Aria nodded sharply, once, then she and her husband dismounted and launched themselves skyward.

“Raucus,” Aquitaine continued, “you’ll take your Citizens to the Antillan Legions, and Phrygius will cover his own troops—and yes, I know the two of you have the most Legions in the field at the moment and that your furycrafters will be spread thin. Lord Cereus, if you would, please gather together the Citizens from Ceres, Forcia, Kalare, and Alera Imperia and divide them to assist the northern Legions.”

Phrygius and Antillus both nodded and turned their horses, kicking them into a run as they raced in separate directions, toward their own Legions. Cereus gave Amara a grim nod and launched himself skyward.

Aquitaine gave a series of calm, specific instructions to the Lords remaining, and the men departed in rapid succession.

“Captain Miles,” he said, at the last.

“Sir,” Miles said.

Sir, Amara noted. Not sire.

“The Crown Legion will proceed to the northeast gates of Riva to escort and safeguard the civilians,” Aquitaine said.

“We’re ready to continue the fight, sir.”

“No, Captain. After last year, your Legion was down to four-fifths of its strength before today’s battle was joined. You have your orders.”

Sir Miles grimaced but saluted. “Yes, sir.”

“And you, Countess Calderon.” Aquitaine sighed. “Please be so kind as to carry word to your own liege, Lord Rivus, that it will be his responsibility to shield the population of Riva as he evacuates them to the Calderon Valley. Have him coordinate with your husband to make sure this happens as quickly as possible.”

Amara frowned and inclined her head. “And you, Your Highness?”

Aquitaine shrugged languidly. “I would have preferred to drive straight for the Queen as soon as she revealed herself. But given what’s happening, she has no need to put in an appearance.”

Amara began to ask another question.

“Neither does my ex-wife,” Aquitaine said smoothly.

Amara frowned at him. “The Legions. You’re asking them to fight wild furies and the vord alike. Fight them while a horde of refugees staggers away. Fight them while they themselves retreat.”

“Yes,” Aquitaine said.

“They’ll be ground to dust.”

“You exaggerate the danger, Countess,” Aquitaine replied. “Fine sand.” Amara just stared at the man. “Was... was that a joke?”

“Apparently not,” Aquitaine replied. He turned his face toward the lines again.

His eyes were calm, and veiled...

. . . and haunted.

Amara followed his gaze and realized that he was staring at the screaming casualties on the ground, the men whose proportion of agony to mortality had run too high to rate immediate attention. She shivered and averted her eyes.

Aquitaine did not.

Amara looked back to the battle itself. The legionares were holding the enemy tide at bay—for now.