The Princeps gave Fidelias a bland look that had something granite-hard lurking under the surface. “It’s not their city. Is it.” He looked out at the mist, as though focusing on whatever was beyond. “Besides, Riva could conceal legions of vord behind her walls. Better to find out now and deal with them rather than waiting for them to come marching up our spines when we reach Calderon.”

There was the sound of approaching hoofbeats, and Kitai appeared out of the mist. She pulled in on the Princeps’ right side and matched her mount’s pace to his, her green eyes intent. “The gates were not destroyed when the city was taken,” she said. “They are currently closed and guarded. There are vord on the battlements and in the sky above the city.”

“There’s a problem,” Fidelias said. “We don’t have siege equipment.”

The Princeps shook his head. “We won’t need it.” He drew a deep breath, as if bracing himself for something unpleasant, and said, “I’m going to take them down.”

Fidelias found himself lifting both eyebrows. The siege gates of the great cities of Alera were more than simple steel and stone. They were wound through and through with furycraftings of every kind imaginable, and more craftings were laid upon them every year, so that they built one upon another like layers of paint. It was done that way for the specific purpose of making the gates almost entirely resistant to the influence of hostile furycraft. A High Lord of the Realm would be daunted by such an obstacle.

“You think you’re strong enough to manage that, sir?”

The Princeps nodded once. “Yes, I do.”

Fidelias studied Octavian’s confident profile. “Be wary of hubris, Your Highness.”

“It’s only hubris if I can’t do it,” he replied. “Besides, I need to be tested, too. If I’m to step into my grandfather’s shoes, I can’t keep on concealing my abilities forever. I need to prove myself.”

Kitai snorted quietly. “About bloody time,” she said. “Does this mean I’m free to be more obvious as well, Aleran?”

“I don’t see why not,” said the Princeps.

Fidelias lifted his eyebrows. “Your Highness? I knew she could manage minor furycraftings, lights and such, but...”

“But?” He smiled faintly.

“But she’s a Marat, sir. Marat don’t use furies.”

The Princeps feigned an astonished expression. “She is? Are you sure?”

Fidelias gave him a sour look.

The Princeps let out a warm laugh. “You may have noted that our dear Ambassador has very little regard for the proprieties.”

“Not when they’re ridiculous,” Kitai sniffed.