"He didn't," Tavi said. "Max and about seven hundred veterans were in a position to dispute the legitimacy of my arrest."

"What?" Cyril just stared at Tavi for a second, his face going white. Isana sensed the horror boiling up out of him like some kind of greasy black vapor. Then he shook his head slowly. "Seven hundred…" He blew out a slow breath. "That was exactly the kind of situation the Crown wished us to avoid."

Tavi grimaced. "I know. I talked Arnos into letting Nalus handle my arrest in exchange for ordering them to stand down."

Cyril mopped a hand over his face. "Nalus," he said, distantly. "No wonder his letter was so awkward. Decent man. Not terribly intelligent, but I've always thought well of him."

"He asked me to give him my word that I wasn't going to order my men to get me out or refuse to support the campaign. I gave it, and he let me meet with them."

Cyril frowned hard at Tavi, and Isana could feel the anger in it, mixed with a certain admiration. "And your orders to them?"

Tavi blinked, lifting his eyebrows in faint surprise. "To support the campaign, of course. To do everything they could to preserve the lives of Alerans and secure the Realm against the invaders."

Cyril let out a slow breath, sagging a little at the table, and his relief flooded through the room. "Thank the great furies. There's that much, at least."

Tavi grimaced. "Arnos is planning a campaign of numbers. He's tallied every life to be sacrificed."

Cyril grimaced. "Yes. I suspected as much. Can he win?"

Tavi shrugged. "I think Nasaug does his math a bit differently. Othos was a bloody mess, and at a bargain for the Canim." Tavi's voice lowered, and his smile vanished. "I've got to stop him, Cyril."

Cyril looked from Tavi to Isana, frowning. The room was quiet for several seconds.

"Someone needs to," Cyril agreed. "But there are two problems. First, you aren't going to stop him from doing much of anything from inside the stockade. Second, I don't see any feasible way of doing so, even if you weren't."

Tavi took a deep breath. "I think I might know a way," he said.

Cyril nodded. "This meeting you had with a representative, I expect. What does Nasaug want?"

"Can't tell you," Tavi said. "Safer for both of us."

Cyril leaned back in his chair and put both hands flat on his desk. "You want me to release you."

"Yes."

"I can't do that."

"Yes, you can," Tavi said. "Cyril, if this works, it has the potential to end the fighting entirely. I think those three Legions would do a lot more good flanking Kalarus than running around in circles in the Vale."

"It's a treason charge," Cyril said quietly. "If I release you before you've faced a tribunal, it's a death sentence for me as well: to say nothing of the fact that any irregularity would practically guarantee your conviction."

Tavi made a clicking sound with his teeth. "There's always-"

Cyril cut him off with a wave of his hand and exhaled through his nose. "All right," he said quietly. "This has gone badly, but it could have been worse. The next thing to focus on is making sure the Legions' supply lines are kept secure. Then we'll turn some attention to your trial defense."

Tavi shook his head. "We don't have time. There's too much at stake."

"Yes," Cyril responded, rather sharply. "But you've been outmaneuvered. You're of no use to the Crown, now."

"I could be," Tavi said quietly. "Let me arrange something. None of the blame will come to you."

Cyril began shaking his head. "Scipio-I am a soldier, and a servant of the Crown. I always have been. And at this moment, the Crown's law says that you are to remain in custody until a tribunal can be assembled. We've worked well together, the past two years. We know one another. We've each earned a certain amount of the other's trust." He gave Isana a quite pointed glance and looked back at Tavi. "But by now you ought to know where I draw the line."

Tavi grimaced. Disappointment and a nauseating sense of dread began to spill through even his formidable discipline. "I do," he said quietly.

"Then you ought to know that I'm not going to play along with some kind of escape fiction." He grimaced. "I can't fight anymore, but I'm tired of everyone making light of the laws of the Realm. Abusing them, like Arnos did. I can't make them stop, but it doesn't mean I'm going to participate in it. I'll be glad to help you-by every legal means at my disposal."

"If you had an order from the Crown," Tavi said quietly, "you could do it."

"But I don't," Cyril said.

Isana's heart suddenly pounded very hard in her chest.

Tavi met Cyril's eyes, and said, quietly, "You do now."

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."