Alamina's imperial palace was alive with servants, guards, officials, aides, military personnel, and nobles attempting to appear important in the presence of people who were actually doing important work. But the sharp tension from the campaign that had settled over the halls during the fighting had eased into something steadier now that the lines held and the infected zones had been pushed back.
Nero walked through the western corridor beside Hale with his hands tucked into the pockets of his dark coat, his long white-blond hair still slightly damp from a rushed shower after the final debriefing.
General Hendrik's last words lingered somewhere in the back of his mind.
'Effective season.'
'Acceptable losses.'
'Improved containment.'
'Pending review for next year.'
Which, translated from Hendrik into ordinary language, meant:
'Congratulations. Nobody catastrophically failed.'
Nero considered that a touching emotional speech.
"You're smiling again," Hale observed.
