolizers?" He does not answer. "And why are you only a Proctor?" "Becoming a Proctor is a position of prestige, boy," Fitchner snaps. "The Drafters voted me to represent the House.' "Yet you're no Imperator. You lead no fleets You're not even a Praetor in command of a squadron. Nor are you any sort of Governor. How many men can do the things you say you can do?" "Few,"' he says very quietly, face all anger. "Very few." He looks up. "What is the bounty you desire for capturing the Minervan standard?" 'Isn't that Sevro's deal?" I say, understanding the conversation is nearing its end. "He has passed it to you." I ask for horses and weapons and matches. He agrees curtly and turns to leave before I can ask him one last question. I grab his arm as he starts to ascend. Something happens. My nerves fry Like needles in acid through my hand and arm. I gasp. My lungs can't function for a second. "Goryhell,"' I cough out, and fall to the ground. He wears pulseArmor. I can't even see the gen- erator. It's like a pulseShield, but inlaid in the armor itself. He waits without a smile. "The Jackal," I say. "You mentioned him. The Minervan girl mentioned him. Who is he?" "He's the ArchGovernor's son, Darrow. And he makes Titus look like a blubbering child." Large horses graze in the fields the next morn- ing. Wolves try to take down a small mare. A pale stallion trots up and kicks one of the wolves to death. I claim him. The others call him Quietus. It means "the final stroke." He reminds me of the Pegasus that saved An- dromeda. The songs we sang in Lykos spoke of horses. I know Eo would have liked a chance to ride one. I do not realize till days later that when they named my horse Quietus, they were mocking me for my part in Titus's death.