Because you told him to do it, fool.
The young woman… Estellis stared at him, her face pale. She did not allow herself to weep-doubtless for the sake of her daughter, who clung sleepily to her side-but her eyes shone with the effort. "S-sir…" she said quietly. "The children are hungry."
Crows take Arnos, Marcus thought viciously. Crows take him and eat him whole.
There was still some hope. Antillus Crassus was taking his time about verifying each prisoner's lack of Citizenship. Marcus might not have noticed it if he hadn't been working with the young man for the past two years, but it smelled like the young Tribune was stalling.
Crassus wouldn't be doing that on his own initiative. He was dutiful nearly to the point of insanity, and always worked with quiet, industrious efficiency.
So, unless he had suddenly decided to start dragging his feet, he was still attending to his duty.
So. The captain was up to something.
Marcus did not know what he intended. Legally speaking, he had only two options-but the young man had a talent for discovering previously unnoticed avenues of action. Perhaps he could do it again.
Please let him do it again.
Marcus was already steeped in blood. Much more, and he would drown.
He kept his expression colder and harder than stone. If the prisoners went into a panic, great furies only knew what might happen. "Ma'am," he said. He began to repeat his order, but instead he found himself meeting the gaze of little Estara. His breath left him in a long, slow exhalation. "Estellis," he said quietly. "I assure you that my captain is doing everything he can to get you back to your homes as soon as possible. But until that time, you are on the front lines of a war, around men who have seen hard battle today. For your own safety, you need to return to the others." He considered the little girl again, and said, "I'll see what can be done about food."
The young woman stared at him, straining, Marcus knew, to discern if he was telling her the truth, or simply lying to her and sending her back to await slaughter, like some foolishly wayward cow. She needn't have bothered. Even if she'd had an enormous amount of talent and practice at the watercrafter's art of truthfinding, he could have told her that the sky was green with perfect conviction.
"I… very well, centurion." She dipped into another awkward curtsey. "Thank you."
"Legionare," Marcus growled.
The young legionare came to attention. "Sir."
"Please escort Mistress Estellis and her daughter back to the others." He nodded to her. "Ma'am."
The woman gave Marcus one last, uncertain glance as she turned, then walked with the young legionare back to where the prisoners sat.
A veteran legionare-though to be fair, any of the fish who'd come this far with the First Aleran deserved to be called veterans-named Bortus leaned slightly toward Marcus. "Centurion? What are we going to do with these people?"
"Keep your teeth together, Bortus. When I know, you'll know." Marcus watched Estellis and Estara sit down again and grimaced.
Whatever he was going to do, the captain had best hurry.
Chapter 17
Tavi sat silently in Arnos's wind coach, cursing his own stupidity. He should have known better than to proceed upon such a potentially incriminating rendezvous when he might have been under aerial surveillance.
Of course, there had been little enough he could have done, under the circumstances. His own Knights Aeris, weary from the exertions of the morning's battle, had not been at hand, and they were really the only way he might have reasonably known about being observed from high above. Even if they had been at hand, of course, he had moved away from any potential support to meet with Nasaug. He began to berate himself instead for his inexcusably bad judgment in doing so-but the potential to reach some other outcome than outright war with the Canim had demanded that he take the risk.
Perhaps it was neither stupidity nor poor judgment, but simply an unfavorable conjunction of opportunity, chance, and human will that allowed for no particularly desirable outcome-from his point of view, at least. It had certainly been a fortunate enough morning for Arnos.
It could have been worse. Ehren had not been recognized as anyone other than a local freeman-had Arnos known he was a Cursor of the Crown and accorded the rank and privileges of a Knight as a result, Tavi suspected that he would not have been allowed to live to bear testimony about what had happened. Instead, he had been bound, tossed on the luggage rack atop the coach, and was to be dropped with the condemned prisoners back at Othos.
Assuming Ehren came out of the situation alive, he should prove to be a major lever in any tribunal examining Arnos's charge of treason. All Tavi needed to do was claim he was engaged in a prisoner exchange for a critically placed agent of the Crown-which had the considerable merit of being entirely true.
It would be pleasant to be able to throw that into Arnos's teeth, but Tavi refrained, lest Ehren accidentally tumble from the coach during flight. So he regarded the Senator's detached expression of feline smugness with a blank face, and said nothing. Instead, he sat, missing the presence of his sword far more acutely than he ever had before he'd begun feeling his way through metal-crafting. It currently resided across the lap of Phrygiar Navaris, who sat beside Amos and stared at Tavi, her serpentine eyes never seeming to blink. The archer sat on Arnos's other side, and the largest of the two men in his retinue of singu-lares sat on either side of him.
"This is probably for the best, Scipio," Arnos said. "It was going to happen, one way or another. This way has the advantage of being relatively civilized."
Tavi didn't bother to answer. The galling thing was that to a certain extent, Arnos was probably correct. Tavi wondered if Gaius had known just how ruthless the man was going to be when it came to removing any possible challenge to his authority. Arnos had been willing to see hundreds of innocent people die to remove Tavi. He certainly wouldn't have hesitated to strike out at anyone who supported Tavi against him.
Tavi narrowed his eyes in thought.
There might be one who he would be slow to oppose.
In fact, this entire situation did not have to be a disaster. What was it old Killian had told the Cursors-in-training so often?
Every problem was an opportunity, from the proper point of view.
Arnos tilted his head and studied Tavi through narrowed eyes. "What was that thought that just went by your eyes, Scipio? I don't think I liked the look of it."
Tavi smiled at him. Then he said, "Senator. Men like you need never seek out their enemies. You create them left and right by virtue of drawing breath."
Arnos made a clucking sound in his throat. "You can't possibly think I am intimidated by your contacts. We all have powerful friends here."
"I don't think you can see far enough to realize what you should fear," Tavi replied. "Crowbegotten shame, really. You have gifts. You could do a lot of people a lot of good, if you so chose."
The Senator's eyes went flat. "If I so chose, Scipio," he said quietly, "I could have Navaris spill out your entrails here and now."
Tavi shook his head and nodded at the coach's window. "If you'll look beneath you, Senator, I'm fairly sure that you'll see a picket line of riders below us-close enough to be within sight of one another, and relay signals back to the camp. I ordered them not to accompany me to my meeting, which means that they followed me just far enough back to stay out of sight. They saw your men take me, I'm quite sure. Individually, they aren't faster than a wind coach, but working together, in good light, on a clear day like this one, they can send word even faster. Odds are excellent that the camp already knows you've arrested me."