Marcus paused outside the Princeps’ cabin at the sound of raised voices within.

“What is it you think we’re supposed to do, Magnus?” Maximus demanded in a blunt tone. “The Princeps-and every Cane in the range of Shuar, apparently-believes that it is necessary.”

“It is an unacceptable risk,” answered the Legion’s valet, his voice crackling with precisely restrained anger. “The Princeps of Alera simply does not wander the land of a foreign power alone, vulnerable and unsecured.”

“It’s not as though he’s a helpless babe,” pointed out Antillus Crassus’s calmer, more measured voice. “Perhaps my brother has a point, Magnus.”

Marcus smiled faintly. He knew Crassus well enough by then to know that the young man had a better head on his shoulders than to agree with Maximus about sending the Princeps into the heart of a Canim nation alone. But siding with his brother would neatly undermine Maximus’s objection when Crassus capitulated.

“Octavian’s life is irreplaceable,” Magnus stated. “If every single life in this expedition had to be sacrificed to see him safely back to Alera again, it would be our duty to do everything in our power to make sure that it happened as rapidly and efficiently as possible. We are expendable, gentlemen. He is not.”

“I am neither a gentleman nor expendable,” the young Marat woman interjected. “Nor do I see how the deaths of all of your people could possibly get my Aleran safely home again. You’ve seen him on the open water. Do you honestly think he could manage a ship on his own?”

There was a beat of startled silence, then Magnus said, his tone sour, “I was speaking in hypothetical terms, Ambassador.”

“Ah,” Kitai said, her tone wry. “Explain again to me the difference between hypothesis and make-believe.”

“All right,” said Octavian in his resonant baritone. Already, Marcus thought he could hear the gravity of greater authority settling into the young man’s voice. “I think we’ve beaten this particular gargant to death.”

“Your Highness-” Magnus began.

“Magnus,” Octavian said, “I am, for all practical purposes, a prisoner-as is our fleet. The Shuarans control the harbor. If I do not go to see Warmaster Lararl after claiming the protection of his respect, there’s nothing to stop them from turning those stone throwers on us and sending us all to the bottom of their harbor-including me. That isn’t the way to get me safely back to Alera.”

“We could win free,” Magnus said stiffly.

“Perhaps. If we broke the truce and our word, betrayed the trust they’ve extended, and attacked them first.” Octavian’s voice hardened slightly. “That isn’t going to happen, Magnus. It could prove every bit as dangerous in the long term.”

“Your Highness-”

Octavian didn’t raise his voice with his anger. In fact, it grew quieter, if sharper and more clearly pronounced. “Enough.”

Marcus lifted his hand, knocked once on the door, and opened it without waiting for a response, as he usually did. His entrance surprised everyone within. They all turned to blink at him.

Marcus saluted. “Your Highness. I overheard your discussion as I approached. If it isn’t too forward of me, sir, may I offer a suggestion?”

Octavian’s eyebrows climbed nearly to his hairline. “Please.”

“Sir, when Varg was at the capital, didn’t he have a bunch of his own honor guards with him? Tokens of his station or some such?”

“Certainly.”

“Seems to me you could claim the same.”

Maximus scowled and shook his head. “The Canim told him that he had to travel alone.”

“An honor guard is appropriate to a man of his station,” Marcus replied. “What are they going to do? Back down because they’re afraid of a few men he takes with him?”

Octavian smiled faintly and pointed a finger at Marcus. “Point. If it was phrased that way, they’d have little choice but to accept it or look like cowards. A few men couldn’t be a threat to the Shuarans.”

Magnus shook his head. “That’s precisely the problem. I’d much rather the Princeps’ bodyguard could annihilate a thousand attackers at least.”

Octavian sat forward in his seat. “I don’t need to annihilate thousands, Magnus. But a few men could fly me out of trouble and back to the ships if they happened to be Knights Aeris. Or hide us and let us travel back hidden behind a veil if they were woodcrafters. I’d say I would need to take as much guile as power. Would you agree, Marcus?”

“In essence,” Marcus said. “Yes, sir. Even if the entire force was with you, sir, we couldn’t fight a country full of Canim and win-but we do have strength enough to take and hold this port for a time, if we must. What you need is a group small enough to avoid alarming the Canim-but with enough muscle to get out of a tight spot and enough finesse and skill to get back here through a hostile countryside if need be.”

Octavian nodded sharply. “That sounds quite reasonable.”

“By what madman’s standard? Reasonable relative to what?” asked Magnus. His voice was dry, but the bitter undertones had gone out of it.

“Suggestions?” Octavian asked, giving Magnus an amused and tolerant glance.

“Me,” Maximus said at once.

“Concur,” Marcus agreed. The big Antillan was an engine of destruction in a fight of any scale.

“Me,” Crassus said a second later.

“Yes,” Magnus said. “You said you’d need finesse as well.”

“I am going,” Kitai stated.

“Lady Ambassador,” Magnus began, “it might be better if-”

“I am going,” Kitai repeated, in exactly the same tone of voice, as she rose and walked over to the cabin’s door. “The Aleran will explain it to you.”

Marcus stepped aside as the Marat woman left the cabin and shut the door behind her.

Octavian shook his head and sighed. “That’s three. Who else, do you think? Radeus? A fast flier might be handy.”

“Durias, sir,” Marcus said, without hesitation.

Octavian arched an eyebrow at the suggestion.

Crassus frowned. “He’s… Isn’t he the First Spear of the Free Aleran Legion?”

Marcus nodded.

“Ridiculous,” Magnus said. “We know almost nothing about the man. He owes nothing to the Realm and has no interest in keeping the Princeps safe. In point of fact, he’s a traitor.”

“Let’s not wave that brush around too wildly, Magnus,” Octavian said. “You never know whom it will stain.”

Marcus found himself smiling faintly, and Octavian answered the expression with one of his own. The young man would think Marcus was smiling about the young Princeps’ actions of the year before, when he had infiltrated the Grey Tower in Alera Imperia and kidnapped Ambassador Varg out from under the noses of the Grey Guard. Let him. Octavian had enough on his mind without burdening him with another bit of unpleasant knowledge.

“Why Durias, First Spear?” Octavian asked.

“He knows the Canim, sir,” Marcus replied. “He worked closely with them, marched beside them, trained with one. He’ll know them better than any of us-even better than you, sir. Know their capabilities in comparison to ours, know their methods, know the way they think. He’ll be better able than almost anyone in the expedition to tell you what the Canim do and do not know about Aleran capabilities, and unless I miss my guess, he’s no slouch with his own earthcrafting or knowledge of fieldcraft.”

The old Cursor stared quietly at Marcus for a long moment before he finally spoke. “The question is,” Magnus said, “whether or not he’ll be willing to share that knowledge with you, my lord. Durias has no love for Alera or her Citizens.”

“Nor would I, had I lived as he did,” Octavian replied. “Alerans enslaved him. Varg’s people freed him from bondage and taught him to fight so that he could protect that freedom. I’d be more than half-willing to let Alera hang, if I’d grown up in the same circumstances.”