“Sextus?” Tavi prompted.

Alera nodded and lifted a hand to draw a fallen lock of her hair back from her face, a very human gesture. The nails of her hand had turned black. Veins of darkness had progressed over her fingers and wrists. Tavi steeled himself against the further evidence of the fury’s decay.

“Sextus had the gift more strongly than any scion of the House I have served,” Alera said. “I think he sensed the storm coming years ago, since shortly after Septimus’s death. I think he thought that he would be the one to guide your folk safely through the troubled times—and that you would be safer kept at a distance, until matters had calmed down.” She sighed. “If not for the poisoning, he might have been right. Who can say?”

“He wanted to protect me,” Tavi said quietly.

“And your mother, I think,” Alera said. “Whatever Sextus may have thought of her personally, he knew that Septimus loved her. It carried weight with him.”

Tavi sighed and closed his eyes. “I wish I’d known him better. I wish he were here now.”

“As do I,” Alera said quietly. “I’ve taught you all that I can in a limited time—and you’ve been an able pupil. But…”

“But I’m not ready for this,” Tavi said.

Alera said nothing for a long moment. Then she said, “I think he would be proud of what you have done. I think he would have been proud of you.”

Tavi closed his eyes quickly against a sudden irritating heat that flowed into them.

“You should rest, young Gaius. Regain your strength.” Alera walked close and touched his shoulder lightly with one hand. “You will need it all in the days to come.”

Amara eyed the Knight standing guard outside the Princeps’ command tent, and said, “I don’t understand why you can’t at least go in and ask.”

The young man stared coldly over Amara’s head at the Marat clan-head, and said, “No barbarians.”

Amara fought down her irritation and remained expressionless, neutral. Doroga, for his part, returned the young man’s stare steadily, leaning one elbow on the head of his cudgel. The massively muscled Marat showed no reaction at all to the half dozen very interested legionares commanded by the young Knight. He exuded a sense of patient confidence and let Amara do the talking—thank goodness.

“Was that your specific order, Sir…”

“Ceregus,” the young Knight spat.

“Sir Ceregus,” Amara said politely. “I must inquire if you are acting on a specific order from your lawful superiors.”

The young Knight smiled woodenly. “If you recall what happened to the last Princeps who came into the presence of the barbarians in this valley, Countess, you’ll find all the reason you need.”

Doroga grunted. “Gave him a ride on a gargant and saved him and his people from being eaten by the Herdbane. Then your First Lord, old Sextus, gave me this shirt.” Doroga plucked at the fine but worn old Aleran tunic, with its radical alterations to fit his frame.

Ceregus narrowed his eyes and began to speak.

“The good clan-head forgets to mention the retreat from Riva,” Amara cut in, interrupting the young Knight. “At which time, Doroga and the other members of his clan saved the lives of tens of thousands of fleeing civilians and prevented a division of forces, which might have killed hundreds or thousands of legionares.”

“You dare to suggest that the Legions—” the young Knight began.

“I suggest, Sir Ceregus, that you are going to be sorely disappointed in your officers’ reactions to your decision, and I advise you to seek their advice before you find yourself in an unpleasant situation.”

“Woman, I don’t know who you think you are, but I do not take kindly to threats.”

“I am Calderonus Amara, whose husband’s walls you are currently sheltering behind,” she replied.

Sir Ceregus narrowed his eyes. “And I am Rivus Ceregus, whose uncle, High Lord Rivus, gave your husband his title.”

Amara smiled sweetly at him. “No, boy. That was Gaius Sextus, if you’ll recall.”

Ceregus’s cheeks gained spots of color. “The matter is closed. The barbarian doesn’t go inside.”

Amara looked steadily at him for a moment. The nephew of a High Lord could potentially have a great deal of clout, depending upon how favored he was by Lord Rivus. It might be worth it to give way for the time being and gain specific orders to admit Doroga next time around.

But there really wasn’t time for that kind of foolishness. The vord had not assaulted the first wall as yet, but it wouldn’t be long before they did. Already, their scouts, skirmishers, vordknights, and takers were haunting the western edge of the Valley.

Footsteps sounded behind her, and Senator Valerius, along with a pair of civilian-clothed bodyguards, approached the tent. He beamed at Ceregus, and said, “Good evening, Sir Knight. Would you be so kind?”

Ceregus inclined his head to the Senator, smiling in reply. He jerked his head to his fellow sentries to tell them to move aside, and waved the Senator and his men by without so much as taking note of the group’s sidearms. Valerius glanced over his shoulder, just before disappearing into his tent, and gave Amara a smug and venomous glance as he did.

Ah. So that’s how things stand.

Amara took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and calmed her mind. Then she opened them again, and said, “I believe I have had enough of this sort of partisan idiocy. It’s what got us into this mess in the first place.”

“You are welcome to the Princeps’ Council, Countess,” Ceregus said, his voice cold. He pointed a finger at Doroga. “But that creature goes nowhere near the Princeps.”

When she spoke, her voice was very calm, and perfectly polite. “Are you sure that’s how you want to do this?”

“Did all that skulking around murdering people damage your hearing, Countess?” His eyes blazed. “Kalarus Brencis Minoris was my friend. And you killed him. So that is exactly how this is going to happen.”

“I won’t go into the details about how many deaths we can confidently lay at that young maniac’s feet, Sir Ceregus. There isn’t time.” Amara met his eyes. “Lives are at stake, and we need the Marat. That means Doroga needs to be a part of our planning. So if you don’t get out of my way, Sir Knight, I am going to move you. You will not find it a pleasant experience. Stand aside.”

Ceregus lifted his chin and sneered down at her. “Is that a thr—”

Amara called upon Cirrus, surged toward the young Knight with all the violent speed her fury could lend her, and slammed the heel of her left hand across the idiot’s jaw.

Rivus Ceregus went down like a poleaxed ox.

The legionares on sentry duty all stared in silence at the unconscious man, their eyes wide and stunned.

Doroga burst into a full-bellied laugh. He smothered it a second later and bowed his head as if pretending to unravel a loose thread from his tunic—but his shoulders quivered and jerked with his muffled amusement.

Amara would have been tempted to join him if her left wrist hadn’t felt as though she had broken it. Human hands weren’t meant to deliver blows with that kind of speed and force. She clenched the fingers of her right hand into a tight fist to channel the pain elsewhere, made a mental note to stop abusing her limbs like that, then turned a calm gaze on the sentries and nodded at the youngest. “You. Go into the command tent. Find a senior officer and ask whether or not the clan-head is welcome to attend.”

The legionare threw her a sketchy, hasty salute, and hurried into the tent. “You,” Amara said, nodding at another one. “Fetch the nearest healer for the idiot.”

“Y-yes, ma’am,” the legionare said. He hurried away, too.

“I apologize for the delay,” Amara said to Doroga. “I’m sure we’ll have things cleared up in a moment.”