by Amy Raby
“I hope he didn’t give you too much trouble.”
“He and his escort gave us a lot of trouble. But we managed.”
“I understand you have Emperor Florian as well?”
“Yes, sire.”
“Bring him in. The emperor.”
Ruhr-Donnel saluted and left.
Feeling better? Janto stroked his ferret, who lay cradled in his arms, uncharacteristically timid. The Healer had repaired his broken leg, but Sashi had never been seriously injured before and seemed to need a little reassurance that all was well.
The pain is gone, said Sashi.
Are you ready to get back on my shoulder?
After a moment, Sashi extracted himself from Janto’s grip and scampered carefully up to his rightful place.
The thump of boots echoed from down the hallway, and six soldiers entered the infirmary, escorting a furious Emperor Florian. The emperor wore his imperial syrtos and loros, but his riftstone had been taken and his wrists were manacled behind his back.
Florian’s eyes fixed on Janto. “You,” he said coldly.
Janto smiled. “A pity we keep meeting in such unfortunate circumstances.”
“You will die for this, spy—”
“Your Majesty,” corrected Janto. “I am Jan-Torres, king of Mosar.”
Florian paused a moment to process that. “Do you know why we don’t keep a large garrison here, Jan-Torres?”
“Why?”
“Because no one is foolish enough to invade Kjall. When our reinforcements arrive, our retribution will be swift and merciless.”
Janto sighed. “This conversation’s just begun, and already I’m tired of it.” He grasped the jeweled loros draped over Florian’s shoulders, and lifted it over the man’s head. “You are hereby removed from power, now and forever.” He turned to the guards. “Confine him, alone, until we are prepared to render judgment.”
* * *
By dawn, the Imperial Palace belonged to Mosar. The last of the palace doors had been broken open and the last of the Kjallan defenders killed or taken into custody.
Janto yielded to Mor-Nassen’s admonishments and slept for a few hours. When he woke, he felt stronger. With a restored Sashi riding on his shoulder, he led a small, shrouded war band to capture the shore battery on the eastern side of the harbor. Resistance was light; many of the Kjallan defenders had deserted. He and his men took it easily. He then ordered his men to remove all the cannons, load the tower with explosives, and destroy it. By signal, he sent the same orders to the men at the western battery. He had a special plan for those cannons, and the demolished batteries should help him to execute it.
In the afternoon, he returned to the palace. His men had located a large, well-furnished meeting room and established it as command headquarters. He was weary and spent a few hours resting there, listening to the reports from his commanders, while Mor-Nassen tended his scrapes and bruises. Simultaneously with his attack on the battery, the Sardossians had launched an assault on the palaestra, but found it empty of soldiers. They’d returned with only a few terrified clerks.
Since he did not have the Mosari royal carcanet—it was either back on Mosar or lost forever—he’d asked one of the clerks to search the Kjallan jewelry boxes for a temporary substitute. The man returned with a golden three-tiered necklace. It was not as thick or heavy as the royal carcanet, but Janto donned it anyway. Any Mosari seeing it on him would know its intended meaning.
Kal-Torres arrived, trailing an escort of armed guards. “You’re early,” said Janto.
“I thought we might go over some details privately before we meet with the commanders.”
“Very well.” Janto rubbed his hands across his face. “I’m on my way to the slave house. You can walk with me.”
“The slave house? Can’t that wait?”
“I’m afraid not.” Janto beckoned to San-Kullen and Mor-Nassen. “The slaves are under the influence of death spells, like the Riorcans on the Kjallan ships. Their abeyance spells will be wearing off this evening.”
“But you don’t need to attend to them personally.”
“I want to,” said Janto. “I worked with two of those slaves when I was acting here as a spy, and I want to bring both of them back to the palace. Also there’s a man I need to arrest. San-Kullen, bring a few soldiers along.”
They set out into the Imperial Palace hallways. “All of our ships sustained damage,” began Kal. “The Osprey lost its mizenmast—we’re trying to jury-rig one now. More worrisome is the Tern’s broken rudder. My men are working on it night and day. These are time-consuming repairs, and with the Kjallan fleet approaching, we’ve got to get those ships in fighting trim. Damage to the other four is minor. As for the direction of the reserve fleet’s approach—”
“Sire!”
Janto turned in the direction of the voice. A Mosari man, not zo but apparently with some authority, hurried toward him. Behind him were four soldiers and two prisoners in wrist irons, all of them Mosari. “Yes?” Janto said warily. San-Kullen, who’d fallen into the role of his personal bodyguard, took a protective step closer to him.
The soldier bowed. “Sire, I’m the bosun’s mate, Osprey.” He nodded at Kal-Torres, whose chin lifted in acknowledgment. “Commander Kel-Charan said I should speak to you.”
Janto glanced anxiously toward the palace gates and the slave house. “What about?”
“These two men, sire.” He indicated the prisoners. “They were caught assaulting—uh, raping—one of the Kjallan prisoners. The commander wanted to know what he should do with them.”
Janto sighed. This was just the sort of trouble he’d hoped to avoid. He studied the culprits, who avoided his eyes. “Is there any question of their guilt?”
“None, sire. They were caught in the act.”
“Have we sent the victim a Healer?”
The bosun’s mate bit his lip. “I’ll find out, sire.”
“Send one if we haven’t. As for the men, execute them.”
“Execute them, sire?” repeated the bosun’s mate.
The prisoners stared at him in shock, then fell upon their knees. “But, sire!” cried the first. “Kjallans killed my wife!”
“Mercy, sire,” cried the second. “We made a mistake. We will not do it again!”
Janto tried to tune out their pleas. He couldn’t afford to relent.
“Jan—,” began Kal-Torres in a tone of protest.
Janto rounded on his brother and snapped, “If I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it.” He turned to the prisoners. “I’m assuming the person you assaulted wasn’t the Kjallan who killed your wife; therefore I fail to see how this is justice. You had strict, specific orders, and you disobeyed them. You knew in advance that the sentence for doing so would be death.” He turned to the bosun’s mate. “Tell Kel-Charan.”
The bosun’s mate nodded, ashen faced, while the condemned men wailed.
“Come on,” snarled Janto to his entourage, and they swept off down the hallway.
For several minutes, nobody dared to speak. Then Kal put a hand on his shoulder. “Jan—”
Janto whirled on him. “Are you going to question my every decision?”
“You have no idea the kind of pressure these men are under—”
“I know exactly what kind of pressure they’re under.” He pointed in the direction of the chamber where Lucien was being held. “Over there sits a young man who has the power to destroy us. As we speak here in this hallway, he dreams of vengeance, and every crime we commit against his people brings that dream closer to his heart. Do you think I want to sacrifice everything we’ve achieved so that those two men can satisfy their lust? Should I give up the whole country for that?”
Kal-Torres blinked at him. “I just think that under the circumstances, a death sentence seems excessive—”
“I know it’s excessive. I’m setting an example! The men will hear of this, and they’ll know I mean what I say. Kal, if I’m lenient on this first inci
dent, we’ll have another dozen by tomorrow morning.”
“Brother—” Kal glanced around at their escort. San-Kullen, Mor-Nassen, and the guards were staring at them, stunned. “May I speak with you privately?”
Janto growled assent. He signaled the escort to stay put and walked with Kal down the hallway.
Kal rounded on him. “Whose side are you on, ours or theirs? You’re sounding like a Kjallan sympathizer.”
Janto rolled his eyes. “Kal, we’re going to have to negotiate with these people, and that means not only delivering them a few humiliating military losses to force them to take us seriously, but finding common ground with them and demonstrating that our intentions are to establish peace.”
“Common ground? They attacked us.”
“I know that. The Kjallans’ thinking must change, and for that to happen, we must set the example. As to whose side I’m on, I’m on the side of peace and prosperity for Mosar. Are we done here?”
Kal looked away. “I suppose we must be.”
Janto beckoned to San-Kullen and the escort.
As they approached, Kal gave him an odd look. “You’ve changed, Brother.”
“War does that to a man.”
They left the palace and set out on the long walk to the slave house that Janto knew so well. As they traveled, Kal enumerated the details of the fleet’s status—damage to the ships, casualties, stores of gunpowder and spars and sailcloth. His report was thorough, but his tone was flat. He was clearly still angry.
When they arrived, the slave house was in chaos, but it seemed a happy chaos. The room was more crowded than ever, containing now both men and women. Apparently the two houses had mixed. Janto spied a few couples exchanging kisses in the back of the room, and one pair who’d gone considerably beyond that. The others were talking animatedly in mixed-gender groups. Many of the men were missing—the presence of the women had fooled him into thinking everyone was present. Perhaps some of the slaves had been in the palace when the fighting began. They might have surrendered to the Mosari troops and had their death spells removed. Others might have been killed.
Conversation ceased as he and his entourage marched in the door. The slaves took in his soldier’s uniform and makeshift carcanet, as well as the uniforms of the men who surrounded him, and stared expectantly. Not one of them seemed to fully recognize him, though a few of the women cocked their heads as if trying to figure out where they’d seen him before.
“Attention,” called San-Kullen. “Jan-Torres, king of Mosar, wishes to speak.”
Janto stepped forward. “Where are Iolo and Sirali?”
“Here, sire.” Iolo shuffled out from within a crowd of men. He seemed uncertain what to do with himself—approach, bow, or ask the questions that lay heavy on his mind. Sirali, across the room, stepped out from a group of people and just stared.
“Well, come up here, both of you!” cried Janto.
Iolo and Sirali walked to the front of the room, their eyes on San-Kullen’s brindlecat. Iolo started to kneel, but Janto seized him about the shoulders and pulled him into a hug.
“I’m glad I found you.” He released Iolo and embraced Sirali, who submitted somewhat stiffly to the attention. “Stand here by my side.” He raised his voice to address the crowd. “As of this day, you are free men and women, Riorcans and Mosari and Kjallans alike.”
A great cheer went up from the slaves.
“I have brought a Healer to remove your death spells.” Janto indicated Mor-Nassen, who stepped up beside him. “Line up, please, behind Iolo and Sirali.”
The slaves scrambled into a line.
“When your spells are removed, you may accompany us to the palace, where we have food and drink for you, and a safe place to berth. Now, there is more fighting to come, and we need every soldier we can get. Those of you who are able-bodied and willing shall be armed and assigned to a commander. If we succeed in the upcoming battle, ships will be available to return us all to our homelands.”
The slaves cheered again.
Janto stepped aside to let Mor-Nassen do his work. Iolo and Sirali rejoined him after their death spells had been removed.
“Stay with me,” he told them. “I want the two of you by my side, now and for always. When we return to Mosar, you’ll be among my advisers in the palace, if that suits you.”
San-Kullen edged toward him. “Where’s the man you wanted me to arrest?”
“I haven’t seen him yet.” He turned to Iolo and Sirali. “Where’s Micah?”
“No sign of him in a while,” said Iolo.
“Right, and I know where he is,” said Sirali. “I had nothing to do with it.”
Janto and San-Kullen exchanged a look. “Nothing to do with what?” said Janto.
“Right, and you’ll see.” Sirali headed for the door. Janto followed her, accompanied by Kal-Torres, San-Kullen, and Iolo.
Sirali led them a short way into the forest, past the well. She paused at a clearing. “There.”
Janto looked into the clearing. A shape lay on the ground. He advanced tentatively. Sashi wrinkled his nose. It was Micah’s very dead, very mutilated body.
34
Janto stood outside Lucien’s door, steeling himself for the encounter to come. The young heir was clever and would be more slippery to deal with than his father. Furthermore, this conversation actually mattered. Florian would never rule Kjall again, but Lucien might. Janto had some negotiating power now, and he would have still more if his forces managed to destroy the returning Kjallan fleet. He just had to convince Lucien that it was in Kjall’s best interest to withdraw from Mosar.
“Shall I come in with you?” asked San-Kullen.
“No, wait outside,” said Janto. “He’s not going to attack me.”
The guards opened the door and admitted him.
Lucien sat on a couch inside, his posture relaxed, his crutch leaning next to him. “Not a mere spy after all,” he said, “but the king of Mosar. And poor Rhianne thoroughly taken in.”
“It was never my intent to take advantage of her,” said Janto. “Only to save my country by any means necessary.”
Lucien narrowed his eyes. “If you think you’ve accomplished that, you are mistaken. How is it we missed your familiar?”
“He was hiding in the hypocaust.”
“Ah.”
Kjallans are fools, said Sashi from his shoulder.
Not exactly. “You underestimate them,” he said to Lucien. “You Kjallans who’ve never known animal familiars. They’re intelligent, like people.”
“My father’s mistress says that about her lapdog.”
Janto felt his ferret’s indignance through the link. He took a seat. “There is not the remotest similarity. Lucien Florian Nigellus, you are now the emperor of Kjall. Allow me to be the first to congratulate you.” He held out the jeweled loros he’d taken from Florian.
Lucien’s face went ashen. He accepted the garment with a trembling hand.
“I don’t mean to shock you,” Janto added. “Your father is alive. I am removing him from power until our council passes judgment on him.”
“I see.” Lucien gathered the loros into his lap, visibly relaxing. “Your arrogance, King Jan-Torres, can hardly be believed. The Kjallan fleet will be here in a matter of days, and our ground troops will arrive not long after. No matter what you do to me or Florian or anyone else in the meantime, my people will overwhelm you. Every last one of you will be staked. As punishment for this rebellion, Kjall will decimate the vassal state of Mosar. Do you know what that means?”
“It’s not going to happen.”
“One in every ten Mosari will be selected by lot and staked. That will be your legacy, Jan-Torres of Mosar. The suffering and death of thousands.”
Janto swallowed, unnerved by the threat, which was marginally credible, but determined Lucien should not see weakness. “I do not fear the return of the fleet, Your Imperial Majesty.”
Lucien leaned back, folding his arms. “We have t
hirty ships to your half dozen.”
“An exaggeration. You have twenty-three ships. And I have the shore batteries.” They were heaps of stone, completely destroyed, but he had them.
“With our numbers, it won’t matter.”
“I also think the return of the fleet will be cold comfort for you, young emperor, if you are dead before they arrive.”
“Ah,” said Lucien. “Here we come to the crux of it. You mean to kill me if I don’t cooperate with your demands. What could those demands be?”
Janto smiled inwardly. Lucien was smart but inexperienced. His eagerness belied his attempt at nonchalance. Beneath that façade, he was afraid, and he wanted very much to strike a deal. “I imagine there are many Kjallan noblemen who’d be happy to rule this country in your stead.”
Lucien snorted laughter. “They could not hold on to it! Every weak Kjallan emperor for the last three centuries has been deposed. That’s what would happen to me if I gave in to your demands. What were they again? I only ask for the potential amusement value.”
“Everything changes if your fleet loses the battle,” said Janto. “Here are my demands. First, your troops must leave Mosar, now and forever. You will have no further claim on my nation. Second, we will establish trade agreements to foster peace between our countries. Third, if she consents, I would like to marry your cousin.”
Lucien leaned forward, lowering his brows. “If you touch Rhianne, I will kill you.”
“An empty threat if I ever heard one, prisoner. I don’t need your consent. Only hers.”
He sniffed and leaned back on the couch. “You are not marrying anybody. You will be dead within a week. Your demands are as ridiculous as I thought they’d be. Give up Mosar? Be serious. Here are my terms. You and your men will give up the palace and any other structures you occupy, return to your ships, and sail away. I cannot promise that there will be no punishment for Mosar for the crime of this invasion, but you will be treated as a vassal state and hence your people will have some value to us as slaves. Surely the lives of your countrymen mean something to you.”
