Furies of Calderon by Jim Butcher

stirred, and a fury-crafted form rose out of it—but instead of the First Lord, a woman took shape. Gaius Caria, wife to Gaius Sextus, Alera’s First Lord, seemed young, hardly older than Amara herself. She wore a splendid high-waisted gown, her hair coiffed into an intricate series of braids with a few artful curls falling to frame her face. The woman was beautiful, but more than that, she carried with her a sense of serenity, of purpose, of grace— and of power.

    Amara abruptly felt like a gangling cow and dropped into a curtsey as best she could, hands taking the soiled skirts and holding to them. “Your Grace.”

    “Academ,” murmured the woman in reply. “Not twenty days have passed since my husband gave you his coin, and already you interrupt his supper. I believe that is a new record. Fidelias, I am told, did not see fit to drag him from his meal or his bed until at least a month had gone by.”

    Amara felt her face flush with heat. “Yes, Your Grace. I apologize for the necessity.”

    The First Lady gave her an arch look, up and down the grimy length of her body. Amara felt her blush deepen, and she fought not to squirm. “No apology is necessary,” Lady Caria said. “Though you might work on your timing in the future.”

    “Yes, Lady. Please, Your Grace. I need to speak to the First Lord.”

    Lady Caria shook her head. “Impossible,” she said, her tone one of finality. “I’m afraid you’ll have to speak to him later. Perhaps tomorrow.”

    “But, Lady—”

    “He’s swamped,” the First Lady said, emphasizing each syllable. “If you feel the matter is an important one, Academ, then you may leave me a message and I will present it to him as soon as opportunity allows.”

    “Please forgive me, Lady, but I was told that if I ever used the coin, that the message was to be only for him.”

    “Mind your tongue, Academ,” Caria said, her brows arched. “Remember to whom you speak.”

    “I have the orders from the First Lord himself, Your Grace. I only attempt to obey them.”

    “Admirable. But the First Lord is not a favorite professor you can simply visit yourself upon whenever you wish, Academ.” She stressed the last word, very slightly. “And he has affairs of state to attend to.”

    Amara swallowed and said, “Your Grace, please. I will not be long in telling him. Let him judge if I am abusing the privilege. Please.”

    “No,” Caria said. The sculpted figure looked over its shoulder. “You have taken enough of my time, Academ Amara.” The First Lady’s voice gained a note of tension, hurry. “If that is all…”

    Amara licked her lips. If she could hold on a moment more, perhaps the First Lord would overhear the conversation. “Your Grace, before you go, may I give you a message to pass on to him?”

    “Be quick.”

    “Yes, Your Grace. If you would only tell him that—”

    Amara didn’t get any farther than that before the watery form of the First Lady grimaced and shot her a cool glance, her features becoming remote and hard.

    The water beside Lady Caria stirred, and a second fury-crafted shape rose from it. This one was a man, tall, with shoulders that had once been broad, but were now slumped with age. He carried himself with a casual pride and a confidence that showed in every line of his body. The water-figure did not appear in liquid translucence, as did Lady Caria’s. It rose from the river in full color, and Amara thought, for just a moment, that the First Lord himself had somehow come, rather than sending a fury in his place. His hair was dark, streaked with silver-white strands, and his green eyes looked faded, weary, and confident.

    “Here now,” said the figure in a gentle, ringing bass. “What passes, my wife?” The figure of Gaius turned toward Amara, squinting. His features went completely still for a moment. Then he murmured, “Ah. I see. Greetings, Cursor.”

    Lady Caria shot her husband’s image a glance at the use of that title,