by Amy Raby
The young emperor stared numbly at the ruins of his fleet.
Janto signaled for the guards and pressed the wine bottle into Lucien’s hands. “Retire now, and think on these events. Tomorrow, you and I and the fleet commanders will discuss the terms of our peace agreement.”
* * *
Rhianne’s door opened, and a pair of guards entered. They carried a makeshift sling between them.
“Morgan!” Rhianne cried.
“Stand back, miss,” said a guard as she approached.
She moved away obediently, seeing how they struggled with their burden. She didn’t want her friend to be jostled or bumped. “Place him on the couch there, if you would.”
The guards carried the sling to the couch and deposited Morgan on it. He looked up at her, ashen faced but alert.
“A Healer will come by later to check on him and instruct you in his care,” one of guards told her. Then they left.
“Can I get you anything?” Rhianne asked anxiously. “Food, drink? Uh . . . chamber pot?”
“I’m fine,” said Morgan. “I can walk short distances, so I won’t be as much trouble as that. And if I’d known I’d be nursed back to health by an imperial princess, I’d take mad potshots at entire armies more often.”
“Oh, hush.” Rhianne pulled up a chair next to him. “What possessed you to do such a thing?”
“I’d say it was the wine.”
“You need to lay off that stuff.”
“I’ll take it under consideration.”
She folded her arms. “Are you patronizing me?”
“Are you mothering me, little girl who’s half my age?”
“I’m not a girl, and I’m not half your age either.” Rhianne picked up his hand. It was alarmingly cold. “You need another blanket.” She went to the bedroom, fetched one, and tucked it around him. She picked up his hand again—it was enormous compared to her own—and rubbed it between both of hers, trying to warm it. “You really do drink too much. Are you unhappy, Morgan?”
He moved his shoulders in an approximation of a shrug. “A man’s not made to sit around and listen to the gossip of his neighbors.”
Rhianne frowned. Morgan wanted to work, but he was crippled and all his skills and training were physical. His right hand didn’t work properly, and he had a hard time raising either of his arms above his head.
“I’ve been working up the courage to offer myself to that Mosari king,” continued Morgan. “But I can’t imagine he’d want me. I was useless before and more so now I’ve been shot.”
“The Mosari king? You mean Jan-Torres?”
“Whatever his name is,” said Morgan.
“You can’t join his service,” Rhianne protested. “You’d be a traitor!”
“Hardly,” said Morgan, “when the emperor cast me out first.”
“You don’t know anything about Jan-Torres,” she said. “He might treat you badly.”
“Nah,” said Morgan. “I’ve been in wars, spent time in hostile Riorca, and it’s a miracle I didn’t bleed my life away in the streets of Riat that night. Do you know how many military commanders will use their precious Healers to save the lives of enemy soldiers or civilians? None, that’s how many. But the Mosari king did.”
Rhianne considered this. “Aren’t you furious about him marching in here and taking over?”
“I don’t give a flying tomtit,” said Morgan. “And anyway, he can’t hold this place; not when the reinforcements arrive. I’m surprised he survived the arrival of the fleet—”
“The fleet’s returned?”
“Yes, there was a monster of a battle in the harbor. Didn’t you hear it? I suppose you’re on the wrong side of the palace. Jan-Torres must have won, because his men are still here. But our ground forces are unstoppable. He’s not here to hold Kjall, because that’s impossible. He’s not here for bloodshed, since I’d be dead if he was. So he’s here to cut a deal. He’s got Lucien by the cods—pardon my language—and you can’t blame a man for wanting to save his country.”
“No,” said Rhianne. “I suppose you can’t.”
36
Janto met with Lucien again the next day.
The young emperor looked up as Janto entered the room. “Have the fleet commanders arrived?”
“Not yet, Your Imperial Majesty.” Janto grabbed a chair from the far wall, casting a surreptitious glance at Lucien. The young man’s eyes were hard and calculating. He’d recovered from the shock of losing his fleet, it seemed, and moved on to damage control.
Lucien shrugged. “Every day that passes brings my ground troops from northern and eastern Kjall closer to liberating the palace.”
“We won’t be waiting much longer for the fleet commanders. They’ve had casualties to attend to, and emergency repairs. Also, the harbor’s a mess; it’s impossible to maneuver in there. I don’t envy the man tasked with cleaning it up.” He smiled.
Lucien folded his arms and sniffed. “I hope you came here with a better offer than the one you brought before.”
“Your fleet’s been destroyed, and you think I’ve come with a better offer?” He set the chair in front of Lucien and straddled it. “You’re lucky I’m not making it worse.”
“I’m not giving up Mosar.”
Janto shrugged. “For your sake, I’m sorry to hear that, since it will cost you the four warships and three battalions of troops you have stationed there. In a matter of days, the Sardossians, the Riorcans, and my own men will sail to liberate Mosar, and we are fully prepared to fight your outnumbered garrison.”
Lucien was silent for a moment. “Perhaps an arrangement can be made.”
“Give me your fleet’s private signal and send with me new orders for your men, commanding them to return home in peace,” said Janto. “Otherwise, I’ll destroy them. My combined army outnumbers your three battalions on Mosar, and you know I’ve got more ships. I’m making this offer for one reason only: I’m tired of bloodshed. I want it to end.”
Lucien’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.
Janto sighed. “Let me also point out that without those four warships stationed at Mosar, you have no fleet.”
“I have other ships.”
Janto chuckled. “You’re bluffing. Yes, you have more ships—the three that police the Riorcan harbors. Other than that, nothing. And don’t give me any horseshit about putting guns on merchant ships; they’re no match for real warships and you know it. We destroyed your Rhaylet fleet, your Sarpol fleet, and your harbor fleet. If you do not accept my offer—my gift, Lucien—you’ll lose the four ships at Mosar and be left with only the three at Riorca. Which might leave you in some trouble, since Riorca now has ships of its own.”
Lucien stiffened. “Stolen ships.”
“That’s a matter of opinion.”
The emperor leaned forward, his eyes dark and angry. “It is nonsense to speak of Riorcans possessing ships. Riorca is a province of Kjall and has been for decades. Those ships are in the hands of thieves and mutineers. Surrender them immediately.”
Janto shook his head. “You’re in no position to make demands. Even if you were, the ships are not mine to give. Take it up with the Riorcan fleet commander.”
“There is no Riorcan fleet commander! The man who calls himself that is an escaped slave, nothing more!”
“By some accounts, I am an escaped slave.”
Lucien scowled and folded his arms.
Janto rose. It was time to make his exit before Lucien could come up with any more ridiculous ideas. “I’ll see you at the negotiating table, Emperor. In the meantime, think on my offer.”
“Wait,” said Lucien.
Janto paused.
“Return my stolen ships, and I will accept your offer. My forces will leave Mosar peacefully.”
“The Riorcan ships are not mine to give. Even if they were, I would not betray an ally who fought at my side.” Janto headed for the door.
“Jan-Torres, what do you want in exchange for those stolen ships
?”
Janto waved a dismissive hand. “If you want ships, accept my original offer. It gives you four.”
“I want the two Riorcan ships, and I’m willing to deal. What do you want? Money? Preferential trade agreements? Kjall would be a powerful ally for Mosar.”
Janto hesitated with his hand on the door handle. Indeed, Kjall would. This was exactly the kind of agreement he wanted. But at the price of betraying the Riorcans?
There was no chance Riorca was going to come out of this well. The destruction of the fleet would temporarily prevent the Kjallans from attacking Mosar or Sardos, but not Riorca, which shared their continent and was accessible by land. What difference would it make, in the long run, if he seized the Riorcan ships and returned them to Kjall?
No difference at all, probably. Lucien didn’t need those ships; he was demanding them as a matter of principle. But there were lines Janto would not cross, not if he wanted to be worthy of his throne. And he didn’t trust Lucien, not fully. It was in the young emperor’s interest to break up the alliance between Mosar, Sardos, and Riorca. Janto had to make certain he did not succeed in doing so. “There is nothing you can offer me that will induce me to betray my allies,” he said firmly.
“Perhaps we need only to hit upon the right lure. Did Rhianne accept your offer of marriage?”
Janto froze. “I have not yet made the offer.”
“You were going to.”
“I’ve been busy destroying your fleet.”
“You haven’t made it because you know she won’t accept. She’s hostile. Am I correct?”
“What do you care?” said Janto. “You said you’d kill me if I touched your cousin.”
“Perhaps I’ve experienced a change of heart,” said Lucien. “Rhianne once cared about you a great deal. Her happiness means much to me. So tell me: has she been receptive?”
Janto bit his lip. “She’s angry about the lives lost in the assault and that I deceived her about my identity.”
“You are making a mistake with her, and I think I know what it is,” said Lucien.
“There’s no mistake,” said Janto. “She’s angry about the things I’ve done, and she’ll either forgive me or she won’t. If I had more time—”
“It’s not about time,” said Lucien. “I mean, yes, time would help. But it’s unnecessary. Rhianne is rational; she’s just not accustomed to war. If someone were to put your invasion into context for her, explain that you haven’t been executing anyone, or torturing anyone, or even looting our treasury—”
“I did explain some of that.”
“Yes, but she doesn’t trust you right now. She trusts me.”
“And you’re offering to talk to her for me?”
“Yes, in exchange for the Riorcans,” said Lucien. “Hand them over, and I’ll return Mosar to you peacefully, negotiate trade agreements, and speak to Rhianne on your behalf, an act that might lead to an even stronger alliance between our nations.”
The offer hit Janto like a punch to the gut. It was everything he wanted, absolutely everything. A peaceful recovery of Mosar, an alliance with Kjall, and, possibly, reconciliation with the woman he loved. There was only that small matter of betraying men who’d fought in good faith by his side. He forced his lips to form the words “No deal.”
Lucien sighed. “I see you are intractable on this point. Come sit down, and I’ll tell you something about Rhianne.”
“In exchange for the Riorcans?”
“No. For free.”
That sounded suspicious. “Why?”
“Because you’re a terrible negotiator, but you seem loyal. This seems a point in your favor.”
Wary, Janto returned to his chair and sat.
“You cannot put Rhianne in a cage,” said Lucien. “It is the worst mistake you can make with her. The story of the woodcutter’s son and the horse of mist—do you know it? Is it told on Mosar?”
“I believe so. In our version, it’s a potter’s son.”
“Makes no difference. The boy goes out late at night and finds a great black horse. He has no bridle or saddle, but he gets up on the animal anyway. The horse is so responsive he can guide it with his hands, and its gaits are so smooth he doesn’t need a saddle, and he rides all over the countryside, and it’s the fastest and finest of all horses. By morning, the horse has brought him home and gone off on its own, but every night it comes back, so every night he goes on this glorious ride. And he thinks, I should capture this horse and make it my own. So he gets a bridle, and that night he tries to put a bridle on the horse so he can keep it. And you know what happens?”
“The horse turns to mist and he never sees it again,” said Janto.
“Exactly. Rhianne is the horse of mist,” said Lucien. “My father thinks her confusing and impossible to understand. He could not be more wrong—Rhianne is the most straightforward of women. She’s generous and openhearted, and most of the time she’ll tell you exactly what she’s thinking. There are only two rules you need follow with her, and they are absolute. First, don’t mistreat her. And second, don’t cage her. If you try to cage her, she will fight you with every bit of strength she has.”
“I’m not caging her,” said Janto. “I put her in custody to keep her safe.”
Lucien rolled his eyes. “That’s the mistake I was talking about.”
* * *
While he awaited the return of the fleet commanders, Janto visited the wounded, settled disagreements, and attended funerals. As he went about these duties, he noticed a subtle but unmistakable change in his men. They saluted him more crisply; they stood straighter in his presence. They stared at him when they thought he wasn’t looking. And high-ranking officers who had questioned his decisions in the past now deferred without a quibble.
He’d always craved the respect of his men, but now that he had it, he didn’t enjoy it as much as he’d thought he would. He felt as if an invisible barrier, which nobody, not even his officers, dared to cross, had been erected around him. And with no one questioning his decisions, he had no sounding board for trying out ideas. What if he made a foolish decision and no one called him on it?
Folding his arms, he watched the military procession from his balcony. It wound its way up the switchbacks of the Imperial Road, bringing him Kal-Torres and the fleet commanders.
When they arrived, he met them at the front gates with as much pomp as he could muster. He had no musicians, nor could he spare even a single pyrotechnic from signaling duty. But he lined up his officers to receive the battle-weary men with salutes and shouts. Kal was first to enter, bronze and handsome as a living statue. He’d taken a bullet in the leg during battle, but the ship’s Healer had done good work on him, and he wasn’t limping. Gishi fluttered above him, keening in triumph. Admiral Llinos of the Sardossians followed, and then Admiral Durgan of the Riorcans. Durgan was a small, quiet man whom Janto studied curiously. As Lucien had mentioned, the man was a former slave. It remained to be seen whether he possessed the skills of a leader and a diplomat.
The kitchens had bustled with activity all morning. Freed slaves and soldiers too infirm to fight had busied themselves cooking a feast for the returning heroes. Janto led the fleet admirals and their officers to the grand ballroom and delivered the first of many toasts celebrating their victory.
Food and wine flowed copiously, though Janto drank lightly in order to retain his wits. When the party was beginning to wind down and an overstimulated Sashi had retreated into his shirt for a nap, Admiral Llinos pulled Janto aside. “Your Majesty, I want to confer with you on a matter of some delicacy before we begin the negotiations.”
“What matter is this?”
“As you know, the Kjallan Empire has always been insular. They marry their imperial princesses to great Kjallan military leaders and the heads of powerful families, never to foreign heads of state. I believe this is part of the reason Kjall so willingly invades other nations. They have no ties to those nations. Now, the deposed Emperor Florian has two da
ughters—one daughter and one niece, actually—and the niece is of marriageable age. I understand she was previously betrothed, but her fiancé was killed during the invasion.”
“That is correct.”
“So she’s available.”
Janto nodded. “I plan to make an offer for her hand.”
“Good, you and I are thinking along the same lines,” said Llinos. “But an offer? Under the circumstances, an offer will be refused. You must make it part of the settlement.”
Janto blinked. “Force it on her?”
“An imperial princess never has much of a choice in her marriage partner—nor does a king, as I understand it?” He raised his eyebrows.
“For the most part, no,” Janto agreed.
“We must bring pressure to bear on the Kjallans to join the wider community and marry their women outside the empire.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Admiral Llinos departed, swaying a little with drink.
Janto bit his lip, hardly able to sort out his feelings. He wanted Rhianne to marry him and return home with him as the queen of Mosar. But she was so hostile right now, and he had so little time. It was unlikely she would accept his proposal. Could he do as Llinos suggested and make it part of the peace settlement? Rhianne had nearly been forced into one marriage already. It didn’t seem right to force her into another. And Lucien’s advice lay heavy on his heart. He would never mistreat Rhianne, but under the circumstances, how could he avoid keeping her in protective custody? Lucien didn’t understand the realities of his situation.
He sipped his wine. He was looking for San-Kullen when Admiral Durgan, the Riorcan, intercepted him and addressed him in fluent diplomatic Kjallan. “Your Majesty, may I speak to you in private?”
“Of course.”
They moved to a quiet corner of the slowly emptying ballroom.
