Chapter 23

Tavi spent an eternity in misery, longing for death to bring sweet release from the unrelenting torment. The others gathered at the side of his bunk on the ship, keeping a deathwatch over him.

"I don't see what all the drama is about," Demos said, his quiet voice filled with habitual disinterest. "He's seasick. It will pass."

Tavi groaned, rolled onto his side, and convulsed. There was little but tepid water in his belly, but he tried to get most of it into the bucket anyway. Kitai held him steady until the heaves passed, and regarded Demos, Tavi, and the bucket with more or less equal distaste.

Demos frowned at the bucket and Tavi. "Though I worry about the water stores, the way he's going through them." He leaned down to address Tavi directly. "I don't suppose it would be possible for you to get this back down again. It would conserve our-"

Tavi threw up again.

Demos sighed, shook his head, and said, "It will pass. Eventually."

"What if it doesn't?" Tavi heard his mother demand.

"I wouldn't worry," Demos said. "It's hardly ever fatal." The captain nodded politely to them and departed the low-beamed cabin.

"Lady Isana?" Kitai asked. Tavi thought that her own voice sounded strained. "Is there nothing your watercraft can do?"

"Not without interfering with the Slives witchmen," Araris said quietly.

"I do not understand," Kitai said.

"They're watercrafters, Kitai," Ehren said, from the bunk above Tavi's. Tavi heard paper rustle as the young Cursor flipped a page in his book. "They're necessary to any deepwater ship, to prevent a leviathan from sensing us."

"Leviathan," Kitai said. "Like the thing that came to feed on offal and Canim at the Elinarch?"

"That one was only forty or fifty feet long," Ehren said. "A baby, as they go. An adult leviathan, even a fairly small one, would smash this ship to driftwood."

"Why would it do such a thing?" Kitai asked.

"They're territorial," the Cursor replied. "They'll attack any vessel that sails into the waters they claim."

"And these witchmen prevent that?"

"They prevent the leviathans from noticing the ship," Ehren said. "Of course, if a good storm kicks up, sometimes the leviathans find the ship anyway." After a meditative pause, he added, "Sailing is sort of dangerous."

Kitai growled. "Then could we not put in to shore, where the water is too shallow to permit these beasts to approach, and allow the lady to attempt a healing?"

"No," Tavi managed to growl. "No time... to waste on... pampering my stoma-" He broke off before he could finish the word and heaved again.

Kitai supported him until he was finished, then pressed a flask of water to his lips. Tavi drank, though it seemed pointless. The water would barely have time to get into his belly before he'd be losing it again. His stomach muscles burned with constant fatigue and throbbed with pain.

Tavi looked up to find his mother looking down on him, her expression gentle and concerned. "Perhaps you shouldn't talk of such things here," she said.

"As long as we keep our voices down, it shouldn't be an issue, Steadholder," Ehren said. "We're at sea. The salt spray makes it all but impossible to work with air furies. Anyone who wants to eavesdrop will have to do it physically."

"He's right," Araris said in a quiet voice. "And don't pay any attention to Demos's sense of humor, Isana. As long as we can keep getting a little water into the captain here, he'll be fine. He'll adjust to the sea eventually."

Kitai made a sound of disapproval that was not quite offensively rude. She had considerably refined her manners during her time in Alera, Tavi thought, but even so the lingering fatigue of having her arm crafted whole again, plus her concern for him, was wearing on her more and more heavily.

"When?" Isana asked quietly. "We've been at sea for four days. How long will it take?"

"As long as it takes," Araris said, his voice patient. Tavi heard the singulare rise and move toward the cabin's door. He paused to put a reassuring hand on

Kitai's shoulder. When Tavi opened his eyes to look up at him, Araris gave him one of his brief, rare smiles. "For what it's worth, I knew another man who was a bad sailor once."

Tavi felt his mouth twitch, but that was as close as he could get to smiling back.

"I'm going to get some sleep now," Araris said. "I'll sit with him tonight."

Kitai glowered up at the singulare as if she would object, but she did not. Tavi supposed that after four sleepless days at his side, the bags beneath her eyes had finally begun to outweigh her pride.

Tavi spent the rest of the day fighting his rolling stomach and giving considerable thought to blissfully brief suicide. He drifted into a sleep broken by disorienting dreams and waves of particularly acute nausea. By the time the daylight had begun to fade, Kitai lay curled up on the lower half of his bunk, sound asleep.

With Araris's help, Tavi staggered out onto the deck once night had fallen. Most of the crew sought their bunks and hammocks after the sun set, and only a few remained on deck. Tavi stretched out at the base of the mainmast, where he hoped the rocking of the ship would be least felt. He watched as the stars began to appear on a fine, clear night, and dropped into a true sleep for the first time in days.

When he awoke, the first thing he noticed was a small but steadily growing pang of hunger in his belly. The night had grown pleasantly chill, though no less clear, and when he sat up he was nearly dizzied by a startling lack of disorientation. His nausea had faded to a faint echo of itself. He stood up slowly and stretched.

"Try to focus on the stars, or else the horizon," said a soft voice at the side of the ship. "It can help, sometimes."

Tavi padded over the deck and stood at the rail with Araris. The singulare stared out at the water, his eyes focused into the distance, and Tavi was content to stand beside him in silence for a long while. The sea rushed against the ship, a constant murmur, and their passage left trails of luminescence in their wake. Tavi turned his face into the breeze, tried to ignore the sore muscles of his stomach, and savored the absence of illness.

Araris broke the silence. "Have you talked to her yet?"

"Not really," Tavi replied. "Hasn't been time."

"She loves you. Very much."

"I know," Tavi said quietly. "But..."

"That doesn't make it any easier," Araris supplied.

Tavi nodded.

"Do you understand why we did what we did?"

He nodded again. "That doesn't make it much easier, either."

Araris stared out at the waters. Then he pushed away from the railing and padded away. He returned and offered Tavi a flat, rectangular piece of what looked something like very dry bread.

"Ship's crackers," he supplied. "Good for a sour stomach."

Tavi nodded his thanks and gnawed at a corner of the bread. He'd broken stones softer than the stuff, but with enough work he managed to get a few gravelly bits to break off, and they softened in his mouth as he chewed. They tasted a little stale, but his stomach began to feel steadier after only a few mouthfuls.

Between bites, Tavi asked, "What was he like?"

Araris's head turned toward him in the darkness. Tavi could see nothing of his expression-only a glitter from his eyes. Araris stared at him for a time, then turned his face back to the sea. "Arrogant," he said, finally. "Impatient. Short-tempered." His teeth gleamed. "And compassionate. Intelligent. Generous. Fearless." Araris sighed. "Too much so."

Tavi said nothing, waiting.

"Septimus was never satisfied with things the way they were. Everywhere he went, in everything he did, he tried to leave a place better than when he found it. When he saw injustice, he worked to set it right. When he found victims, he offered them succor-then he avenged them. If he sank his teeth into an argument, he'd hold on until he'd won it or it died. I never saw him speak an unkind word to a child, strike a dog, or take spurs to his horse.

"When he fought, it was like a thunderstorm going to war, and I never saw his better with a blade. We would have taken a spear in the heart for him-we, his singulares. We all thought he would become a great First Lord. As great as the original Gaius Primus. He was one of the first Citizens to speak out publicly against slavery, you know."

Tavi shook his head. "I didn't."

"He had a habit of making allies of his enemies," Araris said. "You should have seen the brawls he had with Antillus Raucus at the Academy-but they ended as friends. He had... a kind of grace, about him. He could face a man down without taking his pride. If he'd lived, he would have..." Araris's voice closed off for a moment. He cleared his throat, and said, "Everything would be different."

"If," Tavi said. The word carried far more weight than it should have- bitterness, longing, sadness.

Araris squinted out at the ocean. "And he loved your mother more than air and light. He defied his father's direct command when he wed her. Gaius had other ideas about who would make him a suitable wife."

"Do..." Tavi cleared his throat. "Do you think he would have been... a good father?"

"He would have loved you," Araris said at once. He frowned. "But..."

"He would have been busy making things better?"

Araris was silent for a long time. "Perhaps," he said, the word coming out reluctantly. "Great furies know there was distance enough between him and his own father. But perhaps not. Children can change a man like few other things can."

Araris offered Tavi a flask, and Tavi accepted it. More tepid water, but at least he felt like it would stay down this time.

"Have you given any thought to what we're doing?" Araris asked.

Tavi frowned. "Of course."

Araris shook his head. "I know you've been planning it. You've thought about what we're doing, and how. You've thought about what was to be gained or lost. But I wonder if you've given much consideration to the why of it."

Tavi felt a flash of uncertainty, followed hard by anger. He swallowed both with the next mouthful of water, and said, "Because it's going to save lives."

"It might," Araris said, nodding. "But... I wonder if you have the right to make this choice."

"I'd approach Gaius," Tavi said, "but for whatever reason, he's out of reach. I already tried to contact him via my coin. Ehren, too."

"From what you told me, you already did ask him about seeking a diplomatic solution," Araris said. "And he flatly denied you."

"That was before he knew all the details."

"Which gives you the right to decide policy that's going to have a great many repercussions? Leaving aside the legality of what you're doing, what you're attempting is going to be viewed very badly from a great many directions, even if you're totally successful."

Tavi sighed. "You think I'm overstepping my authority as a Cursor."

"I know you're doing that," Araris replied. "I question whether or not you're overstepping your... new authority."

"What difference does it make?"

"Your claim to that authority is based upon authority derived from the law and from principles of justice," Araris said, his voice quiet and intent. "If you begin your new role by spitting on that law, those principles, you're undermining your own position. Eroding the ethical foundations from which your authority should derive."

Tavi heard himself chuckle quietly. "Believe it or not, I've thought of that."

Araris tilted his head slightly to one side, listening.

"What I learned from Nasaug, and the opportunity that it created, is clearly information of critical importance. It would probably influence Gaius's reasoning very strongly-certainly enough to force him to reconsider his earlier decision. Agreed?"

Araris nodded once.

Tavi turned to face him. "But he's gone. I don't know where he is, or what he's doing, but for the purposes of this crisis, he's been incapacitated. Normally, if that happened, we'd consult with whoever was next in the chain of command-and then that person would make the decision."

Araris made a small, skeptical sound. "That's... quite a shaky foundation."

Tavi half grinned. "I know," he said quietly. "But... if I'm to be what I was meant to be, it means that I have a responsibility to this Realm and its people. And if I don't act, it's going to be a real nightmare." He put a hand on Araris's shoulder. "You ask me how I can possibly justify doing this. But the real question is this: How can I possibly justify doing nothing?"

Araris stared at him for a moment, then shook his head and snorted.

They turned back to stare at the ocean again, and Tavi asked, "I need you. Be honest with me. Are you against this?"

"I was against you rushing in without being sure of your own motives," he replied. "Your father was a good man. But he had a tendency to trust his instincts too much. To act without thinking. He leaned on his power to get him out of any problems that arose."

"Not really an issue with me," Tavi murmured.

Araris laughed quietly. "No. You're stronger than he was." He mused for a moment. "And probably more dangerous."

Tavi hardly knew how to respond to that. He lapsed into silence for another several minutes. Then he asked, "Your opinion. Can we do it?"

Araris replied without hesitation. "I don't see how it's possible."

Tavi grunted and chewed on his lip.

Araris sighed and spoke with reluctance. "But that's never really stopped you before, has it?"

Tavi barked out a short laugh, and he saw Araris smile beside him.

"You should get some sleep," Araris said. "You'll need it. Practice tomorrow."

"Practice?" Tavi asked.

Araris Valerian nodded. "You've got your basics with a sword. You're ready for some serious training."

Tavi blinked. He had thought himself... well. Quite skilled with a blade. "Do you really think that's necessary?"

Araris laughed. "Your father used to ask me the same thing."

"What did you tell him?"

"As you wish, milord," Araris responded. His smile faded. "And someone killed him. So you're practicing tomorrow, and every day after. And you'll keep it up until I'm satisfied."

"When will that be?"

"When you can beat me," Araris said. He bowed his head to Tavi and nodded toward the cabin. "Get some rest, milord."

Chapter 24

Isana watched as Tavi's bare back slammed into the bulkhead of the Slives cabin for the ninth time in thirty minutes. The young man bounced back wheezing, but his sword kept moving, catching and turning two slashes and sliding aside a long thrust from his opponent. He wasn't quite fast enough, though, and a string of scarlet beads appeared along one of his ribs.

Isana winced, more at the flash of frustration and chagrin that came from Tavi than from sympathy for his pain. The wound was a minor one, and Isana could close it without trouble, after practice. It wouldn't even scar. Araris would never inflict anything more serious upon any student, much less upon this one.

Tavi'd had the wind knocked out of him, and it showed when he let out a weak yell and pressed a furious attack against Araris. The singulare blocked every single attack, seemingly by the barest of margins, then made a peculiar, circular motion of his wrist. Tavi's sword rolled abruptly from his grasp and fell to the deck.

Tavi didn't wait a second, pressing in close and getting a grip on Araris's sword arm. He slammed his forehead against Araris's cheekbone, and drove a hard blow into his ribs with another yell. Isana tensed suddenly, half-rising, as she sensed the wave of pure anger now rolling from her son.

Araris absorbed the blows like an anvil-they simply impacted him, to no apparent effect. He seized the wrist of Tavi's gripping arm with his own free hand, then turned, weight shifting in a little up-and-down bobbing motion.

Tavi, suddenly drawn off-balance, flipped entirely over, and Araris guided his back down onto the wooden deck. He hit hard enough to make Isana wince again-but not, she was certain, as hard he could have.

Tavi lay there on the deck, blinking up at the sails and the sky, stunned. The sailors, most of whom had been watching the practice, let out a chorus of cheers, jeers, and advice, accompanied by more than a little laughter.

"Temper," Araris said, his voice steady. He wasn't so much as breathing hard. "You're a naturally aggressive fighter, but anger is not your ally in a match like this. You've got to keep yourself centered and thinking. Use the anger. Don't let it use you."

He sheathed his sword and offered Tavi a hand up. The younger man glowered at the older for a moment, then shook his head and took his hand. "What was that wristlock?" he wheezed. "I've never seen that one before."

"It's fairly simple," Araris replied. "You've had enough for one day, though. I'll show you tomorrow, if you like."

"I'm all right," Tavi said. "Show me now."

Araris tilted his head, his lips pursed in thought, then suddenly grinned. "As you wish. Get some water, and we'll go another round. If you can keep your head, I'll show you the lock and the counter."

Tavi recovered his sword from the deck, saluted Araris, and sheathed it. Then he walked over to the water barrel beside where Isana sat on a small folding stool. He smiled at her, dunked a wooden cup into the water, and drank it all down, followed by a second. In the two days since he'd begun recovering from his seasickness, his color had returned, and he'd been shoveling down enough food for two at mealtimes-despite the rather questionable provender to be had from the Slive's cook.

Tavi and Araris were sparring shirtless, apparently to keep Tavi from having all of his shirts cut to ribbons and stained with blood. Isana had been studiously avoiding staring at Araris. She would not have thought that a man his age would look so athletic, without the use of watercraft-but he was very nearly as lean as Tavi, his body hard with flat, ropy muscle. Of course, he'd spent all those years in the forge back at the steadholt, and she'd once seen him practicing there by the light of dying embers, late one night, using an iron bar in place of an actual weapon.

Araris had grown confident and strong again, no longer the broken man he'd become after Septimus's death, and seeing him like that was both immensely gratifying to Isana and more than a little distracting. Her fingertips almost itched with the raw desire to trace those muscles. Instead, she turned back to her sewing, mending one of Kitai's pairs of trousers, where both her eyes and her fingers would have less trouble behaving in an appropriate manner.

"Would you like me to close that for you?" she asked Tavi quietly. "I won't need a tub for something that small."

Tavi glanced at her, and a complex little cloud of emotions drifted around him for a second. Then he shook his head and closed down on them, until Isana could no longer sense anything except for a vague dissatisfaction. "No, thank you. It's not leaking anymore." The words came out with a small, harsh edge. He gave her a guilty little glance, and then a half-forced smile appeared on his face. "Though at the rate I'm going, I might need you to patch up my pride."

Ehren appeared from within the cabin in time to say, waving vaguely at the sea, "I don't think there's enough water available."

Tavi arched an eyebrow. "Why don't you come practice with us and say that again, little man?"

Ehren raised a modest hand. "Thank you, no. I get confused about which end of the sword I should hold. I wouldn't dream of slowing down the advanced class." He turned the gesture into a mocking little fencer's salute and strode off toward the back of the ship, presumably to speak with their captain again.

"Some annoying little person is going to get thrown into the drink someday," Tavi called after him. Then he shook his head, grinning, and turned back to Araris. Isana watched, between stitches. She knew barely enough about sword-play to be able to watch it, but it seemed to her that Tavi was moving more slowly, but also more certainly. She caught a flicker of satisfaction from Araris, as the young man defended against half a dozen swift strokes.

Kitai's voice suddenly rang out from the rigging above. "Sails!" she called. "Dead ahead!"

Men paused in their work. A thrill of apprehension flashed through the air, brushing against Isana like a frozen cobweb. Immediately, Demos's voice began calling out brusque orders, and he swarmed up the ropes into the rigging himself, moving as nimbly as a squirrel through the lines. Isana watched as he gained the crow's nest, where Kitai pointed out something to him. Demos held up his hands in a gesture Isana had often seen used by windcrafters to magnify their view of different objects.

He stared for a moment. Then he came swinging back down through the rigging and dropped the last ten feet to the deck. He shouted more orders, and the ship suddenly pitched sharply to its right. Men scrambled to readjust the sails, while Demos strode back and forth, shouting terms and commands so obscure and confusing to Isana that he might as well have been speaking another language.

Isana rose and walked calmly to Demos's side, once the initial stream of orders trickled off. "Captain," she said. "What's happening?"

Isana took note that Tavi and Ehren had stepped over closer to her, as Demos answered.

"That's the Mactis out there," he said, his tone calm. "Red Gallus's ship." He stared out over the waves at a gleam of white sailcloth in the far distance. "I ordered a change of course. Now we'll see what he does."

"Skipper!" called a man from the ship's wheel. "He's changing course to intercept."

"Bloody crows." Demos sighed. "Lady, I recommend that you and yours get into your cabin and stay there."

"Why?" Isana said. "What's happening?"

"The captain of the Mactis thinks he's a pirate," Demos replied. "The fool means to board us."

Isana felt her eyes grow very wide. "Oh."

"Can he catch us, Captain?" Tavi asked.

Demos nodded once. "Likely. He picked his position pretty well. The wind is taking us into him, he's got a good current, and Gallus knows this part of the business. Give us a few more leagues, and he might turn back."

"Why would he do that?" Ehren asked.

"Because I'm sailing for the Run."

Ehren froze in his tracks and blinked at Demos. "What?"

Tavi frowned, and asked in a completely different tone, "What?"

"The Leviathans' Run," Ehren told Tavi. He licked his lips nervously. "It's a stretch of ocean where, uh..."

"Leviathans," Tavi said. "I get it."

"Not exactly," Demos said. He sounded almost bored. "It's where young males who haven't staked out their own territory tend to congregate."

"Oh," Tavi said. "What do they do there?"

"What every group of young males does," Demos replied. "Fight each other for no good reason. Charge around blindly at full speed just for the crows of it."

"And smash ships to tiny pieces," Ehren added in a very small voice.

Demos grunted agreement and turned to the rail again. "My witchmen are better than his. Let's see if he wants to roll the dice today."

"Captain," Tavi said. "No offense, but have you given thought to... well. Taking him on?"

"No," Demos said. "The Slive is half the size of the Mactis. And Gallus carries extra swordsmen to boot. Three to one odds aren't the kind I like."

"We've got some fairly capable hands ourselves," Tavi said.

Demos looked at him and barked out a short, harsh laugh. "Kid, you're pretty good. But there's a long way between training sessions with a family swordmaster and spilling blood on a rolling deck."

"He's right," Araris said quietly, stepping up to stand behind Tavi. "This fight is better avoided."

Demos looked past Tavi to the older man. "You've fought at sea before?"

"Yes." Araris didn't elaborate.

Demos nodded once. "Listen to your teacher, kid. And get comfortable. It's going to be a couple of hours before we get this sorted out, either way. Excuse me. I need to make sure my witchmen aren't drunk again."

Demos strode off to the stairway down to the hold and descended smoothly.

"That was a joke, right?" Ehren said. "About the watercrafters?"

Isana frowned. She could feel a rising anxiety pouring from the young Cursor. His arms were folded, and one of Ehren's feet drummed nervously on the wooden deck.

Tavi noted Ehren's worry as well. "What's got you so twitchy?" he asked.

"If you'd ever actually seen..." Ehren licked his lips. "I'm going to go rifle the bosun's trunk. Bound to be something to drink in there. You want any?"

Tavi frowned. "No. I'm fine."

Ehren jerked his head in a quick nod and glanced at Araris and Isana. "Sir? Lady?"

They declined, and Ehren scurried away, his face quite pale.

Tavi watched him go, frowning, and then went to the ship's railing. He stood staring out at the ocean for a time and occasionally stepped away to pace up and down the rail. After perhaps half an hour, he stalked over to Isana's side and frowned down at her.

"How can you just sit there, sewing?" he asked.

Isana didn't look up from her work. "Is there something else I should be doing?"

Tavi folded his arms, frowning. "The captain said you should get into the cabin."

"He said we all should," Isana responded. "But I don't see you going there."

Tavi frowned at her. "Well. I should be on deck."

"So that someone can trip over you?" Isana asked. She tried not to smile, she honestly did, but felt it on her mouth despite her efforts. "Or perhaps you think your sword is going to be of use in trimming sails. Or warding leviathans away."

He let out an exasperated breath. "At least as useful as your sewing."

Isana set the sewing down and regarded her son steadily. "It's going to be hours before anything happens, and it's a lovely day. From the level of anxiety I'm sensing from the crew and Ehren, they expect that we might well be crushed by a leviathan and dragged into the depths of the sea. Failing that, we can look forward to a desperate struggle against a band of pirates who outnumber us three to one." She turned back to her task. "In either circumstance, the light would be less than ideal for sewing. So I think I'll sit here on the deck and enjoy the sunshine while I may, if that's quite all right with you."

Tavi stared at her, and she could feel his complete shock quite clearly.

She spared him a small smile. "I know you're worried about me. And I know how much you've always hated it that so many things were entirely out of your control. This is another such thing. Denying that won't make it less true."

He looked down at her for a moment, frowning, his mood turning from restive impatience to pensive introspection. Isana had always found her son's ability to focus upon whatever he set his mind on to be somewhat intimidating. He could pour tremendous energy of thought and will into any given task. It must be uncomfortable for him, to say the least, to turn that same focus inward.

He sighed and settled down on the deck beside her stool, resting his shoulders against the bulkhead behind them. He lowered his voice. "If I had..."

"The furycraft, yes," she said quietly. "It hasn't solved the First Lord's problems. Even if you had it, you'd merely be faced with a host of different uncontrollable situations."

Tavi was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "But I could protect you."

"Perhaps," she said quietly. "Perhaps not. Life is not notable for its overabundance of certainty."

Tavi grimaced and nodded. "I just thought I'd feel better if you were inside."

She tied off the thread, willed Rill into a fingernail to sharpen it, and cut it neatly. She slipped the needle through thread still wound on the spool and shook her hand gently as the nail returned to normal, stretching her aching fingers. "If you truly think that's best, perhaps you should try leading us there."

He blinked and tilted his head, looking at her.

She laughed. She couldn't help it. She leaned down and kissed his hair. For all that he was grown so tall, and for all that he had learned and become, she could still see the infant, the toddler, the mischievous child, all rolled into the man he was becoming.

"Consider," she said. "Were Gaius in your position-"

"As if he'd ever be without furycraft," Tavi snorted.

"But if he were," Isana pressed, meeting his eyes. "Consider it. How would his retinue react to him, hmmm? If he stood brooding at the rail and paced about like a hungry thanadent, snarling and giving orders that made little sense."

Tavi scowled at her. He began to speak, stopped, then shrugged. "If I was there with him? I'd be worried."

"Quite," Isana said. "Such a display might soothe his own anxiety-but he would be doing so at a cost to others. Is that the kind of person you want to be?"

Tavi tilted his head again, frowning. He said nothing.

"Now consider: If staying locked in the passenger cabin truly was the wisest course of action, would you rush into it if it seemed that Gaius was determined to stay on deck, despite the futility of the gesture?"

"Probably not."

Isana nodded. "That's because Gaius, for all that he is a manipulative old serpent, is also a leader. He acts. Others follow." She glanced around, and said, "They follow you, too."

Tavi's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Those with us," she said. "Even many of the sailors. They recognize intelligence, competence, confidence. They regard you-and your evaluation of our situation-with more respect than they would another."

Tavi chewed on his lower lip, and murmured, I'm frightening them."

Isana saw no need to confirm what Tavi had finally realized. "If Gaius thought his people were all safest in the cabin, what do you think he would do?"

Tavi nodded slowly. "He'd go there. Give them a chance to protest. Save their pride. Help their morale. If he thought that was best."

Isana reached into the garment bag on the deck beside her and drew out one of Ehren's sets of trousers-all of which bore tears and ham-handed repairs that were arguably worse than the rips they'd replaced. "Well, then. It might be wise for you to practice. What do you think is the best thing to do?"

Her son shook his head. "That question has been on my mind a lot, lately."

Here it came. She steeled herself against another reflex-flutter of panic. That wasn't what Tavi needed right now. "Oh?"

"It's a lot," he said.

"Yes."

"It's big."

Isana nodded. "Oh, yes."

He whispered. "I'm scared."

Isana closed her eyes. The man's voice spoke with the child's aching fear, and it hurt to hear it, to feel it.

"The thing is," he said quietly, "that I'm not making this choice just for me. If I'm not killed today, or when we get to the capital, or in the fighting after that, or in the trial after the fighting, then... what I do will affect a lot of people."

"That isn't precisely uncommon, over the past few years," she pointed out.

"But this is different. This is more."

"Is it?"

Tavi looked up at her, searching her eyes with his. They looked brilliantly green against the dark brown wood stain of the ship's timbers. "What if I can't handle it?" he said quietly. "What if I'm not capable of it?"

"Tavi, you've never needed-"

"This isn't about furycraft," he said quietly, firmly. "It's about me." He leaned closer, whispering. "Do you think I could do this? Take... take his place?"

Isana's heart pounded. She set the trousers aside. The fear screamed at her to tell her son no. That he could not possibly enter the insanity that passed for government in Alera and survive. That he would bungle whatever he set his hand to, cause pain and grief to untold thousands.

Instead, she took his hand and held it in both of hers.

"I've had nightmares about this since you were an infant," Isana said quietly. "Every time you did something that... attracted the attention of the Crown, every time you threw yourself into harm's way for another, it felt like someone stabbing me with a knife. I was sure that if you kept it up, your father's enemies would see you. Recognize you. Kill you. That's all I could see."

She looked up at his eyes. "But I didn't see what was right in front of me." She clenched his hand hard, and her voice turned fierce. "You have proven, again and again, that you are his son. His son. Never let anyone tell you differently."

He stared at her with wide eyes. Then he nodded once, and his jawline suddenly firmed. "Thank you."

"Great furies, don't thank me for this," she said quietly. "I hate it. I hate everything about it."

"Will you stand with me?" he asked.

She leaned down and clasped him, hugging him as tightly as she could, and whispered, "Hail, Gaius Octavian."