2

Sebastian Turgenev Portinari had been told countless times about the beauty of Aureum, but that hadn’t prepared him for the real thing.

As he traveled on the Advent Road with his mother Lady Irina Turgenev Portinari, Commander Franko Vittorio, General Savitri Zaniolo, and Private Sasha Rykov, his eyes swept almost reverently across the rolling emerald-green meadows that stretched out to the horizon on either side. The trees were covered in fragrant white or pink blossoms, and newly sprouted green wheat fields rippled with the gentle gusts of wind. A bold sun shone overhead, while fluffy white clouds floated placidly through the azure sky. After the relentless monochrome of Izmorozian winter, Aureum’s spring grandeur was almost overwhelming.

He sighed. “So this is my father’s homeland.”

“It’s stunning,” agreed his mother. She looked serene, almost saintly, with the sunlight playing off her long white hair as she rode beside him.

“Is this your first time in Aureum as well, my lady?” asked Zaniolo. “I hadn’t realized.”

She nodded. “Giovanni spoke of it often but said he had no desire to return.”

“I can’t imagine why not,” said Sebastian.

Zaniolo gave him one of those unreadable smiles of his. The sort that always made Sebastian feel as though the general was hiding something. Of course he knew it could just as easily be a habit acquired from many years as an intelligence officer.

“Sometimes the past is best left undisturbed.” Zaniolo glanced toward Commander Vittorio, who rode a little ways ahead of the rest.

Vittorio had gone through drastic changes in temperament since Sebastian had first met him. Initially, the commander had possessed an almost regal bearing, and while he could be a little stiff, he had projected a firm sense of leadership that instilled confidence in everyone under his command. But that decorum had faltered in the face of the unexpected conflict brought about by Sonya and her Uaine allies. Sebastian had been stunned, and at times even horrified, by the shocking displays of violent temper Vittorio had exhibited toward his subordinates on numerous occasions during the conflict.

In the month since they had been routed from Gogoleth and forced to flee Izmoroz, Vittorio had changed yet again. Gone were both the regal bearing and furious outbursts, to be replaced by a deep and pensive brooding. He had spoken little, slept little, and eaten little since crossing the border into Aureum. And yet for all his silence, there was a sense that the wrath he had displayed previously was still there, seething beneath the surface.

Sebastian was concerned for the commander, and had wondered if there was anything he could do to improve his mentor’s mood. But Zaniolo and his mother had both advised him to give Vittorio space so that he could grieve for his losses in Izmoroz, and prepare for whatever punishment might await him in Magna Alto.

“Something big coming up the road,” said Rykov.

Although Rykov was Izmorozian, he had decided to remain Sebastian’s aide-de-camp and follow him to Aureum. Sebastian was grateful for the large man’s stoic, unwavering presence. Rykov had been there, in his quiet, unobtrusive way, to guide and support Sebastian from his very first day as an officer of the imperial army. The aide-de-camp’s loyalty was especially precious to Sebastian after the betrayal he’d suffered at the hands of his former betrothed, Galina Odoyevtseva Prozorova. Time and distance had dulled his heartbreak to some degree, but he still tried to think about her as little as possible.

Sebastian squinted in the sunlight to where Rykov pointed. He could see a large cloud of dust along the road, which suggested a group of riders ahead.

“A merchant caravan?” he asked.

“Perhaps,” said Zaniolo, although his tone suggested he thought it was something else.

Commander Vittorio made no comment, and merely continued to plod ahead, so they followed him.

Once the riders finally came into view, Sebastian saw that it was an imperial cavalry unit of twenty strong heading toward them. They moved in perfect formation at a steady canter, their bright steel breastplates and helmets shining in the warm Aureumian sun.

“Well,” Zaniolo said dryly. “Here is our welcome party, although I don’t expect it will be a particularly warm reception, given our recent failure.”

They all looked to Vittorio for what they should do, but again he made no comment. He did, however, rein in his horse, so the rest followed suit. There they sat and waited as the soldiers approached.

“A word of advice, Captain Portinari,” Zaniolo said quietly.

“Yes, General?”

“Our arrival in Magna Alto will undoubtably be complicated and fraught with tension. I will do my best to shield you and your mother from any major repercussions, but for me to succeed, I will need you to only speak when addressed, and even then as reservedly as possible without giving offense. Do you understand?”

Sebastian still didn’t have a sense of how much trouble Vittorio was in, or how that might impact him and his mother. But he had few allies and even fewer options at this point.

“I understand, General. And thank you.”

He gave Sebastian a faint smile. Then they waited in silence until the soldiers reached them.

The captain of the cavalry unit, a clean-shaven man of middle age with close-cropped black hair beneath his round officer’s cap, called for his unit to stop.

“I am Captain Leoni of the Forty-Sixth Imperial Cavalry,” he boomed in a hard, formal tone. “By the authority of Her Imperial Majesty, Empress Caterina Morante the First, I command you to identify yourselves.”

There was an awkward moment while they waited for Vittorio to speak, but the former commander only glared down at the pommel of his saddle and said nothing.

Finally Zaniolo prodded his horse forward and smiled broadly.

“Now, now, Captain Leoni. There’s no need for all this ceremony. Surely it has not been so long that you have forgotten Commander Vittorio or me?”

“I am sorry, General,” Leoni said earnestly. “But I have been given explicit orders to stand upon the strictest formalities.”

Zaniolo looked a little disappointed, but not surprised. “I see, Captain. Then I might as well begin.” He gave the captain a smooth salute. “General Savitri Zaniolo, formerly of the imperial garrison in Gogoleth.”

Leoni returned Zaniolo’s salute, then looked expectantly at Vittorio, but the commander kept his eyes downcast, his jaw flexed with tension.

When it was clear Vittorio still refused to speak, Zaniolo glanced back at Sebastian and nodded.

Sebastian saluted the captain and said, “Captain Sebastian Turgenev Portinari, formerly of the Four Hundred and Fourth Imperial Cavalry.”

Again Leoni returned the salute.

After yet another awkward moment, Sebastian’s mother spoke up. “I am Lady Irina Turgenev Portinari of Izmoroz, mother of Captain Portinari and widow of the late retired commander Giovanni Portinari of Aureum.”

Leoni bowed respectfully in his saddle. “Your Ladyship.”

Rykov saluted. “Private Sasha Rykov from Izmoroz.”

Since Rykov ranked below the captain, Leoni was not required to return the salute, and only nodded. Then he gave the silent Vittorio a hard look.

“Are you Commander Franko Vittorio, formerly of the imperial garrison in Gogoleth, exiled from Aureum until such time as Her Imperial Majesty ordered your return?”

Vittorio’s lips curled up into a grimace, but he still did not look up. “I suppose I must be.”

Exiled? Sebastian was stunned. Zaniolo had told him that Vittorio had been sent to Izmoroz as punishment for an indiscretion of some kind, and he’d later mentioned that the empress might not be pleased that Vittorio was returning to Aureum after such a defeat. But Sebastian hadn’t realized that Vittorio had been banished from Aureum. Simply crossing the border had been in direct violation of the empress’s orders and therefore a crime against the empire. What had the man been thinking?

“Franko Vittorio,” Leoni continued sternly. “You are commanded by the empress to accompany me to Magna Alto, where you will face judgment. Any attempt to disobey this order or flee my custody will be considered treason. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Captain.” Vittorio’s lips writhed as he spoke, as if the words tasted foul.

“Very well.”

Leoni ordered his unit to form up around Sebastian and his companions, then, as one mass, they continued south toward Magna Alto.

But now the beautiful landscape seemed somehow less inviting to Sebastian. Were they to be criminals, then? He tried to catch Zaniolo’s eye, but the general’s expression was neutral as he rode. Somehow, Sebastian found that even more unnerving than his usual unreadable smile.