Amara moved quickly then, making sure the boy was sleeping peacefully. She gathered fruit onto one of the shields, using it as a platter, and rested it near him. She washed their clothing in the pool and used branches from the small trees to dry them over one of the other fires. She called upon the weary Cirrus to stand guard around the Memorium and to warn her should anyone approach. And when those chores were done, she found a smooth stone among the soil of the plants and used it to hone the edge of her knife.
That was when the tears took her. When the memories of years of instruction, conversation, of life shared with the man who had been her teacher came rolling back over her. She had loved him, in her own way, loved the danger of her work, loved the experiences he shared with her, loved the life to which she had been called. He had known how much being a Cursor meant to Amara. He had known, and he had done everything to help her with her studies, with graduating from the Academy.
He did everything except tell you the truth. Amara felt the tears rising, and she let them come. It hurt. It hurt to think that he had turned against the Realm, that he had, in that single act of treachery, endangered all that she had struggled to achieve, to fight to protect. He had declared his life’s purpose as a Cursor to be empty, meaningless, and by extension, hers as well. His actions, not his words, said that it all had been a hollow, vicious lie.
No matter what happened to Amara, she would stop him. Whatever he had planned, however he had justified it, Fidelias was a traitor. That cold fact struck her through the heart, again and again. The knife whispered it, as the stone glided along the blade’s edge, the steel wetted with her own tears. Traitor. Traitor. She would stop him. She had to stop him.
Amara did not let herself make a sound. She buried the sobs in her belly, until her throat ached with the pain of holding them back. She blinked the tears from her eyes and honed the edge of the little knife, until it gleamed in the light from the fire.
CHAPTER 13
Before noon of the next day, the Knights Aeris brought Fidelias, together with Aldrick the Sword and the mad Odiana, down into the western end of the Calderon Valley. Grey clouds hung low and glowering overhead, though their threat was an empty one. The storm that had preceded them during the previous night had already headed off to the south, where distant thunder could only barely be heard. They were attired warmly against the near-winter cold of the Valley, and breath steamed before every mouth.
Fidelias stepped from the litter with a grimace and demanded of the Captain of the contingent of Knights, “You are certain that no one has arrived?”
The man murmured something into the air, then tilted his head to one side, his eyes abstracted, listening. He nodded a moment later and said, “Livus reports that there are still Marat scouts moving here and there. None of our observers saw anyone new coming into the Valley.”
“That wasn’t the question,” Fidelias said. He heard the sharp edge in his own voice. “The last thing we need is an envoy of the Crown rousing Garrison or bringing in reinforcements from Riva.”
The Captain shook his head. “The storm last night was long and extremely violent. No one could remain out in it and live. I suppose it’s possible that someone skilled could have come in under it, if they could have gotten to cover quickly enough—”
“She could.” Fidelias cut off a reply with a wave of his hand. “The crows take Gaius and everyone with him. He always loved to show off. Even when creating distractions.”
“Someone’s a grumpy boy this morning,” Odiana murmured to Aldrick. The big swordsman debarked the litter and turned to lift the shapely woman lightly from it to the ground. The water witch gave Fidelias a smirk that fairly smoldered with sensuality and pressed herself against Aldrick’s side, beneath the curve of his arm. “One would think that he hadn’t gotten enough sleep last night, love.”
“Peace,” Aldrick rumbled, the thick fingers of one huge hand sliding over her mouth, a casual motion. The woman’s eyes closed, and she let out a happy sigh.
Fidelias ignored the barb from the woman and said to the Captain, “This is no time to get sloppy. Give the girl’s description to our men in Riva. If she comes through, stop her. Quietly. The same if any of the other Cursors I’ve described to you show themselves.”
The Captain nodded. “And what do I tell the men here?”
“The same. If you see someone unfamiliar in the air, kill them. It shouldn’t take me long to make contact with our source. Then we move.”
The Captain nodded. “We were fortunate to have the wind last night, sir. We were able to bring in more men than we thought would be available.”
“Fortunate.” Fidelias laughed and tried to ignore the tension burning in his stomach. “That wind brought the storm and with it one of the Crown’s own, Captain. I would not be so certain it was such a blessing.”
The Captain saluted stiffly and took a step back. He murmured something else to the air, then beckoned with a hand to the Knights supporting the poles of the litter. The men rose in a sudden column of rising wind and soared into the air and through the concealing underbelly of the clouds above within a few moments.
Aldrick waited until they were well gone to say, laconically, “You may have been a little hard on them. If the Crown wanted to craft someone into the Valley, nothing they could have done would have stopped him.”
“You don’t know Gaius,” Fidelias replied. “He is neither all-knowing nor infallible. We should have moved last night.”
“We’d have arrived amidst the storm,” the swordsman pointed out. “It could have killed us.”
“Yes, the nasty storm,” Odiana murmured. “And then, too, ex-Cursor, you would not have been given enough time to enjoy the pretty slave child.” The last few words of the sentence dripped with a kind of gloating glee. The woman smiled, her eyes sparkling, as Aldrick absently covered her mouth with his hand again. She bit at his fingers, letting out a soft growl, and the swordsman let her, a smile touching his mouth.
Fidelias stared hard at the water witch. She knew. He couldn’t be sure how much she knew, about Aquitaine’s wife and the aftermath of the dismal little scene the previous evening, but he could see knowledge glittering in her eyes.
His belly burned a bit more as he considered the possible consequences, should Aquitaine learn of his wife’s liaison with Fidelias. Aquitaine seemed the type to overlook the forest for the trees, at times, but he would surely have little patience with anyone who would risk humiliating him by lying with his wife. The few bites of biscuit Fidelias had managed to get down during the flight threatened to come hurtling up again. He kept the tension off of his face and thought that he would have to do something about the water witch: She was fast becoming a liability.
Fidelias gave her a flat, neutral little smile and said, “I think we should focus on the task at hand.”
“Seems pretty straightforward,” Aldrick commented. “Get on the horses. Ride to the meeting point. Talk to the savage. Ride out again.”
Fidelias glanced around and then murmured for Vamma to fetch the horses. The earth fury moved beneath his right foot, a stirring in the ground of acknowledgment, and vanished. “I don’t anticipate that the ride will be a problem. The savage might.”