Jim Butcher - Cursors's Fury

Tavi grimaced. “I’m not good at smiles and charm.”

“Now, now. You’re a loyal servant of the Realm, Scipio. I’m sure you’ll manage.” Magnus smiled at him, but whispered, “Be careful.” Then he saluted Tavi and vanished into the normal, bustling industry of the Legion camp.

Tavi watched him go for a second and turned his gaze to Lady Antillus and her son. She wore the sky-blue on deep blue of the city of Antillus. Max had once remarked that the city colors had been chosen based on what shade the skin of one’s… well, parts, assumed when exposed to the weather in winter and autumn, respectively. From a purely aesthetic perspective, the dress flattered her face, her hair, her figure in every measurable sense. Tavi thought that the blue made her skin look too pale, somehow, as though it was a covering for a mannequin rather than for a human being.

She was speaking quietly, emphatically, to Crassus. Her son was dressed in the brown training tunic of the Legion, though he wore his armor over it-a mark of respect for someone new to the Legions. Only the most solid and promising recruits wore steel before the recruits were issued it generally. Or the most well connected ones, Tavi supposed. Though he could hardly cast stones on that account, all things considered. Crassus was scowling, an expression that made his face look more petulant than formidable.

“I don’t understand why we can’t just get it over with,” he was saying.

“Darling child, you have the judgment of a goat,” Lady Antillus snapped back. “I have some experience in these matters. One cannot rush them.” She put her hand on her son’s arm, a motion that silenced him, as Tavi approached.

“Good afternoon, Your Grace,” Tavi said, bowing to Lady Antillus, combining it smoothly with a salute. He nodded to Crassus. “Sir Knight.”

Crassus saluted Tavi, fist thumping against his breastplate. “Subtribune.”

Lady Antillus bowed her head very slightly to Tavi, giving him a flinty look.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you, Your Grace,” Tavi said. “I am told that the training regimen of our novice Knights has been, ah, taxing on those involved. I thought that we might find a way to add more milk or cheese to the younger Knights’ rations if they’ve been breaking bones a bit too often.”

“It probably isn’t a terrible idea,” Lady Antillus allowed, though the words seemed to come out reluctantly.

“We’d be grateful for the gesture, sir,” Crassus said, his tone respectful, carefully neutral.

“You’ll be glad to know that Maximus is recovering well,” Tavi said, smiling politely. “In fact, he was rising to dress a few moments ago.”

Lady Antillus looked past Tavi to the tent, frowning. “Was he? Did he seem himself?”

“As far as I could tell, Your Grace,” Tavi said. “I believe that the captain intended to check on him as well.”

Her tone turned flat, and she dropped even the pretense of being polite. “Did he.”

“He takes the well-being of his men very seriously,” Tavi said, trying to sound cheerfully oblivious to her reaction.

“Like a mother cares for her son, I suppose?” she muttered. She glanced at Crassus. “Perhaps we should go in immediate-”

“I also wished to ask you,” Tavi said, walking over her words. “Maximus’s injury is really rather unusual given that we haven’t seen any actual combat. The healers in my last Legion favored strong wine and rare meat to restore an injury with so much blood loss, but I’ve read others who favor an herbal tea and increased vegetables.”

“Read whom?” Lady Antillus demanded.

“Lord Placidus’s treatise on common military injuries and complications, Your Grace.”

Lady Antillus rolled her eyes. “Placidus should stick to tending his cows and leave the healing of nonedibles to those who know better,” she said.

Tavi frowned at her, tilting his head. “How so, lady?”

“To begin with, Placidus rarely has to deal with injuries sustained upon a strenuous campaign,” she said. “His forces are generally deployed on a short-term basis, and their provender reflects that fact. His herbals are fine for men who are eating fresh meat every day or two, but for men marching on jerky and hardtack, the dietary requirements for…” She frowned at him for a moment, her eyes narrowed. Then she waved one hand in a dismissive gesture. “Though I suppose Maximus is hardly the victim of a winter’s privation, is he? Give him whatever is the most cost-effective.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Tavi said, bowing his head. “Is there anything I should know about the preparation?”

“Why, Subtribune,” Lady Antillus said. “If I didn’t know better, I would think you were trying to interfere with my visit to my stepson.”

Tavi lifted both eyebrows. “Your Grace? I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

She gave him a prim little smile. “I’m sure you don’t know what you’re playing with, Scipio.” She glanced at the tent, then back at Tavi. “How long have you known my Maximus?”

Tavi fixed her with the same cheerful smile he had always used when his aunt Isana had asked him loaded questions, relying upon her empathie senses to gather information from the answers. He had learned to baffle her before he turned thirteen years old. He certainly wasn’t going to allow this creature to do what his aunt could not. “A season or so. We traveled here together from the capital.”

She frowned faintly, narrowing her eyes. “You seem quite close to him for such a brief acquaintance.”

Tavi threw in a bit of truth in order to confuse the issue. “We were attacked by armed bandits on the way here. We fought them together.”

“Ah,” Lady Antillus said. “A bonding experience. Are you sure you didn’t meet him before that?”

“Your Grace?” Tavi said. “No, I’m certain that I’d have remembered it. Max is the sort to stand out in one’s memory.”

Crassus snorted quietly.

Lady Antillus glared at her son, then turned back to Tavi. “I was told he was quite close to a page in service to the Crown.”

“Could be, Your Grace,” Tavi agreed. “But you’d have to ask him about it.”

“Would I?” she pressed. “Are you sure you are not the young man from Calderon, Subtribune?”

“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.”