His voice turned gentle. “I say to you this: The freemen of Alera are free. They are free to do as they think best. They are free to take what measures they wish to ensure the safety of their loved ones. Especially for those folk caught behind the lines, it is understandable that some of you may seek the safety of surrender. That is a choice you must make within your own hearts. When the vord are defeated, no recrimination will be levied, regardless of your decision.

“But as for you, Citizens of the Realm, who have for so long enjoyed the power and privilege of your station, the time for you to prove your worth has come. Act. Fight. Lead those who would stand beside you. Any Citizen who surrenders to the vord will, in the eyes of the Crown, be considered a traitor to the Realm.

“I can promise you only this: Those who fight will not fight alone. You are not forgotten. We will come for you. My grandfather fought the vord tooth and nail. He fought until he died to protect the lives of his people. Gaius Sextus set the standard by which our posterity will judge us all. I will not accept less from any other Citizen of the Realm. Not from you. Not from myself.

“Our foe is mighty but not invulnerable. Tell your friends and neighbors what you have heard here tonight. Stand. Fight. We will come for you. We will survive.” The image fell silent for a moment—and then, unnervingly, turned to stare directly at the vord Queen. “You.”

Invidia took a short breath and checked the other pools.

The water images had disappeared.

“That’s him,” Invidia hissed. “It is Octavian’s sending.”

“You,” Octavian said, staring at the vord Queen. “You killed my grandfather.”

The vord Queen lifted her chin. “Yes.”

“I offer you this chance,” Octavian said, and his voice was cold, calm, and all the more menacing for it. “Leave Alera. Flee back to Canea. Take with you any of your kind you wish to survive.”

The Queen smiled with the tiniest twitch of a single corner of her mouth. “Why should I do that?”

“Because I’m coming,” Octavian’s image said, very quietly, “for you.”

The Queen stood as unmoving as stone.

“When I’m finished,” Octavian promised, “nothing will be left of your kind but stories. I will burn your homes. I will bury your warriors.” His voice grew even softer. “I will blacken your sky with crows.”

Gaius Octavian’s image sank with perfect, controlled grace into the water.

And then he was gone.

The pool was very still.