by Jim Butcher
"Idiot," Amara said, sighing, willing Cirrus between herself and the flying debris. Horatio touched down lightly. As a subtribune and Knight of the Crown Legion, he was permitted the gold-and-silver filigree on his armor and the glittering gems on both his helmet and the hilt of his sword, but the gold embroidery on his velvet cloak was a bit much. Horatio had made a fortune winning the Wind Trials, the yearly race of aircrafters during Wintersend, and he liked everyone to know it.
Of course, he was less eager for them to know that he had lost the lion's share of his riches the first year Amara had entered the event. He would never let her forget that, though she supposed she might not feel inclined to be particularly polite to a person who had cost her that much money, either. She waited until the Knights had settled in the steadholt's courtyard, then approached.
"Good day, sir!" boomed Horatio in a brassy baritone. "Oh, wait. Not sir, at all. That's you, Countess Amara. Forgive me, but from there you looked like a young man."
A few years before, the insult to her physique would have stung her sorely. But that was before she'd become a Cursor. And before Bernard. "That's perfectly all right, Sir Horatio. We all expect men of your age to begin experiencing certain deficiencies." She bowed to him with courtly grace, and did not miss a low round of chuckles from the other Knights.
Horatio returned her bow with a brittle smile and glared at the men behind him. All eight Knights found other places to direct their gazes and assumed professionally bored expressions. "Of course. I assume our passenger is ready to leave?"
"Shortly," Amara said. "I'm sure the kitchen will have something hot for your men to eat while you wait."
"That isn't necessary, Countess," Horatio said. "Please inform Holder Isana that we await her arrival so that we may depart."
"You await Steadholder Isana's convenience," she said, deliberately letting her voice carry through the courtyard. "And as you are a guest at her steadholt, subtribune, I expect you to behave with the courtesy expected of a Knight and soldier of the Crown Legion to a Citizen of the Realm."
Horatio's eyes narrowed, hot with anger, but he gave her the smallest of bows in acknowledgment.
"Furthermore," she continued, "I strongly advise you to let your men rest and eat while they have the opportunity. If the weather worsens, they will need their strength."
"I do not take orders from you regarding the disposition of my command, Countess," Horatio snapped.
"Goodness," said a woman's voice from within the litter. "Perhaps we should hand you each a bone, and you can simply bludgeon one another to death. I can't think of a faster way to end this unseemly display. Rolf, please?"
One of the Knights immediately stepped to the side of the litter, opened the door, and offered a polite hand to assist as a tiny woman emerged into the grey light. She might have been almost five feet tall, but even at that height, she looked frail and delicate, as light-boned as a Parcian swallow. She had skin the color of dark honey, and fine, shining hair darker than wet coal. Her gown was made of rich silk, though in subtle shades of brown and grey, and its neckline plunged far more deeply than would be considered proper to any woman of any station whatsoever. Her features were hauntingly lovely, with dark eyes almost too large for her face, and twin ropes of the sunset-colored pearls from the seas near her home province wound through her hair and were matched by a second pair of strands around her throat.
The pearls of the necklace were priceless and lovely-but they did not conceal the fact that they were mounted to an elegant slave's collar.
"Amara," the woman said, her mouth parting in a wide smile. "Only a few years out of the civilized south, and you've turned savage." She extended her hands. "You've probably forgotten all about me."
Amara felt a laugh ripple from her mouth as she replied. "Serai," she said, stepping forward to take her hands. As always, standing before Serai's exquisite beauty made her feel tall and awkward, and, as always, she did not at all mind. "What are you doing here?"
Serai's eyes sparkled with silent laughter, and she swayed a little on her feet. "Oh, darling, I am simply perishing of fatigue. I thought I would be fine, but I've been so frail of late." She leaned on Amara's arm, and turned a gaze on Horatio that would have melted the heart of an Amaranth merchant. "Subtribune, I apologize for my weakness. But would it be all right with you if I sat down for a bit and perhaps had some refreshment before we depart?"
Horatio looked frustrated for a moment, glowered at Amara, then said, "Of course, Lady Serai."
Serai smiled wanly at him. "I thank you, milord. I hate to see you and your men suffer on my account. Will you not join me at the table?"
Horatio rolled his eyes and sighed. "I suppose a gentleman could do little else."
"Of course not," Serai said, patting his arm with a tiny hand, then lightly tracing the pearls at her throat. "The obligations of station enslave us all at times." She turned to Amara, and said, "Is there somewhere I could freshen up, darling?"
"Of course," Amara said. "This way, Lady Serai."
"Bless you," Serai said. "Subtribune, I will join you and your men in the dining hall presently." She walked out, a hand still on Amara's arm, and gave a winsome smile to the Knights Aeris as she passed them. The men returned smiles and speculative looks as the slave passed.
"You're an evil woman," Amara murmured, once they were out of earshot. "Horatio will never forgive you for manipulating him like that in public."
"Horatio only has his continued command because of talented subordinates," Serai responded, laughter dancing in her words. A wicked glint touched her eyes. "In Rolf's case, very talented."
Amara felt her cheeks redden. "Serai."
"Well, darling, what do you expect? One can hardly be a courtesan without indulging in certain improprieties." She touched her lips with her tongue. "In Rolf's case, quite a bit of indulgence. Suffice to say that Horatio is no threat to me, and how well he knows it." Serai's smile faded. "I almost wish Horatio would try something. It would be a pleasant diversion."
"What do you mean?"
Serai glanced up at her, her eyes opaque, and said, "Not outdoors, darling."
Amara frowned, then fell silent and led Serai into the steadholt, and to the guest quarters above the main hall. She gave Serai a few moments inside, then slipped in behind her, and asked Cirrus to seal off the room from potential listeners. Once the air had tightened around them, Serai sank down onto a stool, and said, "It's good to see you again, Amara."
"And you," Amara answered. She knelt on the floor beside Serai, so that their eyes were on a level. "What are you doing here? I expected the Cursor Legate to send Mira or Cassandra."
"Mira was murdered near Kalare three days ago," Serai responded. She folded her hands, but not before Amara saw how the courtesan's fingers shook. "Cassandra has been missing from Parcia for several days. She is presumed dead or compromised."
Amara felt as though someone had punched her in the belly. "Great furies," she breathed. "What has happened?"
"War," Serai responded. "A quiet war fought in alleyways and service corridors. We Cursors are being hunted and killed."
"But who?" Amara breathed.
Serai moved a shoulder in a slow shrug. "Who? Our best guess is Kalare," she said.
"But how did he know where to hit us?"
"Treachery, of course. Our people have been killed in their beds, their baths. Whoever these people are, someone who knows us is telling them where to strike."
"Fidelias," Amara said. The word tasted bitter.
"Potentially," Serai said. "But we must assume that there may be someone else within the Cursors-and that means that we cannot trust anyone, Cursor or otherwise."
"Great furies," Amara breathed. "What about the First Lord?"
"Communications have been severely disrupted throughout the southern cities. Our channels to the First Lord have gone silent."
"What?"
"I know," Serai said. The tiny woman shivered. "My initial orders from
the Cursor Legate were to dispatch an agent to your command to escort Steadholder Isana to Festival. But once this began happening it became clear that attempting to make contact with other Cursors would be dangerous. I had to speak to someone I trusted. So I came here."
Amara took Serai's hands in her own and squeezed tightly. "Thank you."
Serai answered with a wan smile. "We must assume that word has not reached the First Lord about the situation."
"You intend to use Isana to approach him in person," Amara said.
"Precisely. I can't think of a safer way to go about it."
"It might not be so safe," Amara said. "An assassin attempted to kill Steadholder Isana yesterday morning. He was using a Kalaran knife."
Serai's eyes widened. "Great furies."
Amara nodded with a grimace. "And she's lived her entire live in the provinces. She can't enter the capital unguided. You'll need to show her around the political circles." She exhaled. "And you must be very careful, Serai. They'll try to remove her before the presentation ceremony."
Serai chewed on her lip. "I'm no coward, Amara, but I'm not a bodyguard, either. There's no way I can protect her from trained assassins. If that is the situation, I need you to come with us."
Amara shook her head. "I can't. Matters have developed locally." She explained what Doroga had told them about the vord. "We can't afford to let them spread and multiply. The local garrison will need every crafter they can get to make sure these creatures do not escape again."
Serai arched an eyebrow. "Darling, are you sure about this? I mean, I know you've had some contact with these barbarians, but don't you think that they might be exaggerating the truth?"
"No," Amara said quietly. "In my experience, they don't know how to exaggerate. Doroga arrived here yesterday with fewer than two hundred survivors from a force of two thousand."
"Oh come now," Serai said. "That must be an outright lie. Even a Legion's morale would break well before that."
"The Marat are not legionares," Amara said. "They aren't like us. But consider this-they fight, men and women and children together, beside their family and friends. They will not desert them, even if it means dying beside them. They consider the vord to be the same sort of threat-not just to their territory, but to their families and lives."
"Even so," Serai said. "You aren't a battlecrafter, Amara. You're a Cursor. Let those whose duties call them to a soldier's work do their part. But you must serve your calling. Come with me to the capital."
"No," Amara said. She paced to the window and stared out of it for a moment. Bernard and Frederic were lifting a pair of vast hogsheads of preserved foodstuffs onto racks on either side of a gargant's pack harness. The bull yawned, scarcely noticing what must have been half a ton of burden the two earthcrafters had casually lifted into place. "The garrison here lost most of its Knights Aeris at Second Calderon, and it has been difficult to replace them. Bernard may need me to help him by carrying messages or flying reconnaissance."
Serai let out a small gasp.
Amara turned, frowning, to find the tiny courtesan staring at her with her mouth open.
"Amara," Serai accused. "You're his lover."
"What?" Amara said. "That isn't what-"
"Don't bother trying to deny it," Serai said. "You were looking at him out there, weren't you?"
"What does that have to do with anything?" Amara asked.
"I saw your eyes," Serai said. "When you called him Bernard. He was out there doing something manly, wasn't he?"
Amara felt her face heat up again. "How did you-"
"I know these things, darling," she said airily. "It's what I do." The little woman crossed the room to stare out the window at the courtyard, and arched an eyebrow. "Which is he?"
"Green tunic," Amara supplied, stepping back from the window. "Loading the gargant. Dark hair, beard, a little grey in them."
"My," said Serai. "But hardly old. Went silver early, I'd say. That's always attractive in a man. It means he has both power enough to have responsibilities and conscience enough to worry over them. And-" She paused and blinked. "He's rather strong, isn't he?"
"He is," Amara said. "And his archery is amazing."
Serai gave her an oblique look. "I know it's petty and typical, but there is an undeniable, primal attraction in a man of strength. Wouldn't you agree?"
Amara's face burned. "Well. Yes. It suits him." She took a breath. "And he can be so gentle."
Serai gave her a dismayed look. "Oh, my. It's worse than I feared. You're not his lover. You're in love."
"I'm not," Amara said. "I mean. I see him fairly often. I've been Gaius's courier to the region since Second Calderon and…" Her voice trailed off. "I don't know. I don't think I've ever been in love."
Serai turned her back to the window. Over her shoulder, Amara could see Bernard giving directions to a pair of men hitching up heavy work horses to a wagon of supplies, then checking the beast's hooves. "Do you see him often enough?" Serai asked.
"I… I wouldn't mind being near him more."
"Mmmhmm," she said. "What do you like best about him?"
"His hands," Amara said at once. The answer came out before she'd had time to think it through. She felt herself blush again. "They're strong. The skin a little rough. But warm and gentle."
"Ah," said Serai.
"Or his mouth," Amara blurted. "I mean, his eyes are a lovely color, but his mouth is… I mean, he can…"
"He knows how to kiss," Serai said.
Amara stammered to a silence and simply nodded.
"Well," Serai said, "at this point, I think it's safe to say that you know what love feels like."
Amara bit her lip. "You really think that?"
The courtesan smiled, something wistful in it. "Of course, darling."
Amara watched the courtyard as a pair of boys, no more than six or seven years of age, leapt from hiding places in the wagon to Bernard's back. The big man roared in feigned outrage, and went spinning around for a few moments as though trying to reach them, until the boys lost their grips and fell to the ground, lurching dizzily and laughing. Bernard grinned at them, ruffled their hair, and sent them on the way with a wave of his hand. Amara found herself smiling.
Serai's voice became lower and very gentle. "You must leave him, of course."
Amara felt her spine stiffen. She stared past the other woman, out the window.
"You are a Cursor," Serai said. "One with the trust of the First Lord himself. And you have sworn your life to his service."
"I know that," Amara said. "But-"
Serai shook her head. "Amara, you can't do that to him if you truly love him. Bernard is a peer of the Realm, now. He has duties, responsibilities. One of them will be to take a wife. A wife whose first loyalty will be to him."
Amara stared at Bernard and the two children. Her vision suddenly blurred with hot tears.
"He has duties," Serai said, her voice compassionate, but resolute. "And among them is the duty to sire children so that the furycraft in his blood will strengthen the Realm."
"And I was blighted," Amara whispered. She pressed her hand against her lower belly, and could almost feel the nearly invisible scars from the pockmarks the disease had left. She tasted bitter bile on her tongue. "I can't give him children."
Serai shook her head and turned to stare out the window down at the courtyard. Frederic herded a second pair of enormous gargants into the yard and began hitching up their cargo harnesses with Bernard, while other holders came and went in a constant stream, placing sacks and boxes on the ground to be loaded on the beasts once they were ready. Then Serai stood on tiptoe, and gently drew down the shade.
"I'm sorry, darling."
"I never thought it through," Amara said. More tears fell. "I mean. I was just so happy, and I never…"
"Love is a fire, Amara. Draw it too close and be burned." Serai stepped over to Amara and touched her cheek with the back of her hand. "You know what you must do."
&nbs
p; "Yes."
"Then best to make it quick. Clean." Serai sighed. "I know what I'm talking about. I'm so sorry, darling."
Amara closed her eyes and leaned her head miserably against Serai's touch. She couldn't stop the tears. She didn't try.
"So much is happening, and all at once," Serai said after a moment. "It can't be a coincidence. Can it?"
Amara shook her head. "I don't think it can."
"Furies," Serai breathed. Her expressive eyes looked haunted.
"Serai," Amara said quietly, "I believe there is a real threat to the Realm here. I'm going to stay."
Serai blinked up at her. "Darling, of course you're going to stay. I don't need a bodyguard who is pining over a man like this-you're useless to me."
Amara choked on a small roll of laughter that came up through her at Serai's words, and she folded her arms around the courtesan in a tight hug. "Will you be all right?"
"Of course, darling," Serai said. But though her voice was warm, amused, Amara felt the little courtesan trembling. Serai probably felt Amara's shivering in return.
Amara drew back, her hands on Serai's shoulders, and met her gaze. "Duty. The vord may be inside the capital. More killers are probably looking for the Steadholder even now. Cursors are being murdered. And if the Crown doesn't send reinforcements to the local garrison, more holders and legionares are going to die. Likely me with them."
Serai's eyes closed for a moment, and she bobbed her head in a brief nod. "I know. But… Amara, I'm afraid… afraid I am not suited for this kind of situation. I work in grand halls and bedchambers with wine and perfume. Not in dark alleyways with cloaks and knives. I don't like knives. I don't even own a knife. And my cloaks are far too expensive to risk bloodying."