Fallen City by Adrienne Young - 36

The tribunal bells rang just after dawn, calling the Magistrates to the Forum. My mother hadn’t even returned from the theater, spending the hours of the night shut away in her chambers at the Citadel with her closest allies.

There was no coming back from a public rebuke for what the Magistrates had done, which made Vitrasian’s actions unforgivable. The Philosopher was known for being opinionated and outspoken, not afraid to contradict the Consul or the Forum, but she’d gone far beyond that last night. She’d publicly rebuked and humiliated the Citadel, holding everyone inside to account. And she’d done it at a time when peace in Isara was on the verge of breaking in two.

What most people in the district didn’t yet know was that she had set fire to her own study, destroying countless texts and records. This was its own kind of betrayal.

If the citizens of the Lower City weren’t already turning against the Citadel District, they would be now. Word of the play, penned by one of Isara’s most influential leaders, would embolden the masses. The question was whether the Magistrates would be able to head off what was coming.

I’d waited for Luca at the mouth of the theater as the horde of furious spectators flooded out, but his seat was empty. When I’d taken the risk of going to his villa, there was no answer. Now I waited at the entrance to the Forum’s gallery, searching for him in the agitated crowd.

Luca had been Vitrasian’s novice for nearly three years, and there would be plenty of people in the Citadel who would question whether he was involved in the Philosopher’s plans. Especially when he was known to be critical of those in the district. What had once made me admire him now struck a cold fear in my bones.

The names of the Magistrates had just begun to ring out when I finally saw him climbing the steps to the gallery. A long, shaking breath escaped my lips. As soon as he made it to the landing, I caught him in my arms, holding on to him tightly. I couldn’t find it in me to care who might be watching.

Luca’s tall frame enveloped me, his mouth pressing to my hair. “They took her.”

I pulled back from him, brushing a hand over his flushed face. The dark circles beneath his blue eyes made them look like storm clouds. There were people glancing at us now through the door to the gallery.

“They’re saying they think she was behind the leaflet, too,” I said softly. “Please tell me you didn’t know about this.”

“I didn’t know. I’ve been with my uncle’s faction all night, trying to come up with some way this could work out to their advantage. But they weren’t convinced.”

“And your uncle?”

“Gone. The physicians marked his death last night.”

“That means…”

Luca met my eyes. “The seat is mine. At least, it will be.”

But our plans weren’t as seamless as they’d once been. Now the Forum was thrown into chaos. It wouldn’t be as simple as Luca taking his vows and casting the judgment stone from what was once his uncle’s seat. It would be days before he could take his oath, and in that time, Kastor’s faction would be missing its leader.

The names of the Magistrates being called out in the Forum finally stopped and I took Luca’s hand, turning toward the gallery doors before they closed. I pulled him into the crowd, knotting my fingers tightly with his. We had to push through the spectators to make it to the balcony.

Below, the Magistrates were dressed in their robes, many of them still wearing the jewels and braided hair from the night before. No one in the Citadel District, it seemed, had slept.

The Consul called the tribunal to order and the gallery fell silent.

“I have called this tribunal to address the actions of the Philosopher Vitrasian, who last night betrayed the trust of this body and the city of Isara by making false and dangerous claims that put our people at risk.”

The doors behind him opened and two legionnaires escorted Vitrasian in, placing her at the center of the twelve-pointed star inlaid on the marble floor. Her hands were bound before her, the sight almost too degrading to look at. She was one of the most revered women in the city, reduced to the mortification of being a prisoner. She looked calm as she peered out over the Magistrates. The purple stola she’d been wearing last night was mussed, her hair beginning to unravel around her face, but her stark beauty was still arresting.

“The consequence of these actions has been the sowing of discord and terror among the most vulnerable of our citizens, and this is an offense that cannot be overlooked. Especially in the aftermath of this Forum’s decision to withhold the state of our grain fields from the public.”

My stomach turned. By humbling themselves before the city, the Magistrates had taken the role of apologetic mothers and fathers who’d done their best for their children. By painting the Philosopher as a liar, they then took the role of victims, placing themselves alongside the people. The ire wouldn’t be difficult to stoke because the only thing more terrifying than the possibility of the city starving was the idea that it was an act of the gods. From that, there was no rescue.

“The nature of this crime”—the Consul’s voice echoed—“is treason.”

The throng of onlookers erupted into discord and Luca’s hand slipped from mine, finding the railing before us. He leaned forward, as if steadying himself; his knuckles were white and the muscles in his arms flexed beneath his skin.

“The punishment for which is death.”

The voices in the Forum exploded, making the air stifling hot. I struggled to draw in a breath.

“No.” Luca’s voice was so low that I barely heard the word.

Treason was a charge only rarely brought by the Consul, mostly used to make an example of those who defied him. There was a message to be communicated here—that anyone who disturbed the facade, anyone who attempted to challenge the Forum, would face the same vote as Vitrasian. But down on the floor, the Philosopher’s expression was unchanged. She looked out into the middle distance, her eyes unfocused.

“It is our duty today to hold Vitrasian to account.”

When the Consul spoke again, it was with the fervor of a soldier. This was where it would begin. They would hold the vote, narrowly sparing Vitrasian from punishment, then they would discredit her and her findings with a swift hand. The work of convincing the city that suffering through famine was a collective effort, a banding together for future generations, was something I’d already heard the Magistrates discussing. They were nothing if not inventive. Somehow, they would manage to take Vitrasian’s act of rebellion and turn it into a unified battle cry. It was, in a word, brilliant.

The tribunal continued with a barrage of accusations against the Philosopher as the crowd watched in a kind of horrified awe.

Beside me, Luca looked like he was coming out of his skin. The veins in his neck were visible, a sheen of sweat cast across his brow.

“All in favor…” The Consul’s monotone voice distorted in my head.

My own mother was the first of the Magistrates to turn her judgment stone, and the moment the white face was visible, Luca was pulling free of me.

“ No, ” he cried out, making the people around us turn to look.

“Luca,” I whispered, grabbing hold of his tunic and trying to pull him back to me. But he was already disappearing in the mass of people.

He slipped through my fingers and I chased after him. By the time I made it to the stairs that led down from the gallery, he was already at the bottom.

“Luca!”

I clambered down the steps, hands sliding on the railing, and when I rounded the banister, Luca was pushing into the Forum. Vitrasian’s gaze fixed on him as he burst through the doors, the glint of tears in her eyes. But in the next breath, sunlight gleamed on a blade as the legionnaire lifted it in the air, and I watched with a cry trapped in my chest as it came down across her throat.

The sound of Luca screaming filled the Forum as he raced down the aisle. Every head turned to watch him as he caught Vitrasian’s body in his arms, her blood spilling down her chiton and soaking into his tunic. He was racked with sobs as he fell to the floor, pressing uselessly to the gushing wound.

It wasn’t until her hands fell limply to the ground that I saw the look in his eyes change. Before anyone could so much as breathe, he was lunging forward, taking the short sword from the second legionnaire’s belt. He drove it into the gut of the man, dropping him to the ground before he turned on the other. I screamed Luca’s name as he plunged the blade into the legionnaire’s heart.

That was when I saw it—the shimmer of gold. The flash of a gleaming circle taking shape over his head. A sharp gasp shot through the Forum and I stopped short, eyes going wide. The sword slipped from Luca’s hand, his chest rising and falling erratically, and his face paled and he dropped to his knees.

Every eye in the Forum was fixed on that gilded circlet, an air of utter disbelief thick in the room. It appeared like a specter, painting Luca as if he were a character in the oldest myths that covered the walls of the temple. It was a halo, an omen of providence.

It was a mark of fate from the gods.