Jim Butcher - Cursors's Fury

He opened his eyes slowly, smiling at her the way he smiled at nothing and no one else, and it made Isana feel deliciously smug, delighted.

She closed her eyes and nuzzled her face into his chest. “ My lord, my love .”

“ I love you, Isana ,” he said.

The truth of it rang in Isana’s heart. She felt it between them, flowing like a river, running endlessly through both. “ I love you, “ she whispered, and shivered in pure delight. “ This is… this is like a dream. I’m terrified that if I open my eyes, all of this will be gone, and I’ll find myself in my cot .”

“ I couldn’t bear it if this wasn’t real ,” Septimus murmured into her hair. “ Best you stay asleep then. “

Isana opened her eyes and found herself in a strange bedchamber.

Not in the moonlight.

Not young.

Not in love.

Not with him.

Septimus.

She’d had the dream before-memories, really, perfectly preserved, like a flower frozen in a block of ice. They made the dream so real that she could never remember, while it happened, that she was dreaming.

It hurt just as much to awake from the dream as it had all the times before. Slow, slow agony pierced her, taunted her with what might have been and never would be. It was pure torment-but to see him again, to touch him again, was worth the pain.

She didn’t weep. She was long since past the tears. She knew the memories would fade before morning, washed away into pale ghosts of themselves. She just held on to those images as tightly as she could.

The door opened, and Isana looked up to find her brother leaning in the doorway. Bernard entered at once, strode to her bedside, and gave her a warm smile.

She tried to smile back. “Bernard,” she said in a weary voice. “At some point, I would like a few weeks to go by in which I do not faint during a crisis.”

Her brother leaned down and enfolded her in a vast hug. “Things will settle down again,” he told her. “Lord Cereus says its because your watercrafting is so strong, without being complemented by enough metalcraft to endure your own empathy.”

“Lord Cereus,” Isana said. “Is that where I am?”

“Yes,” her brother answered. “In his guest quarters. Cereus has offered the hospitality of his citadel to the Citizen refugees trapped here.”

Isana lifted both her eyebrows. “Trapped? Bernard, what is happening.”

“War,” Bernard said shortly. “Lord Kalarus marches on Ceres with his forces. There will shortly be battle joined here.”

“The fool.” Isana shook her head. “I take it there is not time to leave?”

“Not safely,” Bernard said. “You were particularly targeted by the assassins who attacked the restaurant, and there are agents of Kalare in the city and advance forces already in the area. You’re safest here. Giraldi will stay here with you, as will Fade.”

Isana sat bolt upright. “Fade. He’s here, in Ceres.”

Bernard hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “In the hall, in fact. And armed. And I’ve never seen anyone fight like he did.” Bernard shook his head. “I always thought him just a disgraced legionare.”

“Why is he here?” Isana demanded. “Why is he not with Tavi?”

Bernard blinked mildly at her. “Tavi? I know Gaius took Fade to the capital to serve as a slave in the Academy…” His frown deepened. “ ‘Sana? You’re upset…”

Isana forced herself to set aside the rising sense of panic, smoothing her expression back to calm. “I’m sorry… I’m just so… I’ll be all right, Bernard.”

“You’re sure?” Bernard said. “ ‘Sana, I… well, when you told me to buy Fade, I did it. Never asked you why. I was sure you had your reasons, but…” A heavy silence fell, and Bernard asked, “Is there anything you should tell me?”

Isana dared not meet her brother’s eyes. “Not yet.”

Bernard frowned at the answer.

Before he could ask another question, Isana nodded at Bernard’s working clothes, his woodland cloak. “Where are you going?”

He hesitated for a moment and gave her a lopsided smile. “Can’t say,” Bernard said. “Not yet. Mission.”

“What mission?” Isana asked. She tilted her head to one side and then said, “Ah, I see. Amara’s mission.”

Bernard nodded, somewhat sheepishly. “Yes.”

“She makes you happy, doesn’t she.”

Her younger brother’s face spread into a little smile. “Yes.”

As Isana had Septimus. A little pang went through her, but she covered it with a smile. “From the rumors I’ve heard,” Isana added drily, “ very happy.”

“ Isana ,” Bernard rumbled, his face flushed.

Isana let her lips curl around a small silent chuckle. “Leaving soon, I take it?”

“Before it gets light. I was about to go,” he said. “I was hoping you’d wake first.”

“Will you…” She frowned. “Is it…”

He smiled at her and touched her shoulder again. “I’ll be fine. I’ll tell you all about it when we get back.”

She could feel Bernard’s confidence and honesty, through his touch on her shoulder, but she also felt uncertainty and fear. Though her brother was not in fear of his life, or ruled by his trepidations, he knew full well that he was going into danger and that nothing in the future was certain.

There was a knock at the door, and Giraldi opened it and stuck his head in. “Your Excellency,” he said. “Your skinny Countess just blew past on her way to the tower. Said you should catch up.”

Bernard nodded sharply, then turned and gave his sister another, tighter hug. Isana knew that her ribs weren’t really about to collapse, as she had endured many such embraces from Bernard in the past, but she finally made a sound of complaint and pushed at him. It was, she sometimes thought, the only way he knew when to stop.

“Giraldi will be with you,” he said. “Love you.”

“And I you,” Isana said. “Good luck.”

Bernard bent down and kissed her forehead, then rose, leaving. “Take good care of her, centurion.”

“Go teach yer grandmother to suck eggs,” Giraldi muttered, winking at Isana.

“What?” Bernard called over his shoulder.

“Sir!” Giraldi answered. “Yes, sir.”

“Terrible,” Isana murmured. “The lack of discipline in today’s Legions.”

“Shocking,” the veteran concurred. “Steadholder, you in need of anything? Victuals, drink?”

“Some privacy first,” Isana said. “Then something simple?”

“I’ll find it,” Giraldi said.

“Centurion. If you would, please send Fade to speak to me.”

Giraldi paused by the door and grunted. “That scarred slave? The one-man Legion?”

Isana stared at him for a moment, saying nothing.

“Seems kind of odd, old Fade would be out there at your Steadholt all those years, and never saw him use so much as a knife. Figured all those scars on his arms were from working his smithy. Then tonight, he just went through those maniacs like they was made of cobwebs. Sort of makes a body wonder who he is.”

Isana folded her arms, one finger tapping in slight impatience, and said nothing.

“Hngh,” Giraldi grunted, limping out. “The plot thickens.”

Fade entered a few moments later. He was still dressed in the simple, blood-sprinkled smock of a scullion, though he wore a Legion-issue sword belt and his old blade at his side. He had acquired a worn, old cloak of midnight blue, and wore the military boots of a legionare. A bloody rag was tied crudely around his left hand, but if the wound caused him pain, he showed no sign of it.

Fade shut the door behind him and turned to face Isana.