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He's that highly regarded?"

    "I watched three brawls last night between legionares from the Senatorial

    Guard and those of the First Aleran. Every one was started by commentary about Scipio."

    "How'd his men do?"

    "They won three times." Amara shook her head. "They're a tough group, sire."

    "After two years out here alone, they'd have to be," Gaius murmured. "I wanted to send them more help, but the pressures elsewhere were just too great. Especially with the increased pressure on the Shieldwall."

    Amara glanced around them, making sure no one was immediately nearby. "And it kept Scipio isolated from the rest of the Realm."

    Gaius gave her a sharp look.

    Amara shrugged. "There are rumors, sire."

    "Rumors," Gaius said.

    "About Scipio. About who his father might have been." Amara drew in a deep breath. "The rumors say that he bears a remarkable likeness to Princeps Septimus, sire. And they say that a man named Araris—a man who might be Araris Valerian himself—is his personal singulare ."

    "Rumors, Countess," Gaius said.

    "I thought so, too," she said. "Until I saw Captain Miles's face, when T— When Scipio walked in." She looked up at the First Lord. "It was like he'd seen a ghost."

    Gaius's voice hardened slightly. "Rumors, Countess."

    "Rumors you wanted to strengthen," she said quietly. "That's why you held the meeting here instead of summoning everyone back to the capital. Out here, where he's surrounded by his men, confident, obviously in command—and where none of them would be in a position of authority over him and where you could oversee the situation. You're priming them to accept him as something more."

    The First Lord glanced down at her, and the corners of his mouth twitched though his voice remained stern. "I already know you're clever, Countess. You don't have to prove it to me. It's considered good form to let such things go unsaid."

    Amara kept herself from smiling and gave him a grave bow of her head. "Of course, sire. I'll keep that in mind."

    Gaius glanced back over his shoulder, toward the command building. "They really think that much of him?"

    "They love him," she said.

    Gaius stepped out onto the swept-clean stones of the flight area. "It was like that with Septimus, you know," he said quietly.

    Amara tilted her head to one side, listening in silence.

    "He had that quality about him. People loved him. He gave them…" Gaius shook his head. "Something. Something that made them feel that they could do more than they ever had before. That lifted them up. Made them greater. He gave them…"

    "Hope," Amara suggested.

    "Yes," Gaius said quietly, and his voice turned puzzled. "It wasn't any kind of furycraft. It was him . I never understood how he did it." The First Lord shrugged. "He must have gotten it from his mother."

    "Sire—" Amara began.

    Gaius lifted a hand in a weary gesture. "I am not like Septimus. Or Scipio. I still command respect in some. In most, though, all I inspire is fear." His eyes were unfocused, his voice thoughtful. "I am not a good person, Amara. I have had reasonable success as a First Lord, but… I don't have their compassion. Only resolve."

    Amara only stared at the First Lord, in silence. He rarely spoke of himself in a personal sense. It was at moments like this that Amara felt the real difference in their ages—for though Gaius looked like a man in his midforties, perhaps graced with early silver hair, he was in truth approaching eighty years of age. He had seen a lifetime of intrigue and betrayal, and no small share of personal tragedy of his own. She had grown used to the image he projected—that of a man of fantastic power, inhuman will, and effortless personal and political grace.

    It was in moments like these that she was reminded of what he truly was— a weary and almost viciously lonely old man.

    Amara had made mistakes enough in her young life to give her a small but steady burden of regrets. Gaius's decisions affected many more people