Invidia said nothing. She fought to keep herself calm. She had never seen the vord Queen so angry. Not while she was disemboweling her traitorous child. Not when Gaius Sextus had all but annihilated her army at Alera Imperia. Never.

Invidia was well aware that she was one of the most dangerous human beings on the face of Carna. She also knew that the vord Queen would tear her apart without growing short of breath. She focused on being silent, calm, and part of the background. The raid had been flawless. Octavian had not only let his image stand there to give Alerans time to gather—he had used it to trigger any defenses around the little steadholt, revealing them to the raiders. Once aware of the vord hornets, his men had evidently been able to circumvent them.

She’d sensed the rescue attempt when it had begun. The surge of hope from the other side of the hill. And she’d assumed it was a result of his speech and actually spent effort blocking it out.

She thought it would be best not to mention that fact to the near-berserk Queen. Ever.

“He took the dogs,” the Queen snarled. “He took the cat. He took the livestock. He left me nothing!” She looked around her, at the empty shell of the steadholt, and with a gesture of one hand disintegrated a cottage in a sudden sphere of white-hot fire.

Pieces of molten stone flew everywhere. Some of it arched high enough to come raining down like falling stars, several seconds later.

Then the Queen went still again. She stayed that way for a moment and turned abruptly to begin stalking toward the nearest edge of the croach. She made a curt gesture to the Aleran woman as she went.

Invidia fell into step behind the Queen. “What will you do?”

The vord looked over her shoulder at Invidia, her fine white hair in wild disarray, her pale cheek smudged with soot and dust and earth. “He has taken from me,” she hissed, her voice quavering with alien rage. “He has hurt me. He has hurt me.” Her claws made that stretching-tearing sound again. “Now I will take from him.”

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 7

Valiar Marcus entered the command tent and saluted. Octavian glanced back and nodded at him, beckoning Marcus to come in. The captain looked weary and ragged after the effort he’d expended to send forth the watercrafting he’d used to address all of Alera, but he had not slept since then. He’d spent the night in the command tent, reading reports and poring over maps and sand tables. A small pool, crafted into existence by Legion engineers, occupied one corner of the tent.

The Princeps stood before the little pool, looking down at a shrunken image of Tribune Antillus Crassus, which stood upon the water’s surface. “How many holders did you get out of there?”