Princeps’ Fury

“Petty,” Isana said quietly. “My pardon, Lord Aquitaine. I labored under the misconception that the death of hundreds of my friends and neighbors in Calderon was not a petty matter.”

Aquitaine looked up at Isana and regarded her thoughtfully for a moment, the steel coronet at his brow gleaming in the light of the tent’s furylamps. Then he said, “Let us suppose for a moment that what happened at Calderon had gone differently-that the Marat had wiped out the population of the valley, just as they did in Septimus’s day. That I had positioned myself to stop the horde and won the favor of the Senate and various other parties.”

“And if it had happened that way?” Isana asked.

“It might have saved millions of lives,” Aquitaine said, his voice quiet and hard, and it gained in intensity as he spoke. “A stronger First Lord might have prevented Kalare’s rebellion, or been able to end it with something other than a cataclysm that left a quarter of the Realm in chaos and anarchy that became an ideal breeding ground for the crowbegotten Vord.”

“And you believed that you were the proper person to choose who would live and who would die.”

“You saw where Gaius’s constant games and manipulations took us. You can see it in the smoking ruin where Alera Imperia used to stand. You can see it in Kalare and the Amaranth Vale. You saw it the night they murdered Septimus.” Aquitaine folded his hands behind his back. “Why not someone else? And if it is to be someone else, why not me?”

“Because you are not the heir to the throne,” Isana replied. “My son is.”

Aquitaine gave her a brittle smile. “The Realm is on its knees, Isana. Your son is not here to lead. I am.”

“He will return,” Isana said.

“Perhaps,” Aquitaine said. “But until he does, he is a theoretical leader-and we are facing days of deathly practicality.”

“When he comes back,” Isana said, “will you honor his claim? His birthright? He is Septimus’s son, Lord Aquitaine.”

Aquitaine’s expression flickered and he glanced down at the table again for a moment, frowning.

“If he comes back,” he said, with quiet emphasis on the first word, “then… we will see. Until that day, I will do as I think best for the Realm.” His eyes flicked back up to her, and became hard and cold as agates. “And I will expect your support.”

Isana lifted her chin and narrowed her eyes.

“Division in the Realm has all but killed us,” Aquitaine continued in a deadly quiet voice. “I will not permit it to happen again.”

“Why tell me this now?” Isana asked him.

“Because I would rather we were forthright with one another. It will save time later.” He spread his hands. “I have a certain amount of respect for you. I would rather have your support over the next few months. But make no mistake, I cannot tolerate your antagonism. I’ll kill you first. Even if I must cross Raucus to do it.”

Isana wondered if Aquitaine expected her to cringe in fear. “Do you honestly think you could handle him?” she asked.

“In a duel, one of us would die,” Aquitaine replied, “and the other would not win. Neither would the Realm.”

“Why?” Isana asked. “Why would you say this to me? I have no Legions to offer you, no cities, no wealth. Why do you need my support?”

“Because Raucus has made it clear to me that he came south for your sake. And Phrygia follows him. Lord and Lady Placida have made it clear that if I am wise, I will treat you with all deference. The heir presumptive to Ceres seems to think you can do no wrong. And, of course, the people love you-one of their own, risen up to wed the Princeps and provide the Realm its desperately needed heir. You have far more power than you realize.”

He leaned forward slightly. “But a third of the Realm is dead, Isana. What’s left is going to die, too, unless we stop stabbing one another’s backs and work together.”

“If you say so,” Isana said stiffly. “You are more an authority than I in matters of treachery.”

He sighed, and settled down on a camp stool. He spread his hands, and asked, wearily, “What do you think Septimus would have wished you to do?”

Isana regarded him in silence for a long moment. Then she said, “You aren’t the same as your wife, Lord Aquitaine.”

He gave her a wintry smile. “We shared a goal, an occasional bed, and a name. Little else.”

“You shared a conviction that any methods were acceptable, provided their ends were worthy of them,” Isana said.

Aquitaine arched an eyebrow. “It’s easy to argue against morality by the numbers-as long as the numbers are small. Millions of people-people we Citizens of the Realm were expected to protect-are dead, Isana. The time for difficult decisions is here. And making no decision at all may prove just as disastrous.”

Isana turned her face away, absorbing that for a moment. A bitter taste filled her mouth.

What would Septimus have wished her to do, indeed.

“The Realm needs its leaders to stand together,” she said quietly. “I will work with you-until my son returns. I will promise you nothing more than that.”