"Rather like ours," Isana said.
He was silent.
"That bad?" Isana asked, nudging her back gently against his.
"You said the right thing to Navaris," he said. "Making her question whether or not she should make the decision for Arnos. It bought us a little time. But she brought us into the Legion's camp in a covered wagon, and in hoods. Then they dumped us directly into this tent, which is guarded. And I'm fairly certain that we're among the men of the First Guard. Nalus is Captain of the Second Senatorial, and he'd bloody well want to know all about any hooded prisoners in his own camp."
"No one knows who we are," Isana said quietly. "No one knows we're here."
"Precisely," Araris said.
"Do you think he'll kill us?"
Araris considered that for a moment. Then he said, without malice, "He'd better."
"What?"
"You're a Citizen of the Realm, Isana. His hirelings assaulted and kidnapped you on his orders. Ehren's a bloody Cursor of the Crown. If he survived, he's going to be able to make a terrible stink, legally speaking. Arnos's best chance to survive it-"
"-will be to make sure there are no witnesses to corroborate Ehren's version of things."
"Probably/' Araris said. "Besides, if he doesn't kill us, I'll take him."
The matter-of-fact tone to his quiet voice was chilling. Isana found herself leaning slightly harder against him. "What do we do?" she asked. "Escape?"
"Realistically speaking, we've no chance, even if we get loose. Well just provide them a wonderful excuse to kill us and make apologies later. Heat of battle, confusion, such a tragedy."
"What, then?"
"If you get the chance, keep Arnos talking for as long as you can," Araris said. "And we wait."
"Wait?"
"He isn't going to leave us here," Araris said.
Isana had no doubt to whom the singulare referred. "We are secret prisoners in the camp of what might as well be an enemy Legion, which is itself surrounded by an army of Canim. He is alone. He might not even know where we are. I believe he'll try, of course, but…"
At that, Araris burst into a low, rich laugh, loud enough to be heard outside the tent. It was, Isana realized, the first time she'd heard him make such a sound, and her own heart reacted with a senselessly juvenile little burst of happiness to hear it.
"Quiet in there!" barked a man's voice, one of the Senator's thugs, or some random legionare pressed into duty as a sentry.
Araris swallowed his laughter and leaned his head back. Isana felt his head touch hers and leaned into the contact, closing her eyes.
"I've been with him for two years," Araris whispered. "You know his heart, Isana. You helped shape it. You've seen him while we traveled-but you don't see what he's become, and you don't know where it came from the way I do."
"Septimus," Isana whispered.
"You don't know how many times he got us out of trouble like this." Araris paused for a moment. "Well. Perhaps not quite this much all at once. But then, it was never a matter of scale."
"You believe in him," Isana breathed.
"Great furies help me," Araris said. "It's almost insane. But yes." He was quiet for a moment more. Then he said, "I love you very much, you know."
She nodded, gently, so as not to bump their skulls together. "I do know. I love you, too."
"I've been thinking," he said. He hesitated. "I mean. Well, it isn't like it's an entirely new thought, but…"
The awkward little flutter she felt in his confidence was almost painfully endearing. "Yes?"
"If it's possible," Araris said. "I mean… if we both live through this. And if… if things work out to where… I know it probably won't ever be a real possibility, but…"
Isana shivered. "Yes?"
"If. One day. If everything… Would you…" He took a deep breath. "Would you marry me?"
She'd known the direction of his thoughts, from the wildly unsettled sense of his emotions, but she hadn't anticipated her reaction to them.
She laughed. Again. She laughed herself breathless, laboring to keep it quiet.
"Here?" she demanded finally, half-smothered in laughter. "You ask me here? Now? Like this?"
His back had gone completely stiff. "Well," he managed to say after a moment. "Yes. It's…" His voice sobered abruptly. "It's all I have."
She fumbled with her bound, half-numb fingers until she found his. They managed to intertwine some of them, more or less at random.
"It's enough," Isana said quietly.
Araris was carefully still for a moment. "Is… Then… Yes?"
Isana sighed and squeezed his fingers as hard as she could. "Yes."
He suddenly sagged. "Oh," he breathed. "Oh. Oh, good." He shook his head, stroking one of her fingers with one of his. "For a moment there, I was worried."
The absurdity of that statement, all things considered, hit them both at the same time.
They were still laughing together when the tent flap rustled, and Phrygiar Navaris ripped off their hoods, a naked sword in her hand.
Chapter 50
"This one," Tavi said quietly, picking up one of the long blades Durias had brought out for his inspection. He snapped it up to a guard position, whirled it about in a loose circling motion of his wrist, and nodded. He could feel it in the steel, the way it settled in his hand, the subtle vibration of the blade as it ceased motion. The weapon was an old one but of excellent manufacture, its blade notched with battle scars in the torchlight, but still strong, flexible, and true. "What about Ehren?"
'Til take you to him," Durias said. "This way, please, Captain."
Tavi followed the centurion through the darkened Canim camp and was surprised at how much similarity it bore to an Aleran battle camp-though admittedly, the various stations were spread out over a considerably wider area. Perhaps the Canim measured their camp in strides, the way legionares did.
The healer's shelters were crowded, but the sounds coming from them were nothing like those of an Aleran healing tent. Instead of the cries and moans of the wounded, there was nothing but a daunting chorus of snarling and growling in every pitch one could imagine, and it made Tavi glad to be unable to see inside.
Most of the wounded Canim who emerged from the tents were walking under their own power. Those who weren't were almost invariably missing limbs. Somewhere in the background, the mourning howls of individual Canim for their fallen brethren rose into the night sky, haunting and savage and beautiful.
"A year ago," Durias said quietly, "I thought I'd get used to that. Still makes the hairs on my neck stand up."
"We're very different peoples," Tavi said quietly.
Durias turned around and stared at Tavi, his expression surprised. "Huh."
"What's that, centurion?"
"Not sure which surprises me more," he said. "To hear a Legion captain call them 'people' instead of 'animals' or to lump himself into a group with a bunch of slaves who have taken up arms."
"You walk, talk, breathe, eat, sleep. Same as me."
Durias snorted. "Since when has that been reason to regard someone else as an equal?"
Tavi showed Durias his teeth, more in the Canim gesture than the Aleran. "You wear armor, carry a sword-and I'm in your camp."
"Hah," Durias snorted. He shook his head once. "But so what if you're a good talker? Talking is easy."
Tavi found himself smiling more naturally as they walked. "I didn't talk you unconscious last spring, centurion."
Durias snorted and rubbed at his jaw. "No. No you didn't."