"No disrespect was intended, Your Grace. There are grave matters that require your attention."
"Require… my… attention," murmured Aquitaine with an elegant arch of brow. "My. I don't think I've been spoken to in that fashion since just before my last tutor took that untimely fall."
"Your Grace will find me a good deal more agile."
"Rats are agile," sniffed Aquitaine. "The oaf's real problem was that he thought he knew everything."
"Ah," Fidelias said. "You will not face that difficulty with me."
Aquitaine's dark eyes shone. "Because you really do know everything?"
"No, Your Grace. Only everything of importance."
The High Lord narrowed his eyes. He remained silent for two score of Fidelias's quickening heartbeats, but the Cursor refused to let his nervousness show. He took slow and even breaths and remained silent, waiting.
Aquitaine snorted and drank off his remaining wine with an effortless flick of his wrist. He held the goblet out to one side, waited a beat, then released it. The blocky man beside him reached out a hand, snake swift, and caught it. The stranger walked to the table on the dais and refilled the goblet from a glass bottle.
"My sources told me that you had a reputation for insouciance, Fidelias," Aquitaine murmured. "But I had no idea that it would be so readily forthcoming."
"If it please Your Grace, perhaps we might table this discussion for the moment. Time may be of the essence."
The High Lord accepted the goblet of wine from the stranger, glancing at the pretty slave, now kneeling on the floor before him, head bowed. Aquitaine let out a wistful sigh. "I suppose," he said. "Very well, then. Report."
Fidelias glanced at the stranger, then at the slave, and then at the hanging curtains. "Perhaps a more private setting would be more appropriate, Your Grace."
Aquitaine shook his head. "You can speak freely here. Fidelias, may I present Count Calix of the Feverthorn Border, in service to His Grace, High Lord of Rhodes. He has shown himself to be a shrewd and capable advisor and a loyal supporter of our cause."
Fidelias shifted his attention to the blocky man beside the High Lord's seat. "The Feverthorn Border. Isn't that where that illegal slaving operation got broken up a few years ago?"
Count Calix spared the former Cursor a thin-lipped smile. When he spoke, his voice came out in a light, rich tenor completely at odds with the heavy power evident in his body. "I believe so, yes. I understand that both the Slavers Consortium and the Dianic League gave you commendations for valor above and beyond the call of duty."
Fidelias shrugged, watching the other man. "A token gesture. I never was able to turn up enough information to bring charges against the slave ring's leader." He paused for a moment, then added, "Whoever he was."
"A pity," said the Count. "I imagine you cost someone a great deal of money."
"Most likely," Fidelius agreed.
"It could give a man good reason to hold a grudge."
Fidelius smiled. "I'm told those can be inimical to one's good health."
"Perhaps I'll put it to the test one day."
"Should you survive the experience, be sure to let me know what you learned."
Aquitaine watched the exchange, his dark eyes sparkling with mirth. "I hate to interrupt your fencing, gentlemen, but I have other interests this evening, and we have issues to discuss." He took another sip of wine and waved at the other chairs on the dais. "Sit down. You, too, Aldrick. Should I have someone carry Odiana to her chambers so that she can rest?"
"Thank you, sir," Aldrick rumbled. "I'll keep her with me and take care of her later, if it's all the same to you."
They settled down into chairs facing Aquitaine. The High Lord gestured,
and the slave girl hurried to one side, returning with the traditional cloth and bowl of scented water. Then the girl settled at Fidelias's feet and unlaced his sandals. She removed the stockings beneath, and with warm, gentle fingers began washing Fidelias's feet.
He frowned down at the slave, pensively, but at a second gesture from the High Lord, Fidelias uttered a concise report of the events at the camp of the renegade Legion. Aquitaine's expression darkened steadily throughout, until, at the end it had grown to a scowl.
"Let me test my understanding of what you are telling me, Fidelias," Aquitaine murmured. "Not only were you unable to attain intelligence regarding Gaius's chambers from this girl-in addition, she escaped from you and every one of my Knights."
Fidelias nodded. "My status has been compromised. And she has almost certainly reported to the Crown by now."
"The second Legion has already been disbanded into individual centuries," Aldrick supplied. The slave moved to kneel at his feet and to remove his sandals and stockings as well. The single, long piece of scarlet cloth wound around her had begun to slip and gape, displaying an unseemly amount of supple, smooth skin. Aldrick regarded her with casual admiration as he continued. "They will meet at the rendezvous as planned."
"Except for the Windwolves," Fidelias said. "I advised Aldrick to send them ahead to the staging area."
"What!?" snarled Aquitaine, rising. "That was not according to the plan."
The blocky Calix came to his feet as well, his eyes bright. "I warned you, Your Grace. If the mercenaries are not seen in Parcia over the winter, there will be nothing to link them to anyone but you. You have been betrayed."
Aquitaine's furious gaze settled on Fidelias. "Well, Cursor? Is what he says true?"
"If you consider adjusting to changing conditions in the field treachery, Your Grace," Fidelias said, "then you may name me traitor, if it pleases you."
"He twists your own words against you, Your Grace," Calix hissed. "He is using you. He is a Cursor, loyal to Gaius. If you keep listening to him, he will lead you to your death at Gaius's feet. Kill him before he poisons your thoughts any further. He, this murderous thug, and his mad whore-they all want nothing but your destruction."
Fidelias felt his lips tighten into a smile. He looked from Aquitaine to Calix-then to Aldrick, where the slave crouched at his feet, her lips parted,
her eyes staring. Over Aldrick's lap, Odiana neither stirred nor spoke, but he could see her mouth turn up into a smile.
"Ah," Fidelias said, his own smile spreading wider. He folded one ankle over the other knee. "I see."
Aquitaine narrowed his eyes and stalked over to stand over Fidelias's chair. "You have interrupted a pleasant moment with the anniversary gift given me by my own dear wife. You have, it would seem, failed miserably in what you said you would do for me. Additionally, you have dispatched my troops in a fashion which could embarrass me acutely before the rest of the Lords Council, not to mention the Senate." He leaned down toward Fidelias and said, very gently, "I think it would be in your own best interest to give me a reason not to kill you in the next few seconds."
"Very well," Fidelias said. "If you will indulge me briefly, Your Grace, I may be able to let you decide for yourself whom you can trust."
"No!" sputtered Calix. "My lord, do not allow this deceitful slive to so use you."
Aquitaine smiled, but it was a cold, hard expression. His gaze swept to the Rhodisian Count, and Calix dropped silent at his glance. "My patience is wearing very thin. At the rate we're going, gentlemen, someone will be dead by the end of this conversation."
Heavy tension fell onto the room, thick as a winter blanket. Calix licked his lips, throwing a wide-eyed glare at Fidelias. Odiana made a soft sound and stirred artlessly on Aldrick's lap before settling again-leaving Aldrick's right arm free to reach for his sword, Fidelias noted. The slave seemed to take notice of the tension as well and crawled a bit backward, until she was no longer between the High Lord and anyone else in the room.