"First," Tavi said, "I get to make sure that the Canim aren't going to use their fleet just as Arnos feared they would-to shift their attack to a weaker part of the Realm."
"I thought you had a high regard for the honor of the Canim leaders," Gaius said.
"I do," Tavi said. "But there's no sense in being stupid, is there?"
The First Lord's mouth quirked up in amusement. "Go on."
"Second," Tavi said, "I'll be able to gather intelligence on the Canim and the Vord, both of which are going to be valuable in the future."
"True enough," Gaius said.
"And, once I've taken the Canim home and gotten them settled back again, I'll be able to return, claim the amnesty you're about to declare, along with all the rest of the Free Aleran Legion and, perhaps, a few of my own men-"
Gaius smiled faintly.
"-at which point I should be able to return to the Realm without anyone feeling the need to put me behind bars."
"And meanwhile," Gaius murmured, "you gain time to develop your furycraft more deeply. And I am given time to build up greater support for the Realm's Princeps. Which should be quite possible, given all you've done, as well as everything your mother has managed to accomplish." He shook his head. "I
must point out that should you be killed while on this sojourn, the entire plan rather falls apart."
"If I stay, they'll kill me," Tavi said. "If I go, at least everything that wants me dead won't be taking it personally."
"Question," Gaius said. "What makes you so sure I'm not planning on sending you south to finish Kalarus's forces?"
"You'd have told me already," Tavi said. "I'd have been given marching orders before we had this talk. Given that you didn't, I assume that the rebellion is over."
"Yes," Gaius said.
"Volcano?" Tavi asked.
"Yes."
Tavi shuddered at Gaius's tone-flat, quiet, empty of humanity. "Are you all right?"
He expected the First Lord to brush the question off. Instead, Gaius shook his head, and said quietly, "I don't believe so. But I have neither the time nor right to indulge in self-pity. How long will you be gone?"
"I expect we'll leave before summer is out," Tavi said. "We'll winter in the Canim homeland. I'll return next spring."
"A year, give or take," Gaius mused. "I can work with that." He walked to one of the tables, took up ink and a quill, and dashed his signature across the bottom of both documents he was holding. "The copies?"
Tavi found the small stack of duplicates Ehren had written out. Gaius read each before signing them. Tavi helped sand and blot the fresh signatures, and for a moment, the rather mundane task occupied their attention.
Gaius left a single copy of the documents with Tavi and took the rest himself, rolling them into a leather carrying case. "Well. There is a great deal of work ahead of us both. Good day."
The First Lord turned and strode for the door.
"Grandfather?" Tavi asked quietly.
Gaius stopped. He glanced over his shoulder, his body language cautious.
Tavi shook his head. "Just… trying it out. I've never been able to use it before."
Gaius nodded slowly. "Grandson," he said quietly, as if considering the way the word sounded.
For a long minute, neither spoke.
"You look like him, you know," Gaius said. "A great deal." He gave Tavi a faint smile. "I expect he would have been proud of you."
"You and he didn't get along very well, did you?" Tavi asked.
"As a rule? No."
"What would you have done, if he'd brought my mother to you?"
Gaius shrugged a shoulder. "I'd have reacted badly, I suppose."
"She's my mother, sir," Tavi said. "She was your son's wife."
"Yes."
"I don't expect you to shower her with affection," Tavi said. "But she could be a great help to you. And she deserves your respect."
"I will bear that in mind," Gaius said.
"Do," Tavi said, without threat or malice in his voice. "Or you and I won't get along very well, either, sir."
Gaius showed Tavi his teeth. "Be careful, grandson," he said, making two statements at once, and left the building.
Tavi sank down onto a stool and bowed his head. He wondered what it would have been like to grow up with a grandfather.
Then he shook his head and rose. He had no time for nor right to self-pity, either, and there was a great deal of work to do.
Bernard led them safely out of the immediate area. Whatever pursuit had been behind them when they came into Kalare, it evidently disintegrated with the destruction of the city and the resulting blizzard of ash. When the skies finally cleared again, Amara lifted them both into the air. It was far more work than she would have had to do if she had been alone, but she wasn't trying to set any speed records. Even so, only a day of travel carried them into the lands surrounding neighboring Attica, and to a traveler's inn beside one of the causeways.
They were so filthy from the journey through the swamps that they might not have been able to buy a room at the inn if they hadn't been able to show the innkeeper gold coins as well as silver when he asked to see their money. The first thing they bought was a bath. They wore robes provided by the inn while their clothes were being cleaned, and ate their first proper meal in weeks.
After that, Amara had assumed they would collapse into an exhausted sleep.
Bernard had other ideas.
She couldn't say she disapproved of the direction of his thoughts, either.
Afterwards, sleep came. But she awoke in the deeps of the night, and just lay quietly, listening to her husband's heart beating.
"He didn't give you much choice," Bernard rumbled.
Amara hadn't realized that he'd awoken. It took her a moment to gather her thoughts. "You knew what he was going to do?"
"I suspected," Bernard said.
"You didn't say anything," she said.
"I didn't know," he replied. "And I hoped he would do it differently. Tell you."
"I feel like a fool," she said. "He said he would stop Kalarus from using the Great Fury. It never even occurred to me that he'd do it by setting it loose."
"I know," Bernard said. His arm tightened on her gently.
"If I'd known what he intended… I don't know if I could have… I couldn't have made myself a part of that."
"I know," Bernard said. "So did he."
"What have I done?" Amara whispered. "I betrayed my oath."
"He lied to you, Amara," Bernard said.
"He never-"
"He deceived you," Bernard said, his tone brooking no dissent. "He chose words he knew would give you the wrong idea to get what he wanted out of you. He knew what he was doing. He knew how you would react. He accepted it."
Amara pressed her cheek against his chest. "He knew about us. That I'd broken the law."
"Amara," Bernard chided, his tone softening, "the First Lords worked out years ago that outlawing marriage among certain personnel is probably the worst thing they could do actually to discourage it. We handled it just as it's done in the Legions. We were discreet and still performed our duties. In return, he overlooked it. Good commanders always handle it that way."
True enough. She'd thought through the logic, tracked down the motivations, the reason, the simple calculation of the entire situation.
And then the rest of it hit her.
She found herself shuddering against Bernard's chest, weeping. His arms slid around her, pulling her more tightly against him, and she sobbed harder. It was too much, too much. The weeks of toil and danger. The horrible destruction at journey's end. She could still see the tiny, helpless figures, hopelessly running from a fiery death.
And without her help, it could not have happened.
How could Gaius have done that to her?
It hurt. Oh, it hurt. She had trusted him.
Just as she had trusted Fidelias.
She wept against her husband's chest, feeling miserable and foolish for doing it, and found herself unable to stop for several minutes. By the time she did, she felt emptied out, heavy, lassitude beginning to seep into her thoughts.