Codex Alera 06 - First Lord's Fury (18 page)

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.”

“Tribune Antillar,” Tavi said. “I need you.”

Max looked up from his lunch, blinking in confusion at the tone of Tavi’s voice. But though Max was Tavi’s friend, he was also Legion. He rose at once, banged a fist to his chest in salute, and fell into step beside Tavi before he’d finished chewing his last bite of food. As Tavi stalked out of the mess hall, he spotted Crassus pacing across the camp, speaking earnestly to one of the Legion’s centurions.

“Tribune Antillus!” Tavi barked. “Centurion Schultz! With me.”

Crassus and Schultz reacted in almost precisely the same way Max had. Tavi never slowed his steps, and they hurried to fall into pace behind him and Maximus. Tavi headed for the Canim encampment without speaking further, but they hadn’t gone a hundred yards before hooves thundered over the ground, and Kitai swung herself down from her horse, her expression dour. She stared intently at Tavi for a moment, then started walking next to him.

A surge of relief and pleasure at seeing her face briefly suppressed the anger and calculation that drove his current steps. “When did you get back?” he asked.

“Just now, Aleran. Obviously.” She looked at him again, as though to reassure herself that he was still there. “I felt something.”

“Two Canim just tried to kill me.”

Kitai’s lips peeled back from her teeth. “Varg?”

“No way to know for certain. But it isn’t like him.”

Kitai growled. “His people. His responsibility.”