And, she thought, should she? Should she go along with them? Offer to throw in? Should she cast aside what she had been taught, what she believed, for the sake of preserving her life? She couldn't attempt a ploy-not with Odiana there. The water witch would be able to sense whether or not she was sincere, damn her.
Everything was lost. She had led Fidelias to his death. Gambled his life and lost it. She had lost her own life as well. She might be able to redeem one of them, if she cast her lot with her captors.
Another surge of anger flooded through her. How could she even be thinking such a thing? How could he have died? Why hadn't he seen it coming, warned her-
Amara lifted her head abruptly and blinked her eyes several times. Her anger evaporated. Why hadn't Fidelias warned her, indeed. The trap had been too well laid. They had been taken too cleanly. Which meant-
Which meant that Aldrick and Odiana had known that they were coming. And by logical extension…
She focused her eyes on the pair of them and swallowed, lifting her chin a bit. "I won't tell you," she said, and kept her voice calm. "I'll not tell you another thing."
"You'll die," said Aldrick, rising.
"I'll die," Amara agreed. "You and your water witch can go to the crows." She took a breath and then raised her voice, honed it to a dagger's edge. "And so can you, Fidelias."
She had a moment to take satisfaction in the flicker of surprise in Aldrick's eyes, the simple gasp that came from Odiana. Then she turned her
eyes to the door and narrowed them, keeping her face set in a cold, hard mask.
Fidelias appeared in the doorway, his clothes still rumpled. He had washed the 'bruise' off the side of his face, and was holding a clean white cloth to his bleeding lip. "I told you she'd see through it," he murmured.
"Do I get graded on it, patriserus?" Amara asked.
"A plus." Fidelias stared at her, and his mouth twisted into a grimace. "You will tell us what you know about the palace, Amara. It might get ugly before it's over, but you will. This is checkmate. You don't have to make it hard on yourself."
"Traitor," Amara said, dropping the word lightly.
Fidelias flinched. His grimace darkened to a scowl.
Odiana looked back and forth at the sudden silence and then offered, in a helpful tone, "Shall I fetch the branding irons, then?"
Fidelias turned to them and said, "I think we've been ham-handed enough, for the moment." He focused his eyes on Aldrick and said, "Give me a few moments alone to talk to her. Maybe I can get her to see common sense."
Aldrick regarded Fidelias with a steady gaze and then shrugged. "Very well,'' he said. "Love, would you?"
Odiana stepped around Aldrick's stool, eyes focused intently upon Fidelias. "Do you intend to assist her in any way or to attempt to prevent us from discovering what we wish to know?"
Fidelias's mouth quirked up at the corner, and he focused on the water witch. "Yes, I do. No, I don't. The sky is green. I am seventeen years old. My real name is Gundred." The woman's eyes widened, and Fidelias tilted his head to one side. "You can't tell if I'm lying, 'love? I'm not some child. I've been deceiving crafters stronger than you since before you were born." His gaze flicked past Odiana to Aldrick. "It's in my best interest to get her to talk. In for a sheep, in for a gargant."
The swordsman smiled, a sudden show of white teeth. "Not going to offer me your word of honor?"
The Cursor's lip curled. "Would it matter if I did?"
"I'd have killed you had you tried," Aldrick said. "A quarter hour. No more." He rose, taking Odiana gently by one arm, and led her out of the tent. The water witch shot a glare at both Fidelias and Amara and then left.
Fidelias waited until they were gone, then turned to Amara and simply looked at her, saying nothing.
"Why?" she asked him. "Patriserus. Why would you do this to him?"
He stared at her, expression not changing. "I have served as a Cursor for forty years. I have no wife. No family. No home. I have given my life to protecting and defending the Crown. Carrying its messages. Discovering its enemies' secrets." He shook his head. "And I have watched it fall. For the past fifteen years, the house of Gaius has been dying. Everyone knows it. What I have done has only prolonged what is inevitable."
"He is a good First Lord. He is just. And as fair as anyone could want."
"This isn't about what's right, girl. It's about reality. And the reality is that Gaius's fairness and justice has made him a great many powerful enemies. The southern High Lords chafe at the taxes he lays upon them to maintain the Shieldwall and the Shield Legion."
"They always have," Amara interjected. "It doesn't change that the taxes are necessary. The Shieldwall protects them as well. Should the icemen come down from the north, they would perish with the rest of us."
"They do not see it that way," Fidelias said. "And they are willing to do something about it. The House of Gaius is weakened. He has no heir. He has named no successor. So they strike."
Amara spat, "Attica. Who else?"
"You don't need to know." Fidelias crouched down in front of her. "Amara. Think about this. Ever since the Princeps was killed, it has been in motion. The house of Gaius died along with Septimus. The royal line was never very fertile-and the death of his only child has been taken as a sign by many. His time is past."
"That doesn't make it right."
Fidelias snarled, "Get it out of your head, child." He spat on the ground, face twisted in fury. "The blood I've shed in the Crown's service. The men I've killed. Is that any more right? Are their deaths vindicated because I serve this First Lord or that one? I've killed. I've done worse, in the name of protecting the Crown. Gaius will fall. Nothing can stop that now."
"And you have cast yourself in the role of… what, Fidelias? The slive that rushes in to poison the wounded buck? The crow that soars down to peck at the eyes of helpless men not yet dead?"
He looked at her, eyes flat, and gave her a smile empty of mirth or joy or meaning. "It's easy to be righteous when you are young. I could continue to serve the Crown. Perhaps prolong the inevitable. But how many more would die? How many more would suffer? And it would change nothing but the
timing. Children, like you, would come in my place-and have to make the decisions I am making."
Amara let her voice resonate with contempt. "Thank you, so much, for protecting me."
Fidelias's eyes flashed. "Make this easy on yourself, Amara. Tell us what we want to know."
"Go to the crows."
Fidelias said, without anger, "I've broken men and women stronger than you. Don't think that because you're my student, I won't do it to you." He knelt down to look her in the eyes. "Amara. I'm the same man you've known. We've shared so much together. Please." His hand reached for her grime-covered one. She didn't fight his grasp. "Think about this. You could throw in with us. We could help make Alera bright and peaceful again."
She returned his gaze, steady. Then said, very quietly, "I'm already doing that, patriserus. I thought you were, too."
His eyes hardened like ice, brittle, distant, and he stood up. Amara lurched forward, clutching at his boot. "Fidelias," she said, pleading. "Please. It isn't too late. We could escape, now. Bring word back to the Crown and end this threat. You don't have to turn away. Not from Gaius. And…" She swallowed and blinked back tears. "And not from me."