by Jim Butcher
"How is he?" Bernard rumbled quietly.
"The same. Or if he's any better, I can't see it. Bernard, shouldn't those sores have closed by now?"
"Mmmm," he said. "Older folks can be slow to heal without a watercrafter to help them. He hasn't any fever, and there's no sign of blood poisoning. I'd prefer it if he rested for a couple of days, but…"
"But he won't," Amara sighed.
"It could be worse," Bernard said. "So long as they close up before we hit the swamps, we should be all right."
"What if they don't?" Amara asked him.
He leaned back from her and traced a fingertip over her cheekbone. She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch.
"We'll worry about that if it happens," he said quietly.
Gaius stirred and sat up, blinking his eyes once or twice. He nodded to Bernard. "Count. Our friends have moved on?"
Bernard nodded. "Yes, sire. It won't hurt us to take a bit of rest here, if you like."
The First Lord shook his head, planted his staff, and clambered to his feet. "No, out of the question. We've no time to spare."
"Aye, sire," Bernard said.
He offered Amara a hand up, and she squeezed his fingers once after she was on her feet. Bernard set off in the lead of the little group again, and Gaius grunted with discomfort on his first few steps, then determinedly lengthened his stride, using his staff to help him.
Amara stared at the limping First Lord for a moment, biting her lip. Then she followed him, glancing frequently around them and over her shoulder, and they continued on their way to Kalare.
Chapter 20
Isana followed the young valet to Sir Cyril's office, on the ground floor of the Legion's command building. Only a single legionare was on duty at the door, this time-indeed, since the First Aleran and the Guard Legions had departed, the entire town of Elinarch seemed almost deserted, and any little sound rang out with an eerie clarity in the quiet streets.
The valet led her through a little antechamber and nodded at the door. "There you are, Steadholder."
"Thank you," Isana said quietly. "Should I knock?"
The valet shook his head. "He's expecting you, ma'am."
Isana nodded at the young man and turned to the office door. She opened it and stepped into a rather large office. It was crowded with tables and bookshelves, all of them neatly, precisely stacked with books, papers, and scrolls. One wall was covered entirely by at least a dozen maps on broad sheets of parchment.
Sir Cyril sat behind a much-used wooden desk, and he rose with a polite smile.
Isana felt it when a flash of pain went through the remains of his leg, a savage stroke of agony that bored into the joint of his thigh and hip. Her own leg twitched in sympathy at the ghostly sensation. She felt him assert control over the pain an instant later, smothering the fire of it in a blanket of pure determination.
"No, please, sir," Isana said. "Don't get up."
"Nonsense," Sir Cyril said. He swept into a restrained bow. "It's not often I entertain a celebrity."
She shook her head wryly and replied with a simple curtsey. "Hardly that."
"I disagree," Cyril said, sitting again. He let out an almost-inaudible sigh of relief as he took the weight off of his leg. "I've gotten several letters mentioning that you'd favorably impressed many of the Realm's Citizenry, during your abolition campaign."
"As of yet, no laws have been passed," she said, her voice dry. "It's been two years. I can hardly call that impressive."
"Big change takes time," Cyril replied, his tone a polite disagreement. "And the war has certainly been"-he glanced at his leg and flashed a quick, wry grin at Isana-"a distraction."
"Certainly that," she agreed.
"Even leaving such matters aside, this relief column you organized is a rare thing," he continued. "It's already saving lives."
She shook her head. "Any number of people could have done what I have."
"But they didn't," Cyril said. "You did."
"Someone had to."
He tilted his head and studied her for a moment, then shrugged, and said, "Someone should have. It isn't the same thing."
Isana waved a hand. "Sir Cyril, I hope you don't think I'm rude for saying this. But I can't imagine why you sent for me."
He gave her a steady look, and his speculative gaze was intense enough that she could almost feel it on her skin. "Can't you?" he asked.
Isana sighed. "Honestly, I can't. I was packing to leave, in fact. So, Sir Cyril, I ask you again. Why am I here?"
Cyril's eyebrows went up. "This is somewhat disappointing." He offered her a whimsical smile. "I was hoping you would tell me." He raised his voice, and called, "Galen! Send him in, please!"
The door opened a moment later, and a tall man in a fine Legion-issue dress tunic entered the-
Tavi entered the room, she corrected herself. His green eyes fell on her, and his step slowed in hesitation for just a moment. She felt a surge of emotion from him, so mixed and confused that she hardly knew what to make of it, other than to sense a good deal of anger mixed through it all, unless it was humiliation or-
Great furies.
Araris had told him.
Isana stared at Tavi for a second, meeting his gaze. He nodded to her, and said, "Excuse me." As he did, the fountain of emotion began to dwindle, until there was nothing more coming from him. He had been able to hide his feelings from her since he'd been eleven years old. It had always made her a little proud of him-as well as exasperated. He'd been entirely too… creatively energetic, at that age. She'd needed every advantage she could get to stay a step ahead of his mischief and-
And they were not alone, she reminded herself. She glanced aside at Cyril, then rose, politely, offering another curtsey to Tavi, precisely as she had to Cyril. "Good morning, Captain."
Tavi smiled at her and inclined his head. "Steadholder. Thank you for coming. And thank you for seeing me, Sir Cyril."
Isana tilted her head. "Why aren't you with your Legion, Captain?"
"Mmmm," Cyril said. "I was wondering the same thing myself. Nalus's letter was painfully vague."
"I've been arrested and charged with treason, Steadholder," Tavi replied cheerfully. "They sent me back here in irons, though Sir Cyril was kind enough to accept my parole and have them stricken." He held up his wrists, each of them ringed with bruises and small cuts.
Isana blinked for a moment and fought to keep herself from gasping, or letting out a cry of distress. Not in front of Sir Cyril.
"Treason," Cyril said, sighing. "What happened out there?"
"Long story," Tavi said. He put a hand on the chair Isana had been sitting in, holding it for her. "Steadholder. Shall we sit?"
Isana frowned gently at him, trying to understand what was behind his expression-but he was closed to her.
Yes. She'd known him that well, at least. He'd reacted just as she feared he would.
Crows take Araris, she thought quietly, sadly. But not until after they've taken me. And the stives who made it necessary to take every measure in reach to protect him-including lying to him.
Araris had been right, of course. Tavi had deserved to know. But she had wanted to put it off for just one more day, and now…
Sometimes it felt like everything she turned her hand to withered and died. It was ridiculous, of course. Not everything had. Her steadholt was prospering, after all. The relief column had been a success. Perhaps it was only when her heart was involved that she had such ruinous bad fortune.
Or, she thought, ruinously had judgment. Credit where credit is due.
They all sat down. Cyril settled in to listen to Tavi, one elbow on the desk, his fist supporting his chin. "This should be interesting."
Tavi leaned back in his chair and somehow managed to look lazily confident even while in a relaxed slouch, his legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. Then he started talking.
It didn't take Isana long to realize that Tavi was saying more than he pro
bably should have about the motivations and twisted loyalties behind the events of the past several days-which is to say that he was being completely open and honest.
"Let me get this straight," Cyril said, when Tavi paused for breath. "After Amos lost many of his own Knights Aeris, precisely as we warned him he would, you then bailed his men out of the trouble he'd bought them."
"You should have heard what was going around the Guard camps before I left," Tavi said, with another grin. Isana had never seen the expression on Tavi's face, but it had been common enough on his father's. Septimus had grinned at frustration and pain, too. "According to the Guard, I waited overly long to help, so that I could play the hero and rub their noses in their inexperience."
Cyril snorted. "Arnos has always known how to play a crowd. After you did that, he ordered you to execute the prisoners. You refused the order, and he had you arrested."
"Not exactly," Tavi said. "I was still stalling carrying the order out. I, ah, had the opportunity for a rendezvous with a representative from the Canim. Arnos caught me after and leveled the treason charges. He refused to rescind the execution order, by the way."
"Executing civilians? Families?" Isana heard herself say. "What kind of madness is that?"
"An increasingly common one, unfortunately," Cyril said soberly. "All this ambition being brewed with self-interest under increasing amounts of pressure." He shook his head and turned back to Tavi. "I assume he was holding them against your good behavior."
Tavi's smile turned sharper. "Yes. Though I found a way to make sure he'd leave them alone."
Cyril tilted his head. "How?"
"I left Crassus in command of the Legion," Tavi said, smirking.
Cyril arched both eyebrows, then leaned his head back to laugh, a short, genuine sound. "That would do it."
"Excuse me," Isana said quietly. "Do what?"
"Crassus's father is High Lord Antillus Raucus," Tavi said, still grinning. "His mother is High Lord Kalarus's youngest sister. Once the fighting is done, Crassus may well be declared Kalarus's heir. He already is Antillus's heir. If Arnos ordered him to execute the prisoners, and he refused-"
"Which he would," Cyril said.
Tavi nodded. "-Arnos would have little choice but to press charges against Crassus, if he wanted to maintain the integrity of his charges against me."
"Ah," Isana said, nodding. "And given Crassus's family connections and what will probably be a very influential future, it would be stupid for Arnos to make an enemy of him now."
"Oh, he's stupid enough to do it," Tavi said, "but there's also the fact that if Arnos played that game on the son and heir of Antillus Raucus, the patronage of the Aquitaines wouldn't stop Lord Antillus for a second. He would call Arnos out to the juris macto and scatter the leftover pieces all over Alera."
"Only if the old man beat Maximus to it," Cyril noted.
Tavi grinned. "Crows, yes. Max would love an excuse to call Arnos out. Defending the honor of his family and father would be undeniable."
"I'm surprised Arnos let you talk to your officers," Cyril said. "It's not the kind of mistake I'd expect of him."
"He didn't," Tavi said. "Max and about seven hundred veterans were in a position to dispute the legitimacy of my arrest."
"What?" Cyril just stared at Tavi for a second, his face going white. Isana sensed the horror boiling up out of him like some kind of greasy black vapor. Then he shook his head slowly. "Seven hundred…" He blew out a slow breath. "That was exactly the kind of situation the Crown wished us to avoid."
Tavi grimaced. "I know. I talked Arnos into letting Nalus handle my arrest in exchange for ordering them to stand down."
Cyril mopped a hand over his face. "Nalus," he said, distantly. "No wonder his letter was so awkward. Decent man. Not terribly intelligent, but I've always thought well of him."
"He asked me to give him my word that I wasn't going to order my men to get me out or refuse to support the campaign. I gave it, and he let me meet with them."
Cyril frowned hard at Tavi, and Isana could feel the anger in it, mixed with a certain admiration. "And your orders to them?"
Tavi blinked, lifting his eyebrows in faint surprise. "To support the campaign, of course. To do everything they could to preserve the lives of Alerans and secure the Realm against the invaders."
Cyril let out a slow breath, sagging a little at the table, and his relief flooded through the room. "Thank the great furies. There's that much, at least."
Tavi grimaced. "Arnos is planning a campaign of numbers. He's tallied every life to be sacrificed."
Cyril grimaced. "Yes. I suspected as much. Can he win?"
Tavi shrugged. "I think Nasaug does his math a bit differently. Othos was a bloody mess, and at a bargain for the Canim." Tavi's voice lowered, and his smile vanished. "I've got to stop him, Cyril."
Cyril looked from Tavi to Isana, frowning. The room was quiet for several seconds.
"Someone needs to," Cyril agreed. "But there are two problems. First, you aren't going to stop him from doing much of anything from inside the stockade. Second, I don't see any feasible way of doing so, even if you weren't."
Tavi took a deep breath. "I think I might know a way," he said.
Cyril nodded. "This meeting you had with a representative, I expect. What does Nasaug want?"
"Can't tell you," Tavi said. "Safer for both of us."
Cyril leaned back in his chair and put both hands flat on his desk. "You want me to release you."
"Yes."
"I can't do that."
"Yes, you can," Tavi said. "Cyril, if this works, it has the potential to end the fighting entirely. I think those three Legions would do a lot more good flanking Kalarus than running around in circles in the Vale."
"It's a treason charge," Cyril said quietly. "If I release you before you've faced a tribunal, it's a death sentence for me as well: to say nothing of the fact that any irregularity would practically guarantee your conviction."
Tavi made a clicking sound with his teeth. "There's always-"
Cyril cut him off with a wave of his hand and exhaled through his nose. "All right," he said quietly. "This has gone badly, but it could have been worse. The next thing to focus on is making sure the Legions' supply lines are kept secure. Then we'll turn some attention to your trial defense."
Tavi shook his head. "We don't have time. There's too much at stake."
"Yes," Cyril responded, rather sharply. "But you've been outmaneuvered. You're of no use to the Crown, now."
"I could be," Tavi said quietly. "Let me arrange something. None of the blame will come to you."
Cyril began shaking his head. "Scipio-I am a soldier, and a servant of the Crown. I always have been. And at this moment, the Crown's law says that you are to remain in custody until a tribunal can be assembled. We've worked well together, the past two years. We know one another. We've each earned a certain amount of the other's trust." He gave Isana a quite pointed glance and looked back at Tavi. "But by now you ought to know where I draw the line."
Tavi grimaced. Disappointment and a nauseating sense of dread began to spill through even his formidable discipline. "I do," he said quietly.
"Then you ought to know that I'm not going to play along with some kind of escape fiction." He grimaced. "I can't fight anymore, but I'm tired of everyone making light of the laws of the Realm. Abusing them, like Arnos did. I can't make them stop, but it doesn't mean I'm going to participate in it. I'll be glad to help you-by every legal means at my disposal."
"If you had an order from the Crown," Tavi said quietly, "you could do it."
"But I don't," Cyril said.
Isana's heart suddenly pounded very hard in her chest.
Tavi met Cyril's eyes, and said, quietly, "You do now."
Stars flared across Isana's vision, and she gripped the arms of her chair as hard as she could.
Cyril frowned at Tavi, and said, "What?"
Tavi gave Cyril half of a smile. "Come now, Cyri
l. You've known since the day you met me that my name wasn't Rufus Scipio."
Cyril's frown deepened. "Yes. I surmised that you were one of the Crown's Cursors, given the way the Battle of Elinarch turned out. And what you've done since."
"And I am," Tavi said quietly. "But there's more. You've heard rumors about me by now. You've heard rumors about my singulare. Araris." Tavi paused for a moment. "The Araris. Araris Valerian."
Cyril stared at Tavi. His lips parted slightly.
"That's why I asked her to be here today," Tavi said, gesturing toward Isana. "Why I've spoken so openly in front of her."
Tavi turned to her, and Isana could feel his fear and frustration and anger and something else, something deep and powerful and terrifying for which there was no word. It was a kind of wonder, she thought dazedly, a kind of elation-and at the same time, it was a horror and dread.
Isana had felt it before, long ago. Tears blinded her as more memories came back to sudden, vivid life. Oh, Septimus. I miss you so much. And in this moment, you would he so proud.
She turned her face to Sir Cyril, blinking until the tears fell. The older man simply gaped at Tavi, his mouth still open, his eyes wide. Disbelief blended wildly with comprehension, well-aged anxiety with sudden hope. His hands closed into fists, and his voice shook as he spoke. "What," he whispered, "is your name?"
Tavi rose, slowly, lifting his chin. "My name," he said quietly, "is Gaius Oc-tavian." He stepped forward and dropped to one knee, meeting Cyril eye to eye. "Sir Cyril, I trust you. That's why I've just put my life"-he nodded to Isana- "and my mother's into your hands."
Cyril stared at Tavi, his face bloodless. His mouth worked a couple of times, then he turned to Isana. "Your… your mother?"
Isana swallowed. Now she understood why Tavi had asked her here-to support him. She was, after all, very nearly the only one alive who could.
A panicked voice within told her to deny it. Without her corroboration, Tavi's story would sound like a wild, desperate, and implausible lie. She had to hide him. She had to protect him. She had to-