CURSOR'S FURY

Amara swallowed and nodded her head.

“Second,” he said, more quietly, “there is no one else in the Realm to whom I would sooner entrust this task than you, Amara. In the last few years, you have rendered more courageous service than most Cursors do in a lifetime. You do them great honor-and I am proud to have the loyalty of so worthy an individual.”

Amara felt her back straighten as she looked up at the First Lord. Her throat felt tight, and she swallowed and murmured, “Thank you, sire.”

He nodded once, and withdrew his hand. “Then I leave you to it,” he said quietly. “Good luck, Cursor.”

“Thank you, sire.”

Gaius flicked his hands a few times, and the privacy furycrafting dissipated, vanishing from Amara’s senses. At the same time, a gentle wind that hardly stirred the plants of the garden lifted Gaius from the ground, even as he wove another delicate veil around himself, vanishing as he took almost silently to the skies.

Amara stood staring up after the departed First Lord for a moment. Then she felt Bernard’s presence at her side. He slipped an arm around her waist, and she leaned against him for a moment.

“I don’t like this,” he said.

“Nor I,” Amara replied. “But that doesn’t matter. You and Giraldi should go and inform the Steadholder of what happened here.”

“Giraldi can take care of it,” Bernard said. “I’m going with you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Amara said. “Bernard, you’re-”

“Your husband. A veteran. An expert hunter and woodsman,” he said. His jaw set into a line. “I’m going with you.”

“I’m not-”

“Going to stop me from going with you. No one is.”

Amara’s chest suddenly felt very tight. She turned to her husband and kissed him once, on the mouth, and very lightly. Then she said, “Very well. If you’re going to be a mule about it.”

Giraldi limped up to them and grunted. “Now you be careful, sir. I don’t want to be the only centurion in the Legions to get two of his commanders cut down.”

Bernard traded grips with him. “Keep an eye on ‘Sana. When she wakes up, tell her…” He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. She knows better than I what I’d say.”

“Course,” Giraldi agreed. Then he caught Amara in a rough hug, hard enough to make her ribs creak. “And you. Don’t let him distract you none.”

Amara hugged back, and said, “Thank you.”

The old centurion nodded, saluted them, fist to heart, and limped from the garden.

“Very well, my lady,” Bernard murmured. “Where do we begin?”

Amara frowned, and narrowed her eyes. “With someone who has seen Kalarus’s operation from the inside, and who might know his plans.” She turned to Bernard and said, “We’re going to the dungeons.”