Cursors's Fury

me. I’m the one who lamed Miles. Who drove Aldrick from his service.” His hands clenched into fists. “I should never have left him. No matter what he said.”

“Fade,” Isana said quietly. “Whatever killed Septimus must have been too much for anyone to stop. He was the son of the First Lord, and every bit as powerful as his father. Perhaps more so. Do you really think you could have made a difference?”

“I might have,” Fade said. “Whatever killed Septimus, I might have been able to stop it. Or at least slow it down enough to allow him to handle it. Even if I only managed to preserve him a single second, and even if I’d died doing it, it might have been all he needed.”

“Or it might not,” Isana said quietly. “You might have died senselessly with him. You know he wouldn’t have wanted that.”

Fade clenched his teeth, the tightened muscles of his jaw distorting the lines of his face. “I should have died with them. I wish I had.” He shook his head. “Part of me died that day, Isana. Araris Valerian. Araris the brave. I ran from the fight. I left the side of the man I swore to protect.”

Isana stopped and touched the brand upon his face. “This was only a disguise, Araris. A costume. A mask. They had to think you were dead if you were to be able to protect Tavi.”

“It was a disguise,” Araris said, bitter. “It was also the truth.”

Isana sighed. “No, Fade. You are the most courageous man I’ve ever known.”

“I left him,” he said. “I left him.”

“Because he wished you to protect us.”

“And I failed him in that, as well. I let your sister die.”

Isana felt a dart of remembered pain strike her chest. “There was nothing you could have done. That was not your fault.”

“It was. I should have seen that Marat. Should have stopped him b-before-” Fade held his hands up to his ears and shook his head. “I can’t do this anymore, I can’t see him, see you, be there anymore, my lady please, just leave me, let me go to him, to my lord, left him, coward mark, coward heart..

He trailed off into incoherent babbling, and when his body thrashed weakly in the healing tub, trying to take his hand from hers, the image-Fade vanished again, leaving Isana alone with the mound of imaginary stones.

She went back to work.

Later, she blinked her eyes, forcing her thoughts back to the chamber in Cereus’s citadel for a moment, looking around the room. Fade lay in the tub, muscles quivering in random little twitches. She reached across him to touch his forehead with her free hand, and confirmed what she already knew.

Fade had given up the fight. He did not want to recover.

His fever had grown worse.

He was dying.

The door opened and Giraldi paced quietly into the room, a mug of broth in his hand. “Steadholder?”

She gave him a faint smile as he passed her the mug. It was difficult for her to eat and keep food down, given the constant pain the crafting required, but it was vital that she do so. “Thank you, centurion.”

“Course.” He stumped over to the window and stared out. “Crows, Stead-holder. I always hated getting into a battle. But I think standing around like this is worse.” The fingers of his sword hand opened and closed rhythmically upon his cane.

Isana took a slow sip of broth. “How fares the battle?”

“Kalare’s taken the upper hand,” Giraldi responded. “He worked out how to draw out Cereus’s Knights so that he could eliminate them.”

Isana closed her eyes and shook her head. “What happened?”

“He ordered his Knights to attack a residential district,” Giraldi replied. “Including the city’s largest orphanage and a number of streets where retired le-gionares were living out their pensions.”

Isana grimaced. “Great furies. The man is a monster.” Giraldi grunted. “Worked, though.” His voice became something distant, impersonal. “There’s only so many times you can see an elder getting cut down. Only so many times you can hear a child screaming. Then you have to do something. Even if it’s stupid. “

“How bad were the losses?”

“Kalare and his son were personally involved in the attack. Cereus lost half his knights. Mostly Knights Aeris. If Captain Miles and the Crown Legion’s Knights hadn’t intervened, they’d have died to a man. Cereus himself was injured, getting them out of the trap. He and Captain Miles went up against Kalarus and his son in the front hall of the orphanage. From what I’ve heard, it was an amazing battle.”

“In my experience, rumors rarely bother to get the details correct,” said a gentle voice at the door.

Isana turned to find Captain Miles standing in the doorway, still in full battle armor, his helmet under his left arm. The armor and helm were both dented and scratched in too many places to count. The right arm of his tunic was soaked in blood to the elbow, and his hand rested on the hilt of his gladius. His hair was Legion-cropped, greying, and he smelled of sweat and rust and blood. He was not a particularly large man, and he had plain features that gave Isana an immediate sense of fidelity and loyalty. He moved with a detectable limp as he stepped into the room, but though he spoke to Isana and Giraldi, his eyes were on the man in the healing tub.

“Cereus played the wounded bird and lured them in. They came in to take him down, and I was hiding in the rafters. I hit the boy from behind and wounded him badly enough to make Kalarus panic and pull him out.”

“Captain,” Giraldi said with a nod. “I heard Kalarus tried to roast you for it, sir.”

Miles shrugged. “I wasn’t in the mood for roast. I ran away.” He nodded to Isana. “Steadholder. Do you know who I am?”

Isana glanced at Fade and back to Miles. They were brothers, though Miles, like the rest of Alera, had thought Araris dead for nearly twenty years. “I know you,” she said quietly.

“I would ask a favor of you.” He glanced at Giraldi, including him in the sentiment. “A few private moments of your time, Steadholder?”

“She’s working,” Giraldi said, and though his tone was not disrespectful, neither was it prepared to compromise. “She doesn’t need any distractions.”

Miles hovered for a moment, as though uncertain of which way to move. Then he said, “I spoke to Lady Veradis. She said that there might not be much more time.”

Isana glanced away. Despair washed through her for a moment, her weariness lending it tremendous potency. She pushed the tide of it away, then said, “It’s all right Giraldi.”

The centurion grunted. Then he nodded to Isana and limped to the door on his cane. “A moment,” he said to Miles. “I’ll hold you to it, sir.”

Miles nodded, and waited for Giraldi to depart the room. Then he went to Fade’s side, knelt, and laid a hand on the unconscious slave’s head. “He’s on fire,” Miles said quietly.

“I know,” Isana replied. “I’m doing all that I can.”

“I should have come sooner,” Miles said, his voice bitter. “Should have been here every day.”

From outside, there came the loud, hollow cough of thunder that accompanied a firecrafter’s assault, when fire would suddenly blossom from nothing into a white-hot sphere. The fire-thunder was answered, seconds later, by an almost-continuous rumbling from the glowering storm.

“You’ve been somewhat busy,” Isana said, tired amusement in her voice.

Miles shook his head. “It wasn’t that. It was…” He frowned. “My big brother. He always won. He’s been in fights that should have killed him time and time again. And even when he did die, he managed to come back. It may have taken him twenty years, but he did it.” Miles shook his head. “Invincible. Maybe part of me didn’t want to admit that he might not be. That I might..

Lose him, Isana thought, finishing his thought.

“Can he hear me?” Miles asked.

Isana shook her head. “I don’t know. He’s been in and out of consciousness, but he’s grown more incoherent each day.”

Miles bit his lip and nodded, and Isana felt the depth of his grief, pain, and regret. He looked up at her, his eyes frightened, almost like a child’s. “Is what Veradis said true?” he asked. “Is he going to die?”

Isana knew what Miles wanted to hear. His emotions and his eyes were begging her for hope.

She met Miles’s eyes, and said quietly, “Probably. But I’m not going to give up on him.”