Assassin's Gambit: The Hearts and Thrones Series

by Amy Raby

  “I’m happy to be of assistance to my Riorcan allies,” said Lucien.

  “Your actions have attracted the attention of Emperor Cassian back in Riat.”

  “He is no emperor, but a usurper,” said Lucien.

  “Very well,” said Bayard. “Nonetheless, the actions you are taking endanger Riorca. The usurper will send troops, far more of them than you have been able to muster. If you lose this war, Riorca will pay the price for it.”

  “If I lose this war, I will pay for it personally, with my life.”

  “And do you believe he will be satisfied with taking only yours?”

  “No,” said Lucien. “But never forget, no man has more at stake here than I. Before I turned these battalions to my side, Cassian had already ordered them to decimate Riorca. If Riorca is to be punished no matter what it does, let us choose the course of action that gives Riorca a chance to win its freedom.”

  Bayard smiled. “Your thinking mirrors ours.”

  Asmund, a burly blond with his long hair tied back at the base of his neck, spoke up. “Emperor Lucien, we propose an alliance between yourself and the Obsidian Circle. We have much to offer you: a vast intelligence network encompassing the whole of Kjall, trained assassins who can target key military figures and destabilize the enemy’s forces, and influence throughout Riorca that can solidify supply lines for your troops. We want you to win this war.”

  Vitala smiled. Lucien was properly expressionless, but he had to be salivating.

  “And what does the Circle ask in return?” asked Lucien calmly.

  “Several things,” said Bayard. “The first is immunity. Any so-called crimes committed by the Obsidian Circle against the Kjallan Empire must be forgiven—they were acts of war, no longer relevant now that we are allies. Furthermore, should this war be won, we require a role in the new government of independent Riorca—”

  “Let me stop you,” said Lucien. “Riorcan independence is not politically viable if I wish to hold on to my throne. What I propose is an end to slavery in Riorca and an end to tributes, but Riorca must remain under Kjallan rule. It would be treated as any other Kjallan province and ruled by a provincial governor.”

  “Riorcan independence is the primary goal of the Obsidian Circle,” said Gulli. “We cannot compromise on that point.”

  “If you cannot compromise, you will walk out with nothing,” said Lucien.

  Vitala spoke up. “What if we were to guarantee, in writing, that the provincial governor of Riorca would always be a Riorcan?”

  “How do you define Riorcan?” asked Asmund. “Someone born in Riorca?”

  “No,” said Bayard. “Obsidian Circle. Riorca will remain under Kjallan rule, but the governor of Riorca must be always be chosen from the ranks of the Obsidian Circle.”

  Lucien sent Vitala a barely perceptible, questioning look. It was clear to her what Bayard was up to. He was thinking ahead and reenvisioning the Circle as a ruling dynasty for Riorca. She didn’t care for it, not one bit, but they needed the Circle’s support and they had to give them something in return. After all, what was the Circle going to do after the war was over, when a resistance movement was no longer needed—disband and fade away? She nodded her acceptance.

  “Done,” said Lucien. “The governor will be a member of the Obsidian Circle.”

  “We need to set this in writing,” said Gulli.

  Soon all four men were speaking at once. Someone grabbed for paper and an ink pot. Vitala smiled, knowing the horse trading would go on all night.

  • • •

  Lucien’s eyes swam as he stared at the page. They had it all down in writing, how power would be shared among Kjall and Riorca and the Circle if they won this impossible war. What time was it, anyway? Late o’clock. The sun would rise soon.

  Vitala, at least, had the sense to get some sleep. She’d crept off to bed a couple of hours before and was dreaming now, probably. The agreement would please her. He’d snuck in a clause just for her—the Circle had agreed to rearm her with ten new Shards to replace the ones Ista had taken.

  “Emperor, there’s one more thing,” said Asmund.

  Lucien had found Asmund to be the most reasonable of the three Riorcans. He almost liked the man. “The papers are already signed.”

  “This isn’t part of the official agreement,” said Asmund, “but we’d like you to take a Riorcan wife.”

  Lucien blinked. A wife?

  “You see,” said Bayard, “writing this down is well and good, but some of us find it a little suspicious that you developed an interest in liberating Riorca only after you were deposed and suddenly needed people to supply and shelter your army. Who’s to say that after you recover your throne, you won’t stab us all in the back?”

  Lucien glared at him. “Because I don’t do that sort of thing.”

  “We’re only seeking assurance that your commitment to Riorca is a lasting one,” said Asmund. “Why not a marriage? It’s a permanent union—a symbol of the permanent coming together of Kjallan and Riorcan interests.”

  The request would have been unreasonable were it not appealing to him on its own merits. He hadn’t meant to act so soon, but . . . well, why not? “I’ll marry Vitala. If she’ll have me.”

  “The problem with Vitala,” said Bayard, “is that she does not look Riorcan.”

  Lucien’s eyes narrowed. “She doesn’t qualify because her hair’s too dark? Vagabond’s breath, she’s an Obsidian Circle assassin! No one could be more Riorcan than that!”

  “Her credentials are impeccable,” agreed Asmund.

  Bayard shook his head. “You know and I know what she is, but when she stands next to you, she looks Kjallan. She is not, in fact, full-blooded Riorcan. She’s half-and-half.”

  “She’s as Riorcan as they come. I don’t care who sired her or what she looks like.”

  “Choose someone else,” said Bayard. “Anyone with the Riorcan look. If you want someone from the Circle, we have many who would suit, including some fine beauties lovelier even than Vitala—”

  Lucien shook his head. “It’s Vitala or it’s nobody.”

  “Emperor—”

  Lucien picked up the packet of carefully inked papers. “It’s Vitala or it’s nobody.”

  “I think Vitala is a fine choice—” began Asmund.

  Bayard’s cheeks flushed with anger. “Emperor, may I speak with you privately?”

  “You have something you can’t say at this table?”

  “Yes, I do. Emperor Lucien, I have known Vitala since she was a little girl,” said Bayard. “There is nobody in the world who understands her as well as I do. I’d like to share with you a few things before you make this decision.”

  The word no was on the tip of Lucien’s tongue. He reflexively loathed Bayard. The man obviously didn’t want this marriage to happen, and was going to come up with some sort of objection to it, probably one based on lies. But Lucien was pretty good at sorting out lies from truth, and Bayard had known Vitala for a long time. Wouldn’t it be better to hear the man out now than to wonder, later on, what he had to say?

  “Very well,” said Lucien. “My bodyguard stays, but I’ll hear you.”

  • • •

  Rather than repair to another room, Lucien stayed put while Quincius and the other two Riorcans headed to their sleeping quarters. When they’d cleared out, custom dictated that Lucien should offer Bayard wine, but he made no move to do so. The snub seemed neither to surprise nor perturb Bayard.

  “Emperor, do you know exactly what Vitala is?” asked Bayard.

  “Of course I know,” said Lucien.

  “She’s a whore.”

  Lucien’s ears rang as blood rushed to his head. He found himself half rising from his chair. “You will not insult her again, or I’ll have you thrown out of this tent.”

  “It’s the truth, and you know it.”

  “She sells sex for money—is that what you’re claiming?”

  “Not for money,” said Bayard. �
��For political advantage.”

  “She slept with men to assassinate them. She did it for love of her country. You’re wasting my time if you think you can shock me with that.”

  Bayard leaned back in his chair. “It doesn’t bother you at all that the woman you want to marry sleeps with men and kills them during the sex act?”

  Of course it bothered him, but if he’d come to terms with it, what business was it of Bayard’s? “Past tense, Bayard. She used to do that. I’ve killed people too, up close and personal. And I’ve slept with other women before Vitala. I’m not going to judge her for things I’ve done myself.”

  Bayard’s eyebrows rose. “You’re a very tolerant man. But there’s something else.”

  “So far you’ve only told me things I already know.”

  “Does Kjall train assassins?” asked Bayard.

  “A few,” said Lucien.

  “Have you been involved at all in their training?”

  “No.”

  “But you work with soldiers. Men who kill for a living.”

  “That’s a vast oversimplification of what soldiers do,” said Lucien.

  Bayard waved his comment away. “You’re probably aware that some soldiers who experience combat develop problems. Nightmares, intrusive memories.”

  Lucien froze. Bayard could not know about those memories. There was no possible way. “What do you mean, intrusive memories?”

  “Hard to describe,” said Bayard. “Those who have them say they’re like a dream—a nightmare, rather—experienced while awake. As if they’re transported from the present into another time and place.”

  Lucien swallowed. Could Bayard know? He was, after all, Obsidian Circle. He had access to the largest spy network on the Kjallan continent. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. Sounds like madness.”

  “It is rather like madness. Your soldiers never experience this?”

  “No.” Which was a lie. Some soldiers did go mad and had to be executed or sent home, and some even shot themselves. But those cases were an embarrassment. They were kept quiet, and Bayard didn’t need to know about them.

  “It is not uncommon among our assassins,” said Bayard.

  Lucien met his eyes. “Are you saying Vitala has this problem?”

  “I don’t know for certain. But we find that the assassins who have trouble with their practice kills are the most prone to it. And Vitala had trouble with her practice kills.”

  “Practice kills—what are those?”

  “Before we send an assassin out on her first mission, we have her kill a few captive soldiers to make sure she will not hesitate when it comes time to dealing the fatal blow. The first one’s quite easy; the soldier is tied up and she just has to finish him off with her Shard. The later ones are harder. They more closely mimic an assassination scenario.”

  “And Vitala had . . . what sort of trouble?”

  “She made the kills, but with reluctance. One of the kills seemed to traumatize her.”

  Lucien shook his head. “I think I’d be more concerned about the trainees who weren’t reluctant.”

  “You’d be wrong,” said Bayard. “Those are our best assassins.”

  “I’m glad I’m not marrying one of them.”

  “The point is, the most reluctant assassins are the most prone to madness. The day Vitala broke you out, I thought she’d already succumbed. I thought she’d gone mad and rebelled against the Circle, and that’s why I tried to shoot her.”

  “She was rational then, and she’s rational now.”

  “I realize that, but this madness has a way of lurking, of hiding away for years, until for no apparent reason it emerges. If you marry Vitala and win this war, she will be the Empress of Kjall. What if it afflicts her in later years? Can you afford to have a madwoman on the throne?”

  Lucien snorted. “This is the most ridiculous argument I’ve ever heard. I shouldn’t marry Vitala because someday she might go mad? Look, anything might happen. I might eat some bad fish tomorrow and die, and then the usurper will win the throne by default.”

  “But that’s not likely. This is.”

  Lucien folded his arms and leaned back in his chair. There were certain things Vitala didn’t feel ready for, because of her ugly experience with Remus, but that was understandable given what she’d been through. She’d get over that in time. She wasn’t mad. Besides, madness didn’t come from combat or assassination experiences—if it did, only soldiers and assassins would experience it. But housewives went mad. Children went mad. No, it had to be evil spirits that caused it, or the corrupting breath of the Vagabond. Why else did they toast the Vagabond at every full moon, saying “Great One, pass me by”? Why else did his tribunes always encamp their armies outside the forests rather than within them, where the spirits were?

  Breezily, he waved his hand. “In that case, she’ll be the Mad Empress of Kjall. It’ll give the people something to talk about.”

  “I don’t think you’re taking this very seriously,” said Bayard.

  “I’m taking it exactly as seriously as it deserves,” said Lucien. “So, how do I propose to her? Do Riorcans use a go-between like we do in Kjall?”

  Bayard bristled. “The Riorcan delegation hasn’t agreed to this marriage—”

  “Look.” He rustled the papers on the table. “You’re the only one from the delegation who objects to my choice. The papers are already signed, and I’m proposing to Vitala. If you don’t want to help, I’ll get the information from Asmund.”

  Bayard huffed an exasperated sigh. “To propose, you send her an . . . there is no word for it in your language. An iskele.”

  “What’s an iskele?”

  “It’s a carved wooden box. You have to carve it yourself, and you put inside it something that she will recognize as from you. The idea is that when she receives the box, she knows she’s received a proposal of marriage. When she opens it up, she knows who is proposing by what’s inside.”

  Lucien wrinkled his forehead. “What do people usually put inside?”

  “Anything that will make her think of you and you alone. There are stories about men who—well, never mind. Just make sure she doesn’t mistake the proposal as being from somebody else. And keep it simple.”

  “How do I get the box? I can’t carve wood.”

  Bayard gave him a scornful look. “A Riorcan who cannot carve a simple wooden box is unworthy of marriage.”

  “Fortunately,” said Lucien, “I’m not a Riorcan.”

  23

  By the furtive looks and shy smiles Lucien and the Riorcans had been sending her all day, Vitala could tell something was up—something besides the agreement they’d hammered out last night, which was groundbreaking. That was all right; she had a secret too, something she’d been privately working out with Asmund. When Asmund summoned her for a conference in his tent, she thought it would be about that, but instead he handed her a carved wooden box.

  Tears stung her eyes. Though she’d never seen an iskele before, she recognized it at once. “Who’s it from?” she asked, remembering belatedly that the whole point was to figure that out herself.

  Asmund gave her a gentle smile. “Open it and see.”

  Her first thought was Lucien. But he knew nothing of iskeles, and how could he have carved the box? She turned the box over, studying it for clues. Could it be from anyone else? She didn’t think so. Finally, she opened it.

  There was a Caturanga piece inside, a cavalryman. Definitely Lucien, though the cavalryman was an uncharacteristically humble choice. Why not a more powerful piece, like the Tribune? Perhaps in this proposal he felt humble, because he wasn’t sure she would accept him.

  She wasn’t sure she would accept him either.

  “Well,” said Asmund. “Who’s it from?”

  “Lucien. But how did he carve the box?”

  Asmund winked. “I helped him.”

  She began to tremble, a reaction that began deep inside her body and slowly spread to her fingers and to
es. How to answer Lucien? She wanted to say yes, except . . . that answer involved obligations. If she married Lucien, she would be expected to consummate the marriage, and ultimately to produce an heir. Could she do that?

  “And do you accept him?” asked Asmund.

  “I—I don’t think I can,” she stammered.

  Asmund’s face fell. “Do you not like the emperor?”

  “I like him very much, it’s just . . .” She trailed off. How could she possibly explain this? It was too intimate a subject, and she barely understood it herself.

  Asmund waited patiently for her objections, and when they did not come, said, “Could you tell me your reasons? This marriage would be very beneficial to Riorca and to the Circle. If Lucien wins this war, you will be Empress of Kjall. Think of that—a Riorcan empress! And your son would be emperor after Lucien. You and your children would be advocates for Riorca long after this war is over, and Riorca needs such advocates.”

  “I understand. But can’t he marry another Riorcan woman?” She winced as she said it—her skin crawled at the idea of him marrying someone else—but what else could she do? Lucien needed an heir, and if she couldn’t provide one, someone had to.

  Asmund looked surprised. “He will have none but you.”

  Vitala’s throat felt thick, and her eyes moistened.

  Asmund took her hand. “Is he cruel, Vitala? Is he a harsh man?”

  “Gods, no.”

  He swallowed. “Is there something about him you’re not telling me?”

  “No.” She shook her head. What was she thinking—let Lucien marry another woman? She would lose him forever, to someone who would never understand him or love him like she did. What sort of coward was she?

  Yes, the young soldier haunted her, but who was she to give up on the man she loved after experiencing a single vision, one that hadn’t even lasted very long? She needed to conquer this. She was an assassin of the Obsidian Circle; she had killed seven men. The young soldier was but a ghost; he was no match for her. She would banish him from her head, or at the very least find a way to cope with his presence. She would do it for Lucien, for her country, and for herself. Forcing her lips into a smile, she said, “No, there is nothing. I was only startled by so grand a proposal. I accept. Let Kjall and Riorca be united, as Lucien and I are united in marriage.”