Cursor's Fury (Codex Alera #3)(271)

"Mmmm," Marcus said. Both were quiet for perhaps ten minutes. Then Marcus said, "Do you know what the boy is?"

"What?"

Marcus heard the faint, quiet wonder in his own voice when he spoke. "Hope."

"Yes," Gaius said. "Remarkable." He reached out a hand and put several golden coins on the stone siding, next to Marcus's hand. Then he took another one, an ancient silver bull, the coin worn with age, and placed it beside them.

Marcus took up the gold. He stared at the silver coin for a long moment, the token of a Cursor's authority. "You and I can never be made right again."

"No, " Gaius said. "But perhaps you and Octavian can."

Marcus stared at the silver coin, the token of a Cursor's allegiance to the Crown. Then he picked it up and put it in his pocket. "How old was Septimus when he started crafting?"

Gaius shrugged. "About five, I think. He set the nursery on fire. Why?" "Five." Marcus shook his head. "Just curious."

The man in the grey cloak turned to walk away.

"You didn't have to show me this," Marcus said to his back.

"No," he answered.

"Thank you, Sextus."

The First Lord turned and inclined his head to the other man. "You are welcome, Fidelias."

Marcus watched him go. Then he drew out the old silver coin and held it up to let the distant fires shine on its surface. "Five," he mused.

"How long have we known one another, Aleran?" Kitai asked. "Five years this autumn," Tavi said. Kitai walked beside Tavi as he left the hospital-the first building Tavi had ordered the Legion's engineers to reconstruct. A clean, dry place to nurse the injured and sick had been badly needed, given the numbers of wounded and the exhaustion of Foss and his healers, particularly during the final hours of the battle, when the healers had barely been able to so much as stabilize the dying, much less return them to action.

Tavi had spent his evening visiting the wounded. Whenever he'd been able to find a few moments, he would visit a few more of his men, asking about them, giving them whatever encouragement he could. It was exhausting, to see one mangled legionare after another, every one of them wounded while obeying orders he had given.

He brought Kitai with him whenever he visited-in fact, he brought her nearly everywhere he went, including staff meetings. He introduced her as Ambassador Kitai, and offered no other explanation whatsoever for her presence, his entire manner suggesting that she belonged there and that anyone with questions or comments about her had best keep them to himself. He wanted the men to get used to seeing her, to speaking her, until they got the idea that she was not a threat. It was a method adapted from his uncle's lessons in shepherding, Tavi had thought, amused. It was the same way he would train sheep to accept the presence of a new shepherd or dog.

She had discarded her beggar's outfit to wear one of Tavi's uniform tunics, leather riding breeches, and high riding boots. She had shorn her long hair Legion style, and what remained was her natural color, silver-white.

She nodded as they walked. "Five years. In that time," she said, "have I ever attempted to deceive you?"

Tavi put a finger on the fine, white scar he had on one cheek. "The first night I met you, you gave me that with one of those stone knives. And I thought you were a boy."

"You are slow and stupid. We both know this. But have I ever deceived you?"

"No," he said. "Never."

She nodded. "Then I have an idea you should present to the First Lord."