Captain's Fury (Page 53)

Stars flared across Isana’s vision, and she gripped the arms of her chair as hard as she could.

Cyril frowned at Tavi, and said, "What?"

Tavi gave Cyril half of a smile. "Come now, Cyril. You’ve known since the day you met me that my name wasn’t Rufus Scipio."

Cyril’s frown deepened. "Yes. I surmised that you were one of the Crown’s Cursors, given the way the Battle of Elinarch turned out. And what you’ve done since."

"And I am," Tavi said quietly. "But there’s more. You’ve heard rumors about me by now. You’ve heard rumors about my singulare. Araris." Tavi paused for a moment. "The Araris. Araris Valerian."

Cyril stared at Tavi. His lips parted slightly.

"That’s why I asked her to be here today," Tavi said, gesturing toward Isana. "Why I’ve spoken so openly in front of her."

Tavi turned to her, and Isana could feel his fear and frustration and anger and something else, something deep and powerful and terrifying for which there was no word. It was a kind of wonder, she thought dazedly, a kind of elation-and at the same time, it was a horror and dread.

Isana had felt it before, long ago. Tears blinded her as more memories came back to sudden, vivid life. Oh, Septimus. I miss you so much. And in this moment, you would he so proud.

She turned her face to Sir Cyril, blinking until the tears fell. The older man simply gaped at Tavi, his mouth still open, his eyes wide. Disbelief blended wildly with comprehension, well-aged anxiety with sudden hope. His hands closed into fists, and his voice shook as he spoke. "What," he whispered, "is your name?"

Tavi rose, slowly, lifting his chin. "My name," he said quietly, "is Gaius Oc-tavian." He stepped forward and dropped to one knee, meeting Cyril eye to eye. "Sir Cyril, I trust you. That’s why I’ve just put my life"-he nodded to Isana- "and my mother’s into your hands."

Cyril stared at Tavi, his face bloodless. His mouth worked a couple of times, then he turned to Isana. "Your… your mother?"

Isana swallowed. Now she understood why Tavi had asked her here-to support him. She was, after all, very nearly the only one alive who could.

A panicked voice within told her to deny it. Without her corroboration, Tavi’s story would sound like a wild, desperate, and implausible lie. She had to hide him. She had to protect him. She had to-

Isana pressed against that panicked voice, against her own terror.

It was time to stop lying. To stop hiding.

Without a word, she reached for the slender chain she’d worn around her neck ever since she had left the Calderon Valley for Alera Imperia, years before. She unfastened the clasp, and drew it from where it lay hidden beneath her gown. The elegant silver ring, complete with its gem of scarlet and azure, seamlessly joined down its center, caught the light and glittered brightly, throwing flickers of colored fire upon the top of Cyril’s desk.

Isana set it there gently, and folded her hands in her lap. "Given me by my husband, Princeps Gaius Septimus," Isana said quietly, "upon our wedding, some ten months before his death." She rose to stand behind Tavi, facing Cyril, and lifted her own chin. "This is our son, Octavian. He was born the night of the First Battle of Calderon. The same night his father died."

Cyril stared at her. Then at the ring. He reached out to pick it up, his hands shaking visibly.

"The mark of his signet dagger is carved on the inside, beneath the stones," Isana said quietly. "He left me the dagger as well. It’s in a trunk in my room."

The ring tumbled from Sir Cyril’s fingertips, back to the top of the desk.

Cyril shook his head, stammering. "H-how can this be?"

Tavi, still on his knee, turned back to look up at Isana. For a second, she saw him again, the boy she had watched over, fed, cared for, loved. And lied to. Great furies help her, had there been more she could have done to hide him, she would have.

Araris had been right. He deserved the truth.

She met her son’s eyes. "What very few know," Isana said, careful to keep her voice steady, her words clear, "is that Septimus had twice been attacked by assassins, in the two years prior to his death. His efforts to discover their employer were unsuccessful. When he took the Crown Legion to put down the rebellion at the Battle of Seven Hills, another assassin wounded him so badly, the night after the battle, that even with his own skills at healing, Septimus barely survived. That was why the First Lord sent the Crown Legion off to the farthest reaches of the Realm-to the Calderon Valley. Officially, it was to rest and recover from the losses sustained at Seven Hills. Only his singulares and Sextus knew it was to give Septimus a chance to recover in relative privacy." She grimaced. "Septimus wanted to return to Alera Imperia and dare them to come after him again-to catch whoever was behind it. But Sextus ordered him to Calderon.

"Septimus obeyed, but he wasn’t content simply to rest and recover. He began sending out men he trusted to search for answers of his own. And…"

And how could she possibly speak of a thousand memories, of the words between them, of how Septimus had become her entire world? How could she convey what it had meant to touch his hand, to listen to his voice, to feel his heart beating against her as he slept? How could she make them know what it had felt like for an awkward holder girl to fall in love with a man so strong and gentle and kind?

"We met there," she said in a whisper. "We fell in love. We married."

Tavi stared up at her, and his expression was no longer a careful mask. He looked up at her the way any hungry child had ever looked up to his mother. He had been starving. For his whole life, he had been starving for the truth, and only now was he about to be sated.

"Septimus learned of a plot against him," she continued. "Several of the other young men of his generation-he wasn’t sure who-had formed a cabal, swearing to remove him and displace the House of Gaius from the throne." She swallowed. "I think he suspected that the Marat invasion was engineered by this group of men. And it is my belief that they struck at him there, during the battle." Isana’s tears blurred the room once more. "They killed him."

She swallowed and forced herself to continue. "Septimus had sent me from the camp, accompanied by my young sister, Alia, with Araris as my singulare, just before the Marat arrived. But I was heavy with child, and I began delivery before we could go more than a few miles. We hid in a cave. It was a difficult birthing. Alia helped me, but died of an arrow wound she’d gotten. That’s where Octavian was born. In a cave. While his father fought invaders and traitors, and died so that others would have a chance to live."