“Second?”
“Because it would mean that I would have neither reason to harm your son nor need to defend myself against him. Octavian is capable, I freely acknowledge. But by dint of experience and advantage of position, I am more so. Any struggle for power between us would be disastrous for him, personally, and for the Realm as a whole.”
It would have been easier to sneer at Aquitaine’s remark, Isana thought, if she hadn’t just pressed that same point upon Veradis so emphatically.
“And third,” Aquitaine said, “because it’s going to save lives. The vord are coming. Too much time has already been wasted precisely because there are lingering doubts about who truly wears the crown. Each day, our enemy grows stronger. Whether Octavian wears the crown or I, these days of doubt are paralyzing us. I am here. He is not.”
Isana quirked an eyebrow at him. “I wonder, Lord Aquitaine, if you happened to be standing near a pool last night. Or any other body of water.”
Aquitaine lifted a hand palm up in a gesture of concession. “Granted, he is most likely alive and back from Canea. Granted, his display of power was i mpressive…” Aquitaine shook his head, his expression reminding Isana of a man preparing to eat something he found distasteful. “Not impressive. Inspiring. His words to our own people meant more than a simple declaration of his presence. He brought them courage. He brought them hope.”
“The way a First Lord should,” Isana said.
“He must still be on the west coastline, somewhere. It is a long march from there to here, Lady Isana. If our folk are allowed to remain uncertain of who leads them until he arrives, it may already be too late for any of us to see another spring. I believe that we can avoid that by openly working together. The willing union of our houses will put the minds of the Citizenry and people alike at rest. If we allow the Senate to decide, there will always be doubts, questions, cadres, and conspiracies, no matter which of us has the throne.”
Aquitaine stepped forward and held out his hand. “I will not live forever. I may well fall in the coming war. Either way, in the end, the crown will be his. We will have no need to test one another. Lives will be saved. Our people will be given their single greatest chance to survive.”
Another flash of rage slapped against Isana’s senses, as Araris took half a step forward from his position by the door. This time it was sharp enough that Aquitaine felt it, too. He turned to blink at Araris several times. Then he looked back and forth between them, and said, “Ah. I hadn’t realized.”
“I think you should leave, Attis,” Araris said. His voice was quiet and very, very even. “It would be better for all of us.”
“What’s happening outside these walls is more important than you, Araris,” Aquitaine said calmly. “It is more important than I. And while your penchant for defending women for the wrong reasons remains undimmed, your emotions are completely irrelevant to the problem at hand.”
Araris’s eyes flashed, and another surge of anger pressed against Isana. She fancied she could feel it bending back her eyelashes. “Odd,” Araris said. “I don’t see it that way.”
Aquitaine shook his head, a precise and meaningless smile on his mouth. “We aren’t a pack of schoolboys anymore, Araris. I have no particular desire for any intimacy beyond that which is required for the sake of appearance,” he said. “As far as I am concerned, I would be well pleased for you to live your private life in whatever manner you chose, Lady Isana.”
“Araris,” Isana said quietly, and held up her hand.
His eyes remained on Aquitaine for another hot second. Then he glanced at her, frowning, as she silently urged him to understand what she was going to do. After an endless number of heartbeats, Araris visibly relaxed and returned to his position by the door.
Aquitaine watched the swordsman withdraw and turned back to Isana, frowning thoughtfully. He stared at her for a long moment, then slowly lowered his hand, and said, “Your answer is no.”
“Your offer is… reasonable, Lord Aquitaine,” she said. “Very, very reasonable. And your arguments are sound. But the price you ask is too high.”
“Price?”
She smiled slightly. “You would have me give my world to this plan. Abandon things it has taken a lifetime to build. Embrace deceits and empty ideas. It would leave my mind and heart a wasted heath, as burned and empty and as useless as all those farms you destroyed to slow the vord.”
Aquitaine looked thoughtful for a moment. Then he nodded, and said, “I do not understand. But I must accept your answer.”
“Yes. I think you must.”
He frowned. “Octavian knows he must protect himself against me. And I, for my part, must similarly protect myself against him. If it is possible, I will avoid a direct confrontation. I have no particular desire to do him harm.” He met Isana’s eyes. “But these things have a way of taking on a life of their own. And I will see the Realm whole, strong, and ready to defend itself.”
She inclined her head to him, very slightly, and said, “Then your wisest course will be to accept the will of Gaius Sextus, Lord Aquitaine.”
“Gaius Sextus is dead, lady.” He bowed just as slightly in reply. “And look where accepting the will of that old serpent has brought us.”
Aquitaine nodded once to Araris and strode from the room.
Araris shut the door behind the High Lord and turned to Isana. He exhaled slowly, and only then did he lift his hand from his sword.
Isana padded over to him and their arms slid around one another. She held him very close to her, leaning her cheek against his chest. She stayed there for several moments, closing her eyes. Araris’s arms tightened around her, holding her without pressing her too hard against the steel links of his armor. As they stood close, Isana felt the cool reserve of the metalcrafting he’d been using to contain his emotions as it receded.
For some time, there was only his presence, the warmth of his love, as steady as any rock, and Isana let that warmth push back the cold of her worries and fears.
After a little while, she asked, “Did I do the right thing?”
“You know you did,” he replied.
“Did I?” she asked. “He had a point. He had several.”
Araris made a growling sound in his throat. After a moment, he said, “Maybe. So ask yourself something.”
“What?”
“Could you live a lie?”
She shuddered. “I’ve done it before. To protect Tavi.”
“So did I,” he said. “I was there.” He gestured at his scarred face. “Paid a price for it. And when… when I got out from under that burden, it was the best thing that had happened to me since Septimus died.”
“Yes,” Isana said quietly. She lifted a hand and laid it on his scarred face, on the old coward’s brand burned there. She leaned in and kissed his mouth gently. “No. I can’t do that anymore.”
He nodded and rested his forehead against hers. “There it is, then.”
They were still for a while, and Isana finally asked, “What did Aquitaine mean about defending the wrong woman?”
Araris made a thoughtful sound. “Something that happened after Seven Hills,” he said. “Septimus had led one of the cavalry wings personally, in the pursuit of the enemy after we’d taken the field. The rebel command staff had fled to half a dozen different steadholts where… where they hadn’t used their slaves kindly.”
Isana shivered.
“One in particular… I forget his name. Tall, lanky fellow, a Count. He was good with a blade, and his retainers fought to the death to defend him. It took me, Aldrick, Septimus, and Miles to break their last line of defense. And we barely managed it.” He sighed. “It was ugly before it was done. And this Count had kept a number of body slaves in his chambers. One of them had killed herself when she saw him die. The others weren’t in much better shape. Wasn’t one of them older than sixteen, and they’d all been fitted with discipline collars.”