"You would let the Realm fall instead?" Amara asked.
"The Realm will stand, Countess," Placidus said, his voice hardening. "Only the face beneath the crown will change. I have never made it a secret that I wish nothing to do with the politics of the crown. In point of fact, if Gaius's page hadn't publicly manipulated us into supporting him, my wife might now be with me, safe and unharmed."
Amara ground her teeth, but nodded once. "Very well, Your Grace." She turned to High Lord Atticus. "And you, sir?"
"I gave one daughter to Gaius already," Atticus said, his voice bitter. "My Caria, taken to wife and held hostage in the capital. Now Kalarus has taken the other daughter. I see little difference between the two. But Gaius asks me to sacrifice men and blood, while Kalare wishes me merely to stand aside." He bared his teeth, biting off the words. "So far as I am concerned, you can all cut each other to shreds and let the crows pick clean your bones."
He turned, and the water-image flowed back down into the pool.
Lord Placidus grimaced at the departed lord of Attica. "I have no love for Kalarus or what he stands for," he told Amara. "I have no qualms about facing him on the field of battle. But if I must choose between the First Lord's life and those of my wife and thousands of my holders, I do not choose Gaius."
"I understand," Amara said quietly.
Placidus nodded once. "Tell Gaius I'll not contest him should the Legions need passage through any of my lands. It is all I can offer."
"Why?" Amara asked him, her voice very quiet.
Placidus was silent for a moment. Then he said, "Most High Lords marry for advantage. For political alliance." The image of Placidus shook its head as it slipped back down into the pool, receding. "I loved her, Countess. Still do."
Amara stared at the rippling pool for a moment, then sighed and settled down onto a nearby bench. She shook her head, struggling to work her way through a dozen trains of thought. She looked up a moment later, to find Bernard standing over her, offering her a mug of Giraldi's ale. She drank it off in a single, long pull.
Kalarus was far stronger than anyone had anticipated and had found some way secretly to train and transport entire Legions of men. He was ruthless, clever, and determined-and worst of all, to Amara's way of thinking, was that Lord Cereus's accusation seemed distressingly accurate. Kalarus might well be as mad as Cereus claimed. Though the forces of the Realm had the strength to beat him back, if only just, Kalarus had chosen a particularly vicious moment in which to attack and had struck at the most vulnerable point. If he moved swiftly enough, his coup might well succeed.
In fact, she could not think of anything the First Lord might do to stop him.
She could understand what Placidus had done, on one level, but on another she burned with fury at the man's decision to turn aside from the First Lord. He was a High Lord of Alera. He was honor-bound to come to the aid of the First Lord in the face of insurrection. Amara wished no harm to come to Lady Placida or to any innocent holders, of course, but she simply could not reconcile Lord Placidus's choice with his obligations as a Citizen and Lord of the Realm.
Bernard's ring, on its chain around her neck, felt heavy. She could hardly be the first to cast that particular stone. After all, hadn't she put her own desires ahead of her duties?
Bernard settled down next to her and exhaled slowly. "You look exhausted," he said quietly. "You need to sleep."
"Soon," she answered. Her hand found his.
"What do you think?" he asked her. "About all this." "It's bad," she said quietly. "It's very bad."
Gaius's voice rolled through the little garden, rich and amused. "Or perhaps it only seems so on the surface, Countess."
Chapter 15
Amara blinked, rising abruptly, and turned to find Gaius standing behind them in the flesh, emerging from a windcrafted veil so fine and delicate that she had never had an inkling that it had been present. "Sire?" she said. "You were here all along? But Kalarus..."
The First Lord arched an eyebrow. "Kalarus Brencis's ego is enormous-and an enormous weakness. The larger it grows, the more of his view it will obstruct, and I have no objections to feeding it." Then he smiled. "And my old friend Cereus needed someone to remind him of what he is capable. It was generous of Kalarus to volunteer."
Amara shook her head. She should have known better. Gaius Sextus had not retained his rule in the face of dangerous, ruthless men like Kalarus by being weak or predictable. "My lord, you heard what Lords Atticus and Placidus said."
"I did indeed," Gaius said.
Amara nodded. "Without their forces to help hold Ceres, Kalarus's gambit may well succeed."
"I give him five chances in six," Gaius agreed.
"Sire," Amara said, "this is... this..." Her outrage strangled her voice for a moment, and she pressed her lips firmly together before she said something that, in the eyes of the law, could not be retracted.
"It's all right, Cursor," Gaius said. "Speak your mind freely. I will not hold anything you say as a formal accusation."
"It's treason, sir," Amara spat. "They have an obligation to come to the defense of the Realm. They owe you their loyalty, and they are turning their backs on you."
"Do I not owe them loyalty in return?" Gaius asked. "Protection against threats too powerful for them to face? And yet harm has come to them and theirs."
"Through no fault of your own!" Amara said.
"Untrue," Gaius said. "I miscalculated Kalarus's response, his resources, and we both know it."
Amara folded her arms over her stomach and looked away from Gaius. "All I know," she said, "is that they have abandoned their duty. Their loyalty to the Realm."
"Treason, you say," Gaius murmured. "Loyalty. Strong words. In today's uncertain clime, those terms are somewhat mutable." He raised his voice slightly and glanced at the far corner of the little garden. "Wouldn't you agree, Invidia?"
A second veil, every bit as delicate and undetectable as Gaius's had been, vanished, replaced by the tall, regal figure of Lady Aquitaine. Though her eyes looked a bit sunken, she showed no other signs of the trauma the city's sudden surge of panic had inflicted upon its more powerful watercrafters. Her expression was cool, her pale face lovely and flawless, her dark hair held back into a wave that fell over one white shoulder to spill over her gown of crimson silk. A circlet of finely wrought silver in the design of laurel leaves, the badge of a recipient of the Imperian Laurel for Valor, stood out starkly, against her tresses, the ornament emphasized by its contrast against her hair.