Princeps' fury by Jim Butcher Page A

approved the founding of four new steadholts.

    Amara frowned as she cruised in for a landing. Technically, she supposed, only two of them were actually new. The others had been rebuilt atop the ruins of the steadholts destroyed by the Vord infestation some years before.

    Amara shuddered at that memory.

    The Vord.

    With the help of the Marat, they had been destroyed—for the moment. But they were still out there. She and Bernard had done everything they could to warn their fellow Alerans of the threat they represented, but few had been willing to listen with open minds. They didn’t understand exactly how dangerous the creatures could be. If and when the Vord returned, the fools might not have time to realize their mistake, much less to correct it.

    Amara had despaired of ever making enough people understand. But her husband, in his usual fashion, had simply turned his hand to another course of action. If Bernard had done all that he could to strengthen the Realm as a whole, then he had done all that he could. Instead, he returned to Calderon and began to fortify the valley, doing everything within his power to prepare to defend his home and his people against the Vord or any other threat that might come against them. And, given the revenue from the taxation of the booming business in his holding, those preparations were formidable indeed.

    She exchanged greetings with the sentries on the walls and descended to the courtyard before crossing to the commander’s quarters. She nodded to the legionare on duty outside, and went in, to find Bernard poring over a set of plans with his secretary and a pair of Legion engineers. He stood a head taller than the rest of them, and was broader across the shoulders and chest. If his dark hair was frosted with more silver at the temples than it had been in the past, it did not detract from his appearance—far from it. He still wore the short beard he always favored though it was rather more heavily salted with grey. Dressed in a forester’s green tunic and leather breeches, he wouldn’t have looked like a Citizen at all, but for the excellent quality of material and manufacture of his clothing. His eyes were serious and intelligent, though the faint lines of a scowl had appeared between his brows.

    “I don’t care if it’s never been done before,” Bernard told the older of the two engineers. “Once you do it, no one will be able to say that again, now will they?”

    The engineer ground his teeth. “Your Excellency, you must understand—” Bernard’s eyes narrowed. “I understand that if you speak one more word to me in that condescending tone of voice, I’m going to roll up these plans and shove them so far up your—”

    “Assuming that you aren’t too busy,” Amara interjected smoothly, “I wonder if I might have a quiet moment with you, my lord husband.”

    Bernard glared at the engineer, then took a deep breath, composed himself, and faced Amara. “Of course. Gentlemen, shall we continue this after lunch?”

    The three men murmured agreement. The senior engineer seized his stack of plans from the table without ever taking his eyes off Bernard, quickly put both hands behind him, and began rolling the papers up in an almost-frantic hurry as he backed from the room. Amara was put in mind of a chipmunk stumbling upon a sleeping grass lion and fleeing for its life.

    She found herself smiling as she shut the door behind the chipmunk.

    “Rivan Legions,” Bernard spat, pacing the functional, plainly appointed office. “They haven’t stood to battle in so long they might as well be called Rivan construction crews. Always finding reasons why something can’t be done. Most often, because it isn’t done that way .”

    “The useless parasites,” Amara said, nodding in compassion. “Aren’t your own men members of the Rivan Legions, my lord?”

    “They don’t count,” Bernard growled.

    “I see,” Amara said gravely. “Did not you, yourself, serve in