“Certainly, Crassus is in good hands, as far as healing is concerned. I… I wish I knew what to do to make it right.”

“Stop thinking you can fix everything,” Max said bluntly. “Give it time. That might help. Or not. But you’ll only make things worse if you push.”

Tavi nodded. “Thanks.”

“Always happy to explain the obvious to you, Calderon. Now if you’ll excuse me? Nothing makes a girl want to be seduced more than a wedding. I’ve got plans. I’ll see you at the ceremony.”

“Veradis is here, isn’t she?” Tavi asked. “Do you honestly think she’s going to change her mind about you because of the social environment?”

Max grinned. “No telling until I try, is there?” He paused by the door, and said, more seriously, “I’ve been looking in on her, since her father died. Making sure no one’s been giving her a hard time, or anything. I might have spoken a few words into the ears of some of Cereus’s clients who were not, shall we say, appreciative of the sacrifice he made.”

Tavi smiled at his friend and inclined his head to him, not saying anything. Back in the Academy, he’d listened to Max describe beating the owners of crooked gambling houses in the same terms.

“You look fine, Calderon,” Max said.

“Thanks.”

Max saluted, giving the gesture more formal precision and grace than he usually did. He winked and departed.

No sooner had he left than there was a knock at the side door to the chamber, which was the largest suite of the largest private home in Riva. Its previous owner had died in the battle to cover the retreat from the city. Tavi had felt somewhat ghoulish moving into the house, but he’d needed the room. There was an absolutely astounding need for staff and support for the First Lord, and all of that help needed somewhere to work and sleep. The Rivan-style tower proved more than roomy enough, though Tavi felt somewhat conflicted about residing on the top floor. With his windcrafting, stairs weren’t really an issue—which he was sure was part of the point of Rivan Citizens residing in towers. There was a real temptation to feel somewhat smug about that.

“Enter,” Tavi said.

The door opened, and Ehren came in, looking much as he always did—neatly and plainly dressed, smudged with ink stains, and carrying a quill and a stack of paper. Even then, though there hadn’t been a vord sighted within a day’s march of Riva in months, Tavi could sense that Ehren still carried half a dozen knives on his person, out of sight.

“Good morning, sire,” Ehren said. He plopped the stack of papers down on Tavi’s desk. “I’ve brought the daily reports.”

“I’m getting married in an hour,” Tavi said. He crossed the room to sit down behind his desk and gestured for Ehren to sit in the chair across from him. “Summarize anything new?”

“You’re going to love this,” Ehren said, settling down comfortably. “We’ve got no less than three steadholts who have objected, violently, to our Knights attacking ‘their’ vord.”

Tavi’s eyebrows went up. “Excuse me?”

“They’re communities that surrendered when the Queen gave them the option. Apparently, the croach just grew up around the perimeter of their fields and moved on. It’s guarded by a crew of warriors and tended by spiders, apparently operating under orders to protect the holders as well as guarding them—and they’ve kept doing it, up to and including defending them from the rogue vord who scattered when the Queen died.” Ehren shook his head. “The holders have painted their vord in various colors, so they can tell the difference.”

Tavi frowned. “They want to keep them?”

“So it would seem. They’re all deep inside occupied territory, but the holders declined an offer of transport out.”

Tavi mused over the situation. “If the vord were given instructions, they would follow them to the exclusion of all others unless the Queen changed them.”

Ehren blinked. “You want to let them stay?”

“No. But I can’t blame them. The Realm didn’t protect those people’s homes and lives. The vord did. If they want to stay where they are, fine. This is a problem we’ll deal with when we’ve killed enough of the croach to reach them. File them under secondary priorities.”

“Very good,” Ehren said. “The siege at Rhodes has been officially broken now, sire. The Legion Aeris and her Citizens arrived two days ago and made short work of it.”

“Excellent,” Tavi said. Rhodes had been the last city to be held prisoner within her own walls by large numbers of vord. Once sent running into the countryside, the vord tended to disperse as naturally as any predator. They were ill suited for life in the wild, though. After six months, most of the feral vord had starved to death. Some of them, though, seemed to have learned to survive on their own. Tavi imagined that they would continue to be a threat to travelers in the wild places for a good long while, despite the Legions’ success at finding and destroying the underground warrior gardens, where new vord ripened and were born.

“We’ll start breaking them into fire teams, then,” Tavi said “We’ll be able to handle twice as much croach-clearing in the Vale with the extra hands, as long as the vord don’t get any more uppity than they already have.”

Ehren nodded. “Without the Queen to drive them, they aren’t much more than animals. They’ll break at strong resistance, like they did at Garrison.”

Tavi grunted. “You haven’t talked about that much.”

Ehren looked away and was still for a moment. Then he said, “I was there when Lord Cereus died. It was the most courageous, saddest thing I’ve ever seen. He deserved a better death.”

“If he hadn’t done it, that vordbulk would have crushed half of Garrison’s walls. The vord had numbers enough that, even undirected, they would have killed everyone—his family included.”

“That makes his death worthwhile. But not good. He deserved better.” Ehren shook himself and went to the next page. “Ahem. The Academy Novus is officially under construction now. Magnus reports that he’s building the lecture halls with enough windows and vents to keep them from baking all the students to sleep in the spring and summer, and setting up boundaries around the ruins to protect them from progress.

“And, in related news…” Ehren turned another page. “… Senator Valerius has lodged an official protest regarding the new College of Romanic Studies and the admittance of freemen without patronage. He has fourteen distinct arguments, but what it all amounts to is ‘we’ve never done it that way before.’ ”

“Senator Valerius’s protest will in no way disturb my digestion,” Tavi said.

“Or mine. But Valerius has become a focal point for everyone who objects to your policies.”

Tavi shrugged. “They don’t want to admit to themselves that the war has changed things. If we don’t look to the future, we’ll never be able to manage it. Someone’s always upset about something.”

Ehren thumbed through the next several pages. “The good Senator opposes… the Slavery Ban… the recognition of the Canim State… the recognition of the Marat State… the recognition of the Iceman State… giving the Shieldwall to the Icemen… the enfranchisement of freemen, and, last but not least, relocating the capital to Appia.”

“He has a point on that last one,” Tavi said, somewhat wistfully. “There’s a perfectly good volcano going to waste at old Alera Imperia. We could throw all the idiots in and be rid of them.”

“I’m not sure if the entire Senate would fit inside, sire. In other news, the repair of the causeways is progressing reasonably well. We should have most of the old ones finished by next autumn, but…”

“But they all led to Alera Imperia, before,” Tavi said. “What about the plans for the new routes?”

“Lord Riva thinks that a ring-shaped causeway circling about forty miles out from the old capital could be completed in three to five years—the hub of a wagon wheel, as it were.”