Cursor's Fury (Codex Alera #3)(131)

"She's no more impressive than you are, in flight. She hardly seemed able to follow you when we dived out of that cloud the other day."

Amara smiled a little. "I've had more practice. I fly every day, and I only have the one fury. She's had to divide her practice time among dozens of disciplines. But she's been doing it longer than I have, and her general skills and concentration are far better than mine. With some time to focus on flying, to practice, she'd fly circles around me, even if her furies were only as strong as Cirrus-which they aren't. They're a great deal stronger."

Bernard shook his head, and mused, "All that skill, all those furies at her command, all the good she could do-and she spends her time plotting how to take the throne, instead."

"You don't approve."

"I don't understand," Bernard corrected her. "For years, I would have given anything for a strong talent at windcrafting."

"Everyone would like to fly," Amara said.

"Maybe. But I just wanted to be able to do something about the crowbegotten furystorms that come down on my steadholt," Bernard said. "Every time Thana and Garados sent one down, it threatened my holders, damaged crops, injured or killed livestock, destroyed game-and did the same for the rest of the steadholts in the valley. We tried for years to attract a strong enough windcrafter, but they're expensive, and we couldn't find one willing to work for what we could pay."

"So," Amara said, giving him a coy little glance, "your hidden motives are at last revealed."

Bernard smiled. She loved the way his eyes looked when he smiled. "Perhaps you could consider it for your retirement." He looked into her eyes, and said, "You're wanted there, Amara. I want you there. With me."

"I know," she said quietly. She tried to smile, but it didn't feel as if it had made it all the way to her face. "Perhaps one day."

He moved his arm, brushing the back of his hand unobtrusively against the side of her stomach. "Perhaps one day soon."

"Bernard," she said quietly. "Yes."

She met his eyes. "Take me," she said. "For a walk."

His eyelids lowered a little, and his eyes smoldered, though he kept the rest of his face impassive and bowed his head politely. "As you wish, my lady."

Max blinked at Tavi and then said, incredulously, "You took it?"

Tavi grinned at him and tossed a heavy grain sack up into the bed of the supply wagon.

"She's been going insane about her purse. She hasn't stopped complaining to Cyril since she lost it." Max hit his forehead with the heel of his hand. "Of course. You took it and bribed Foss and Valiar Marcus to let you ride."

"Just Foss. I think he handled Marcus's cut on his own."

"You're a crowbegotten thief," Max said, not without a certain amount of admiration.

Tavi threw another sack into the supply wagon. There was room for only a few more sacks, and the timbers of the wagon groaned and creaked under the weight of the load. "I prefer to think of myself as a man who turns liabilities into assets."

Max snorted. "True enough." He gave Tavi and oblique glance. "How much did she have?"

"About a years worth of my pay."

Max pursed his lips. "Quite a windfall. You have any plans for what's left?"

Tavi grunted and heaved the last sack into the wagon. His leg twinged, but the pain was hardly noticeable. "I'm not loaning you money, Max."

Max sighed. "Bah. That everything?"