by Jim Butcher
Isana shook her head. “You had to stop to consider whether or not your own uncle might be lying to you.”
“My uncle the Senator,” Veradis said, her serious eyes sparkling for a moment. “Yes, my lady. I love him. And I know him.”
“I suppose it’s rather late to be revisiting that concern,” Isana said. “They must have convened by now.”
Veradis nodded. “My lady… regardless of today’s outcome, you should know that there are a great many people to whom you will always be the true First Lady of Alera.”
Isana held up a hand. “No, Veradis. Too much is at stake. The one thing certain to destroy us is division. Despite recent history, I believe that Alera is a Realm of law. If its lawmakers so decide…” She shook her head. “To attempt to hold on, to defy them openly, would only hurt the Realm. We absolutely must avoid turning our focus upon fighting one another instead of keeping it where it should be.”
There was nothing to betray it in her face, but Isana sensed the sudden sharpening of Veradis’s interest. “If Valerius has his way, you will be nothing but a Steadholder again. Your son would be but one more bastard child of the Citizenry. And Aquitainus Attis, the man responsible for the Second Battle of Calderon, and the deaths of your friends and neighbors, will rule the Realm.”
“Exactly,” Isana replied. “The Realm. Which will still be here.” She shook her head and sighed. “I haven’t forgotten what he’s done. But we won’t survive what’s coming unless we stand together. If that means that I must…” She shrugged. “If I must accept that I will return to my home, the richer by many enemies, and that Aquitaine will never need to answer for what he did to the Calderon Valley, so be it.”
Veradis nodded slowly. Then she asked, “And Octavian. Will he see it the same way?”
Isana considered the question for a moment. Then she nodded. “I believe so. Yes.”
“Even though,” Veradis said, “you know that should Alera prevail against the vord, Aquitaine could not possibly afford to leave Octavian alive and at liberty, after.”
Isana grimaced. Then she lifted her chin, Aquitaine’s strong, appealing face appearing in her mind’s eye, and told Veradis, “Should Aquitaine become First Lord, he would be well-advised to choose his battles—and his enemies—with great care.”
Veradis stared at her intently, then slowly shook her head.
Isana tilted her chin to one side, frowning inquisitively.
“My father used to speak to me often of the nature of power,” Veradis said. “One of the things he often lamented was that the only folk truly worthy to hold it were those who did not seek it.”
Isana frowned. “I don’t understand.”
Veradis smiled, and for a moment there was nothing solemn or sad in her face. Isana was struck by the young woman’s delicate beauty. “I know you don’t,” she said. “Thus proving my father’s point.” She bowed her head, a stately and formal gesture, and said, “I will abide by your wishes, my lady.”
Isana was about to reply when there was a quick rap at the door, and Araris leaned inside. “My lady,” he murmured, bowing his head, “you have a visitor.”
Isana arched an eyebrow as she turned toward the door and smoothed her dress. Whatever the Senate decided, they would send a representative to bring her before them—but her senses told her that Araris’s usual steady calm was shaken to one degree or another. The Senate’s choice in escorts would say much about the outcome of the debate.
“Thank you, Araris. Please send him in.”
Isana wasn’t sure whom she had been expecting, but Aquitainus Attis hadn’t been featured on her mental list. The High Lord entered, resplendent in scarlet and black, though he had affixed the official Crown heraldry for the House of Gaius, the scarlet-and-azure eagle, to his tunic’s breast. His dark golden hair was immaculate, even weighted down by the slender steel circlet of the Aleran crown, and his dark eyes were as intense and focused as every other time Isana had seen the man.
Aquitaine bowed his head politely, if very slightly. “Lady,” he murmured.
“Lord Aquitaine,” Isana replied, holding her tone to neutrality. “What an unexpected…” She smiled, faintly. “… visit.”
“The timing was important. With all the Senators in chambers, their informants are neglecting their duties. I would speak with you alone if you are willing.”
“You are a married man, sir,” Isana replied, with no trace of accusation anywhere in the phrase. It was considerably more damning that way, she thought. “I think it would be highly inappropriate.”
“In truth,” Aquitaine replied, “I have already certified my divorce from Invidia, effective as of today.”
“What a terrible burden has been lifted from your shoulders,” Isana said.
Aquitaine inhaled slowly, through his nose, and exhaled the same way. Isana felt the faintest trace of frustration from the man. It was rapidly walled away behind a metalcrafting.
“I would prefer,” Aquitaine said, “to have this discussion privately.”
Isana regarded him as though waiting for him to finish his sentence.
“Please,” Aquitaine added, his voice not quite a growl.
Veradis cleared her throat, and said, “I will wait outside, my lady.”
“As you wish,” Isana said. “But Araris stays with me.”
Araris came through the door at a pace that suggested he’d begun moving before Isana had finished the sentence. He held it open for Veradis, then closed it behind her as she left.
Aquitaine smiled. “You don’t trust me, lady?”
Isana smiled at him and did not answer.
Aquitaine let out a brief, rather harsh laugh. “There are few who would behave in such a manner toward me, Isana, and with good reason. I do not regard myself as an unreasonable man, but neither do I react well to discourtesy and disrespect.”
“If you were the First Lord,” she replied, “that might be a problem. But you aren’t.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Aren’t I?”
“Not yet,” Isana said in a tone that stopped just short of being belligerent. She met the man’s eyes calmly for a full minute of silence, then dropped her voice into a more conversational register. “Unless the Senate has already told you how the outcome of the hearing would fall out, I suppose.”
Aquitaine shook his head and responded in kind. “Valerius, of course, assures me that it will all happen precisely the way he intends. Lamentably, I am aware of the value of such promises.”
She gave him another sharp look, and his mouth spread into a leonine smile. “You thought I’d come here to gloat over your dismissal, lady?”
“The possibility had occurred to me,” she admitted.
He shook his head. “I don’t have the time to waste on such a petty gesture.”
“Then why have you come?”
Aquitaine crossed to the room’s sideboard and poured wine from a bottle into a waiting glass. He took it up and swirled it lazily around the inside of the glass. “The Senators are, of course, in a frenzy. They sense a chance to reduce the powers of the office of First Lord, despite the ugly realities before us. And, if they have their way—and Alera survives, of course—then they will succeed. And we already saw what happens after a weakening of the office of the First Lord of Alera. Regardless of how things play out in the future, you and I have a common interest in defending it.”
Isana studied him as he cautiously took a sip of wine. Then she said, “Let’s assume for a moment that I agree. What are you proposing?”
“Marriage,” Aquitaine said calmly.
Isana found herself sitting in a chair with no clear recollection of how she had gotten there. She just stared at Aquitaine while her lips took their time to form her next words, as a flash of blazing-hot, blindly jealous rage flashed forth from Araris, who stood rock-still with his back to the door. He bottled it quickly, moving one hand to the hilt of his sword as he did, but all the same that single searing surge of emotion left Isana fe
eling off-balance, as if she’d come out of a dark cellar to stare directly into the sun. After a moment, she managed to choke out a few words. “Are you insane?”
Aquitaine’s teeth flashed again. “It’s an insane line of work,” he responded. “But it actually is a viable solution. I would retain the crown, with the line of succession passing to your son upon my death or retirement. And, given the nature of our relationship, his personal safety would become my responsibility, lest I lose the respect of the Citizenry for not being able to protect my own heir.”
“And what about your children?” Isana asked.
“I have none,” Aquitaine replied. “None of which I am aware, in any case—and I certainly have no legitimate heirs. And since your watercrafting will enable you to control completely whether or not I do manage to sire a legitimate heir, you can choose never to bear me children—in which case Octavian ascends smoothly to the Crown when he is older, wiser, and more ready to lead the Realm.”
Isana narrowed her eyes in thought. “Of course,” she said, “if something should happen to me, you would be free to take another wife. In that event, the child she bore you would have a claim upon the throne—a claim blocked by my son.”
Aquitaine let out a rueful chuckle. “Invidia was ever an artist of treachery,” he said. “I see that you did not survive your association with her by happy accident.”
“Additionally,” Isana continued, “how could you ever be certain that I was not plotting to remove you, once your guard was down?”
“Because you won’t,” Aquitaine said simply. “You aren’t that kind of person.”
“The kind of person willing to kill to protect her child?”
“The kind who stabs another in the back,” he said. “You’d be looking into my eyes. I can live with that.”
Isana just stared at the man. Aquitaine, to her, had always been simply the male counterpart of Invidia, a partner in her ruthless political enterprises. She would never have guessed that he might be the sort to understand that not every person was plotting against all the others, capable of murder and treachery when it provided enough gain. Though perhaps it should have come as no surprise. Invidia had been capable of seeing fidelity in others, an essential core of… of honor, Isana supposed, that made their word worth more than a few seconds of warm breath.
She had certainly exploited that trait in Isana.
“Tell me,” Isana said. “What possible reason I could have to pursue this plan instead of supporting the lawful succession of the Realm?”
“Three reasons,” he responded without pause. “First, because doing so would obviate the need for the current struggle in the Senate, pulling the teeth of the various Senators involved. Valerius has driven this conflict forward predicated on the notion that this is a time of war and we need an immediate, settled chain of command. Our union would steal Valerius’s thunder, prevent the Senate from gathering into separate factions over the issue, and avoid setting a dangerous precedent of the Senate dictating terms to the office of the First Lord.”
“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.”
&nbs
p; 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.”
