Spy's Honor hat-2

by Amy Raby

  “Are you all right?” whispered Rhianne.

  “Quite all right. Being with a virgin presents certain challenges. I want you very badly, but I don’t want to hurt you.” He reached again for the dual belts of her syrtos.

  Much as it tickled her to see him struggle with the oddities of Kjallan fashion, she helped him unknot the belts. Then she sat up so he could pull off her syrtos and unlace her corset. At last they were skin to skin, and the wonderful but strangely urgent sensation returned, the unscratched itch that made her want to get closer to him, always closer.

  Janto gathered her into his arms. He was big and warm and . . . big. Janto was not the tallest or burliest of men, yet compared to her, his size was substantial, and until he’d taken her into this intimate embrace, she had never been so aware of it. His erect cock rested against her thigh, and that too was intimidating. It was astonishing to think she would be taking that into her body. He stroked his tongue into her mouth, and her thoughts fell away. She wrapped her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. Her breasts brushed his chest, sending a delightful tingle through her body, but mostly she wanted to get closer. She looped a leg over his, capturing it. Her breathing quickened.

  He wrestled with her, chuckling as he broke her hold on his mouth. “Easy. I know what you want, but I can’t give it to you if you hold me so tight.”

  “I need—,” she murmured, and, uncertain exactly what she needed except him, she captured his mouth again.

  He broke the hold again. “Lie back.”

  Reluctantly, she did so. She wanted so much to hold him, to be close to him, but to her disappointment he wasn’t moving in for a kiss at all. Well, at least she was initially disappointed. Instead, he was doing something with his tongue on her breast. That produced a wonderful shivery feeling that went all the way through her and made that unscratched-itch feeling more delightful and more unbearable at the same time. She arched her back, both from the torture of it and to shove her breasts closer to him.

  “Rhianne.” He laughed. “You are an absolutely delightful lover.”

  “I am?” She was surprised to hear it. “Well, you’re torturing me.”

  “I’m not; you’re just very sensitive.” He licked her nipple and grinned at her convulsive shudder. “See?”

  She stared back, nonplussed. How was she supposed to respond?

  “Stay there,” said Janto. He moved farther away, down toward her hips, and parted her legs. She trembled a little. That part of her was so private, so intimate. He leaned down and licked.

  Oh gods. That was what she needed. She was about to tell him to do that again, but there was no need. He was at it already, and she was awash in sensations she hardly knew how to process. She felt restless and uncertain, like there was something she ought to be doing except she didn’t know what it was. But Janto gripped her legs, stilling her. She let herself relax and just enjoy what he was doing with his tongue. The compulsion to press herself into him was gone, and she understood that he had been right; this was what her body had been craving.

  His strokes, gentle at first, became stronger. Something was building inside her. It felt lovely, so she let it spiral upward, until the sensations became so overwhelming that her body was no longer her own. Her hips moved of their own accord, and Janto shifted to accommodate them. For a moment, she feared he would stop what he was doing, which was unthinkable, but he didn’t. He drove her on.

  Then everything changed. Sweetness flooded her, so joyous, so luscious that she threw back her head with a cry. Her body shuddered in Janto’s grasp. Time slowed, and a languorous feeling seeped through her.

  Janto returned to her arms, covering her body with his own.

  “Am I ready now for the other part?” she said.

  “You should be.”

  She was afraid of the hymen-breaking, but it needed doing, and better Janto should do it than Augustan. She shifted beneath him, tilting her hips to meet his. He began to enter her, slowly and gently.

  She shut her eyes. Pain. Searing pain.

  His movement stopped. “Does it hurt?”

  “A little,” she said in a tight voice.

  He remained still and kissed her on the forehead. “I’m sorry.”

  “Just go in. I’ll be fine.”

  “No. Let’s talk for a moment while your body adjusts.” He took one of her breasts in his hand, circling her nipple with his thumb.

  She arched her back at the electric sensation. There was that unscratched-itch feeling again, just a hint of it. But she was sensitive, almost too sensitive.

  Janto noticed and stroked her in less erotic places—her sides, her back. “You smell like orange blossoms,” he said. “It’s one of the first things I noticed about you. It reminds me of home. Do you use a scent?”

  “It’s the baths,” said Rhianne. “Scented water. I always choose orange blossoms.”

  “Tell me about the baths. Is it true you all bathe naked in a giant pool together?”

  “Not at all,” said Rhianne. “The pools are divided by sex. Men in one, women in another. Most people have to share, but since I’m from the imperial family, I get a bath all to myself if I want it.” The pain was receding, and she felt herself beginning to relax.

  Janto moved.

  There was the pain again, sharp and piercing, but after reaching a crescendo, it began to recede. She felt Janto inside her. It was a strange feeling—a sense of fullness, and his body so close to hers.

  He leaned over her, quite still, not yet thrusting. He cradled her face within his hands and kissed her. “I’m sorry to take you by surprise, but you were tense, and I needed you to relax. You’re not afraid any more, are you?”

  “Should I be?”

  “I don’t think so,” said Janto. “I’ll be gentle. If it hurts, say something and I’ll stop.”

  She nodded and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him possessively close. He began to move, slowly, his eyes on her face as he sought evidence of pleasure or pain. There were a few twinges of pain—it was not gone entirely—but they were bearable, and she tried not to let the evidence of their existence show. The pain was not Janto’s fault; it was the natural result of her inexperience, and she feared that if he stopped now, he would go unsatisfied. Besides, as he built up a rhythm, pleasure began to overshadow those twinges.

  The unscratched-itch feeling was back, but with less urgency. It was more a languid enjoyment of the sensations, a yes, that’s nice, keep doing it feeling rather than the insatiable longing she’d experienced before. She entwined one of her legs with Janto’s, and he accelerated his rhythm. It was so wonderfully intimate, him inside her body, taking pleasure and giving it. Janto groaned. She worried at first that he was hurting. Then she realized it was the opposite. He stiffened and drove against her, spilling his seed.

  He withdrew and dropped onto his side, looking spent as a rained-out thunderhead. A light sheen of sweat covered his body. He grabbed his tunic and draped it over them to prevent chills, then pulled her into his arms. “Are you all right?”

  “More than all right,” said Rhianne. “But do you think . . .” She hesitated. “Will it hurt next time?” That was a stupid question. Next time would be with Augustan. Why even bring this up?

  Janto didn’t answer right away. “Every woman is different,” he said finally. “It probably won’t.”

  She’d given Janto her virginity, and she would never regret that choice. She could not have asked for a kinder, more considerate lover. But did it really have to end here? If next time wasn’t going to hurt, why not spend that next time with Janto instead of Augustan? She couldn’t send him home to Mosar anyway, not if Florian intended to “purge” the Mosari ruling class. “Will you meet me again tomorrow?”

  “No,” said Janto. “I have to leave the country, or somebody will turn me in to the authorities.”

  “Stay one more day, and I won’t turn you in.”

  Janto turned to her. “Why? Because you want to sleep with me
?”

  “No.” Gods, was she that transparent? “Well, maybe. Look, this is important. When you leave the country, where are you going to go?”

  “I’m not sure I should tell you,” said Janto.

  “Must you be like this?” She toyed with the hairs on his chest. “I ask because you can’t go back to Mosar. You’ll be killed. Augustan plans to murder the entire Mosari aristocracy.”

  Janto stiffened beneath her fingers. Clearly the news was a shock. But he said nothing. At least he wasn’t denying he was part of the aristocracy.

  Rhianne nudged him. “Are you listening? You can’t go back to Mosar.”

  “Where would you have me go?”

  “Sardos or Inya. As a refugee.”

  Janto sniffed. “You insult me. I would never abandon my people.”

  “Janto!” she hissed. “If you go back, you’ll be killed!”

  “Better that than to live as a coward and a traitor.”

  She hugged him, pulling his sun-bronzed body close. How could he be so careless with his own life? “Don’t say such things! And please, let’s not fight. I just made love for the first time. This is not what I want to remember, you and I fighting afterward.”

  He kissed her, stroking her cheek. “I don’t want to fight either. But you’re asking something of me that I can’t do.”

  “Stay one more day,” she pleaded, “and I won’t turn you in. Will you meet me by the bridge tomorrow at noon?”

  Janto hesitated a moment, then said, “Yes.”

  He helped her lace up the corset. She put on her syrtos, rolled up the blanket, and gave him a good-night kiss. Then she headed back to the palace through the moonlit forest. His scent lingered on her body for a moment and then faded.

  17

  Janto waited impatiently for Rhianne at the bridge. She’d given him a critical piece of intelligence during their liaison last night, though not a welcome one. The Kjallans intended to murder the entire Mosari aristocracy.

  Since then, he’d debated what to do with the information. Should the aristocracy evacuate Mosar? The aristocrats were, for the most part, also Mosar’s mages, and for them to leave in the middle of the war would spoil any chance Mosar had at winning. But there wasn’t much chance of that anyway.

  After much thought, he’d decided the intelligence had to be passed along at his first opportunity. His father and mother, back on Mosar, would decide what to do with it.

  Around noon, Rhianne trotted up on horseback, riding a white mare and leading a dapple gray gelding. She rode astride, not sidesaddle, and wore a shorter-than-usual syrtos, no loros at all, and braccae—Kjallan riding pants. He’d seen mounted soldiers wearing such pants, but never a woman.

  “Can you ride?” she asked.

  “Yes.” He glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then shrouded all of them, including the horses. “We’re invisible now. Did you not attract attention, bringing a second horse?”

  She shrugged. “I used a lot of forgetting spells.” She offered him the reins to the dapple gray. “This is Flash. He’s big and—well, flashy. He picks up his feet when he trots, which means he’s kind of bouncy to ride. But he’s quiet and sensible, and if we don’t go too fast—”

  “I’ll be fine. I’ve done a lot of riding.” Janto took the reins, put his foot in the stirrup, and swung up onto Flash. “Where are we going?”

  “I want to show you something. It’s a surprise.” She turned the mare and sent her into a canter.

  Janto gathered Flash’s reins and sent him after her, noting with pleasure how the animal arched his neck and moved up to the bit without being asked. They cantered in single file along a soft-dirt avenue. Passing through a pair of marble gates, they left the Imperial Palace grounds.

  The road sloped downward as they traveled inland, away from the city and the harbor. Smoke rose from the chimneys of distant cottages. Farmland in the distant hills, dotted with pockets of trees, checkered the landscape in green and yellow.

  Janto clucked to Flash, who responded with an instant burst of speed and surged alongside Rhianne’s mare. “How far?”

  “Just ahead.” She pointed to a forest that lay cradled in the next valley. “Bow oaks. They’re in season.”

  He’d heard of bow oaks, valuable trees for shipbuilding, much coveted on Mosar, where they did not grow. Bow oaks provided “compass timber”—wood with a natural curve used to form the rounded frame of a ship. Such trees were of great economic and military importance, but he wasn’t sure why Rhianne would want to show him a forest.

  They veered onto a side road, downhill into the valley. One moment there were fields on either side of them, and the next moment there were trees. Big, fine trees, obviously cultivated. Each tree leaned over to one side or the other, its trunk forming a shallow arc.

  The path dwindled away to nothing, and as the trees pressed closer around them, they slowed their horses to a walk. One of the trees had a symbol marked on it in red paint: a half circle crossed with a slash.

  Janto pointed to the mark. “What does that mean?”

  “That tree has been selected for harvest,” said Rhianne. “It’ll be chopped down and hauled to the shipyards at the end of the season.”

  Spring seemed to have come late to the bow oaks; they were mostly just bare trunks and branches. Up in the canopy were large, ungainly white flowers and some curious growths—enormous fruits or seed pods, perhaps.

  A gunshot went off behind him.

  Janto drove his horse toward Rhianne to shield her from the unknown attacker. He looked around frantically but couldn’t see anyone. At least they were invisible. Rhianne seemed oddly unflustered.

  Another gunshot went off.

  “Where are they?” he cried. “Who are they firing at?”

  “Nobody’s firing anything. It’s the trees,” said Rhianne.

  “What do you mean it’s the trees?”

  “Officially they’re called bow oaks, but sometimes we call them poppers. That sound is the trees popping.” Rhianne’s white mare stood calmly, as did Flash. Apparently the horses knew what was going on.

  He looked up. “The trees are popping?”

  “You see the lumps on the branches, way up there? They explode.”

  “How?” Janto scanned the trees. He heard another gunshot sound behind him. He whipped his head around and caught the end of whatever had happened. A cloud of yellow powder rained down over several of the trees.

  “Some sort of alchemical reaction. It’s how they reproduce. Why don’t we walk a bit and give the horses a rest?” Rhianne dismounted, pulled the reins over the white mare’s head, and set the ends on the ground. “You can leave Flash there; he ground ties.”

  Janto pulled the reins over Flash’s head and tugged them downward to remind him to stay put. Flash flicked an ear back, insulted.

  Rhianne unfastened a bundle from her mare’s saddle and carried it with her. Janto suspected it was another blanket. He walked at Rhianne’s side through the deep carpet of old, decaying leaves, staring at the branches overhead. He was rewarded when a popper finally exploded before his eyes. The strange lump broke open with a bang. It propelled a large yellow bullet shape into the trees, which broke into a stream of powder and rained down. “What do you mean it’s how they reproduce?”

  “You know how with fruit trees, you need a hive of bees in the orchard to pollinate them? These trees don’t need bees. The explosion sends the pollen onto the flowers of other trees.”

  “So it’s like . . . It’s like . . .” He chuckled. “It’s a bit vulgar, isn’t it?”

  Her cheeks colored. “Janto, these are trees.”

  “I know. But I don’t want any of that stuff to fall on me.”

  “So what if it falls on you? It’s pollen. You get pollen on you all the time.”

  “It’s just—I don’t know. Something about the way it’s delivered.” He grinned.

  “Come on, don’t you think it’s interesting?”

 
“It’s very interesting,” said Janto.

  “You told me about all the fascinating things you’ve seen on Mosar. I wanted to show you something on Kjall—something you hadn’t seen before. You’ve seen so many wonders, and I’ve seen so few.”

  The anxious look on her face told him this was a bad time to tease her. She craved his approval, and if he didn’t grant it, he’d hurt her feelings. “It’s marvelous. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “Really?” She smiled tentatively.

  “Really.”

  They walked a little farther through the forest. Most of the trees were tall and mature, but there were a few saplings about. One had a red x marked on its trunk.

  “What does the x mean?” Janto asked.

  “It means the tree will be culled,” said Rhianne. “See how its trunk is nearly straight? The shipbuilders don’t want that. They want a curve. They’ll chop it down so a new tree can grow.”

  Rhianne found a bare stump and settled on it. Janto sat beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. A popper went off nearby, startling him. Rhianne did not react at all. Bits of yellow fluff drifted through the tree canopy and landed on their heads.

  “I hate to bring this up, but I’ve been wondering,” said Janto. “You’ve met Augustan now, and you never told me how that went. I take it from what you said last night he didn’t meet your approval?”

  Rhianne looked away and was silent.

  “That bad?” said Janto.

  “I don’t feel that he respects me. Or values me, except as a link to the throne,” said Rhianne.

  Janto wrestled with his conscience. In his jealous heart, he was glad Rhianne hadn’t liked Augustan. And yet Rhianne could never be his. The obstacles that lay between them were insurmountable. She would marry Augustan, and he could not change that. Given that the marriage was inevitable, shouldn’t he wish that she might be happy in it? Even guide her, perhaps, in that direction? “Is it possible you’re asking too much of him too soon?” he said gently. “You’d only just met. He barely knows you.”