Octavian’s eyes scanned Marcus and the Cane with the broken head. Then he turned back to his own dead opponent, scowling. “Crows,” he growled. “Bloody crows.”
The sentries burst in. Without hesitation, they both plunged swords into the Cane Marcus had downed. Like captain, like legionare, Marcus supposed. When they approached the second downed Cane, the captain waved a hand at them. “Finished.” He looked up. “Marcus. Are you hurt?”
“I’ll manage,” Marcus said, panting. He was in shape enough to keep pace with the Legion, but he had been on a ship for months, and there had been no real way to remain in proper Legion condition.
And face it. You’re getting old.
Octavian wiped Marcus’s gladius clean of blood on the dark fur of the dead Cane, then offered the weapon back to him, hilt first. Marcus nodded his thanks, inspected the weapon for stains or damage, found it serviceable, and slid it back into its sheath.
Octavian glanced at Marcus, and said, simply, “Thank you.” Then he strode from the tent, rigid with anger, or perhaps in simple reaction to the attempt on his life.
The three legionares stared after him. “What happened?” asked one of the sentries. “I thought we were supposed to be allies.”
Marcus grunted and sent them on their way to follow the captain with a slap on an armored shoulder. “So did I, soldier. So did I.”
CHAPTER 8
“For goodness sake, my lady,” Veradis said in a tranquil tone. “You must calm yourself.”
Isana cast a mildly irritated glance over her shoulder at the younger woman as she paced back and forth across her quarters, the largest room in Riva’s finest inn. “How can I relax, knowing the kind of men I’m about to be dealing with?”
“Not every man in the Senate is some kind of masterful schemer, exerting all his energies to acquire more power and influence at the expense of all others.”
“No,” Isana agreed. “Some of them are incompetent schemers.”
Veradis arched an eyebrow, her expression taking on a quality of mild disapproval.
Isana exhaled. She folded her hands before her and took a deep breath, making an effort to still her emotions. “I’m sorry. Now that we know my son is back, they’re going to push that much harder to take away his birthright. I shouldn’t be pushing that burden onto your thoughts, Veradis.”
“Of course you should, my lady,” Veradis replied. “That is one of the things an aide is for. That, and to suggest that you might take a different kerchief with you to the Senate hearing. You’ve all but shredded that one.” The young woman rose and paced solemnly to stand before Isana, offering a folded white handkerchief. Isana took it with a faint smile.
“Only a man with a certain frame of mind does well as a Senator,” Veradis told her quietly. “He has to be able to speak well. He has to be able to convince others to follow his point of view. He has to be willing to negotiate and make compromises. And most of all, he has to protect the Citizens who voted him into the office—his own interests. That before all. So long as his constituents are pleased, he is safe in his position.” Veradis moved her shoulders in an elegant shrug. “Senators go to great lengths to protect the interests of those who voted for them. Some of them tiptoe along the boundaries between legitimate representation and criminal enterprise. Some of them dance gleefully back and forth over the line.”
The young Cerean met Isana’s eyes, and said, “But in their own way, you can rely upon them more than almost any man in the Realm. They will act to protect their interests. Which means that they make enemies among their peers. You can rely upon them to settle up old debts or compound them, my lady.”
Isana smiled faintly. “Senator Theoginus said almost the same thing.”
Veradis smiled. “Uncle Theo is an incorrigible old horse trader. But he knows that room, my lady.”
“Can he be trusted?” Isana asked.
Veradis considered that gravely. “Under the circumstances, I believe so. Valerius is from Aquitaine, after all—one of the cities most separated from the vord threat. Uncle was one of the men who most wanted action taken on Count Calderon’s warning about the vord, and Valerius all but crucified him for it. If Uncle Theo says he has strong support among the Senators of those areas most harmed by the vord, I’d say he’s almost certainly honest, and that it is highly probable that he is also correct.”
Isana shook her head. “You had to stop to consider whether or not your own uncle might be lying to you.”
“My uncle the Senator,” Veradis said, her serious eyes sparkling for a moment. “Yes, my lady. I love him. And I know him.”
“I suppose it’s rather late to be revisiting that concern,” Isana said. “They must have convened by now.”
Veradis nodded. “My lady… regardless of today’s outcome, you should know that there are a great many people to whom you will always be the true First Lady of Alera.”
Isana held up a hand. “No, Veradis. Too much is at stake. The one thing certain to destroy us is division. Despite recent history, I believe that Alera is a Realm of law. If its lawmakers so decide…” She shook her head. “To attempt to hold on, to defy them openly, would only hurt the Realm. We absolutely must avoid turning our focus upon fighting one another instead of keeping it where it should be.”
There was nothing to betray it in her face, but Isana sensed the sudden sharpening of Veradis’s interest. “If Valerius has his way, you will be nothing but a Steadholder again. Your son would be but one more bastard child of the Citizenry. And Aquitainus Attis, the man responsible for the Second Battle of Calderon, and the deaths of your friends and neighbors, will rule the Realm.”
“Exactly,” Isana replied. “The Realm. Which will still be here.” She shook her head and sighed. “I haven’t forgotten what he’s done. But we won’t survive what’s coming unless we stand together. If that means that I must…” She shrugged. “If I must accept that I will return to my home, the richer by many enemies, and that Aquitaine will never need to answer for what he did to the Calderon Valley, so be it.”
Veradis nodded slowly. Then she asked, “And Octavian. Will he see it the same way?”
Isana considered the question for a moment. Then she nodded. “I believe so. Yes.”
“Even though,” Veradis said, “you know that should Alera prevail against the vord, Aquitaine could not possibly afford to leave Octavian alive and at liberty, after.”
Isana grimaced. Then she lifted her chin, Aquitaine’s strong, appealing face appearing in her mind’s eye, and told Veradis, “Should Aquitaine become First Lord, he would be well-advised to choose his battles—and his enemies—with great care.”
Veradis stared at her intently, then slowly shook her head.
Isana tilted her chin to one side, frowning inquisitively.
“My father used to speak to me often of the nature of power,” Veradis said. “One of the things he often lamented was that the only folk truly worthy to hold it were those who did not seek it.”
Isana frowned. “I don’t understand.”
Veradis smiled, and for a moment there was nothing solemn or sad in her face. Isana was struck by the young woman’s delicate beauty. “I know you don’t,” she said. “Thus proving my father’s point.” She bowed her head, a stately and formal gesture, and said, “I will abide by your wishes, my lady.”
Isana was about to reply when there was a quick rap at the door, and Araris leaned inside. “My lady,” he murmured, bowing his head, “you have a visitor.”