Captain's Fury (73 page)

* * * *

Bernard led them safely out of the immediate area. Whatever pursuit had been behind them when they came into Kalare, it evidently disintegrated with the destruction of the city and the resulting blizzard of ash. When the skies finally cleared again, Amara lifted them both into the air. It was far more work than she would have had to do if she had been alone, but she wasn't trying to set any speed records. Even so, only a day of travel carried them into the lands surrounding neighboring Attica, and to a traveler's inn beside one of the causeways.

They were so filthy from the journey through the swamps that they might not have been able to buy a room at the inn if they hadn't been able to show the innkeeper gold coins as well as silver when he asked to see their money. The first thing they bought was a bath. They wore robes provided by the inn while their clothes were being cleaned, and ate their first proper meal in weeks.

Amara hadn't realized that he'd awoken. It took her a moment to gather her thoughts. "You knew what he was going to do?"

"I feel like a fool," she said. "He said he would stop Kalarus from using the Great Fury. It never even occurred to me that he'd do it by setting it loose."

"He deceived you," Bernard said, his tone brooking no dissent. "He chose words he knew would give you the wrong idea to get what he wanted out of you. He knew what he was doing. He knew how you would react. He accepted it."

Amara pressed her cheek against his chest. "He knew about us. That I'd broken the law."

"Amara," Bernard chided, his tone softening, "the First Lords worked out years ago that outlawing marriage among certain personnel is probably the worst thing they could do actually to discourage it. We handled it just as it's done in the Legions. We were discreet and still performed our duties. In return, he overlooked it. Good commanders always handle it that way."

True enough. She'd thought through the logic, tracked down the motivations, the reason, the simple calculation of the entire situation.

And then the rest of it hit her.

She found herself shuddering against Bernard's chest, weeping. His arms slid around her, pulling her more tightly against him, and she sobbed harder. It was too much, too much. The weeks of toil and danger. The horrible destruction at journey's end. She could still see the tiny, helpless figures, hopelessly running from a fiery death.

And without her help, it could not have happened.

How could Gaius have done that to her?

It hurt. Oh, it
hurt
. She had
trusted
him.

Just as she had trusted Fidelias.

She wept against her husband's chest, feeling miserable and foolish for doing it, and found herself unable to stop for several minutes. By the time she did, she felt emptied out, heavy, lassitude beginning to seep into her thoughts.

Bernard kissed her hair gently, simply present.

"What am I going to do?" she whispered. "I've never done anything else."

"I know a place you could go," Bernard replied. "It's a little rough, but there are good people there. There's a man there who has a lot of folk to care for. He could use the help of an intelligent, courageous, and talented woman."

"A wife with a great many hostile wind furies about," Bernard said. "Not to mention a full military garrison to help oversee. I'm afraid there won't be much time for knitting."

"I'm terrible at knitting," she replied with a yawn. "Well. Except for a mail coat, once."

"We can hire someone for knitting, then." He kissed her forehead. "I've hoped we could be together. Actually together."

"So have I," Amara whispered. "I just never thought it would happen."

"With the rebellion over," Bernard said, "there's bound to be better times ahead. It will be a good time to settle down. Maybe even start a family. We'll finally have time to try again."

* * * *

Isana watched Gaius depart the improvised command building from her chambers in the small, restored home across the ruined street. He took to the air and vanished, all in the same motion, as if he had simply become the wind. No more than a handful of people even saw him leave.

"He had the document case with him," she reported quietly.

"Tavi guessed correctly," Araris said. He stood in her doorway, watching her.

Isana turned, glancing uneasily down at the gown she wore—dark, muted shades of scarlet and blue, a sedate gown suitable for the widow of one Princeps and mother of another, and it was quite the most expensive dress she had ever owned. A makeshift wardrobe in the room held several other outfits every bit as costly, and much more suitable for the Princeps Matron than her simple grey dress. The outfits had been a gift from "Free Alera," which Isana suspected in this case meant Varg and his young Aleran aide de camp, Durias.

"I almost wish he hadn't been right," she murmured. "Over the sea. Surrounded by Canim. Facing the Vord."

"Perhaps," Araris said. "Perhaps not. Personally, I'm glad. I couldn't protect him here. Not against the kind of people who will want him dead."

"I understand the reasoning behind it." Isana sighed. "And I know he's developed into something far more than the boy I raised, and that he has obligations and duties, Araris, but crows take it, he's still my boy. I hate to see him go so far from home."

His smile faded. "It's you I'm worried about," he said. "The First Lord is sure to summon you to the capital to help rally support for Octavian. And Lady Aquitaine isn't going to like that."

Isana waved an unconcerned hand. "She'll adjust. She's practical in that way."

"I'm serious, Isana," Araris said. "You're going to be in danger."

"When have I
not
been?" she asked, and she heard the uncharacteristic note of sharpness in her voice. "Honestly, Araris? I've lived my whole life afraid, and I'm sick to death of it."

Araris frowned at her, folding his arms.

"Somewhere out there are men and women who would gladly conspire to murder my son," she continued in the same tone. "They may well be many of the same souls responsible for murdering my husband." The sudden rage inside her almost seemed to force her chin up, and her words came out crisply bitten. "I won't have it."

Araris's eyebrows climbed.

"I've made many friends, Araris. I've learned a great deal about Alera's leading Citizens. I'm going to find those responsible for killing Septimus. I'm going to find those who might wish to do harm to Octavian. And great furies help them when I do." She felt her voice shaking with the ferocity and weight of her feelings. "Don't waste your time being afraid for me. I don't care who they are. I'm going to find them. And destroy them."

He walked across the room to her and ran the fingertips of one hand over the curve of her cheek. "That," he said quietly, "is what I'm afraid of."

Isana's sudden, hot fury faltered, and she lowered her eyes.

He lowered his head until he caught her eyes. Then he leaned in and kissed her lightly on the mouth, returning to gaze intently at her. "Don't become what you aren't, Isana."

She leaned her cheek against his hand. "I wish that we…"

He stepped up and put his arms around her, and she leaned against him gratefully. "Shhh," he said. "The time isn't right yet. If we wed now, it would cause issues, now that Octavian's name is loose. He will need all the support he can secure, at first. If wild rumors about our relationship and how it's tied to Septimus's death start circulating, it will make the work much harder."

The invasion might have been turned back, the rebel High Lord put down, but it seemed obvious to Isana now that those had only been the first eddies of the winds of change—and that the storm was just beginning.

Biography

A martial arts enthusiast whose resume includes a long list of skills rendered obsolete at least two hundred years ago, Jim Butcher turned to writing as a career because anything else probably would have driven him insane. He lives in Missouri with his family and ferocious guard dog.