Gaius let out a sigh and waved a hand, vaguely. “You go ahead, my wife. I’ll be along shortly.”
Lady Caria’s chin lifted, tilting with a sharp little motion. “Husband. There will be considerable consternation if we do not arrive together.”
Gaius turned his face toward Lady Caria. “Then if it pleases you, wife, you may wait elsewhere for me.”
The First Lady pressed her lips together, but gave a graceful, proper nod, before her image abruptly fell back into the water, creating a splash that drenched Amara to the waist. The girl let out a surprised cry, moving to wipe uselessly at her skirts. “Oh, my lord, please excuse me.”
Gaius made a tsking sound and his image moved a hand. The water fled from the cloth of her skirts, simply pattered out onto the ground in a steady rain of orderly droplets that gathered into a small, muddy puddle and then flowed back down into the river, leaving her skirts, at least, quite clean.
“Please excuse the First Lady,” Gaius murmured. “These last three years have not been kind to her.”
Three years since she married you, my lord, Amara thought. But aloud, she said only, “Yes, Your Majesty.”
The First Lord inhaled, then nodded, the expression brusque. He had shaved his beard since Amara had seen him last, and the lines of age, faint on the mostly youthful features, showed as dark shadows at the corners of his eyes and mouth. Gaius appeared to be a hale forty years of age — in fact, Amara knew that he was twice that. And that no silver had been showing in his hair when she arrived at the Royal Academy, five years before.
“Your report,” Gaius said. “Let’s hear it.”
“Yes, milord. As you instructed, Fidelias and I attempted to infiltrate the suspected revolutionary camp. We were successful in getting inside.” She felt her mouth go dry, and she swallowed. “But . . . But he . . .”
Gaius nodded, his expression grave. “But he betrayed you. He proved to be more interested in serving the cause of the insurrectionists than in remaining loyal to his lord.”
Amara blinked up at him, startled. “Yes, milord. But how did you —”
Gaius shrugged. “I didn’t. But I suspected. When you reach my age, Amara, people show themselves to you very clearly. They write their intentions and beliefs through their actions, their lies.” He shook his head. “I saw the signs in Fidelias when he was only a little older than you. But that seed has picked a particularly vicious moment to bloom.”
“You suspected?” Amara asked. “But you told me nothing?”
“Could you have kept it from him? Could you have played that kind of charade with him, who taught you, for the duration of the mission?”
Amara clenched her teeth rather than speak in anger. Gaius was right. She never would have been able to keep such knowledge from Fidelias. “Why did you send me?” Her words came out clipped, precise.
Gaius gave her a weary smile. “Because you are the fastest Cursor I have ever seen. Because you were a brilliant student at the Academy, resourceful, stubborn, and able to think on your feet. Because Fidelias liked you. And because I was sure of your loyalty.”
“Bait,” Amara said, her words still with hard edges, points. “You used me as bait. You knew he wouldn’t be able to resist trying to bring me with him. Recruit me.”
“Essentially correct.”
“You would have sacrificed me.”
“If you hadn’t come back, I would know that you had failed in your mission, probably because of Fidelias. Either that, or you would have cast your lot with the insurgents. Either way, I would be sure of the color of Fidelias’s cloak.”
“Which was the point of the exercise.”
“Hardly. I needed the intelligence, as well.”
“So you risked my life to get it?”
Gaius nodded. “Yes, Cursor. You swore your life to the service of the Crown, did you not?”
Amara looked down, her face coloring, anger and confusion and disappointment piling up in her belly. “Yes, milord.”
“Then report. I do have to be at dinner shortly.”
Amara took a breath, and without looking up, she recounted the events of the day — what she and Fidelias had seen, what she knew about the insurgent Legion, and especially of the strength and estimated numbers of the Knights accompanying it.
She looked up at the end of her report. Gaius’s face looked older, the lines deeper, somehow, as though her words to him had drained out a little more of his life, his youth, his strength.
“The note. The one you were allowed to read,” Gaius began.
“A diversion, milord. I know. An attempt to cast suspicion elsewhere. I do not believe Lord Atticus to have a hand in this.”
“Perhaps. But remember that the note was addressed to the commander of the second Legion.” Gaius shook his head. “That would seem to indicate that more than one of the High Lords is conspiring against me. This may be the effort of one to ensure that the blame for the entire matter falls on the other.”
“Assuming there are only two, milord.”
Gaius’s eyes wrinkled further, at the corners. “Yes. Assuming all of them aren’t in it together, eh?” The brief smile faded. “And that they wished details of my inner chambers from you seems to indicate that they believe they could accomplish an assassination, and so take power directly.”
“Surely not, milord. They could not kill you.”
Gaius shrugged. “Not if I saw it coming. But the power to shake mountains does little good if the knife is already buried in one’s throat.” He grimaced. “One of the younger High Lords. It must be. Anyone of any age would simply use Time as his assassin. I am an old man.”
“No, Your Majesty. You are —”
“An old man. An old man married to a willful and politically convenient child. An old man who rarely sleeps at night and who needs to be on time to dinner.” He eyed Amara up and down and said, “Night is falling. Are you in condition to travel?”
“I believe so, milord.”
Gaius nodded. “Events are stirring all over Alera. I can feel it in my bones, girl. The march of feet, the restless migration of beasts. Already the behemoths sing in the darkness off the western coast, and the wild furies of the north country are preparing a cold winter this year. A cold winter . . .” The First Lord drew in a breath and closed his eyes. “And voices speak loudly. Tension gathers in one place. The furies of earth and air and wood whisper everywhere that something dangerous is abroad and that the peace our land has enjoyed these past fifteen years nears its end. Metal furies hone the edges of swords and startle smiths at the forge. The rivers and the rains wait for when they shall run red with blood. And fire itself burns green of a night, or blue, rather than in scarlet and gold. Change is coming.”
Amara swallowed. “Perhaps they are only coincidences, milord. They may not be—”
Gaius smiled again, but the expression was skeletal, wasted. “I’m not that old, Amara. Not yet. And I have work for you. Attend.”
Amara nodded and focused on the image.