Once the coat was in place, she slid her feet into light leather shoes and, with a moue of distaste, slung a leather baldric over one shoulder, so that her sword, a standard Legion gladius, hung at her side. She regarded the weapon without enthusiasm. She had managed to acquire some rudimentary knowledge of self-defense using a blade, again at Araris’s insistence. She’d felt that she had little choice in the matter. After all, it was Araris who had risked his own life to stop the assassins who had nearly reached her, and it seemed the least she could do to follow his advice and help him perform his duty as a singulare to the First Lady. She had diligently applied herself to learning the basics of swordplay-but she did not think that she would ever feel truly comfortable wearing one.
Although what made her most uncomfortable, she reflected, was the fact that the weight of the sword and armor, once settled upon her, made her feel more reassured than ridiculous.
She felt the presence of someone tense with anxiety a full second before a soft footfall sounded outside her door, and by the time it opened she had her sword in hand and held in a defensive guard. Light from the furylamp in the hallway made a black outline of the intruder, but Isana’s watercrafter’s senses identified him more surely than her eyes could have within another heartbeat.
“Araris,” she said quietly, lowering the sword. She waited until he had shut the door behind him to say, “Light.”
The little furylamp beside her bed responded to her voice, flickering to life, casting a warm yellow glow over the spacious chambers, revealing Araris. He was a man of medium height and average build. He wore his hair shorn close to his head, in the Legion style, and one side of his face was hideously marred with a mass of scar tissue in the shape of the brand the Legions used to mark men convicted of cowardice in the face of the enemy. He wore simple, well-made clothing, including a coat not unlike Isana’s own, and bore a gladius upon one hip and a duelist’s long blade on the other.
His anxiety faded a little when his eyes met hers, and Isana felt the sudden warm rush of his affection and love-among other, rather less poetic expressions of masculine approval. “Good,” he said quietly, nodding at her sword. “But next time, come away from the window before you turn on the light.”
She stepped away from the window with a sigh, shaking her head, and extended her hand to him. “I’m sorry. I just woke.”
He stepped closer to her and took her hand, just barely touching the tips of his fingers and thumb to her skin. “It’s all right. You never expected to be forced to live with this sort of thing.”
She gave him a small smile. “No. I suppose not.” She shook her head. “What’s happening outside?”
“A courier has arrived from the capital,” Araris replied quietly, lowering his hand. “Her Grace requests that you join her in her study with all possible haste. Beyond that, I have no idea.”
Isana looked down at herself and sighed. Then she carefully put the sword away. She’d given herself several minor cuts before learning the sufficient degree of respect for the weapon’s edge. “I look ridiculous.”
“You look like someone serious about survival,” Araris corrected her. He glanced back as more feet hurried down the hall outside. All around them there was a rising amount of activity in the household, evidenced by the opening and closing of doors, and the sound of rising numbers of voices. “To be frank, my lady, this kind of disruption is an ideal situation for another attack. I’m just as happy to have you in the armor if you’re going to be moving around the hallways.”
“Very well,” Isana said. “Then let’s waste no more time.”
One advantage of such a modest-sized household, Isana reflected, was that one never had to plan an expedition complete with guides and pack animals to reach the other side of it, the way it had often seemed necessary in the capital, or in Aquitaine. Isana traded greetings with a young Knight, a chambermaid, and a senior scribe, all of whom she’d broken bread with on several occasions, circled the courtyard, and walked up a single flight of steps to reach the High Lady’s private study. Araris followed her silently, a constant presence, two paces back and slightly to one side, his eyes wary, calm, and everywhere.
Guards were posted outside of Lady Placida’s study.
Isana paused and traded a glance with Araris. This was a first. Aria was one of the more… confident women Isana had ever known where matters of potential violence were concerned. If the reports Isana had heard were to be believed, it was with good reason. In Alera, most female Citizens gained their status through marriage. Aria hadn’t. As a young academ, she’d fought a duel with the newly installed High Lord of Rhodes-a situation arising from a rather forceful rejection of his attention during evenings at the Academy, if rumor was to be believed. She’d beaten the young man handily, too, and in front of far too many witnesses for anyone to question her claim.
Isana scarcely wished to consider what situation might have arisen that would cause Placidus Aria to post guards at her door. Her wishes, however, were quite immaterial to the matter. She strode forward, nodding to the guards, both of whom saluted her sharply. One of them opened the door for her without bothering to inquire of those within whether or not he should.
Isana felt herself begin to wince and forced the expression away. She felt quite rude, not to mention presumptuous, simply striding into the High Lady’s personal study-but as odd as she might find it, Isana was, at least nominally, Aria’s peer and marginal superior. In an emergency situation, the First Lady of Alera did not need to ask permission to enter the room. Whatever Isana might have felt personally, she had an obligation to maintain the status of her office, as well as fulfill its duties.
Aria’s study could easily have been mistaken for a garden. Several fountains chuckled quietly within, and growing plants were everywhere but upon the several bookshelves spaced around the walls. The fountains drained into a pool in the center of the room, and furylights of every color twinkled at the pool’s bottom like tiny, jeweled stars.
Lady Placida herself arrived less than a minute later, striding into the room with confidence, energy, and purpose. She was a very tall woman, with lovely red hair and, like Isana herself, appeared to be a young woman in her early twenties. Also like Isana, she was in fact a good deal older than that. She wore the green-on-green of the House of Placidus in her gown and long tunic, and in the trim of her white traveling cloak and gloves.
“Isana,” she said, coming toward them, holding out her hands.
Isana took her hands and received a kiss on the cheek. At the touch, Isana felt the wrenching anxiety beneath the High Lady’s practiced, serene expression. “Aria. What’s happened?”
Lady Placida nodded politely to Araris before turning back to Isana. “I’m not yet certain, but sealed orders from the First Lord arrived, and my lord husband has already left to mobilize Placida’s legions. We are commanded to leave for the capital at once.”
Isana felt her eyebrows lifting. “Only us?”
The High Lady shook her head. “Half a dozen of my husband’s most powerful lords have been summoned as well-and from what the messenger said, similar summons have gone out to the entire Realm.”