Ceregus lifted his chin and sneered down at her. “Is that a thr—”

Amara called upon Cirrus, surged toward the young Knight with all the violent speed her fury could lend her, and slammed the heel of her left hand across the idiot’s jaw.

Rivus Ceregus went down like a poleaxed ox.

The legionares on sentry duty all stared in silence at the unconscious man, their eyes wide and stunned.

Doroga burst into a full-bellied laugh. He smothered it a second later and bowed his head as if pretending to unravel a loose thread from his tunic—but his shoulders quivered and jerked with his muffled amusement.

Amara would have been tempted to join him if her left wrist hadn’t felt as though she had broken it. Human hands weren’t meant to deliver blows with that kind of speed and force. She clenched the fingers of her right hand into a tight fist to channel the pain elsewhere, made a mental note to stop abusing her limbs like that, then turned a calm gaze on the sentries and nodded at the youngest. “You. Go into the command tent. Find a senior officer and ask whether or not the clan-head is welcome to attend.”

The legionare threw her a sketchy, hasty salute, and hurried into the tent. “You,” Amara said, nodding at another one. “Fetch the nearest healer for the idiot.”

“Y-yes, ma’am,” the legionare said. He hurried away, too.

“I apologize for the delay,” Amara said to Doroga. “I’m sure we’ll have things cleared up in a moment.”

“No hurry,” Doroga said, a wide grin on his ugly face.

Bernard emerged from the bustle of the camp, threading his way between several sets of smith’s apprentices, pairs of whom were carrying multiple suits of newly made Legion lorica on stout poles. Bernard nodded to Doroga and clasped forearms with the Marat, then turned to Amara.

His jaw hadn’t been pulverized to powder by Invidia’s blow, but it had apparently broken into half a dozen shards. The healers had only just been able to fuse the bones back together, including replacement teeth for the ones that had been knocked out, but there was still considerable swelling. It would take multiple sessions and simple time to repair his jaw entirely, and in the face of the battle at hand, the healers had neither to spare. When Bernard spoke, the words came from between clenched teeth, slightly misshapen. “Doroga. My lady. Have they started yet?”

“I’ve no idea,” Amara said. “One of Valerius’s dogs was in charge of the sentries and barred Doroga. We’re working things out.”

Bernard looked gravely down at the unconscious man. “My wife. The diplomat.”

“Don’t start,” Amara said.