Tavi blinked at him. "How is that going to happen, sire?" The First Lord arched a greying eyebrow at him. Tavi noted, for the first time, that their eyes were now on a level with one another.
Gaius's eyes glittered with dark humor for an instant. "That would be telling." He cast a glance at the tumult Arnos's comments had created. "The task I'm handing you is unenviable. Can you do it?"
Tavi looked up at the discord swirling around the Senator and narrowed his eyes. He knew all too well the kind of price the legionares were forced to pay when their leaders made even relatively small and honest mistakes. What Arnos was proposing was barely this side of insanity, and the suffering that his actions could inflict on noncombatants in the occupied territory was a thing out of the young captain's nightmares. Something had to be done. "Yes, sire," Tavi said quietly. "I can."
Chapter 4
"Well," Amara murmured to the First Lord as they departed the command building. "That could have gone better."
"Actually," Gaius said, "it went as well as could be expected." He strode purposefully toward the area of the square typically used by Knights Aeris for landings and takeoffs. That area of the camp was kept policed of detritus and debris, so that the gales caused by fliers' windstreams sent a minimum number of objects flying around.
Amara had to hurry her own steps to keep up with the much taller First Lord. "I thought the young captain held his own rather well."
"Rather too well," Gaius said testily. "Great furies know, Arnos needs someone to bleed his ego to manageable levels, but Scipio isn't the one to do it. I need him right where he is."
Amara shook her head. "I spent some time in the town last night, doing a little listening in the wine houses."
"Amara," Gaius chided her. "You're serving as my liaison now, not as an intelligence agent."
"Habit, sire," Amara said. "His men think new grass sprouts up in his boot-prints and flowers bloom where he spits. They'd never stand for his removal."
Gaius made a thoughtful sound. "Really? He's that highly regarded?"
"I watched three brawls last night between legionares from the Senatorial
Guard and those of the First Aleran. Every one was started by commentary about Scipio."
"How'd his men do?"
"They won three times." Amara shook her head. "They're a tough group, sire."
"After two years out here alone, they'd have to be," Gaius murmured. "I wanted to send them more help, but the pressures elsewhere were just too great. Especially with the increased pressure on the Shieldwall."
Amara glanced around them, making sure no one was immediately nearby. "And it kept Scipio isolated from the rest of the Realm."
Gaius gave her a sharp look.
Amara shrugged. "There are rumors, sire."
"Rumors," Gaius said.
"About Scipio. About who his father might have been." Amara drew in a deep breath. "The rumors say that he bears a remarkable likeness to Princeps Septimus, sire. And they say that a man named Araris-a man who might be Araris Valerian himself-is his personal singulare."
"Rumors, Countess," Gaius said.
"I thought so, too," she said. "Until I saw Captain Miles's face, when T- When Scipio walked in." She looked up at the First Lord. "It was like he'd seen a ghost."
Gaius's voice hardened slightly. "Rumors, Countess."
"Rumors you wanted to strengthen," she said quietly. "That's why you held the meeting here instead of summoning everyone back to the capital. Out here, where he's surrounded by his men, confident, obviously in command-and where none of them would be in a position of authority over him and where you could oversee the situation. You're priming them to accept him as something more."
The First Lord glanced down at her, and the corners of his mouth twitched though his voice remained stern. "I already know you're clever, Countess. You don't have to prove it to me. It's considered good form to let such things go unsaid."
Amara kept herself from smiling and gave him a grave bow of her head. "Of course, sire. I'll keep that in mind."
Gaius glanced back over his shoulder, toward the command building. "They really think that much of him?"
"They love him," she said.
Gaius stepped out onto the swept-clean stones of the flight area. "It was like that with Septimus, you know," he said quietly.
Amara tilted her head to one side, listening in silence.
"He had that quality about him. People loved him. He gave them…" Gaius shook his head. "Something. Something that made them feel that they could do more than they ever had before. That lifted them up. Made them greater. He gave them…"
"Hope," Amara suggested.
"Yes," Gaius said quietly, and his voice turned puzzled. "It wasn't any kind of furycraft. It was him. I never understood how he did it." The First Lord shrugged. "He must have gotten it from his mother."
"Sire-" Amara began.
Gaius lifted a hand in a weary gesture. "I am not like Septimus. Or Scipio. I still command respect in some. In most, though, all I inspire is fear." His eyes were unfocused, his voice thoughtful. "I am not a good person, Amara. I have had reasonable success as a First Lord, but… I don't have their compassion. Only resolve."
Amara only stared at the First Lord, in silence. He rarely spoke of himself in a personal sense. It was at moments like this that Amara felt the real difference in their ages-for though Gaius looked like a man in his midforties, perhaps graced with early silver hair, he was in truth approaching eighty years of age. He had seen a lifetime of intrigue and betrayal, and no small share of personal tragedy of his own. She had grown used to the image he projected-that of a man of fantastic power, inhuman will, and effortless personal and political grace.
It was in moments like these that she was reminded of what he truly was- a weary and almost viciously lonely old man.
Amara had made mistakes enough in her young life to give her a small but steady burden of regrets. Gaius's decisions affected many more people than her own. How many regrets did the old man have piled upon his aching shoulders? How much darker were the dreams that came to haunt him? How many times, over decades in the treacherous world of Aleran politics, had he longed for someone to turn to, to talk to, to lean upon-knowing that there was no one, and never would be. Not after the death of his wife and son, the last of the ancient bloodlines of the House of Gaius. Everyone looked at the First Lord and saw exactly what he wished them to see: the leader of the Realm, the power, and the riches.
Only in the last year of working with him had Amara realized how unutterably alone Gaius truly was.
It took extraordinary courage to lead the life he had lived, to endure in the face of all the problems, the enemies, the demands placed upon him. Even if she had the furycraft to do it, Amara would not be the First Lord for all the riches of Alera.
She drew herself up, faced him squarely, and said, "I serve you, sire."
Gaius regarded her intently for a moment, then briefly put a hand on her shoulder. "Countess," he said, "it is entirely possible that I am not worthy of such loyalty. Summon the coach."
"Yes, sire." Amara raised one arm and flashed a hand signal at a group of Knights Aeris of the Crown Guard waiting on a nearby wall. The men secured harnesses to an aerial coach and lifted into the air, descending to the landing ground with the First Lord's coach, along with an escort of a score of Knights Aeris in the Crown's scarlet and blue. Gaius traded some words with the commander of the Knights, then entered the coach. Amara came in after him.