Chapter 59

Valiar Marcus stood upon the southern battlements with his men, watching as the Princeps rode forth from the ruins. A second horse, trailing on a rope, carried Senator Arnos's corpse draped upon its back. The sun was rising, the lands around them steadily growing brighter.

The balest had gone the same way as the jars of poison. It had been tricky for a few moments, when the Marat had come looking for the hidden archer, but his woodcrafted veil had served him well, and he eluded them.

The whole thing had gone to the crows, as such plans often did. Marcus had been forced to change position when the Senator bolted. He'd been sure the man would run to Lady Aquitaine, given a chance, but he'd fled even before the duel was over, and Marcus had been forced to shadow him.

Fortunately, it had hardly been difficult to remain unobserved in the frenzy around the duel, and he'd been able to use the reactions of the hunting Marat as a guide to the Senator. The doubled opportunity he'd finally found had been a stroke of fortune he had acted upon instinctively and instantly. Such moments could not be predicted and never lasted. The tiniest hesitation, and they were gone.

He had heard that "Davia," career Legion domestic, had died in the healing tub, as the poison on the bolt set her heart to racing, spreading the deadly taint of the garic oil through the whole of her body, until her life had simply failed.

That was a pity, Marcus thought. The woman was undeniably capable. She could have been a tremendous asset to the Realm, handled properly, and the loss of such potential to the Crown was regrettable. On the other hand, she was stubborn. He doubted she would have cooperated quickly or easily. He was certain he would not have survived the fallout, regardless of what she chose to do. Still. The skills of the powerful bloodlines of Alera were vital to the long-term survival of the Realm, and-

He felt himself smile a little. For a moment there, he'd been thinking like a Cursor.

"What do you think, First Spear?" asked Tribune Kellus. The annoying young officer had survived the battle and had naturally wandered away from his command again to come chew the fat with Marcus.

"Sir?" Marcus asked politely.

Kellus nodded at the Canim army outside, surrounding the ruins. "Think the captain can get us out of this?"

"Difficult to say, sir," Marcus replied.

"I hope so," Kellus muttered.

Marcus drew in a breath and silently counted to three. "Yes, sir."

The Princeps stopped as a group of Canim, with what must have been two or three former Aleran slaves, came out of the enemy ranks to meet him. They faced off about ten feet from one another, then two of the slaves, an armored legionare and a black-haired woman in a grey dress, came forward to examine the body. The woman looked at his face and nodded, and then the enemy contingent withdrew-except for a single Cane, an enormous, scarred, black-furred brute, who remained facing the Princeps.

The Princeps dismounted, and walked up to face the Cane-who towered over him by a good three feet.

The Cane drew a heavy sword from his belt.

The Princeps mirrored him.

The Cane reversed his grip on the weapon. The Princeps did the same. Then, moving slowly, almost ritually, they exchanged weapons, and stepped away from one another. The Cane slipped the Legion gladius through his belt as a man might a dagger. The Princeps had to slide the massive Canim weapon through a loop attached to his horse's saddle.

The Princeps mounted, and the two faced one another for a moment, probably talking. Then the Princeps tilted his head slightly to one side. The Cane casually lifted one fist to its chest in an Aleran salute, and tilted his head more deeply to one side. Then he turned and strode away.

Horns blared, and within a minute the Canim army was on the move.

And they followed the enormous Cane back to Mastings, away from the ruins on the hilltop.

Legionares stared; and then, as the Princeps rode back to the walls, still bearing Arnos's body, the entire hilltop erupted into cheering, the blowing of horns, the beating of drums.

"He did it," Kellus shouted, pounding on Marcus's back. "Bloody crows and great furies, he did it!"

Marcus endured the buffeting without complaining or knocking a few teeth from the young officer's mouth-but just barely. "Yes, sir," he agreed. "He seems to have formed a habit."

The jubilation continued as the Princeps rode back up the hill, and Marcus excused himself, leaving his senior centurion in charge of the cohort. He didn't have much time. The Princeps would call for a council immediately.

Marcus made his way to the healers' tents and found most of them asleep, simply stretched out on the ground, too exhausted to walk back to their bedrolls. He looked around until he found Foss and shook the Tribune's shoulder.

"I should kill you," Foss said blearily. He opened his eyes, blinked them a few times, and said, "Oh. Marcus."

"I'd like to see her," Marcus said quietly.

"Her?" Foss mumbled. Then he winced, and said, "Oh, right. I... I'm sorry, Marcus. We did everything we could for her, but..."

"It happens," he replied wearily. "I just want to... say good-bye."

"Sure," Foss said, his usual gruff tone gentle. He jerked his head at some hanging curtains at the rear of the tent. "Back there."

Marcus made his way back to the curtains and parted them. Six bodies lay behind them, covered in bloody shrouds. He began lifting shrouds, revealing dead, pale faces with grey lips. Five were fallen legionares. One was an elderly woman.

None of them was Lady Aquitaine.

Marcus's blood ran cold.

He strode back out to Foss, cuffed the man's shoulder to wake him up, and said, "Where?"

"Back there," Foss protested, waving at the curtains. "She was the last we worked on. She's right back there."

"No," Marcus snarled. "She isn't."

Foss blinked at him. Then he rose, groaning, and shambled back to look for himself.

"Huh," he said, after looking around. "I don't understand it. She was right there." He nodded at an empty space at the end of the row of bodies. "Seven of them."

"Now there are six," Marcus said.

"Seven minus one, yeah," Foss said testily. "Look, we've been asleep for a while, Marcus. Sometimes family or friends come for domestics or followers who are killed rather than sending them to a mass Legion grave. You know that."

Marcus shook his head. The surge of fear had faded rather rapidly, as his exhaustion finally caught up with him. He knew he should be stealing a fast horse and running for his life, but he was just too tired.

Besides, he'd do it again in a heartbeat. And he was finished with running.

He exchanged a few more words with Foss, and then marched out of the healers' tent and toward the command tent. In the end, what difference did it make if he died for this choice or one of the many others that could come back to haunt him?

As long as he was still alive, there was a job to do, a Realm to defend-and a captain to serve.

Chapter 60

All in all, Tavi supposed, it could have been worse.

It took him another three hours to gather up the surviving commanders of the three Legions, hash out exactly what resources were left to them, and get them positioned where he wanted them to be. He set up the watch, arranged for water to be carted in from the wells that hadn't been poisoned, and ordered everyone who wasn't engaged in one of those two tasks to get some sleep.

He suspected it was that last order, more than any of the others, that won him the approval of the officers of the Senatorial Guard.

Then they buried the dead, honoring the fallen, and the First Spear called the roll for the entire Legion, marking the names of the dead on his lists, in half a day of quiet tribute. The wake that night was subdued. There was little alcohol to be had, and too many of their brothers were missing to allow sober legionares to forget that lack. For the most part, the camp turned in early.

The next two days were a mess, adjusting the formations of the battered Legions, caring for the wounded, and setting up a proper camp. The First Aleran had taken a terrible beating-almost as bad as at the battle of the Elinarch. Even so, they were in better shape than either of the Senatorial Guard Legions, even though they'd both come in marching heavily overstrength.

The captain of the First Senatorial had been killed in the fighting, and the next-most-senior officer was the Tribune Auxiliarus, whose cavalry had been responsible for the attacks on several steadholts. The man hadn't returned from his most recent patrol-or if he had, he'd somehow learned which way the wind was blowing, and elected not to remain. None of the officers below him seemed willing to risk his possible wrath by taking the command that was rightfully his, and thus tacitly support any charges that might be brought against him.

Nalus suggested that Tavi assign him to be the joint commander of both Guard Legions, and Tavi found it an excellent solution. There were just enough survivors of the two Legions to make a single full-strength Legion in any case, and Nalus immediately folded the two Guard Legions together, "until reinforcements made dividing them practical again."

Kitai and her kinsmen, meanwhile, set out to hunt down the guilty Tribune and his murderers. She'd won the coin toss, that time.

The weather had turned strange. The sky was covered with a pall of grey, and flecks of something that looked like snow but wasn't began to fall from the sky. It took Tavi an hour or two to realize what was falling-ash. Ashes from some enormous fire that could only be explained by the presence of a volcano. Since it also explained the great red light on the night of the duel, as well as the shuddering in the earth, he felt confident in his guess. After a day or so, it slackened, then stopped, and the next day the sky was brighter. Still, it was strange, and it worried nearly everyone.

After two days of reorganizing, repairing, and rearming, the First Aleran, beaten down to seventeen combat-capable cohorts, almost looked like proper soldiers again. The ruins had been neatly cleared of debris and many of the trees that had grown up through it, and the engineers had been hard at work on buildings, repairing their walls and roofs where they could, and converting them to open space where they couldn't. Every hale legionare helped them, including Tavi himself, at least for part of the day, carrying away rubble and clearing ground. It was best to keep the men busy. It would improve morale and discourage thoughts of any rash adventures toward the town of Mastings, still filled with the foes who had mauled them so badly.

Tavi found himself commanding the Legions out of the building upon whose roof he had won the duel with Phrygiar Navaris. The rotting wooden interior had been cleared, leaving a soaring roof overhead, and he quickly fell into the routine of command-except, of course, for the missing faces who now lay in the earth.

On the fourth day after the duel, the First Lord arrived.

Gaius Sextus stalked into the command building completely unannounced and narrowed his eyes at Tavi.

"Out," he murmured.

Had the building been on fire, it would not have emptied more quickly.

Gaius idly flicked a hand at the door as the last of Tavi's staff left, and a breeze slammed it closed. He eyed Tavi for a long and silent moment.

Tavi lifted his chin-a gesture of attention, more than aggression, schooled his face to a mask of polite neutrality, and waited. The silence grew heavier, but Tavi didn't let it press in on him, and after a time, Gaius grunted.

"And I thought I had made a mess," he said, finally.

"Mess, sir?" Tavi asked. He deliberately avoided the honorific given to the First Lord by everyone in the Realm but his immediate family. Tavi was not, however, feeling quite so bold as to call the old man "grandfather."

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Don't be obstreperous, Tavi," Gaius said. To Tavi's surprise, he sounded almost exactly like his Uncle Bernard sometimes had after one of Tavi's fits of ingenuity, back at Bernardholt.

"Magnus got through to you on his coin?" Tavi asked. "I assume he's taken on the role of watchdog on your behalf."

"Once he recovered from the shock," Gaius said. He walked past Tavi, looking around the room. "Who told you? Araris or your mother?"

"Araris," Tavi said quietly.

Gaius sighed. "Mmmm. Unfortunate."

"That I know?"

"The way you learned. That she kept it from everyone. That Araris consented to it." He shook his head. "Though who knows. It may have been for the best. Concealment may have protected you more thoroughly than my power could have. Though that's over now."

"Sir?"

"Surely you must realize, Octavian," Gaius said quietly, "that a great many people will not be happy about the appearance of an heir. They'll remove you."

"They'll try," Tavi said.

Gaius studied him intently for a moment and glanced around them. "You've no attendant furies. But you overcame Navaris. And there's a touch of..." He peered closely at Tavi. "Your talents?"

Tavi nodded quietly.

Gaius stepped forward, sudden tension in his shoulders. "I thought it might happen. What have you been able to do?"

"Internalized crafting," Tavi said. "Earth, metal, water, air."

Gaius arched an eyebrow. "But no manifestation? No discrete fury has come to your call?"

Tavi shook his head.

"It's encouraging, I suppose, and your talents may well keep developing, but... it isn't going to be enough to let you protect yourself now."

"I've done fairly well so far," Tavi said, stung.

Gaius grimaced. "Don't be a fool. You were an annoyance before, and one difficult to reach, at that. Now you're an objective-and no one is untouchable, Tavi. Your father wasn't." Gaius paused and coughed several times. It had a wheezing sound to it.

Tavi frowned and tilted his head. "Sir? Are you feeling all right? You look a little..." He nearly said "frail," but hurriedly replaced it with, "... pale."

"Am I all right?" Gaius asked in a mild voice. "Boy, I told you to stay here and manage Arnos. Instead, you get outmaneuvered by the fool, arrested, then proceed to escape, take up with pirates, assault the bloody Grey Tower, and carry off the most important prisoner in Alera."

"Sir," Tavi said. "I know it looks bad-"

Gaius kept going, ignoring him. "That campaign of chaos not being enough, you then return here, declare your identity to the entire world, challenge a senior Senator to the crowbegotten juris macto, and as if that was not enough, you strike a truce with the largest invading force ever to attack the Realm, and at least a Legion of armed rebels-criminals, boy-to boot!" His voice rose, stentorian, echoing from the stone walls of the enormous chamber. "You've set policy with no regard whatever for the future! You've broken-no, shattered Crown Law! Have you any idea what you've done?"

The suggestion of the First Lord's displeasure had sent men hurrying from the room-and his open wrath literally sent tremors through the stone floor and made the room's furylamps flare scarlet in reflection of his anger. Tavi knew that Citizens all around the Realm would have immediately bowed to one knee and averted their gazes in the face of Gaius's outrage. Prudence suggested that Tavi might want to follow the same course.

Instead, Tavi found himself squaring his shoulders, setting his jaw and, somewhat alarmingly, stepping forward to brace the First Lord directly, eye to eye.

"I know what I've done," Tavi said quietly. "I have followed your orders to the best of my ability. I protected innocent Alerans whom I would otherwise have been forced to murder. I made use of the best transport I had to retrieve a prisoner from the Tower-a prisoner to whom you and I both owe our lives, I might add, and who has been unjustly imprisoned for four years for the sake of appearances.

"Then I returned here, parlayed Varg into a summit with the Canim command, and used information they provided me to remove a murdering, treasonous slive from power and see something that almost looks like justice done. And after that, I negotiated to gain the Realm the single largest, best-trained, and most destructive allied force Alera has ever known." He paused a beat, then added, "Sir."

Gaius's expression of wrath darkened, then faltered. He opened his mouth for a moment, then closed it, eyes calculating, and asked, "Allied?"

"Yes, sir."

"Explain."

Tavi did, sharing his theory about the reason for Sari leading the exodus from the Canim homeland, explaining that he, and the Canim themselves, believed that the Vord were destroying their home, and their people were fighting for the very life of their race.

"I'm not sure we shouldn't let them fight," Gaius said after a moment. "The enemy of my enemy, is my friend, eh?"

"If the Vord are truly the threat I believe they are, I think I'd rather keep the enemies we know than trade them in for new ones."

"A point," Gaius murmured. "But Alera as a whole is hardly going to approve of a truce with the Canim."

"It isn't a truce," Tavi said. "They surrendered. They're prisoners."

Gaius's eyebrows lifted. "They had the city surrounded. They outnumber your local troops by more than five to one. And they surrendered. And while still in possession of a heavily fortified city and retaining their arms, they are your prisoners."

"Mine," Tavi said, "personally, in my capacity as the Princeps of Alera. They have given their parole, and I have accepted it." He offered Gaius a faint smile. "The Realm has known more elaborate fictions, sir."

Gaius's mouth twitched. "Mmmm. What did you offer them?" Gaius asked.

"To allow them to leave," Tavi said. "To provide them with watercrafters enough to get past the leviathans. And to give them support troops for the defense of their homeland."

Gaius frowned and began to speak, but then paused. "Support troops. The 'Free Aleran' Legions?"

"I've taken the liberty of drawing up a proclamation of general amnesty to those in this region who have broken laws in acting to protect their lives and those of their families due to the Canim invasion and Kalarus's rebellion," Tavi said, turning to the table where he'd set the documents aside, "contingent upon their service to the Crown. I've also had a proclamation drawn up declaring the general liberation of all slaves in Kalaran lands."

Gaius accepted the two parchments and scanned them. "Well. At least you didn't attempt to sign them and enact them."

"Naturally not," Tavi said wryly. "That would be overstepping the bounds of my authority."

"Overstepping the-" Gaius shook his head. "As if assaulting the Grey Tower wasn't transgression enough to earn you a death sentence." He spread his hands. "Proving your heritage won't be an issue. Septimus saw to that. But your actions have created a problem, Octavian. You are, by all rights, a criminal."

"And if you use your authority to pardon me," Tavi said, "it will erode what support you have left and undermine my own position in the eyes of the Citizenry."

"Precisely," Gaius said. "Your actions have created an untenable position for us."

Tavi nodded. "If only there was some way my actions might be pardoned as part of a mass amnesty-one in which many Alerans great and small were excused for extraordinary actions taken in good faith."

Gaius stared at Tavi for a long and silent second. Then he stared at the paper in his hand.

"I came to the same conclusions you did," Tavi said quietly. "Once word spreads through the Realm that there's a Princeps again, every cutter in Alera will be able to find work-or the same people who killed my father will come together again to remove me."

"One won't," Gaius said quietly.

"Kalarus?"

"I believe so," he said. "There was never any proof, of course. But I knew." He tilted his head, studying Tavi's face. "So. You depart the Realm, placing yourself beyond the reach of assassins and High Lords alike." Gaius frowned. "To what gain?"

"First," Tavi said, "I get to make sure that the Canim aren't going to use their fleet just as Arnos feared they would-to shift their attack to a weaker part of the Realm."

"I thought you had a high regard for the honor of the Canim leaders," Gaius said.

"I do," Tavi said. "But there's no sense in being stupid, is there?"

The First Lord's mouth quirked up in amusement. "Go on."

"Second," Tavi said, "I'll be able to gather intelligence on the Canim and the Vord, both of which are going to be valuable in the future."

"True enough," Gaius said.

"And, once I've taken the Canim home and gotten them settled back again, I'll be able to return, claim the amnesty you're about to declare, along with all the rest of the Free Aleran Legion and, perhaps, a few of my own men-"

Gaius smiled faintly.

"-at which point I should be able to return to the Realm without anyone feeling the need to put me behind bars."

"And meanwhile," Gaius murmured, "you gain time to develop your furycraft more deeply. And I am given time to build up greater support for the Realm's Princeps. Which should be quite possible, given all you've done, as well as everything your mother has managed to accomplish." He shook his head. "I

must point out that should you be killed while on this sojourn, the entire plan rather falls apart."

"If I stay, they'll kill me," Tavi said. "If I go, at least everything that wants me dead won't be taking it personally."

"Question," Gaius said. "What makes you so sure I'm not planning on sending you south to finish Kalarus's forces?"

"You'd have told me already," Tavi said. "I'd have been given marching orders before we had this talk. Given that you didn't, I assume that the rebellion is over."

"Yes," Gaius said.

"Volcano?" Tavi asked.

"Yes."

Tavi shuddered at Gaius's tone-flat, quiet, empty of humanity. "Are you all right?"

He expected the First Lord to brush the question off. Instead, Gaius shook his head, and said quietly, "I don't believe so. But I have neither the time nor right to indulge in self-pity. How long will you be gone?"

"I expect we'll leave before summer is out," Tavi said. "We'll winter in the Canim homeland. I'll return next spring."

"A year, give or take," Gaius mused. "I can work with that." He walked to one of the tables, took up ink and a quill, and dashed his signature across the bottom of both documents he was holding. "The copies?"

Tavi found the small stack of duplicates Ehren had written out. Gaius read each before signing them. Tavi helped sand and blot the fresh signatures, and for a moment, the rather mundane task occupied their attention.

Gaius left a single copy of the documents with Tavi and took the rest himself, rolling them into a leather carrying case. "Well. There is a great deal of work ahead of us both. Good day."

The First Lord turned and strode for the door.

"Grandfather?" Tavi asked quietly.

Gaius stopped. He glanced over his shoulder, his body language cautious.

Tavi shook his head. "Just... trying it out. I've never been able to use it before."

Gaius nodded slowly. "Grandson," he said quietly, as if considering the way the word sounded.

For a long minute, neither spoke.

"You look like him, you know," Gaius said. "A great deal." He gave Tavi a faint smile. "I expect he would have been proud of you."

"You and he didn't get along very well, did you?" Tavi asked.

"As a rule? No."

"What would you have done, if he'd brought my mother to you?"

Gaius shrugged a shoulder. "I'd have reacted badly, I suppose."

"She's my mother, sir," Tavi said. "She was your son's wife."

"Yes."

"I don't expect you to shower her with affection," Tavi said. "But she could be a great help to you. And she deserves your respect."

"I will bear that in mind," Gaius said.

"Do," Tavi said, without threat or malice in his voice. "Or you and I won't get along very well, either, sir."

Gaius showed Tavi his teeth. "Be careful, grandson," he said, making two statements at once, and left the building.

Tavi sank down onto a stool and bowed his head. He wondered what it would have been like to grow up with a grandfather.

Then he shook his head and rose. He had no time for nor right to self-pity, either, and there was a great deal of work to do.

Bernard led them safely out of the immediate area. Whatever pursuit had been behind them when they came into Kalare, it evidently disintegrated with the destruction of the city and the resulting blizzard of ash. When the skies finally cleared again, Amara lifted them both into the air. It was far more work than she would have had to do if she had been alone, but she wasn't trying to set any speed records. Even so, only a day of travel carried them into the lands surrounding neighboring Attica, and to a traveler's inn beside one of the causeways.

They were so filthy from the journey through the swamps that they might not have been able to buy a room at the inn if they hadn't been able to show the innkeeper gold coins as well as silver when he asked to see their money. The first thing they bought was a bath. They wore robes provided by the inn while their clothes were being cleaned, and ate their first proper meal in weeks.

After that, Amara had assumed they would collapse into an exhausted sleep.

Bernard had other ideas.

She couldn't say she disapproved of the direction of his thoughts, either.

Afterwards, sleep came. But she awoke in the deeps of the night, and just lay quietly, listening to her husband's heart beating.

"He didn't give you much choice," Bernard rumbled.

Amara hadn't realized that he'd awoken. It took her a moment to gather her thoughts. "You knew what he was going to do?"

"I suspected," Bernard said.

"You didn't say anything," she said.

"I didn't know," he replied. "And I hoped he would do it differently. Tell you."

"I feel like a fool," she said. "He said he would stop Kalarus from using the Great Fury. It never even occurred to me that he'd do it by setting it loose."

"I know," Bernard said. His arm tightened on her gently.

"If I'd known what he intended... I don't know if I could have... I couldn't have made myself a part of that."

"I know," Bernard said. "So did he."

"What have I done?" Amara whispered. "I betrayed my oath."

"He lied to you, Amara," Bernard said.

"He never-"

"He deceived you," Bernard said, his tone brooking no dissent. "He chose words he knew would give you the wrong idea to get what he wanted out of you. He knew what he was doing. He knew how you would react. He accepted it."

Amara pressed her cheek against his chest. "He knew about us. That I'd broken the law."

"Amara," Bernard chided, his tone softening, "the First Lords worked out years ago that outlawing marriage among certain personnel is probably the worst thing they could do actually to discourage it. We handled it just as it's done in the Legions. We were discreet and still performed our duties. In return, he overlooked it. Good commanders always handle it that way."

True enough. She'd thought through the logic, tracked down the motivations, the reason, the simple calculation of the entire situation.

And then the rest of it hit her.

She found herself shuddering against Bernard's chest, weeping. His arms slid around her, pulling her more tightly against him, and she sobbed harder. It was too much, too much. The weeks of toil and danger. The horrible destruction at journey's end. She could still see the tiny, helpless figures, hopelessly running from a fiery death.

And without her help, it could not have happened.

How could Gaius have done that to her?

It hurt. Oh, it hurt. She had trusted him.

Just as she had trusted Fidelias.

She wept against her husband's chest, feeling miserable and foolish for doing it, and found herself unable to stop for several minutes. By the time she did, she felt emptied out, heavy, lassitude beginning to seep into her thoughts.

Bernard kissed her hair gently, simply present.

"What am I going to do?" she whispered. "I've never done anything else."

"I know a place you could go," Bernard replied. "It's a little rough, but there are good people there. There's a man there who has a lot of folk to care for. He could use the help of an intelligent, courageous, and talented woman."

She tightened her arms around him, just soaking up the warmth of him. "Yes?"

"Mmmmm. Countess Calderon. It suits you. And I've wanted to see you in my colors since..."

"Since when?"

"Since I bandaged your ankle," he replied.

"I suppose I'd need some clothes," she said sleepily. "Dresses, perhaps. I've never owned more than one."

"I can afford them," he said.

"I'd never thought about doing this," she said. "Being a wife."

"A wife with a great many hostile wind furies about," Bernard said. "Not to mention a full military garrison to help oversee. I'm afraid there won't be much time for knitting."

"I'm terrible at knitting," she replied with a yawn. "Well. Except for a mail coat, once."

"We can hire someone for knitting, then." He kissed her forehead. "I've hoped we could be together. Actually together."

"So have I," Amara whispered. "I just never thought it would happen."

"With the rebellion over," Bernard said, "there's bound to be better times ahead. It will be a good time to settle down. Maybe even start a family. We'll finally have time to try again."

Amara smiled. "Mmmm. A good wife embraces even the most tedious chores."

Bernard murmured, "Oh, really?" He moved his hand.

Amara's breath caught in her throat as her heat sped up. "Aren't you tired?"

Evidently, he wasn't.

Isana watched Gaius depart the improvised command building from her chambers in the small, restored home across the ruined street. He took to the air and vanished, all in the same motion, as if he had simply become the wind. No more than a handful of people even saw him leave.

"He had the document case with him," she reported quietly.

"Tavi guessed correctly," Araris said. He stood in her doorway, watching her.

Isana turned, glancing uneasily down at the gown she wore-dark, muted shades of scarlet and blue, a sedate gown suitable for the widow of one Prin-ceps and mother of another, and it was quite the most expensive dress she had ever owned. A makeshift wardrobe in the room held several other outfits every bit as costly, and much more suitable for the Princeps Matron than her simple grey dress. The outfits had been a gift from "Free Alera," which Isana suspected in this case meant Varg and his young Aleran aide de camp, Durias.

"I almost wish he hadn't been right," she murmured. "Over the sea. Surrounded by Canim. Facing the Vord."

"Perhaps," Araris said. "Perhaps not. Personally, I'm glad. I couldn't protect him here. Not against the kind of people who will want him dead."

"I understand the reasoning behind it." Isana sighed. "And I know he's developed into something far more than the boy I raised, and that he has obligations and duties, Araris, but crows take it, he's still my boy. I hate to see him go so far from home."

"My lady," Araris said, gently mocking sternness, "a woman of your station should not curse."

Isana gave him a level look, and the swordsman smiled in reply. "I'll watch over him."

She couldn't help but return the smile a little. "You always have."

His smile faded. "It's you I'm worried about," he said. "The First Lord is sure to summon you to the capital to help rally support for Octavian. And Lady Aquitaine isn't going to like that."

Isana waved an unconcerned hand. "She'll adjust. She's practical in that way."

"I'm serious, Isana," Araris said. "You're going to be in danger."

"When have I not been?" she asked, and she heard the uncharacteristic note of sharpness in her voice. "Honestly, Araris? I've lived my whole life afraid, and I'm sick to death of it."

Araris frowned at her, folding his arms.

"Somewhere out there are men and women who would gladly conspire to murder my son," she continued in the same tone. "They may well be many of the same souls responsible for murdering my husband." The sudden rage inside her almost seemed to force her chin up, and her words came out crisply bitten. "I won't have it."

Araris's eyebrows climbed.

'I've made many friends, Araris. I've learned a great deal about Alera's leading Citizens. I'm going to find those responsible for killing Septimus. I'm going to find those who might wish to do harm to Octavian. And great furies help them when I do." She felt her voice shaking with the ferocity and weight of her feelings. "Don't waste your time being afraid for me. I don't care who they are. I'm going to find them. And destroy them."

He walked across the room to her and ran the fingertips of one hand over the curve of her cheek. "That," he said quietly, "is what I'm afraid of."

Isana's sudden, hot fury faltered, and she lowered her eyes.

He lowered his head until he caught her eyes. Then he leaned in and kissed her lightly on the mouth, returning to gaze intently at her. "Don't become what you aren't, Isana."

She leaned her cheek against his hand. "I wish that we..."

He stepped up and put his arms around her, and she leaned against him gratefully. "Shhh," he said. "The time isn't right yet. If we wed now, it would cause issues, now that Octavian's name is loose. He will need all the support he can secure, at first. If wild rumors about our relationship and how it's tied to Septimus's death start circulating, it will make the work much harder."

"They'd do that, wouldn't they?" She sighed. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right," he murmured. "I can wait. For you, I can wait."

She found herself smiling a little. "What do I do?"

He hugged her tight. "Keep your eyes and ears open. Don't let them drive you to behaving as they do."

She held him in return, and they were silent and together for several moments.

"I'd best go," he said quietly. "I don't want to get too far from him."

Isana nodded. They kissed again, and Araris hurried toward Tavi.

Isana watched him go, and bit her lip as the door to the command building opened and she caught a glimpse of Tavi.

Of Octavian.

She thought of what it would be like to bury him, and shuddered.

That would not happen. She would do whatever she must in order to make sure of it.