First Lord's Fury ca-6

by Jim Butcher

  Lady Placida nodded slowly, one hand toying idly with the single, long braid of her scarlet-auburn hair. “If the vord come at us the way Invidia says they will, we won’t be able to hurt them for it. We’ll miss the opportunity.”

  “But we’ll know she’s telling the truth about something,” Amara said. “We’ve lost nothing. And no matter what happens, we’ve gained one piece of what I judge to be reasonably reliable information.”

  “We know my sister and Araris are alive,” Bernard rumbled.

  Lady Placida’s eyes widened. “You think Isana is behind this?”

  “I think it is one possibility,” Amara said. “But the story about Isana saving Araris from garic poisoning was widely told. If Invidia thinks that Isana could potentially save her from the poisoning as she did Araris, she might well plot to betray the vord. She is determined and very intelligent.”

  “Would Isana do such a thing?” Lady Placida asked.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Amara said. “All that matters is that Invidia believes she can. Whatever the truth, it would appear that Invidia thinks she may have been cast a lifeline.”

  Lord Antillus managed to fit a profound portion of skepticism into his grunt.

  “I know,” Amara said. “She’s a schemer. But it’s possible that she thinks she can scheme her way out of this situation the way she’s done so many other times. If that is the case—if she’s telling us the truth about the next attack,” Amara said, “then she’s probably telling us the truth about taking us to the vord Queen.”

  She frowned. “And there’s one other thing. Something she may have genuinely let slip. She said that the Princeps would shortly be of no concern to anyone—and she wasn’t talking about Attis.”

  The room suddenly became utterly silent. The air thrummed with brittle tension.

  “I think Octavian is close,” Amara said.

  “If Invidia or the Queen attacks him, he’s as good as dead,” Phrygius said. “He’s had his full abilities for what? A year at the most? With no formal training? There’s no way he could have learned enough technique to apply them. And how many others could he possibly have with him, given that he landed in Antillus… a week ago, give or take? How many Knights Aeris were in the First Aleran?”

  “Twenty-six,” Placida said quietly. “And your sons, Raucus.”

  Raucus said nothing, but his expression was bleak.

  “He must be trying to make it through to us,” Phrygius said. “A small, fast-moving group for immediate protection, maybe flying under veils, if he’s good enough to do that. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

  Placida nodded. “And if they’re talking about taking him down, then he’s probably close enough for the Queen to attack.”

  “No,” Bernard said in a quiet, firm voice. “She’s close enough for him to attack her, Your Grace.”

  “If the Queen is beyond Invidia, she’s beyond Octavian,” Phrygius said. “Simple as that. He’s barely more than a boy.”

  “He shut down the plans of Invidia and Attis when he was a boy,” Bernard growled, his eyes on Phrygius’s. “I doubt he’s planning on facing her in a wrestling ring or a dueling hall. You’d be a fool to dismiss him, Your Grace.”

  Phrygius narrowed his eyes, and his beard bristled.

  Raucus put a hand on his shoulder. “Easy, Gun. Don’t make more of that than what he said. What if I’d spoken of your son that way, huh?”

  Lord Phrygius was stiff for a moment more, then inclined his head toward Bernard. “He’s your blood. I didn’t think before I spoke. Please excuse me.”

  Bernard nodded.

  “Stay focused,” Lady Placida said. “We can’t know what to do about Octavian until we find him, or he makes contact. It’s possible that he wants it that way. We can’t know if Invidia is going to betray us at the last moment. But. Assuming that she appears to be telling us the truth… the only question is whether or not we pit ourselves against her knowing that it could be a trap, and we could be walking to our deaths. For that matter, even if she is sincere, we might still die.”

  Raucus exhaled slowly. “Maybe we should bring Forcia, Attica, and Riva.”

  Cereus shook his head. “They’ve never been fighters, I’m afraid. In a close-quarters fight, they’d be more dangerous to us than to the vord.”

  “It’s up to us,” Lord Placida said quietly. “And I don’t think we’re going to get a better chance. I don’t think we have a choice, even if it is a trap. I’m in.”

  His wife intertwined her fingers with his, silently.

  Cereus rose, with either his armor or his bones creaking.

  Phrygius eyed Raucus, and said, “Maybe I’ll finally get to see you get knocked on your ass.”

  “When we get back, you and I are going to have a talk in which you lose your teeth,” Antillus replied. “Because I’m going to knock them out of your head. With my fists.”

  “I think we all understood what you meant at the end of your first sentence, dolt.”

  “Boys, boys,” Aria said, her voice warm. “It doesn’t matter unless she’s telling the truth about the next attack, in any case. Until then, we’re not changing any plans, yes?”

  “Correct,” Bernard said. “We lie low and wait. We’ll meet again in Garrison and talk about the next step after we see what happens. If she’s telling the truth, we’ll know it in about three hours.”

  The meeting broke up. The High Lords went back out to their positions on the wall, leaving Amara and Bernard alone in the room.

  Bernard watched her with calm green eyes for several seconds before he said, “What were you holding back?”

  “What makes you think I was holding anything back, love?” Amara asked.

  He shrugged. “Know you too well, I suppose.” He tilted his head, frowning, then nodded slowly. “You talked a lot about the vord’s next attack. Kept their focus on it. So it’s going to happen later.” He furrowed his brow in thought. “Invidia’s going to betray us at the hive.”

  “Yes,” Amara said quietly. “She is.”

  Bernard inhaled slowly. “What are we going to do about it?”

  The room, Amara thought, felt positively cavernous without the presence of the High Lords there. She bowed her head and closed her eyes and tried not to think too hard about what she had to do. “We,” she whispered, “are going to let her.”

  CHAPTER 44

  Tavi awakened smoothly, naturally, and free of pain. He was floating in a tub of warm water, his head and shoulders supported on an inclined board. He was naked. His toes poked out of the water at the far end of the tub. He lifted his head, which was an effort. There was an angry red puckering of his skin over his belly, to the left of his navel, where the vord Queen’s weapon had stabbed him. Little, angry veins of red spread out from the injury.

  Tavi looked blearily around him. A healer’s tent. One of the ones that hadn’t been destroyed, obviously. Furylamps lit it. So he’d been unconscious for hours, but not many of them. Unless it had been more than a day.

  He hated being unconscious. It always interrupted everything he had planned.

  He turned his head to the left, and found the tub beside him occupied. Maximus lay in it. He looked awful, though that was mostly bruises beneath the skin of his shoulders, neck, face, head… There seemed very little of his friend that was not bruised, in fact. And his nose had been broken—again. His eyes were closed, but he was breathing.

  Tavi leaned up a little and eyed the next tub over. Crassus occupied it, in the same condition he and Maximus enjoyed. The young Tribune stirred, though he looked like he felt even worse than Tavi did.

  “Crassus,” Tavi rasped.

  Though he blinked his eyes open, the young man was still clearly in pain. He looked at Tavi and lifted his chin very slightly in acknowledgment.

  “Crassus,” Tavi croaked. His throat felt dry. It hurt to talk. “Report.”

  “I hurt,” Crassus said, his voice slurring and weak. He closed his eyes again.
“End of report.”

  Tavi tried to get the young man to open his eyes again, but there was no rousing him. He sank back tiredly into the tub.

  “He’s very tired,” said a quiet voice. “It’s better if you let him rest, Your Majesty. The attack on the headquarters tent was defeated and most of the attackers slain. We lost twenty-two, all of them from among the guards stationed around the command tent.”

  Tavi looked up to see Dorotea sitting quietly on a camp stool near the tent’s entrance. She looked terrible, her eyes sunken, her cheeks bloodless. The collar on her throat threw back the subdued light of the lamp with a silent, malevolent gleam. She held a blanket wrapped around her though the night was not cold.

  “Your Highness,” he corrected her gently. “I’m not the First Lord yet.”

  The slave smiled tiredly. “You just stood against the nightmare of our time, young man. You put your life at hazard for the sake of a slave who once tried to murder you. Thank you. Your Majesty.”

  “If you want to thank a hero, thank Foss,” Tavi said wearily. “He’s the one who saved you.”

  “My thanks won’t matter to him now,” she said quietly. “I hope his rest is peaceful.”

  Tavi sat up slowly. “Where’s Kitai?”

  “Sleeping,” Dorotea said. “She was exhausted.”

  “What happened after I went down?”

  The slave smiled faintly. “Several of us were unconscious and dying. You. Me. Maximus. Crassus. She was not in good condition herself, and did not have the strength remaining to attempt a healing on more than one person. She had to choose whom to save.”

  Tavi took a slow breath. “Ah. And she chose you. Someone to lead the less-experienced healers.”

  Dorotea inclined her head slightly, as if she was afraid something might spill out if she tipped it too far. “Our senior folk were all conferring when…” She shivered. “When you saw us. Kitai’s was a remarkably rational decision, under the circumstances. Emotions tend to overrule reason when one is in pain and afraid for another. And her feelings for you are disturbingly intense. She could easily have let those feelings control her. And I, my son, and your friend Maximus would all be dead.”

  “She made the right call,” Tavi said. He looked at Max and Crassus. “How are they?”

  Dorotea tightened the blanket around her slightly. “I assume that you know that watercrafting does not simply make a subject whole again. It draws upon the body’s resources to restore what has been made unwhole.”

  “Of course,” Tavi said.

  “There are limits. And… and my Crassus had so many injuries. Broken bones. Shattered organs.” She bit her lip and closed her eyes. “I did all that I could, everything, but there are limits to what can be repaired. The body can only sustain so much of its own regeneration…”

  She shuddered and shook for several seconds. Then suddenly Dorotea seemed to master herself and lifted her face, wiping tears briskly from her cheeks. Her voice was unsteady, but she attempted to use crisp, professional description. “Crassus’s injuries were extensive and serious. I repaired enough damage that they should not shorten his life. Assuming that there is no infection—which is an acute danger when a body is so badly strained—he may be able to walk again. Eventually. His days as a Tribune are finished.”

  Tavi swallowed and nodded. “Maximus?”

  “The vord Queen hit him on the head rather than anywhere vital,” Dorotea said with tired, almost fond irritation. “He’s fine. Or will be, when he wakes up. It could take a while.”

  “How am I?” Tavi asked.

  “The priority was to restore you to complete function,” she said. “The actual trauma wasn’t bad. The poisoning was acute, but not as difficult to overcome as others might have been. The only issue was keeping you breathing, for a while. You should be able to enter battle if you need to.”

  Tavi nodded slowly. Then he sat up, and said, “You look terrible. Get some rest. Battle’s coming.”

  Dorotea looked over at Crassus again. “I won’t leave him.”

  “You’ve already said you’ve done all you can,” Tavi said, gently. “And other lives are going to depend on you. You’ll rest. That is an order.”

  Dorotea’s eyes flickered back to him, hot for a half second, before her mouth turned up into a slow, tired smile. “You can’t give me an order, sir. You aren’t the captain of the Free Aleran. My orders come from him.”

  “But I can order him,” Tavi said testily. “Bloody crows, what does a man have to do to get a little respect around here? Am I the First Lord or not?”

  Dorotea’s smile widened, and she bowed her head. “Very well. Your Majesty. There are guards around and over and quite likely under the tent. But speak, and they will be here.”

  “Thank you.”

  Tavi waited until she had left to ease himself out of the tub. He felt shaky, but no worse than he had any of a number of other times he’d endured a healer’s attentions. He climbed out without help and found a clean set of clothes laid out for him.

  Tavi got dressed, though it was painful to bend at the waist. The strange sword he had been stabbed with had left an equally strange scar, a stiff ridge of nearly purple tissue, and the area around it was exquisitely tender. He slid into his pants and belted his tunic on cautiously. A quick spike of pain went through him and made him clench his teeth over suddenly frozen breath.

  The awareness of a gaze upon him made Tavi look back, and he found Crassus awake again, bleary eyes focused on him.

  “M’ mother,” Crassus said. “She was alive. And you didn’t t-tell me.”

  Tavi stared at his friend in pure shock. It was true. He hadn’t. Antillus Dorotea had been a traitor to the Realm, along with her brother, High Lord Kalarus. She had been snapped up for her talents in the slave rebellion that had followed the destruction of Kalarus and the chaos in Kalaran lands, and no one had known or cared who she was—only what she could do. Had he brought her true identity to light, it would have forced him to bring charges against her as well. More importantly, she had all but begged him not to tell her husband or her son that she had survived. Trapped in a slave collar that could not be removed without killing her, it was, in a sense, true. The woman who had plotted against the Realm would never return.

  She had saved Crassus once before, when he was unconscious, but he had never wakened during the procedure, and she had been gone before he was awake again. She never left the Free Aleran camp or train and had hidden virtually in plain sight for the past years.

  But this time Crassus had seen her.

  Crassus’s eyes burned. “Didn’t tell me.”

  “She asked me not to,” Tavi said quietly.

  Crassus squeezed his eyes shut, as if in agony. Given his injuries, there was every chance that he was—even without other considerations. “Get away from me, Octavian.”

  “Rest,” Tavi said. “We’ll talk, later, when this is all—”

  “Get out!” Crassus snarled. “How could you? Get out.”

  He dropped back down, wheezing, and was asleep again, or unconscious, within seconds.

  Tavi sat down on the stool Dorotea had vacated, shaking. He lowered his head to his hands and just sat there for a moment. Crows take it. He had never wanted this. And yet, it had been such a small worry among so many others. Truth be told, he’d barely thought about it. And now, the lie he’d felt he had no other choice than to make might have cost him the love and respect of a friend.

  “Such a small concern, for a man with your problems,” said Alera quietly.

  Tavi looked up to see the great fury, appearing as she usually did, but this time also covered in a misty grey cloak and hood that hid all of her features but her face. Her gemstone eyes were calm and gently amused.

  “I don’t have so many friends that I can’t be worried about losing one,” Tavi said quietly. He looked at Max, silent and still in his tub. “Or more.”

  Alera regarded him steadily.

  “I saw Foss die
. I saw what was going to happen seconds before it did, and I just wasn’t fast enough. I couldn’t stop the Queen. He died. She killed so many people. And they died for nothing. She escaped. I failed them.”

  “She is most formidable. You knew that.”

  “That doesn’t matter,” Tavi said quietly, his voice growing harsh. “It was my responsibility. My duty. I know not everyone survives a war, but by the furies, I will not see my men give their lives for nothing.” His throat tightened, and he bowed his head. “I… I wonder. I wonder if I am the right man for this work. If I had… if I had learned more, if I had been given more time to practice, if I had practiced harder…”

  “You wonder if it would have made a difference,” Alera said.

  “Yes.”

  She considered the question gravely. Then she sat down on the floor beside the stool, folding her legs beneath her. “There’s no way to be certain of things that never took place.”

  “I know.”

  “You agree. Yet you still feel that way about it.”

  Tavi nodded. They were both silent for a time.

  “Good men,” she said quietly, “must feel as you do. Or they are not good men.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Alera smiled. “A good man, almost by definition, would seriously question any decisions he made that led to such terrible consequences for others. Especially if those others trusted him. Would you agree?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would you agree that you are fallible?”

  “I feel it is manifestly obvious.”

  “Would you agree that the world is a dangerous and unfair place?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then there you have it,” Alera said. “Someone must command. But no one who does so is perfect. He will, therefore, make mistakes. And, since the world is dangerous and unfair, it is inevitable that some of those mistakes will eventually have consequences like those today.”