"I was only stationed there for a week or so before the battle, Your Grace. After that, I was based at a town named Marsford, about twenty miles south of Riva."
"You are not Tavi of Calderon?" she asked.
Tavi shrugged his shoulders at her and smiled. "Sorry."
She answered his smile with her own, wide enough to show her sharply pointed canines. "Well. That's cleared up. Now be a dear for me, Subtribune, and light this campfire? '
Tavi felt his smile falter for a second. "Beg pardon?"
"The campfire," Lady Antillus said, as though speaking to the village idiot. "I think an herbal tea would be nice for all of us to enjoy if Maximus is up and about. You've had your basic furycrafting. I've seen your record. So, Subtribune Scipio. Light the campfire."
"Mother, I'll get it for-" Crassus began.
She flicked her hand in a slicing gesture, and her smile grew wider. "No, darling. After all, we are Legion, are we not? I have given dear Scipio a lawful order. Now, he must follow it. Just like all the rest of us."
"Light the fire?" Tavi asked.
"Just a little firecrafting," she said, nodding. "Go ahead, Subtribune."
Tavi squinted at her, then up at the sun and chewed on his lip. Til be honest with you, Your Grace. Fire isn't my best subject. I haven't practiced it since my tests."
"Oh, don't sell yourself so short, Scipio," Lady Antillus said. "It isn't as though you're some kind of freak with no crafting at all."
Tavi made himself smile as naturally as he knew how. "Of course not. But it might take me a moment."
"Oh," she said, gathering her skirts and stepping away from the campfire, laid but not lit, before the infirmary tent. "I'll give you a bit of room, then."
"Thank you," Tavi said. He went over to the fire, squatted, and drew his knife. He took one of the more slender sticks lying in an upright tent-shaped stack, and struck a small mound of shavings from it in rapid order.
Tavi glanced up to find Lady Antillus watching from ten feet away. "Don't let me distract you," she said.
Tavi smiled at her. Then he rubbed his hands on his thighs and stretched them out over the tinder, narrowing his eyes.
Behind him, Max emerged from the tent and walked toward them, his steps growing louder. "Oh," he drawled, his voice still a bit weak. "Hullo, stepmother. What are you doing? '
"Watching your friend Scipio demonstrate his firecrafting skills, Maximus," she said, smiling. "Don't spoil it by helping. He'll miss the chance to prove himself."
Max's steps faltered for a second, but he kept walking. "You can't take his basic fieldcraft on faith?"
Lady Antillus sounded like she was almost laughing. "I'm sorry, darling. Sometimes I just need to have my trust in others vindicated."
"Scipio..." Max said, lowering his voice.
"Leave off, Max," Tavi growled. "Can't you see I'm concentrating, here?"
There was a brief silence in which Tavi's imagination provided him with an image of Max staring openmouthed at his back. Then he set his shoulders, let out a quiet grunt of effort, and a wisp of smoke curled up from the tinder.
Tavi leaned over and blew gently on the spark, feeding it more shavings, then small pieces, then larger ones, until the fire was going strong and set to the prepared sticks of the campfire. They took in short order, and Tavi brushed off his pants, rising.
Lady Antillus stared at him, with her smug smile frozen stiffly upon her lips.
Tavi smiled at her again and bowed. "I'll fetch water for the tea, Your Grace."
"No," she said, her voice a little too clear and sharp and polite. "That's all right. I've just remembered another obligation. And Crassus must return to his cohort. "
"But-" Crassus began.
"Now," Lady Antillus said. She dismissed Max with a glance and shot Tavi a spiteful glare.
Tavi dropped the false smile he'd been wearing. Suddenly, he found the memory of Max's pale face, the water pink with his blood, growing in his mind. In the space of a breath, it became painfully sharp and clear. A breath later, Tavi recalled with sickening clarity the cruel, vivid scars that crisscrossed his friend's back-the marks of a many-tongued lash barbed with bits of metal or glass. To leave such vicious scars, the injuries had to have been inflicted on him before Max had come into the power of his furies, when he was twelve years old. Or younger.
And Lady Antillus-and her son-had been responsible for it.
Tavi found himself planning quite calmly. The High Lady had enormous power of furycrafting, and so would have to be the first target. If she did not die all but instantly, she might be able to prevent an injury from killing her, or to strike out with power enough to slay Tavi as she died. Where she stood, the lunge would be a little long, but so long as she did not absolutely expect a physical attack, he should be able to drive his slender poniard up through the hollow of her throat and into her brain. A twist, a ragged extraction to tear the wound wider, and he would be left with only Crassus.
The young Knight had little experience, and it was the only thing that would have let him react in time to save his life. A sharp blow to the throat, a gouge to the eyes and the young lord would be in too much pain to defend himself effectively. Tavi could take a length of wood from the newly lit fire, a rather symbolic statement, he thought, and finish Crassus off with a sharp blow to his unarmored temple.
And suddenly Tavi froze.
The rage he felt fled, and instead he felt, sickened, as if the cold dinner he'd eaten last might come flying back out of his mouth. He realized that he was standing in the bright afternoon sun, staring at two people he hardly knew, planning to murder them as coolly and calmly as a grass lion would might stalk a doe and her fawn.
Tavi frowned down at his hands. They had started shaking a little, and he wrestled with the bloodthirsty thoughts that had risen up in him, pushing them away. He had actually done violence to other people, classmates at the Academy who had been bullying him at the worst possible time. Tavi had hurt them, and badly, because he'd had little choice in the matter. He had felt sick afterward. Though he had seen the ugly aftermath of that kind of violence, he was nonetheless capable of planning such a brutal attack. It was frightening.
More frightening still, he was all but certain he could actually do it.
But whether or not Max's injuries were their doing, regardless how burning hot the rage Tavi felt in his belly, murdering Lady Antillus and her son would not wipe Max's wounds away-to say nothing of the consequences that would fall on Tavi, and upon the First Lord, by reflection.