see Kitai for half of a year. He didn't like that notion. Not at all. They found time to spend together on most days. And most nights.
Tavi felt his blush rising again, just thinking of it. But he felt faintly surprised at how much he disliked the idea of being parted from Kitai-and not just because it would mean a severe curtailing of his, ah, alternate activities. Kitai was a beautiful and fascinating young woman-clever of wit, quick of tongue, honest, loyal, fierce, and with a sense of innate empathy that Tavi had only seen previously in watercrafters like his aunt, Isana.
She was his friend. More than that, though, he was attached to Kitai by an unseen bond, some kind of link between them that each Marat shared with a totem creature. Every Marat Tavi had ever seen had been in the company of their totems, what Kitai called a chala. Her father, Doroga, the head of the Gargant Clan, was never to be seen outside the company of the enormous black gargant named Walker. He could count the number of times he'd seen Hashat, head of the Horse Clan, walking on her own feet with one hand.
Tavi nursed a secret concern that if he was separated from Kitai, it might put some kind of strain upon her, or harm her in some way. And after this visit to the south, he would be entering into his required three-year term with the Legions, which could take him to the far-flung reaches of the Realm-and which would certainly not be near Alera Imperia and Kitai, her people's ambassador to the Crown.
Three years. And after that, there would be another assignment. And another. Cursors in service to the Crown rarely spent much time in one place.
He already missed her. Worse, he hadn't told Gaius about the bond and what he feared it might do to Kitai. He had never explained his suspicions about the bond to the First Lord. Beyond a formless anxiety about the notion, he had no sharply defined reason why-but his instincts told him that he should be very wary about revealing anything Gaius might see as an ability to influence or manipulate one of his Cursors. Tavi had grown up on the frontiers of the Realm, dangerous lands where he'd spent most of his life learning to listen to his instincts.
Gaius watched the expressions play over his face and nodded, perhaps mistaking Tavi's concerns for romantic regrets. "You begin to understand."
Tavi nodded once, without lifting his eyes, and carefully kept his emotions in check.
Gaius blew out a breath, resumed his disguised form, then headed for the door. "You'll do as you wish, Tavi, but I trust your judgment. Start packing, Cursor. And good luck." Unseasonably rough weather slowed the pace of the Knights Aeris bearing Rook to her master in the south, and it took her nearly five days to make the trip. That time had been pure torture for her. She had no talent for windcraft herself, which meant that she could only sit in the enclosed windcraft-borne litter and stare at the package of folded documents sitting on the seat opposite her.
Nausea unrelated to the litter's lurching through rough winds wound through her. She closed her eyes so that she wouldn't have to look at the bundle of missives she'd secretly copied from official documents in the capital. She'd bought copies of some from unscrupulous, greedy palace staff. She'd stolen into empty offices and locked chambers to acquire others. All contained information of some value, crumbs and fragments that meant little alone, but that would be assembled into a more coherent whole with the help of similar reports from her fellow bloodcrows.
Ultimately, though, none of them mattered. Not anymore. The topmost document on the stack would render it all obsolete. When her master learned what she had found, he would be forced to move. He would begin the civil war every Aleran with half a mind had known was coming. It would mean the death of tens of thousands of Alerans, at the very least. That was bad enough, but it wasn't what made her feel the most sick.
She had betrayed a friend to attain this secret. She was not the naive youngster she pretended to be, but she was not much older than the boy from Calderon, and in the time she'd known him she'd grown to like and respect him and those around him. It had been a torment of its own, knowing that