“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.”
CHAPTER 9
“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.”
Tavi grunted, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with her. “Were you successful?”
She eyed him, and said, not without a measure of scorn, “Aleran.”
Tavi bared his teeth in a fierce grin. “Of course. I apologize.”
“As well you should,” Kitai said. “What do you hope to accomplish?”
“I will get answers from Varg,” Tavi said.
“What?” blurted Max. “The Canim tried to kill you?”
“About five minutes ago,” Tavi said.
“Then why the crows are we walking toward their camp?”
“Because I need to move fast before this becomes something bad,” Tavi said. “And because that’s where Varg is.”
“And if he did send them to kill you, what’s going to stop him from finishing the job when you get there?”
“You are,” Tavi said.
Max scowled. “Oh. I am.”
“Don’t be a hog about it,” Tavi said. “Crassus and Schultz deserve to contribute, too.”
Max let out a growling sound. “Bloody Legions,” he muttered, under his breath. “Bloody Canim. Bloody crazy First Lords.”
“If you want to stay here…” Tavi began.
Max glowered at him. “Of course not.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Schultz is competent. But it would all go to the crows if my little brother was in charge, and he outranks Schultz.”
“Technically speaking,” Crassus said, “I also outrank you.”
“Do not,” Max said. “We’re both Tribunes.”
“I got there first.”
“We got there at the same time. Besides, I got assigned to the First Aleran six months before it formed,” Max replied.
Crassus snorted. “As a centurion. A fake centurion.”
“Doesn’t matter. Seniority’s mine.”
“Children,” Tavi chided. “You don’t see Schultz bickering about such things, do you?”
“If it please the captain, sir,” the plain-faced Schultz said, “I am not a part of this.”
Kitai grinned, showing her canine teeth. “Schultz has the best sense among them. He merits command for that alone.”
Schultz ignored the comment with noncommissioned stoicism.
They strode out from the camp on the hill and went down toward the larger Canim encampment. The gate guards saw Tavi and the others coming. One of the guards, a Cane with whom Tavi was not familiar, held up a hand, signaling for Tavi to halt and be identified, standard procedure for the Canim camp.
Tavi took a deep breath and reminded himself that he was not making a standard visit.