Then Tavi grinned and swept into a formal bow. “Your Majesty.”

The messenger let out a bark of a laugh, a pleased sound. As he did, his form wavered and shifted, sliding into a larger, leaner frame, until Gaius Sex-tus, First Lord of Alera and the mightiest of its furycrafters, sat before Tavi. His hair was thick, well trimmed, and silver-white, though it and the lines at the corners of his eyes were the only features about the man that made him look older than a well-preserved forty years or so. There was an aloof, wolfish quality to the way he held himself, confident in his power, his intelligence and experience. Tavi idly noted that the First Lord had evidently altered his clothing when he changed, as it still fitted him despite Gaius having added six inches of height.

“How did you know?” Gaius murmured.

Tavi frowned. “The eyes, sire,” he said, finally.

“I changed them,” Gaius countered.

“Not their shape or color,” Tavi explained. “Just… your eyes. They were yours. I’m not sure how I knew.”

“Instincts, I suppose,” Gaius mused. “Though I wish it weren’t. If you had some kind of innate talent we could define, perhaps we could teach your technique to the rest of the Cursors. It could prove extremely valuable.”

“I’ll work on it, sire,” Tavi said.

“Very well,” Gaius said. “I wanted to speak to you. I read your analysis of the reports you’ve been tracking.”

Tavi blinked. “Sire? I thought those were for Captain Miles. I’m surprised they reached you.”

“In general, they wouldn’t. If I tried to read every paper in the Citadel, I’d be smothered within a day,” Gaius said. “But Miles thought enough of your argument that he passed it on to me.”

Tavi took a deep breath. “Oh.”

“You make a convincing case that now is the time for action against the more ambitious High Lords.”

“Sire,” Tavi protested. “That wasn’t necessarily my position. Miles wanted me to write in opposition to his preferred strategies. I was just advocating it to help him find weaknesses in his own planning.”

“I’m aware,” Gaius said. “But that makes your conclusions no less credible.” He frowned, eyes on one of the plain bookcases. “I think you’re right. It’s time to make the High Lords dance to my tune for a change.”

Tavi frowned again. “But… sire, it could escalate into a real disaster.”

Gaius shook his head. “The escalation is coming regardless of what we do. Sooner or later, Kalare or Aquitaine will move on me in force. Best to move now, on my own schedule, rather than waiting for them to prepare.”

“Optionally, sire,” Tavi pointed out. “It could fall flat, too.”

Gaius shook his head, smiling. “It won’t.”

“How do you know?”

The First Lord bobbed an eyebrow. “Instinct.”

Tavi chuckled despite himself. “Aye, sire.” He straightened. “What are my orders?”

“We still need to see to your military training,” the First Lord mused, “but none of the Legions I prefer are due to begin a training cycle until next year.” Gaius drew a leather letter case from within his tunic and tossed it to Tavi. “You’ll need something to fill your time. So you’re going on a trip.”

Tavi frowned down at the case. “Where?”

“The Vale,” Gaius replied. “To the ruins of Appia, to be precise, to study with Maestro Magnus.”

Tavi blinked and stared. “What?”

“You’ve finished your second term as an academ, and great furies only know what you might find to amuse yourself if left to your own devices here. I read your paper on the Romanic Arts. So did Magnus. He needs a research assistant,” Gaius said. “I suggested you, and he jumped at the chance to have you for six months.”

Tavi gaped. “But… sire, my duties…”

Gaius shook his head and said, “Believe me, I’m not handing you a gift, Tavi. I may need you in position there, depending on how matters fall out. Unless, of course, you do not wish to go.”

Tavi felt his mouth curve into a slow, disbelieving smile. “No, sire! I mean, uh, yes, sire! I’d be honored.”

“Excellent,” Gaius said. “Then pack to leave before dawn. And ask Gaele to deliver those letters for you.”

Tavi drew in a sharp breath. Gaele, a student and classmate of Tavi’s, had never really been Gaele. The true student had been murdered, doubled, and coldly replaced before Tavi had the chance to get to know the real Gaele. The spy who had done it, a Kalaran Bloodcrow called Rook, had been Tavi’s friend for two years before he’d discovered her murderous true identity.

Instead of turning her in, though, Gaius had decided to allow her to remain in her role, in order to use her to feed disinformation to her master. “You think she’ll pass this to Kalare?”

“This? Absolutely,” Gaius said.

“May I ask…?” Tavi said.

Gaius smiled. “The envelope contains routine mail and one letter to Aquitaine, informing him of my intention to adopt him legally and appoint him my heir.”

Tavi’s eyebrows shot up. “If Kalare gets wind of that, and believes it, you think it will push him to act before Aquitaine solidifies his claim to the throne.”

“He’ll react,” Gaius agreed. “But I’m not certain as to the manner of his reaction. He’s slightly mad, and it makes him difficult to predict. Which is why I want as many eyes and ears as I can spare in the south. Make sure you keep my coin with you at all times.”

“I understand, sire,” Tavi said, touching the old silver bull hung on the chain around his neck. He paused as a bitter taste of memory poisoned his mouth. “And Gaele?”

“Should this succeed, she will have outlived her usefulness to the Crown,” Gaius said in a voice as quiet and hard as stone.

“Yes, sire,” Tavi said, bowing. “What about Fade, sire?”

Gaius’s expression darkened an almost-imperceptible shade. “What about him?”

“He’s been with me since… since I can remember. I assumed that…”

“No,” Gaius said in a tone that brooked no dissent. “I have work for Fade to do as well.”

Tavi met Gaius’s uncompromising eyes for a long and silent moment. Then he nodded slightly in acquiescence. “Yes, sire.”

“Then let’s waste no more time.” Gaius rose. “Oh,” he said in a tone of afterthought. “Are you by any chance sleeping with the Marat Ambassador, Tavi?”

Tavi felt his mouth drop open again. His cheeks heated up so much that he thought they might actually, literally, burst into flame. “Urn, sire…”

“You understand the consequences, I assume. Neither of you has furycraft that would prevent conception. And believe me when I say that paternity complicates one’s life immensely.”

Tavi wished desperately that the earth would open up, swallow him whole, and smash him into a parchment-thick blob. “We, uh. We aren’t doing that ,” Tavi said. “There are, uh, well, other. Things. That aren’t…”

Gaius’s eyes sparkled. “Intercourse?”

Tavi put a hand over his face, mortified. “Oh, bloody crows. Yes, sire.”

Gaius let out a rolling laugh. “I dimly remember the concept,” he said. “And since young people always have done and always will do a poor job of restraining themselves, at best, I suppose I must be satisfied with your, ah, alternate activities.” The smile faded. “But bear in mind, Tavi. She’s not human. She’s Marat. Enjoy yourself if you must-but I would advise you not to become too deeply attached to her. Your duties will only become more demanding.”

Tavi chewed on his lip and looked down. In his excitement, he had overlooked the fact that if he was sent away, he would not see Kitai for half of a year. He didn’t like that notion. Not at all. They found time to spend together on most days. And most nights.

Tavi felt his blush rising again, just thinking of it. But he felt faintly surprised at how much he disliked the idea of being parted from Kitai-and not just because it would mean a severe curtailing of his, ah, alternate activities. Kitai was a beautiful and fascinating young woman-clever of wit, quick of tongue, honest, loyal, fierce, and with a sense of innate empathy that Tavi had only seen previously in watercrafters like his aunt, Isana.

She was his friend. More than that, though, he was attached to Kitai by an unseen bond, some kind of link between them that each Marat shared with a totem creature. Every Marat Tavi had ever seen had been in the company of their totems, what Kitai called a chala. Her father, Doroga, the head of the Gargant Clan, was never to be seen outside the company of the enormous black gargant named Walker. He could count the number of times he’d seen Hashat, head of the Horse Clan, walking on her own feet with one hand.

Tavi nursed a secret concern that if he was separated from Kitai, it might put some kind of strain upon her, or harm her in some way. And after this visit to the south, he would be entering into his required three-year term with the Legions, which could take him to the far-flung reaches of the Realm-and which would certainly not be near Alera Imperia and Kitai, her people’s ambassador to the Crown.

Three years. And after that, there would be another assignment. And another. Cursors in service to the Crown rarely spent much time in one place.

He already missed her. Worse, he hadn’t told Gaius about the bond and what he feared it might do to Kitai. He had never explained his suspicions about the bond to the First Lord. Beyond a formless anxiety about the notion, he had no sharply defined reason why-but his instincts told him that he should be very wary about revealing anything Gaius might see as an ability to influence or manipulate one of his Cursors. Tavi had grown up on the frontiers of the Realm, dangerous lands where he’d spent most of his life learning to listen to his instincts.

Gaius watched the expressions play over his face and nodded, perhaps mistaking Tavi’s concerns for romantic regrets. “You begin to understand.”

Tavi nodded once, without lifting his eyes, and carefully kept his emotions in check.

Gaius blew out a breath, resumed his disguised form, then headed for the door. “You’ll do as you wish, Tavi, but I trust your judgment. Start packing, Cursor. And good luck.” Unseasonably rough weather slowed the pace of the Knights Aeris bearing Rook to her master in the south, and it took her nearly five days to make the trip. That time had been pure torture for her. She had no talent for windcraft herself, which meant that she could only sit in the enclosed windcraft-borne litter and stare at the package of folded documents sitting on the seat opposite her.