First Lord's Fury
Page 5Chapter 7
Valiar Marcus entered the command tent and saluted. Octavian glanced back and nodded at him, beckoning Marcus to come in. The captain looked weary and ragged after the effort he'd expended to send forth the watercrafting he'd used to address all of Alera, but he had not slept since then. He'd spent the night in the command tent, reading reports and poring over maps and sand tables. A small pool, crafted into existence by Legion engineers, occupied one corner of the tent.
The Princeps stood before the little pool, looking down at a shrunken image of Tribune Antillus Crassus, which stood upon the water's surface. "How many holders did you get out of there?"
"Eighty-three," Crassus replied. His voice was very distant and dim, as if coming down a long tunnel. "All of them, sire - and their beasts and livestock, too."
The captain barked out a short laugh. "You had fliers enough for that?"
"It seemed a good statement to make to the enemy, sire," Crassus replied, one corner of his mouth turning up in a small smirk. "We had to drop them off within a few hours, but at least they won't go to feeding the croach anytime soon."
Tavi nodded. "Casualties?"
Crassus's expression sobered. "Two so far."
Marcus saw steely tension stiffen Octavian's shoulders. "So far?"
"You were right. The vord had defensive measures in place - this kind of hornet thing. They came flying up out of the croach like balest bolts when your image appeared in the pool." Crassus's expression remained calm, but his voice sounded ragged. "They had stingers that could drive right through leather or mail. We were able to stiffen the plates of the lorica with battlecrafting, enough to keep the little bastards from punching through. If we hadn't been able to prepare for it... crows, sire, I don't want to think about it. We did well enough, but their stingers were poisoned, and wherever they hit flesh instead of steel, our folk got hurt. I lost two men last night, and another dozen who were hit are getting sicker."
"Have you tried watercrafting?"
Crassus shook his head. "Hasn't been time. We had a sky full of vordknights to worry about. I'm nearly certain that some of the windcrafters the vord turned are spooking around on our back trail. We had to stay ahead of them."
Octavian frowned. "You're out of occupied territory?"
"For now."
"Do you have time to make the attempt at a healing?"
Crassus shook his head. "I doubt it. The vord are still trying to find us. I think the best chance for the wounded is to get them back to the Legion healers."
Marcus saw the captain debating with himself. A commander was always tempted to involve himself too much in whatever mission was under way. But to lead, one had to maintain a rational perspective. Octavian couldn't assess the men's condition himself or the disposition or skills of the enemy. Yet he did not want more of his men's lives to be needlessly lost. The temptation to override the judgment of a field commander had to have been very strong.
The captain sighed. "I'll have the healers ready for you the moment you land."
Crassus's image nodded. "Thank you, sir."
"That much pursuit," the captain mused. "The vord Queen was upset?"
Crassus shuddered. "Sir... we were at least ten miles away from her hive, and we heard her screaming. Believe me, I didn't have any trouble convincing the men to fly all night without resting."
"She has handles, then," the captain mused. "We can make that work for us. I'm sure of it." He frowned at the Tribune. "What is your plan?"
"I'm going to give the men a couple of hours rest, then we'll start again. We'll cross two more bands of croach before we get back. I'm expecting more vordknights to be in position to intercept us."
"Don't let them."
"No, sir," Crassus said.
The captain nodded. "Good work, Tribune."
Crassus's eyes flashed at the compliment, and he slammed a fist to his heart in a sharp salute. The captain returned it, then passed his hand over the image. Within seconds, the water from which it had formed returned smoothly and silently to the pool.
The captain sank onto a camp stool and pressed the heels of both hands against his forehead.
"Sir," Marcus said. "You should rest."
"Presently," the captain replied wearily. "Presently."
"Sir," Marcus began, "with all due respect you sound just like - " He barely caught himself in time to avoid betraying himself. Just like your grandfather. Valiar Marcus hadn't been a close professional colleague of Gaius Sextus. He couldn't know what the First Lord had been like in private. "Just like a new recruit trying to tell me he'll be able to finish the march just fine, even though the soles of his feet are one big blister, and he's got a broken ankle."
A faint smile touched the captain's mouth. "Right after we're done, then."
"Very good, sir. How may I help you?"
The captain lowered his hands and eyed Marcus. "What do you know about Marat courtship customs?"
Marcus blinked slowly. "Excuse me?"
"Courtship among the Marat," Octavian said wearily. "What do you know about it?"
"I'm sure Magnus would know more than me, sir."
The captain waved an irritated hand. "I asked him already. He said once he'd learned about how they would occasionally devour their enemies, he knew all he needed to want nothing to do with them."
Marcus snorted. "Certain amount of sense in that, sir. The Marat can be dangerous."
The captain scowled. "Tell me about it. After you tell me what you know about their courtship."
"You figuring on keeping the Ambassador, then?"
"It's not that simple," the captain replied.
"Should say not. Lot of Citizens aren't going to like that idea."
"The crows can have them," the captain replied. "The only people making this decision are me and Kitai."
Marcus grunted. "I've heard stories."
"Like what?"
Marcus shrugged. "The usual. That they mate with their beasts. That they participate in blood rites and orgies before battle." He suppressed a shudder. He'd seen that last with his own eyes, and it was the material of nightmare, not fantasy. "That their females are beaten until they submit to the will of a husband."
The captain let out a loud snort at this last.
Marcus nodded soberly. "Aye. If the Ambassador is any indication, that last one is just so much dandelion fluff."
"Anything else?"
Marcus pursed his lips and debated with himself. Valiar Marcus couldn't be expected to know much of the Marat or their customs. On the other hand, a well-connected, respected northern soldier knew a lot of folk. Some of them would travel. Some of them would return with stories. And...
And, Marcus realized, he wanted to help the captain.
"I served with a fellow who became the chief of armsmen for a fairly large merchant family," he said finally. "He told me something about a contest."
The captain frowned and leaned forward intently. "Contest?"
Marcus grunted in the affirmative. "Apparently a Marat woman has the right to demand a trial by contest of her prospective groom. Or maybe it was a trial by combat. He wasn't real clear on the point."
Octavian arched a raven black eyebrow. "You're kidding."
The First Spear shrugged. "All I know." That much was true. Even the Cursors had known little apart from the barbarians' military capabilities. Information on Marat society was fairly scanty. The two peoples had, for the most part, practiced avoiding one another. It had been sufficient to know the threat that they represented, so that the Legions could counter them effectively.
Certainly, no one had ever ordered a Cursor to find out how to propose to a Marat woman.
"Trial by combat," Octavian muttered darkly under his breath. Marcus thought he might have said, "Perfect."
Marcus kept a straight face. "Love is a wonderful thing, sir."
Octavian gave him a sour look. "Did you get the reports from Vanorius?"
Marcus opened up a leather case on his belt and passed a roll of papers to the captain. "Thanks to Magnus, yes, sir."
The captain took the papers, leaned his hip against a sand table, and started reading. "You've read them?"
"Aye."
"Your thoughts?"
Marcus pursed his lips. "The vord exist in overwhelming numbers, but they don't appear to be all that bright without a queen to guide them. There's always some fighting at the city sieges, but the besieged High Lords' problems and solutions more closely resemble being trapped in a heavy blizzard than waging war."
Octavian flipped a page, his green eyes rapidly scanning the next. "Go on."
"The enemy has a large force on the move, toward Riva. They should have gotten there already, but Aquitaine burned all the ground between Riva and the old capital right down to the bloody dirt. It appears to have slowed them down."
The captain grimaced and shook his head. "How long before they engage Aquitaine?"
"Tough to say. Assuming their pace remains as slow as it is now, another twelve to fourteen days." Marcus frowned, and said, "Even if they assault the Legions and lose, they could strike us a death blow unless we've taken out the Queen. If she tells them to, they'll fight to the last wax spider. They'll take the lion's share of our strength with them."
"And she'll simply make more," Octavian said.
"Yes, sir."
"I'd say our best option is to be there in twelve to fourteen days, then. Wouldn't you?"
Marcus felt his eyebrows try to climb up to his hairline. "That isn't going to happen. We don't have causeways. We'll never cover that distance in time to join the battle. We don't have enough fliers to shuttle in a viable number of ground troops."
Octavian's eyes glittered, and he smiled. The expression transformed the features of the normally serious young man. It was the grin of a boy with a good prank in mind. "Did you know," he said, "that Alera reached a peace agreement with the Icemen?"
"Sir? I heard something about it, but you hear a lot of things in a Legion rumor mill."
Tavi nodded. "You know Lord Vanorius?"
"Aye, somewhat. We spoke regularly when I was serving Antillus. Always on Legion business."
"Go to him," Tavi said. "We need woodcrafters. I want every Knight Flora, every Citizen with woodcrafting, and every professional woodworker in Antillus to report to this camp by dawn."
"Sir?" Marcus said. "I'm not sure I understand."
"Really?" Octavian said, that smile flickering to life again, if briefly. "Because I'm quite certain that you don't."
"Woodcrafters."
"Yes," said the captain.
Marcus lifted an eyebrow warily as his fist rose to his heart in salute. "What do you want me to tell Vanorius when he asks why you need them?"
"Operational security," the captain said. "And if that doesn't work, inform him that disobeying a lawful order of the Crown in time of war is considered treason." His eyes hardened. "I am not making a request."
"Yes, sir," Marcus said.
Outside the tent, a sentry called a challenge, and a rumbling basso voice replied in snarling tones. A second later, one of the sentries leaned into the tent, and said, "Pair of messengers from the Canim, Captain."
Octavian nodded and beckoned with one hand. "Show them in, please."
Marcus wasn't familiar with the two Canim who entered the tent a moment later, stooping slightly to keep their ears from brushing the ceiling. One, a dark-furred brute, was dressed in battered old warrior-caste armor that was missing two or three pieces. The other, a lean and golden-furred individual with beady eyes, wore the riveted-steel jacket that had become the main armor for the now-veteran Canim militia.
Marcus felt a little shock of realization go through him. Varg would never send a warrior on courier duty at all, much less one who presented such a slip-shod appearance as this one. And the golden-furred Cane was, most likely, a Shuaran, the only Canim any Aleran had ever seen with that shade of fur. The Shuaran Canim had not come to Alera with Sarl's invasion force. They had never left Canea. They could therefore never have become members of Nasaug's war-trained militia - and it would have been as good as asking to be torn to pieces for a nonmilitia Cane to falsely claim membership in those ranks. Canim pride was ferocious, jealous, and bloodily decisive.
Perhaps a shoddily armored warrior could have been sent on a message run. Perhaps the golden-furred Cane had been in the ranks all along, and Alerans had simply never noted his presence. Either of those things was remotely possible.
But both of them?
Marcus scratched at his nose with a fingertip, and when he lowered his hand again, it came to rest within an inch of his sword's hilt. He flicked a glance at Octavian, hoping to warn him.
There was no need. The captain had evidently reached the same conclusions as Marcus, and though he remained outwardly calm, he surreptitiously hooked a thumb through his belt, which placed it in close proximity to the handle of the dagger sheathed at the small of his back.
"Good morning," Octavian said politely, tilting his head very slightly to one side in a salute of superior to subordinate. "Did you gentlemen have something for me?"
The armored Cane shuffled forward a few steps, reaching into a pouch at his side.
His paw-hand emerged clenching a stone knife. The armored Cane roared, in Canish, "One people!"
And slashed at the captain's throat.
Marcus felt his heart leap into his mouth. The captain was a capable opponent when he employed his metalcrafting, but that ability would do him no good against a stone weapon. Without the forewarning of his metalcrafting of the weapon's approach, he would be forced to pit his raw physical ability against the Cane's - and without furycraft to aid them, no Aleran could match the power of a Cane, and only the fastest could match their speed.
Octavian jerked his head back and the slash missed by a hair. He dropped back, taking a pair of spinning steps as he drew the dagger from his belt and flung it. The weapon tumbled one and a half times and sank into an unarmored portion of the Cane's thigh. The Cane howled in sudden pain, stumbling.
"Sir!" Marcus shouted, drawing and lofting his gladius in a single motion. He didn't stop to see if Octavian caught it. He charged the second Cane, who had produced a slender wooden tube. As Marcus approached, the Cane lifted the tube to his mouth and exhaled, and a little flash of color and steel flew out the end. Marcus ducked his head and felt the missile ping against the good Aleran steel of his helmet. Then he called out to his earth fury as he barreled into the would-be assassin.
The Cane was viciously strong, but inexperienced. The two of them went to the ground hard, and instead of immediately attempting to escape, the Cane started thrashing his limbs in a useless attempt to sink claws or fangs into Marcus. There was no time to capture the opponent. He had to remove the gold-furred Cane from the fight and go to Octavian's aid. Marcus seized one of the Cane's wrists in a bone-pulverizing grip, then slammed his other fist down onto the Cane's head, shattering his foe's skull with the power of the fury-enhanced strike.
Marcus looked back up to see the captain break the Cane's crude stone blade with a swift move of his gladius and go on to deliver four lightning-fast slashes to the armored Cane. Any two of them would probably have been fatal, but the captain was nothing if not thorough. He struck until he was sure the attacker was completely incapacitated, and whirled toward Marcus and the second Cane, sword lifted in his hand to strike.
The two men faced one another as the armored Cane toppled slowly and limply to the ground behind the captain, and Marcus had a startling realization: Octavian's reasoning had been identical to his own. He had struck to dispatch his opponent swiftly and immediately so that he could go to the other man's aid.
Octavian's eyes scanned Marcus and the Cane with the broken head. Then he turned back to his own dead opponent, scowling. "Crows," he growled. "Bloody crows."
The sentries burst in. Without hesitation, they both plunged swords into the Cane Marcus had downed. Like captain, like legionare, Marcus supposed. When they approached the second downed Cane, the captain waved a hand at them. "Finished." He looked up. "Marcus. Are you hurt?"
"I'll manage," Marcus said, panting. He was in shape enough to keep pace with the Legion, but he had been on a ship for months, and there had been no real way to remain in proper Legion condition.
And face it. You're getting old.
Octavian wiped Marcus's gladius clean of blood on the dark fur of the dead Cane, then offered the weapon back to him, hilt first. Marcus nodded his thanks, inspected the weapon for stains or damage, found it serviceable, and slid it back into its sheath.
Octavian glanced at Marcus, and said, simply, "Thank you." Then he strode from the tent, rigid with anger, or perhaps in simple reaction to the attempt on his life.
The three legionares stared after him. "What happened?" asked one of the sentries. "I thought we were supposed to be allies."
Marcus grunted and sent them on their way to follow the captain with a slap on an armored shoulder. "So did I, soldier. So did I."
Chapter 8
"For goodness sake, my lady," Veradis said in a tranquil tone. "You must calm yourself."
Isana cast a mildly irritated glance over her shoulder at the younger woman as she paced back and forth across her quarters, the largest room in Riva's finest inn. "How can I relax, knowing the kind of men I'm about to be dealing with?"
"Not every man in the Senate is some kind of masterful schemer, exerting all his energies to acquire more power and influence at the expense of all others."
"No," Isana agreed. "Some of them are incompetent schemers."
Veradis arched an eyebrow, her expression taking on a quality of mild disapproval.
Isana exhaled. She folded her hands before her and took a deep breath, making an effort to still her emotions. "I'm sorry. Now that we know my son is back, they're going to push that much harder to take away his birthright. I shouldn't be pushing that burden onto your thoughts, Veradis."
"Of course you should, my lady," Veradis replied. "That is one of the things an aide is for. That, and to suggest that you might take a different kerchief with you to the Senate hearing. You've all but shredded that one." The young woman rose and paced solemnly to stand before Isana, offering a folded white handkerchief. Isana took it with a faint smile.
"Only a man with a certain frame of mind does well as a Senator," Veradis told her quietly. "He has to be able to speak well. He has to be able to convince others to follow his point of view. He has to be willing to negotiate and make compromises. And most of all, he has to protect the Citizens who voted him into the office - his own interests. That before all. So long as his constituents are pleased, he is safe in his position." Veradis moved her shoulders in an elegant shrug. "Senators go to great lengths to protect the interests of those who voted for them. Some of them tiptoe along the boundaries between legitimate representation and criminal enterprise. Some of them dance gleefully back and forth over the line."
The young Cerean met Isana's eyes, and said, "But in their own way, you can rely upon them more than almost any man in the Realm. They will act to protect their interests. Which means that they make enemies among their peers. You can rely upon them to settle up old debts or compound them, my lady."
Isana smiled faintly. "Senator Theoginus said almost the same thing."
Veradis smiled. "Uncle Theo is an incorrigible old horse trader. But he knows that room, my lady."
"Can he be trusted?" Isana asked.
Veradis considered that gravely. "Under the circumstances, I believe so. Valerius is from Aquitaine, after all - one of the cities most separated from the vord threat. Uncle was one of the men who most wanted action taken on Count Calderon's warning about the vord, and Valerius all but crucified him for it. If Uncle Theo says he has strong support among the Senators of those areas most harmed by the vord, I'd say he's almost certainly honest, and that it is highly probable that he is also correct."
Isana shook her head. "You had to stop to consider whether or not your own uncle might be lying to you."
"My uncle the Senator," Veradis said, her serious eyes sparkling for a moment. "Yes, my lady. I love him. And I know him."
"I suppose it's rather late to be revisiting that concern," Isana said. "They must have convened by now."
Veradis nodded. "My lady... regardless of today's outcome, you should know that there are a great many people to whom you will always be the true First Lady of Alera."
There was nothing to betray it in her face, but Isana sensed the sudden sharpening of Veradis's interest. "If Valerius has his way, you will be nothing but a Steadholder again. Your son would be but one more bastard child of the Citizenry. And Aquitainus Attis, the man responsible for the Second Battle of Calderon, and the deaths of your friends and neighbors, will rule the Realm."
"Exactly," Isana replied. "The Realm. Which will still be here." She shook her head and sighed. "I haven't forgotten what he's done. But we won't survive what's coming unless we stand together. If that means that I must..." She shrugged. "If I must accept that I will return to my home, the richer by many enemies, and that Aquitaine will never need to answer for what he did to the Calderon Valley, so be it."
Veradis nodded slowly. Then she asked, "And Octavian. Will he see it the same way?"
Isana considered the question for a moment. Then she nodded. "I believe so. Yes."
"Even though," Veradis said, "you know that should Alera prevail against the vord, Aquitaine could not possibly afford to leave Octavian alive and at liberty, after."
Isana grimaced. Then she lifted her chin, Aquitaine's strong, appealing face appearing in her mind's eye, and told Veradis, "Should Aquitaine become First Lord, he would be well-advised to choose his battles - and his enemies - with great care."
Veradis stared at her intently, then slowly shook her head.
Isana tilted her chin to one side, frowning inquisitively.
"My father used to speak to me often of the nature of power," Veradis said. "One of the things he often lamented was that the only folk truly worthy to hold it were those who did not seek it."
Isana frowned. "I don't understand."
Veradis smiled, and for a moment there was nothing solemn or sad in her face. Isana was struck by the young woman's delicate beauty. "I know you don't," she said. "Thus proving my father's point." She bowed her head, a stately and formal gesture, and said, "I will abide by your wishes, my lady."
Isana was about to reply when there was a quick rap at the door, and Araris leaned inside. "My lady," he murmured, bowing his head, "you have a visitor."
Isana arched an eyebrow as she turned toward the door and smoothed her dress. Whatever the Senate decided, they would send a representative to bring her before them - but her senses told her that Araris's usual steady calm was shaken to one degree or another. The Senate's choice in escorts would say much about the outcome of the debate.
"Thank you, Araris. Please send him in."
Isana wasn't sure whom she had been expecting, but Aquitainus Attis hadn't been featured on her mental list. The High Lord entered, resplendent in scarlet and black, though he had affixed the official Crown heraldry for the House of Gaius, the scarlet-and-azure eagle, to his tunic's breast. His dark golden hair was immaculate, even weighted down by the slender steel circlet of the Aleran crown, and his dark eyes were as intense and focused as every other time Isana had seen the man.
Aquitaine bowed his head politely, if very slightly. "Lady," he murmured.
"Lord Aquitaine," Isana replied, holding her tone to neutrality. "What an unexpected..." She smiled, faintly. "... visit."
"The timing was important. With all the Senators in chambers, their informants are neglecting their duties. I would speak with you alone if you are willing."
"You are a married man, sir," Isana replied, with no trace of accusation anywhere in the phrase. It was considerably more damning that way, she thought. "I think it would be highly inappropriate."
"In truth," Aquitaine replied, "I have already certified my divorce from Invidia, effective as of today."
"What a terrible burden has been lifted from your shoulders," Isana said.
Aquitaine inhaled slowly, through his nose, and exhaled the same way. Isana felt the faintest trace of frustration from the man. It was rapidly walled away behind a metalcrafting.
"I would prefer," Aquitaine said, "to have this discussion privately."
Isana regarded him as though waiting for him to finish his sentence.
"Please," Aquitaine added, his voice not quite a growl.
Veradis cleared her throat, and said, "I will wait outside, my lady."
"As you wish," Isana said. "But Araris stays with me."
Araris came through the door at a pace that suggested he'd begun moving before Isana had finished the sentence. He held it open for Veradis, then closed it behind her as she left.
Aquitaine smiled. "You don't trust me, lady?"
Isana smiled at him and did not answer.
Aquitaine let out a brief, rather harsh laugh. "There are few who would behave in such a manner toward me, Isana, and with good reason. I do not regard myself as an unreasonable man, but neither do I react well to discourtesy and disrespect."
"If you were the First Lord," she replied, "that might be a problem. But you aren't."
He narrowed his eyes. "Aren't I?"
"Not yet," Isana said in a tone that stopped just short of being belligerent. She met the man's eyes calmly for a full minute of silence, then dropped her voice into a more conversational register. "Unless the Senate has already told you how the outcome of the hearing would fall out, I suppose."
Aquitaine shook his head and responded in kind. "Valerius, of course, assures me that it will all happen precisely the way he intends. Lamentably, I am aware of the value of such promises."
She gave him another sharp look, and his mouth spread into a leonine smile. "You thought I'd come here to gloat over your dismissal, lady?"
"The possibility had occurred to me," she admitted.
He shook his head. "I don't have the time to waste on such a petty gesture."
"Then why have you come?"
Aquitaine crossed to the room's sideboard and poured wine from a bottle into a waiting glass. He took it up and swirled it lazily around the inside of the glass. "The Senators are, of course, in a frenzy. They sense a chance to reduce the powers of the office of First Lord, despite the ugly realities before us. And, if they have their way - and Alera survives, of course - then they will succeed. And we already saw what happens after a weakening of the office of the First Lord of Alera. Regardless of how things play out in the future, you and I have a common interest in defending it."
Isana studied him as he cautiously took a sip of wine. Then she said, "Let's assume for a moment that I agree. What are you proposing?"
"Marriage," Aquitaine said calmly.
Isana found herself sitting in a chair with no clear recollection of how she had gotten there. She just stared at Aquitaine while her lips took their time to form her next words, as a flash of blazing-hot, blindly jealous rage flashed forth from Araris, who stood rock-still with his back to the door. He bottled it quickly, moving one hand to the hilt of his sword as he did, but all the same that single searing surge of emotion left Isana feeling off-balance, as if she'd come out of a dark cellar to stare directly into the sun. After a moment, she managed to choke out a few words. "Are you insane?"
Aquitaine's teeth flashed again. "It's an insane line of work," he responded. "But it actually is a viable solution. I would retain the crown, with the line of succession passing to your son upon my death or retirement. And, given the nature of our relationship, his personal safety would become my responsibility, lest I lose the respect of the Citizenry for not being able to protect my own heir."
"And what about your children?" Isana asked.
"I have none," Aquitaine replied. "None of which I am aware, in any case - and I certainly have no legitimate heirs. And since your watercrafting will enable you to control completely whether or not I do manage to sire a legitimate heir, you can choose never to bear me children - in which case Octavian ascends smoothly to the Crown when he is older, wiser, and more ready to lead the Realm."
Isana narrowed her eyes in thought. "Of course," she said, "if something should happen to me, you would be free to take another wife. In that event, the child she bore you would have a claim upon the throne - a claim blocked by my son."
Aquitaine let out a rueful chuckle. "Invidia was ever an artist of treachery," he said. "I see that you did not survive your association with her by happy accident."
"Additionally," Isana continued, "how could you ever be certain that I was not plotting to remove you, once your guard was down?"
"Because you won't," Aquitaine said simply. "You aren't that kind of person."
"The kind of person willing to kill to protect her child?"
"The kind who stabs another in the back," he said. "You'd be looking into my eyes. I can live with that."
Isana just stared at the man. Aquitaine, to her, had always been simply the male counterpart of Invidia, a partner in her ruthless political enterprises. She would never have guessed that he might be the sort to understand that not every person was plotting against all the others, capable of murder and treachery when it provided enough gain. Though perhaps it should have come as no surprise. Invidia had been capable of seeing fidelity in others, an essential core of... of honor, Isana supposed, that made their word worth more than a few seconds of warm breath.
She had certainly exploited that trait in Isana.
"Tell me," Isana said. "What possible reason I could have to pursue this plan instead of supporting the lawful succession of the Realm?"
"Three reasons," he responded without pause. "First, because doing so would obviate the need for the current struggle in the Senate, pulling the teeth of the various Senators involved. Valerius has driven this conflict forward predicated on the notion that this is a time of war and we need an immediate, settled chain of command. Our union would steal Valerius's thunder, prevent the Senate from gathering into separate factions over the issue, and avoid setting a dangerous precedent of the Senate dictating terms to the office of the First Lord."
"Second?"
"Because it would mean that I would have neither reason to harm your son nor need to defend myself against him. Octavian is capable, I freely acknowledge. But by dint of experience and advantage of position, I am more so. Any struggle for power between us would be disastrous for him, personally, and for the Realm as a whole."
It would have been easier to sneer at Aquitaine's remark, Isana thought, if she hadn't just pressed that same point upon Veradis so emphatically.
"And third," Aquitaine said, "because it's going to save lives. The vord are coming. Too much time has already been wasted precisely because there are lingering doubts about who truly wears the crown. Each day, our enemy grows stronger. Whether Octavian wears the crown or I, these days of doubt are paralyzing us. I am here. He is not."
Isana quirked an eyebrow at him. "I wonder, Lord Aquitaine, if you happened to be standing near a pool last night. Or any other body of water."
Aquitaine lifted a hand palm up in a gesture of concession. "Granted, he is most likely alive and back from Canea. Granted, his display of power was i mpressive..." Aquitaine shook his head, his expression reminding Isana of a man preparing to eat something he found distasteful. "Not impressive. Inspiring. His words to our own people meant more than a simple declaration of his presence. He brought them courage. He brought them hope."
"The way a First Lord should," Isana said.
"He must still be on the west coastline, somewhere. It is a long march from there to here, Lady Isana. If our folk are allowed to remain uncertain of who leads them until he arrives, it may already be too late for any of us to see another spring. I believe that we can avoid that by openly working together. The willing union of our houses will put the minds of the Citizenry and people alike at rest. If we allow the Senate to decide, there will always be doubts, questions, cadres, and conspiracies, no matter which of us has the throne."
Aquitaine stepped forward and held out his hand. "I will not live forever. I may well fall in the coming war. Either way, in the end, the crown will be his. We will have no need to test one another. Lives will be saved. Our people will be given their single greatest chance to survive."
Another flash of rage slapped against Isana's senses, as Araris took half a step forward from his position by the door. This time it was sharp enough that Aquitaine felt it, too. He turned to blink at Araris several times. Then he looked back and forth between them, and said, "Ah. I hadn't realized."
"I think you should leave, Attis," Araris said. His voice was quiet and very, very even. "It would be better for all of us."
"What's happening outside these walls is more important than you, Araris," Aquitaine said calmly. "It is more important than I. And while your penchant for defending women for the wrong reasons remains undimmed, your emotions are completely irrelevant to the problem at hand."
Araris's eyes flashed, and another surge of anger pressed against Isana. She fancied she could feel it bending back her eyelashes. "Odd," Araris said. "I don't see it that way."
Aquitaine shook his head, a precise and meaningless smile on his mouth. "We aren't a pack of schoolboys anymore, Araris. I have no particular desire for any intimacy beyond that which is required for the sake of appearance," he said. "As far as I am concerned, I would be well pleased for you to live your private life in whatever manner you chose, Lady Isana."
"Araris," Isana said quietly, and held up her hand.
His eyes remained on Aquitaine for another hot second. Then he glanced at her, frowning, as she silently urged him to understand what she was going to do. After an endless number of heartbeats, Araris visibly relaxed and returned to his position by the door.
Aquitaine watched the swordsman withdraw and turned back to Isana, frowning thoughtfully. He stared at her for a long moment, then slowly lowered his hand, and said, "Your answer is no."
"Your offer is... reasonable, Lord Aquitaine," she said. "Very, very reasonable. And your arguments are sound. But the price you ask is too high."
"Price?"
She smiled slightly. "You would have me give my world to this plan. Abandon things it has taken a lifetime to build. Embrace deceits and empty ideas. It would leave my mind and heart a wasted heath, as burned and empty and as useless as all those farms you destroyed to slow the vord."
Aquitaine looked thoughtful for a moment. Then he nodded, and said, "I do not understand. But I must accept your answer."
"Yes. I think you must."
He frowned. "Octavian knows he must protect himself against me. And I, for my part, must similarly protect myself against him. If it is possible, I will avoid a direct confrontation. I have no particular desire to do him harm." He met Isana's eyes. "But these things have a way of taking on a life of their own. And I will see the Realm whole, strong, and ready to defend itself."
She inclined her head to him, very slightly, and said, "Then your wisest course will be to accept the will of Gaius Sextus, Lord Aquitaine."
"Gaius Sextus is dead, lady." He bowed just as slightly in reply. "And look where accepting the will of that old serpent has brought us."
Aquitaine nodded once to Araris and strode from the room.
Araris shut the door behind the High Lord and turned to Isana. He exhaled slowly, and only then did he lift his hand from his sword.
Isana padded over to him and their arms slid around one another. She held him very close to her, leaning her cheek against his chest. She stayed there for several moments, closing her eyes. Araris's arms tightened around her, holding her without pressing her too hard against the steel links of his armor. As they stood close, Isana felt the cool reserve of the metalcrafting he'd been using to contain his emotions as it receded.
For some time, there was only his presence, the warmth of his love, as steady as any rock, and Isana let that warmth push back the cold of her worries and fears.
After a little while, she asked, "Did I do the right thing?"
"You know you did," he replied.
"Did I?" she asked. "He had a point. He had several."
Araris made a growling sound in his throat. After a moment, he said, "Maybe. So ask yourself something."
"What?"
"Could you live a lie?"
She shuddered. "I've done it before. To protect Tavi."
"So did I," he said. "I was there." He gestured at his scarred face. "Paid a price for it. And when... when I got out from under that burden, it was the best thing that had happened to me since Septimus died."
"Yes," Isana said quietly. She lifted a hand and laid it on his scarred face, on the old coward's brand burned there. She leaned in and kissed his mouth gently. "No. I can't do that anymore."
He nodded and rested his forehead against hers. "There it is, then."
They were still for a while, and Isana finally asked, "What did Aquitaine mean about defending the wrong woman?"
Araris made a thoughtful sound. "Something that happened after Seven Hills," he said. "Septimus had led one of the cavalry wings personally, in the pursuit of the enemy after we'd taken the field. The rebel command staff had fled to half a dozen different steadholts where... where they hadn't used their slaves kindly."
Isana shivered.
"One in particular... I forget his name. Tall, lanky fellow, a Count. He was good with a blade, and his retainers fought to the death to defend him. It took me, Aldrick, Septimus, and Miles to break their last line of defense. And we barely managed it." He sighed. "It was ugly before it was done. And this Count had kept a number of body slaves in his chambers. One of them had killed herself when she saw him die. The others weren't in much better shape. Wasn't one of them older than sixteen, and they'd all been fitted with discipline collars."
Isana felt suddenly sick.
"We took the steadholt's staff alive, mostly. One of them had put the collars on them. So we got them off three of the girls, but the fourth one..." Araris shook his head. "She might have been fourteen. She'd been wearing the collar since she was ten. And she was..."
"Wrong?" Isana suggested gently.
"Broken," Araris replied. "She had no idea how to relate to other people unless it was to offer herself. She could barely dress herself. She'd been regularly given wine and aphrodin. A beautiful child, really, but you could see it in her eyes. She'd been damaged, and she wasn't coming back.
"Of course, the Princeps extended his protection to her. But she was getting more upset and desperate every day. Like her world had been inverted. She didn't know where she fit, or what to do. By the time we got back to Alera Imperia, she just shivered and screamed a lot." He glanced up at Isana. "She was a watercrafter, a strong one."
Isana inhaled sharply. "But... that means that as her gifts were blooming..."
Araris nodded. "She got to feel exactly what those men felt when they took her. The poor child. Death would have been kinder than what she went through." He cleared his throat. "So. She wouldn't stop screaming and crying until one night she did. Septimus sent Miles to check on her - he'd been making moon eyes at her ever since he first saw her. He wasn't more than a year or two older than she was. Miles followed the Princeps' orders and walked in on the girl and Aldrick."
"Oh, crows," Isana sighed.
"Miles was jealous, and furious that Aldrick should use her so - though the girl didn't seem to mind. So he challenged Aldrick to the juris macto on the spot."
"The famous duel in Alera Imperia," Isana said.
Araris nodded. "Miles was going to get himself killed, so I nudged him out in front of a wagon. That's where he got his bad knee. And I took his place in the juris macto."
Isana frowned up at him. "Why?"
"Because what Aldrick was doing was wrong. Regardless of whether or not it reassured her." He gave her a brief, wan smile. "There are some things you just can't ignore."
She nodded slowly. "Go on."
"Not much more to it," Araris said. "I beat Aldrick, but I couldn't kill him. He was one of the Princeps' singulares. Like a brother to me. But while he was still on his knees, Septimus walked up to him and castigated him, in front of half of the capital. Cast him out of his company and made it clear in no uncertain terms that Aldrick was to stay out of his sight if he wanted to keep breathing."
"What happened?"
"No one in Alera Imperia would have let him wash their dishes for free after what Septimus said. So he took the girl and left."
"Odiana," Isana said. The image of the tall, dour Aldrick and the sweetly curved dark-haired woman always to be found in his company sprang into her thoughts.
Araris nodded. "I tried to be kind to her, for my part. Helped her eat. Gave her my blanket one cold night, on the way to the capital. I suppose that's why she helped me at Second Calderon. But afterward, I thought that it would have been better if I hadn't fought him once Miles was safely in a healing tub. The duel made the events that provoked it public knowledge. Septimus had no choice but to dismiss Aldrick, and as harshly as possible. If I hadn't handled it that way, maybe Aldrick would have been at First Calderon. Maybe it would have made a difference. Maybe a lot of things would be different."
"Do you believe that?" Isana asked.
Araris smiled faintly. "I don't know. I think about it often, what I might have done differently. But I suppose we all do that with the important choices."
A knock sounded at the door.
"Ah," Isana said. "The escort from the Senate, I suppose." They broke their embrace, and Isana carefully smoothed her dress. "Would you care to open the door, please."
Araris drew himself back up into flawless military posture and inclined his head to her. Then he went to the door, reached out a hand -
And the door itself flew from its hinges with a squeal of tearing metal, struck Araris full on in the chest, and flung him across the room to crash into the opposite wall.
Men in black armor entered the room, moving swiftly, precisely. One of them flung the door from Araris's prostrate body. Two more held weapons on the downed swordsman. Two pointed gleaming blades at Isana, who froze, staring wide-eyed.
The men weren't dressed in black armor.
They were covered in vord chitin. The gleaming steel bands of discipline collars shone upon their throats.
There was a light tread in the hall, and a slender figure covered in a great, dark cloak entered the room. A slender, feminine, snow-white hand rose to point a single, green-black fingernail at Isana. "Yes," hissed an alien, buzzing voice. "Yes. I recognize the scent. That is she."
"Lady," urged a quiet voice from the hall. "We cannot circumvent the sentry furies much longer."
The vord Queen - for she could be no one else - prowled across the room to Isana and seized her wrist in a crushing grip. Isana bit down on a cry of pain as something broke with a quiet crack.
"Bring them both," the Queen all but purred. "Oh, yes. Now it is my turn."