Princeps’ Fury

Bernard took her hand and bowed politely over it. “High Lady Placida.” He glanced over his shoulder at Amara, then smiled at the High Lady. “I hear good things about you.”

She smiled at him. “I can say as much about you. Which shows how much we know.” She inclined her head to Amara. “Countess. That’s a lovely dress.”

Spots of color appeared on Amara’s cheeks, but she inclined her head a shade more deeply in respect. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

“Dress!” Bernard blurted, looking at Amara.

She tilted her head slightly, then said, “Oh. Those things cost a bloody fortune.”

“But not our bloody fortune,” Bernard said in a reasonable tone of voice.

“Oh,” Amara said. “Yes, then, I like that.”

Aria looked back and forth between the two of them, and said, to Isana, “Have you any idea what they’re talking about?”

“They’re saying that they chose well when they married,” Isana said, smiling faintly at Bernard. “I take it you need to keep the details to yourself?”

“I’m afraid so,” Bernard said. “And-”

Isana held up a hand. “I can guess. Time is an issue.”

Ehren, who had been standing aside respectfully, silently, cleared his throat. “Well said, milady.”

Isana leaned up and kissed her brother on the cheek, then held his face in her hands. “Be careful.”

Bernard traced his thumb gently over her chin. “I’ve got too much work waiting for me back home to let anything happen now.”

“Good,” she said, and hugged him. He hugged her back, and they parted, without looking at one another again. She had felt him start to tear up as he’d held her, and she knew he wouldn’t want her to see the tears in his eyes. He’d know that she knew, of course-but after a lifetime near one another, certain fictions were simply understood. She smiled at Amara as they passed one another, and clasped both hands briefly. Isana didn’t think the two of them would ever really be close-but the former Cursor had made her brother happy. That was no small thing.

She heard Araris and Bernard trade a few quiet words, then Ehren was leading her into Gaius’s study, the one that was supposed to impress everyone with how restrained, erudite, and learned he was.

Oh, certainly, Gaius Sextus was likely one of the more erudite and learned Citizens in the Realm, but all the same. Isana had never understood men who made it a point to put trophies of their hunts on the walls, either. Gaius’s study, its walls lined with the carcasses of books he had torn open and devoured, reminded her of nothing so much as old Aldo’s hunting lodge, back in the Calderon Valley, and she thought it only marginally less boastful.

Isana considered all the books thoughtfully, as Araris and Lady Placida entered behind her, along with Sir Ehren. She’d read a tiny fraction of the books there-even in winter, there had generally been more work than quiet, free time on the steadholt. Books were expensive, as well. But she’d read enough of them to know that they were only as valuable as the contents of their writers’ minds-and to her it seemed that a great many writers, had they been merchants, would have precious little inventory.

Still, she supposed it said something in the First Lord’s favor that he considered intellectual achievement something to be boasted over at all. Not all men thought as he did upon the subject.

“Isana,” Gaius said, rising from his seat and smiling.

“Sextus,” she responded, nodding to him. So. They were not standing on formality it seemed.

“Your Grace,” Gaius continued. He put his hand to his chest and bowed slightly toward Lady Placida.

“Sire,” Aria replied, managing an elegant curtsey.

“Ladies, please.” He gestured toward a pair of seats before his desk, and Isana and Aria settled into them. He poured himself half a cup of what smelled like spicewine from a bottle on a sideboard and sat down behind the desk.

“How much trouble are we in, Gaius?” Aria asked bluntly.

He lifted an eyebrow at her, and took a sip of wine. “A very great deal,” he said quietly. “The Vord have already overwhelmed multiple legions in the field, so thoroughly as to leave no survivors.”

“But… surely now, with the rest of the Legions taking the field…” Isana said.

Gaius shrugged a shoulder. “Perhaps. The reputation of the Legions is thousands of years old, Isana, with the strength of centuries of tradition-and with the shortcomings of centuries of rigid thought. We are used to thinking of our Legions as invincible bulwarks. Yet they were bloodied and beaten by the Canim during Kalare’s rebellion last year, just as they were overwhelmed by the Marat a generation ago.”

The First Lord’s face flickered with some harsh, bitter emotion, and Isana felt the faintest flicker of it through her link with Rill, more than she usually ever felt from Gaius. She could hardly blame him. It was one of the few points upon which they shared similar emotions. The Marat incursion, more than twenty years gone, had wiped out the Crown Legion and killed the Princeps, Septimus, her husband and Tavi’s father.