by Jim Butcher
“Why not, Your Grace?” Amara asked. She knew, but if any of the High Lords in the room hadn’t worked it out yet, it would better come from one of their own than from her.
Cereus shrugged. “Because for Invidia, life was always about pushing people around like pieces on a ludus board. In her mind, what’s going on right now isn’t that different from business as usual in Alera. More difficult, more degrading, more unpleasant, but she doesn’t understand what losing a loved one . . .” He cleared his throat. The old man’s sons had been killed during High Lord Kalarus’s uprising and the initial offensive of the Vord War. “What it can do to a body. How it changes things. Woman’s never loved a thing in her life but power.”
Amara nodded. “She seeks a more favorable bargaining position. To use whomever she can and abandon whomever she can’t.”
Phrygius stroked a hand over his roan red beard, musing. “I thought you said that she was trapped in the vord’s service. That big bug thing on her chest was the only thing keeping her alive.”
“Yes,” Amara says. “Which means that she knows or thinks she knows some way to overcome it.”
“What did she offer, Countess?” Placidus asked.
Amara told them about the conversation with Invidia. “She said that when we wanted to speak to her, we should send up green signal arrows from her in groups of three. She’ll contact us.”
Heavy silence followed.
“Do you think she’s serious?” Raucus asked. “Tell me you don’t think that bitch is serious.”
“I think she might be,” Lady Placida said slowly.
Phrygius shook his head. “It’s a trap.”
“Bloody expensive trap,” Lord Placida mused. “If that information she gave you is accurate, Countess, we can use it to hurt them badly.”
“You aren’t thinking like a bloody bug,” Raucus said. “She can afford to throw away a million warriors if it means she breaks the back of our heaviest furycraft.”
Lady Placida nodded. “And if we deploy our troops to take advantage of the enemy attack, and she’s lying to us, the vord will be able to take advantage of us. They’ll know where we’ll have to put them to counter the attack. If Invidia is lying, they can use that to their advantage.”
“Hah,” Lord Placida said suddenly.
“Oh,” Lord Cereus said, at the same time. “Oh, Countess. I see now. Well played.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Amara said quietly, nodding to each of them.
Raucous scowled, looking back and forth between them. “What?”
“Don’t try to figure it out,” Phrygius muttered. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
“You don’t know any more than I do,” Raucus shot back.
Lady Placida pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger and let out a slow, patient exhale. “Countess, please. For my benefit, please explain.”
Amara gave Lord Placida a slight bow, and said, “Your Grace, if you would?”
Lord Placida returned her bow, and said, “The Countess has established a situation in which all roads but the last will end in our favor. We can’t be sure about the confrontation with the Queen, regardless of what happens. But we can test Invidia’s honesty by watching the next vord attack.”
“And if she’s lying?” Lady Placida asked.
“If she’s lying, she’s doing it for a reason,” Cereus said. “She’s doing it because the vord need to create a weakness that they can exploit. We trump her hand by not trying to take advantage of the enemy dispositions in the next attack. We maintain the strength of our defenses as they stand and withdraw to Garrison when the evacuation is complete, just as planned. We give them no chance to exploit us. The outcome of this war is going to hinge on killing the Queen in any case, not simply slaughtering warriors.”
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 res
t. 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.