by Amy Raby
“A few hours,” said the guard.
Janto shivered. Interrogation in a few hours. Lovely.
“I want to see him before you mess him up,” said the new voice.
“As you please,” said the guard.
The key rattled in the lock. Janto stopped contorting himself in an effort to see and retreated to a more natural position on his bench. The door opened. Lucien, the Imperial Heir, limped in on his crutch, looked at Janto, and did a double take. He turned back to the guard. “He’s not Sardossian.”
“No, he’s Mosari,” called the guard from outside the cell. “You didn’t know?”
“I do now,” said Lucien. “He’s a shroud mage, isn’t he? Where’s his familiar?”
“Never found,” said the guard. “It jumped into the ocean, and since he became visible while the guards were holding him, they think it drowned.”
“You can’t assume that. It might have gone out of range, or he may have made himself visible on purpose. He could have his magic right now, and if he does, he can make the familiar invisible. Send for a dog and search his cell. Search the entire prison. In the meantime, bring me a chair. I’ll speak to him.”
The guard gave a hoarse laugh. “Good luck getting anything out of him, Your Imperial Highness. He’s silent as snowfall. You want him to talk, wait a few hours and we’ll light him up for you.”
Lucien’s eyes bored into Janto’s. “I can be persuasive.”
Janto stared back impassively.
The guard brought a wooden chair into the cell. Lucien turned the chair backward and straddled it. After the guard had left, closing the door, Lucien said, “I know you.”
Janto said nothing. He saw no reason to offer this man information for free.
“I wasn’t expecting to find you here,” said Lucien. “I need to think about this.” He rested his chin on the chair back. His eyes went distant. After about a minute, he lifted his head and spoke. “You’re facing interrogation in a few hours. You can’t be looking forward to that. They call it interrogation, but it’s actually torture. You know that, right?”
No response.
“Here’s what I’d like to know,” continued Lucien. “Rhianne conspired with you on something relatively innocent—this plot to punish the slave overseer for his abuse of the slave women. But did she know she was working with a Mosari spy?”
Janto continued his silent stare. Why would he incriminate Rhianne?
“You think you’re clever by not talking to me,” said Lucien. “Here’s why you should rethink that strategy. I’m a powerful man, and I can stop your interrogation from happening. You and I are enemies—we need not pretend otherwise. But in one matter, I believe our interests are aligned. We both care about Rhianne. Am I correct in that assertion?”
After a long pause, Janto said, “Yes.”
“That was quite a trick you played on Augustan, with the enemy ward. I congratulate you.”
A clumsy attempt at building rapport. Janto ignored it.
Lucien rolled his eyes. “I hate one-sided conversations. So, in the matter of Rhianne’s welfare we are allies, and I will share with you something concerning her that you do not know. She is about to be captured. We’ve narrowed the search radius to a fifty-mile area in central eastern Kjall, and I believe she will be in the hands of the authorities within the next forty-eight hours. You may think fifty miles is a large area, but believe me, with our resources it is small. And Rhianne is making mistakes. She’s giving away money to the village children, and we’re tracking her through that.”
“Rhianne has a big heart.” It pained Janto that her generosity should be her undoing.
“I love her, but sometimes she lets her compassion override her good sense.” Lucien rested his chin on the chair back. “If it were up to me, I’d let her go. I don’t want this marriage for her any more than you do. But my power doesn’t extend that far. All I can do is minimize the harm that will befall her when she is captured. Do you follow me?”
Janto nodded.
“If, in the course of your interrogation, it comes out that you and Rhianne conspired together, and that she knew you were a spy, that is going to be an enormous problem for her because that would be treason. I personally don’t care if Rhianne committed treason, because I know that Rhianne is a woman of compassion and integrity. If she did such a thing, however ill-advised, it was because she believed it was right. The emperor . . . would be more concerned about it than I, but he’d still prefer to cover it up. He wants to marry Rhianne off to Augustan, not bring her up on treason charges. However, if the rest of the palace finds out—and they will, if you confess it in your interrogation—neither Florian nor I will be able to protect her from the scandal that will follow. If that’s the situation we’re dealing with, the only way I can protect Rhianne is to prevent you from being interrogated. So I think it’s in everyone’s best interest—mine, the emperor’s, Rhianne’s, and especially yours—if you start talking to me.”
Janto swallowed. Did he trust this man? Perhaps he should. Rhianne trusted him, and Lucien was making sense. “Rhianne knew I was a spy, though it was never her intent to commit treason. She threatened repeatedly to turn me in if I didn’t leave the country.”
“But she never followed through,” said Lucien.
“No. She didn’t want to see me tortured to death.”
“Typical Rhianne. That’s all I needed.” Lucien rose from his chair and picked up his crutch. “Congratulations. Since your testimony would incriminate her, you just got out of your interrogation. But I can’t save you from execution.” He headed for the door, then stopped midstride, his eyes widening. “You know what? Maybe I can. Don’t get excited—I don’t know if it will work.” Opening the door, he called for the guard. “Has his writ been sent up?”
“No,” said the guard.
“Alter it,” said Lucien. “Cancel the interrogation. This man is not to be questioned under any circumstances. Is that understood?”
“Perfectly, Your Imperial Highness.”
“As for his execution, put it on hold. I’ve a potential use for him. Just keep him here for a while, and I’ll be in touch.”
* * *
Rhianne was resting her horse, letting him walk on a long rein, when she heard the rhythm of hoofbeats approaching from up ahead. Three horses came over the rise at a trot, each carrying a man in military dress. Their bridles and saddles were trimmed in white, and the soldiers wore the insignias from White Star battalion, but no blood marks. They were enlisted men, which meant they had no magic and were no threat.
She touched each man’s mind in turn and dropped a suggestion: I am not interested in the traveler ahead. Each man’s gaze drifted away from her and back to the road.
Her tired chestnut gelding ambled along. Rhianne was hot and cold at the same time, sweating in the places where she was in contact with the horse while her ears and nose had gone numb from the morning’s chill. She eyed the three riders as they passed alongside her.
Then the far rider broke ranks and cantered toward her. In a panic and uncertain of the soldier’s intentions, she projected more suggestions at him. I am not interested. I don’t even see that woman. I’m in a hurry to get to my destination.
Her suggestions weren’t taking hold. He just kept coming! The other riders pulled up their horses, looking confused.
Rhianne snatched up her reins and kicked the gelding, hard. He surged into a startled gallop, but the other horse had momentum and caught up quickly. Her attacker seized her gelding’s reins in one hand and her wrist in the other.
“Imperial Princess?” He smiled wryly. “There’s quite a price on your head. Men!” he called to the other riders. “Get over here and help!”
“I’m not interested . . . ,” one of them began uncertainly.
“Yes, you are! Get over here, and that’s an order!” He turned to Rhianne. “Your tricks work on them. But they don’t work on me.”
“You’re not wearing a bl
ood mark,” said Rhianne.
“It seems I forgot to wear mine this morning,” said her captor as the other riders trotted their way.
* * *
The prison guards came with a dog, which sniffed around every corner of Janto’s cell. After that, Janto’s days bled one into the other, a shapeless mass of close confines, inactivity, prison rations, and a knot of dread he couldn’t dislodge from his gut. He began to understand why prisoners scored the walls to mark the passage of time. He’d already become a little confused about whether it had been five days since Lucien’s visit or six.
He had Sashi to keep him company, at least some of the time. The ferret stayed in the hypocaust during the day. At night, he left the sterile tunnels through one of many rat holes he’d found to hunt rodents in the palace’s storerooms or gardens or sometimes all the way out in the woods. This involved putting enough distance between him and Janto that the connection between them was lost, temporarily disabling Janto’s shroud magic. But with Janto locked up, there was no alternative. Sashi insisted he was stealthy enough to travel without the shroud, especially at night, and this appeared to be true since by morning he was always back in the hypocaust, regaling Janto with his tales of adventure. Then he would sleep most of the day.
Suddenly, the key rattled in the lock. Janto, still manacled to the wall, sat up on his hard bench. He didn’t think it was dinnertime yet, but one could hardly tell in this place, and he was seldom hungry, though eating did at least give him something to do. The door opened, and he looked for his jailer.
Rhianne stood in the doorway.
Gods, she was beautiful. Disheveled and unhappy, her eyes all bloodshot, and it didn’t matter. When he looked on her, the whole world fell away. His throat seized up—he didn’t know what to say. She shouldn’t be here. It meant she’d been captured and would be forced to marry Augustan.
Then he saw the man behind her, gripping her arm. Emperor Florian. Forget him, he decided. They’re going to kill me anyway. “Rhianne, I’m sorry,” he grated with a voice he hadn’t used in days.
“Janto, I—” She yelped as the emperor did something to her arm and dragged her away.
Janto tried to rise from his bench to see where they were going, but his manacles didn’t allow him to do so. He sat as quietly as he could, his heart thudding wildly in his chest. He cocked his head and tried to listen. He could hear them moving—more than two people. Perhaps some guards as well as Rhianne and the emperor. Were they leaving? No, they seemed to be entering a room down the hall from where he was. There was talk, but he couldn’t make any of it out. Only the men were speaking, not Rhianne.
He heard what sounded like a blow and sat up very straight. Then came another blow, followed by a small cry from Rhianne.
She was getting another set of stripes.
He huddled against the wall, wincing as the blows came faster. Why had he not gone with her and protected her from discovery? Why had he not saved her from this?
26
Rhianne sat in Florian’s office, leaning forward so her bandages didn’t touch the chair. Her back was a searing wall of pain. Florian frowned at her from across his hardwood desk. Lucien was with them too, for what purpose she could not guess. He wasn’t making eye contact with anybody, and he looked awfully uncomfortable. He sat on the same side of the desk as Rhianne but apart from her, his knees angled toward the door, as if he wished he could make a run for it.
“My patience is exhausted,” said Florian. “You will sign the marriage contract, and you will sign it now.”
Rhianne shook her head. “I’m not marrying Augustan.” She needed to get this waste-of-time meeting over with so she could find out more about Janto. Why had Florian shown him to her? Had he been sentenced yet, and could she possibly get him out? He must have been captured recently—her people never held spies for long. Lucien would know.
“Foolish girl,” said Florian. “Do you think I picked Augustan for you by accident? Do you think I don’t know what you are? Do you think I don’t know what he is?”
The hair rose on the back of Rhianne’s neck. She lifted her eyes to meet her uncle’s.
“You were a wild, rebellious girl who grew into a wild, rebellious woman. No surprise—I knew your mother well, and you’re just like her. I knew you would need a stern, no-nonsense husband, one with a reputation for bringing to heel the laziest, most dissipated soldiers in the ranks—”
“Rhianne is neither lazy nor dissipated,” protested Lucien.
“If he can tame the worst of my soldiers, he can tame Rhianne,” said Florian. “So. You’ll either sign, and we’ll have a lovely imperial wedding with all the trimmings. Or I’ll forge your signature and throw you on the boat with Augustan. We’ll forgo the wedding, and he’ll do what he must.”
Rhianne sat speechless. How was she to choose between those two horrible options? And Soldier’s hell, what was she going to do about Janto?
“Oh,” said Florian, “Lucien has some alternative plan he wants to present to you.”
She turned to her cousin with pleading eyes. Could he really help her?
Lucien swallowed. “Don’t get your hopes up. It’s not much of an alternative.” He took a deep breath. “We’ve captured a Mosari man—he’s down in the prison. I asked Florian to show him to you because I believe you’re familiar with him.”
Rhianne’s heart beat faster. How much should she confess to? “He was a slave. He used to teach me the Mosari language in the Imperial Garden.”
“Yes, well, as it happens—I know you weren’t aware of this, but it turns out he was a Mosari spy named Janto.” Lucien pulled some papers out of an interior pocket of his syrtos and handed them to her. “We caught him at the docks, trying to leave the country with these in his possession.”
Rhianne studied the papers. They were written in Mosari, and hastily so. She couldn’t make the writing out very well. There were a lot of numbers, and some place names. She picked out Sarpol and Mosar. “I’m not sure what I’m looking at.”
“It’s a rough copy of a military document. The point is he’s a spy and he’s been sentenced to death. I know you were fond of him at one time and might prefer he didn’t die. Is that so?”
Rhianne nodded.
“Now it seems to me that you have something Florian wants, your signature on the marriage contract and willing participation in the imperial wedding. And he has something you want, the life of this man. I thought a trade might be brokered between the two of you.”
Hope surged within Rhianne. Of course! She’d have thought of it herself if she hadn’t been panicking and fogged with searing pain. She would trade her compliance for Janto’s life.
“What?” said Florian. “I cannot spare the life of an enemy spy.”
“Can you not?” said Lucien. “We could use a forgetting spell on him so he remembers nothing of what he learned here, and then exile him to Dori. He’s Mosari. His country is already conquered and no threat to us. Why not show mercy in this one case?”
Rhianne looked Florian in the eye. “I’ll sign the marriage contract in exchange for the Mosari man’s life, but under no other condition.” Exile to violent, unstable Dori, an island cursed by the gods, wasn’t ideal, but she would do anything to save Janto’s life.
Florian stared at the two of them, clearly stunned at the direction this conversation had taken. “You’ll sign?” he asked Rhianne. “And you’ll participate in the wedding without protest? In exchange for some worthless man’s life?”
“You have my word,” said Rhianne, “provided Lucien makes all the arrangements regarding the Mosari’s exile.”
“Done,” said Florian. He held out his wrist, and Rhianne clasped it.
* * *
Another day crept by. Janto had been certain something would happen after Rhianne’s capture. Either whatever Lucien had referred to would take place—something about finding a use for him—or he’d be executed. But instead he languished in his cell, wondering if Lucien
had forgotten about him. And what was going on with Rhianne? Was she being forced to marry? He tried not to think about that.
Then two Legaciatti and a woman entered his cell.
“What’s going on?” he asked in Kjallan.
The Legaciatti grabbed his arms and shoved him against the wall.
“I’m not to be interrogated. Orders from the Imperial Heir—”
“Quiet,” said the woman.
One of the guards spat on the floor. “Personally, I think he should be flogged to death.”
The woman placed a hand on his forehead. Janto twisted away, suspecting mind magic, which frightened him more than the prospect of being beaten. He touched the link to assure himself it was still there. Sashi was asleep but within range.
“Be still,” said the woman through gritted teeth, grabbing a hank of Janto’s hair to immobilize him.
I want to cooperate with these people. The thought ran through his head, confusing him because he didn’t want to cooperate with these people, but the thought remained, persistent. Then his magic rose up within him and forcibly expelled the thought, leaving him clearheaded. A suggestion. She’d used a suggestion on him.
Not wanting her to realize that her magic hadn’t worked, Janto relaxed in her grip.
“See?” said the woman to the guards. “No need for brutality. Quiet, now,” she instructed Janto. “This is just a forgetting spell.”
“What are you making me forget?” That was more disturbing than a suggestion.
“Your ill-gotten knowledge,” said the mind mage.
“What does it matter what I know? I’m going to be executed!”
The mind mage sighed. “Actually, you’re not. Someone has struck a deal for your life. You’re being exiled to Dori.”
Janto stared at them, unblinking. To Dori? Not his first choice of destinations, to be sure, but he wouldn’t quibble. He had no doubt who had bargained for him, and it wasn’t Lucien—not acting on his own, anyway. “What did Rhianne trade for my life?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, spy.”
