“You’re certain of that?” Amara asked. “Without a doubt?”

“Absolutely.”

“That was my assessment as well, Your Highness,” Amara said quietly.

Attis smiled faintly. “Good.” His eyes fluttered closed, and his breath caught for a second.

“My lord?” Amara asked. “Should I send for a physician?”

“No,” he rasped. “No. Save their strength for men who might live.” He panted for a moment before opening his eyes again. They were glazed with fatigue. “You’re going to use her,” he said.

Amara nodded. “Either she will lead us to the Queen and betray us to her. Or she will not lead us to the Queen and betray us. Or she will lead us to the Queen and assist us as she said. Two of three possible outcomes result in an opportunity to remove the Queen. We can’t pass up a chance like that.”

“And she knows it,” Attis said. “She can do the math as well. She knows you have no choice but to try. And your figures are fallacies, really. I would make it seventy percent that she intends to lead you to the Queen and betray you. Another thirty percent that she simply intends to take you to a trap without ever revealing the Queen.”

Amara shrugged. “By your argument, we have a seventy percent chance, instead of sixty-six. Regardless, it’s still a better opportunity than we’ve ever had or will ever have again.”

Attis said nothing. Outside, trumpets blared. It was nearly noon, and the vord pursuing the fleeing Legions to their final fortification had begun their attack by midmorning. Crushed into the relatively small frontage of the final redoubt at the outskirts of Garrison, the vord were making little headway against the determined legionares. Mules operating from town rooftops and squads of firecrafters brought blazing death to the enemy. The air was filled with the grotesque stench of internal fluids and burned chitin, even here, inside the little citadel. The incense didn’t help with that smell, either.

“I think you know what she intends to do,” Attis said.

“Yes.”

“You’re willing to pay the price this could entail?”

“I have no choice,” she said.

Attis nodded slowly, and said, “I do not envy you. When?”

“Four hours after midnight,” Amara said. “The team will meet Invidia and strike just before dawn.”

“Bother,” Attis said. “I hate not knowing the end of a story.”

“Your Highness?”

He shook his head. “You didn’t need to consult me, Amara, and yet here you are. You must want something of me.”

“I do,” she said quietly.

His weak voice turned wry. “All things considered, it is probably best if you do not dawdle. Out with it.”

She told him what she wanted.

He agreed, and they made the necessary arrangements.

Not long after noon, Gaius Attis, High Lord Aquitaine, fell quietly unconscious. Amara sent for the healers, but they only arrived in time to see him take his last slow, quiet breath.