She came down square in the middle of the Crown Legion, whose legionares had been stationed at Alera Imperia for years, and many of whom would recognize her on sight. She nearly skewered herself on a spear, and the startled legionare she’d half landed on nearly gave her a killing stroke with his gladius. Only the swift intervention of the legionare beside him kept him from plunging the wickedly sharp steel into Amara’s throat.

After that, it was a matter of convincing the men that only their centurion could deal with her, and that centurion’s Tribune would need to do the same, and so on, all the way up to the captain of the Crown Legion.

Captain Miles was a more formal-looking version of his older brother, Araris Valerian. He had the same innocuous height, the same solid, leanly muscled build. His hair was a few shades lighter than Araris’s, but then both of them were showing enough threads of silver to make the distinction a fine one these days. Sir Miles limped over to her, moving briskly, every inch the model of a Legion captain, his face darkening with wrath. No surprise, that. Amara couldn’t imagine a captain worth his salt who would be thrilled to have some kind of administrative matter thrust into his hands now, when the battle was freshly under way.

Miles gave Amara one look, and his face went absolutely pale.

“Bloody crows,” he said. “How bad is it?”

“Very,” Amara said.

Miles gestured curtly for the legionares holding Amara’s arms to release her. “I wish I could say it was good to see you again, Countess, but you’ve been a harbinger for confusion and danger a little too often for my taste. How can I help you?”

“How can you get rid of me, you mean,” Amara said, grinning. “I need to see Aqui—Gaius Attis. Now. Sooner if possible.”

Miles’s eyes narrowed, then a small, hard grin touched his mouth. “This should be interesting. If you will follow me, Countess Calderon.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Amara said.

He paused, and said, “Countess. I take it that you aren’t going to attempt anything, ah, ill-advised.”

She smiled sweetly at him. “Would you care to take my weapons, Sir Miles?”

He huffed out an annoyed breath and shook his head. Then he beckoned for Amara to follow him.

She walked through the blazing light of Legion standards, passing from the Crown Legion proper into a space opened between the single surviving Imperian Legion and the First Legion of Aquitaine. The space between them was filled with cavalry, including, it would seem, the command group around Gaius Attis.

As Amara approached, half a dozen men with long dueling blades—Aquitaine’s singulares, presumably—drew their weapons and immediately nudged their horses to stand between Amara and Lord Aquitaine.

“Relax, boys,” growled Miles. He turned to Amara, and said, “Wait here, Countess. I’ll speak to him.”