“You used us,” Amara snarled. She jerked her furious gaze away from Attis’s veiled form. Sheer pain had all but blinded her with tears, but she found Bernard’s throat with her fingers. His pulse beat steady and strong, though he still wasn’t moving. His own fury-born strength had enabled him to survive Invidia’s blow to the jaw. Had such a strike landed on Amara, it would have broken her neck.

“It was necessary,” Attis replied evenly. He turned, scanning the smoke-and-fire skies over Riva. “Invidia would never have exposed herself to me if she did not think she could kill me easily, such as when I was distracted with those furies. And if she hadn’t found someone watching over me, she would have assumed my guard to be too well concealed, and not shown herself for fear of being taken by surprise. You and your Count are both capable enough that it was feasible you might have been entrusted with warning me of danger but vulnerable enough to be quickly overwhelmed by someone of Invidia’s caliber.”

“She might have killed us both,” Amara said.

“Quite,” Attis answered. “But not without revealing her presence.”

Amara stared at him hard for a moment, blinking tears from her eyes. “Those weren’t feral furies,” she said. “They were yours, disguised.”

“Obviously, Cursor. Honestly, do you think I would stand about completely unprotected when the slightest disturbance would result in my death? When a person with a great deal of dangerous personal knowledge about me is running about with the vord during an assault?” He paused reflectively. “I regret that I couldn’t tell you or your Count what I was doing, but it would rather have defeated the point.”

“You risked our lives,” Amara said. “Wounded some of your own bodyguards. And you didn’t even know that she would show herself.”

“Incorrect,” he replied. He knelt to begin picking up the unconscious Bernard. “Invidia has an acute talent for sensing weakness and exploiting it.”

There was a hissing sound, and a slender sword, its blade a shaft of vord green fire, abruptly emerged from the stone beneath Attis’s feet and thrust up into his groin. Attis screamed and flung himself away from the blade, which cut its way free of his body with a sizzling, hissing wail. He only barely managed to stumble aside as a three-foot circle of stone roof exploded upward and outward.

A figure emerged from below, all black chitin and scorched flesh, holding the blazing green blade in its hand. It was bald, its scalp burned black. Amara could scarcely have recognized Invidia if not for the quivering, pulsing, agonized movements of the badly scorched creature that clung to her over her heart. “I do know how to exploit weakness,” she hissed, her voice a rasping croak, “such as your insufferable tendency to gloat after a victory, Attis.”