Spy's Honor

by Amy Raby

  “Florian thought I might talk some sense into you.” Lucien grinned and rolled his eyes. He looked again, perhaps noticing her awkward pose and loose clothing, and stopped short. The color drained from his face. “Did he have you whipped?”

  “He did,” she grunted. “It was much worse than I thought it’d be.”

  Lucien turned away, as if he couldn’t bear to look, though her injuries were bandaged and covered. He limped with his crutch to the far side of the room. “I didn’t think he’d go that far. How many lashes?”

  “Ten.”

  He rounded on her, his hands balled into fists. “That leaves scars.”

  “Not if a Healer closes the wounds. He says he’ll send a Healer when I start cooperating.”

  Lucien scrubbed a hand through his hair and limped back to her. He sat, leaning his crutch on the chair. “What he’s doing is wrong. You know it, and I know it. But you should do as he says. If this were a Caturanga match, he’d have you in every possible way—his Traitor behind your enemy lines, his Tribune under the Soldier’s influence, and all your battalions and cavalry mired in terrain while he’s got a clean run across the board. He has every advantage, and you have none.”

  “I have my integrity,” said Rhianne. “And the law’s on my side.”

  Lucien smiled sadly. “Florian is subject to no law. But think on this, Rhianne—he won’t be emperor forever.” He lowered his voice. “When I ascend the throne, everything will be different. If Augustan mistreats you in any way, I’ll send him packing the moment I become emperor. You have my word on it. And then you shall marry whomever you please. But until that day comes, you and I have to swallow our pride and accept our orders as they come. Florian destroys people who oppose him. I’ve seen him do it.”

  “I know you mean well,” said Rhianne, “but Florian is healthy and strong. He could rule for another forty years.”

  Lucien took her hand and squeezed it. “You speak as if you have a choice in this matter. You don’t.”

  “I could run like my mother did. I’d have done it already, except . . .” She sighed in exasperation. “There are Legaciatti guarding the hypocaust now. Florian must know. Or else it was a lucky guess.”

  Lucien lowered his head. “Florian doesn’t know. I put the Legaciatti there.”

  “You!” hissed Rhianne. “Why would you put them there?”

  His eyes glistened, liquid with guilt. “Because I knew you’d try it. And if you run, he’ll find you. And that will only make things worse.”

  Rhianne, realizing his hand was still holding hers, flung it back at him. “Of all the people I thought might betray me, I never guessed it would be you!”

  “I knew you’d be angry,” said Lucien. “I only hope someday you’ll understand. I did it because you’ll never escape Florian’s net. He has resources you can’t even imagine: signal towers that offer him near-instantaneous communication with every settlement in Kjall, guards in each city who can track your progress through the food and grain you buy and the houses you sleep in—”

  “I’ve got forgetting spells.”

  “Not as useful as you think. Mind magic is unsubtle. Forgetting spells leave holes in people’s memories, and if Florian’s agents know the right questions to ask, they’ll discover them. Flight is impossible. You’ll be caught and dragged back home and forced to marry anyway, and what is Augustan going to think of all this? Do you think you have any chance at all of a happy marriage when your fiancé knows you had to be beaten and dragged halfway across the country to wed him?”

  As if there had ever been a chance of her enjoying a happy marriage with Augustan. “Remove the Legaciatti, Lucien.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t watch you destroy yourself.”

  “Remove them!” she cried.

  “No. I’m sorry.”

  “Get out of my room, then,” she snapped. “You and I are finished.”

  Lucien rose wearily, turned his back on her, and limped for the door.

  22

  For the first time, Janto entered the north dome of the Imperial Palace, the home of Emperor Florian’s personal chambers and offices. This area was certain to be salted with wards, but he was less concerned about tripping one than he had been before. With Mosar conquered and most of his family dead, part of him almost welcomed the opportunity to use his poison pill.

  So far he seemed to be getting off easy. No wards yet, and with so little traffic, these hallways were easier to navigate invisibly than other areas of the palace. Legaciatti guarded most of the doors, and probably some of the rooms beyond those doors contained reams of useful intelligence, but finding a way into them would not be without challenge.

  Around the corner, a pair of voices broke the silence. Janto moved toward them.

  “He’s not back yet,” said one man.

  “But I’m on his schedule,” replied another.

  Janto turned the corner and saw Augustan Ceres, accompanied by one of his officers, speaking to a door guard.

  “He’s running late,” said the Legaciattus. “You can wait in the anteroom.”

  Augustan nodded and, along with the officer, headed toward a side room. Janto followed and was delighted to discover the anteroom had no door. He didn’t enter but hovered outside, in case the arched entryway was warded.

  Augustan and the officer took seats, looking irritated.

  The officer spoke in a quiet voice. “You think he’ll give us the ships?”

  “Can’t imagine he wouldn’t,” said Augustan. “There’s still a Mosari fleet out there, and he won’t want anything to happen to his precious niece.”

  The officer snorted a laugh. “What’s the word on her? She break yet?”

  Janto blinked, confused but interested. Augustan and the officer had to be referring to Rhianne, but what was this about her breaking?

  Augustan shook his head. “He had her whipped yesterday, but she’s a stubborn bitch. Not giving in yet.”

  Stubborn bitch? She’d been whipped? Surely Janto had heard wrong or misunderstood. They could not be talking about an imperial princess. They were speaking softly, and he could have missed something. Maybe they were talking about a hunting dog, or a horse.

  Or maybe they weren’t. What in the Sage’s name had been going on here while he’d been hiding away, mourning his parents and his conquered land?

  “He’s going about it all wrong,” said the officer.

  “’Course he is,” said Augustan. “She’s thoroughly spoiled. Forget the wedding—just sign the marriage papers and throw her into my cabin on the Meritorious. I’ll make a wife of her. I’ll have her on her knees on the quarterdeck before the voyage is over, sucking my cock and thanking me for the privilege.”

  Janto stiffened. He didn’t know how he would do it, but somehow he was going to kill that man. His fingers twitched, wanting to wrap themselves around Augustan’s neck and crush it.

  Yes, muttered Sashi darkly, picking up his thoughts. Kill.

  Later, said Janto, coming to his senses. That man was a war mage, blessed with preternatural speed and strength, as well as the gift of anticipation, which allowed him to sense blows before they landed. His combat skills would be formidable, to say the least. Right now, I need to buy Rhianne some time.

  Augustan and the other officer launched into a comparison of their sexual exploits, some of which had involved captured Mosari women. Janto listened with half an ear, not wanting to get too angry and lose his composure. Finally one of the door guards came and nodded at Augustan. “He wants to see you first.”

  Augustan rose. “Any word on the princess?”

  “You’ll have to ask him yourself.” The guard led him to the door, and Janto followed.

  “Come in. Don’t stand on the doorstep,” called Florian from inside.

  Augustan stepped into Florian’s office. Janto, in
visible at his side, crossed the threshold with him.

  Fireworks crackled and spat as fingers of red and blue lightning raced along the door frame. Shouts erupted, and Legaciatti raced into the room. Two of them backed Emperor Florian into a corner, shielding him with their bodies. Another shut the door, while others tackled Augustan and wrenched his arms behind his back. The legatus cried out in confusion and anger. He could have fought them—he was a war mage—but he seemed to have the wit not to resist.

  Janto picked his way around the Legaciatti toward Florian’s desk.

  “It was a faulty ward!” Augustan lifted his head from the floor, but the guards shoved it back down. Two men sat on him while a third fastened manacles onto his arms and legs. “A faulty ward! I am your faithful subject, Emperor, I swear it!”

  Two of the Legaciatti got up and searched the room, yanking back chairs and tables. One of them came straight at Janto. Janto backed away and out of his path. When another guard cut him off from the other direction, he scrambled invisibly onto a table. The guard yanked a chair out from beneath it. Janto slid across to the other side and jumped down.

  The men completed their search. Silence fell, broken only by the sound of Augustan’s harsh breathing. A Legaciattus approached the emperor and his bodyguards and saluted with a thumb to his chest. “The room is secure, sire.” The bodyguards stepped away.

  “What in the Soldier’s hell?” growled Florian, emerging from his corner and heading toward Augustan.

  Janto reached Florian’s desk. Though all eyes were on Augustan, he threw his shroud over the papers lying on the table, just in case someone glanced in his direction, and gathered them into his arms. He’d hoped to slide open the desk drawers and steal their contents as well, but that seemed too risky.

  “Shall we take his riftstone, sire?” asked a Legaciattus.

  “Yes,” said Florian. “Take it to the Epolonius Room. Send for a warder and a mind mage.”

  The Legaciatti rolled Augustan onto his back. One of them reached into his syrtos and retrieved the riftstone on its chain. They lifted him up and placed him in a chair, where he sat hunched forward to accommodate his manacled wrists. The Legaciattus carrying away the riftstone left the door open, granting Janto a welcome escape route. He edged toward it, hoping to get out before someone cast a new ward.

  “Sire,” began a pale and trembling Augustan, “I welcome your truth spell and the opportunity to prove my innocence. This is a mistake. The ward must have been incorrectly cast.”

  Florian frowned. “Silence. We’ll have this sorted out soon enough.”

  Janto slipped out the open door with one last glance at Augustan. Enjoy your interrogation.

  • • •

  Janto tucked himself into an alcove, behind a statue of a Kjallan warrior, to peruse his stolen bounty. His time in the palace was limited now. Once truth spells established Augustan’s innocence and Florian discovered the papers on his desk were missing, he might conclude, correctly, that an invisible spy was operating in the palace. Then the invisibility wards would go up. Janto had been reckless, but it had been worth it to see Augustan humiliated, and who knew? Maybe he would find something of value.

  He looked at the first paper on the stack. Emperor Florian Nigellus Gavros commands your presence on the Fifth Day of the Sage for the Marriage Ceremony of Imperial Princess Rhianne Florian Nigellus to Legatus Augustan Ceres. . . .

  Three gods. Had he picked up a stack of wedding invitations?

  He paged through them. Invitation, invitation, invitation. Yes. A stack of completely useless wedding invitations, which had apparently been left on Florian’s desk because they needed his signature at the bottom. Wonderful.

  Wait—here was something else. A requisitions order from the palaestra. Training equipment. Not very interesting, but it was another document requiring the emperor’s signature. He hadn’t stolen a stack of wedding invitations. He’d stolen a stack of documents needing signatures.

  What else? Execution orders, two of them, for prisoners currently held beneath the palace. No details in the paperwork about their crimes. Janto shivered and paged farther through the stack.

  Here was something.

  Captain, Skylark.

  By imperial command, you are required to proceed through the Neruna Strait and seize control of the harbor at Sarpol. Once the harbor is secured, you will place yourself under the command of Legatus Ahala Philippus and await further instructions.

  Official orders for the Skylark, and juicy ones at that. What was the emperor up to? Sarpol was the westernmost port of Sardos. Was Florian really going to attack Sardos right after conquering Mosar? It boggled the mind. If Ral-Vaddis had known of this plan a while ago, this might be the intelligence he’d believed would turn the war. If Sardos, knowing a Kjallan attack was imminent, could have been persuaded to join the fight while Mosar still stood, the two nations together might have defeated the aggressors. That opportunity might be lost now, but not necessarily. Kal-Torres still had a fleet.

  Janto flipped through the remaining papers and found identical orders for the captains of the Faithful and the Seabird. Just three ships for attacking Sardos? That wouldn’t be enough. There was something missing, something he didn’t understand yet. Perhaps the action in Sarpol was a feint. Or perhaps the orders for other ships involved had already been signed and delivered. He needed to know more—a lot more.

  But first he would find out what was going on with Rhianne.

  • • •

  Rhianne had been dreaming, once again of being chased. She ran and ran, but there was nowhere to hide. It was inevitable: in time she must tire, and her pursuer would catch her. She wasn’t sure who he was, only that she must run from him. But someone was shaking her shoulder, waking her with a gentle touch before the dream could reach its frightening conclusion. Not Florian, since he wouldn’t be gentle. Perhaps her lady’s maid. She slept a lot these days. There was little else to do, and unconsciousness granted her reprieve from thinking about her impossible situation. She opened her eyes.

  A man crouched at her side.

  She scrambled away in a reflex of terror, confusing him with the pursuer from her dream. But it was Janto. He spoke soothingly and reached for her, and as the wispy threads of her dream dissipated, the pounding of her heart eased, and she crawled into his embrace. He held her close, and she began to cry, spilling with her tears the horrors of the past several days.

  He settled on the settee where she’d been sleeping and pulled her into his lap. Inspecting her with careful fingers, he found the bandages on her back—so quickly she had a feeling he’d known to look for them. He drew in his breath sharply. “What’s happened, love?”

  She wanted to speak but couldn’t stop crying.

  He stroked her hair. “When you’re ready. I don’t mean to rush you.”

  His warm hands running through her hair began to quiet her in mind and body. What a comfort his gentle strength was! If only she could have him by her side always, not just at these unpredictable moments. She took a deep breath and let it out. Her trembling subsided. “When Augustan came, he spoke in the audience hall. At the end of his presentation, he held up . . . oh gods. You may not want to hear this.”

  “Go on,” said Janto. “I think I already know.”

  “He held up two severed heads. He had executed the king and queen of Mosar. I’m so sorry. You come from a high family, and you must have known them. Here I am weeping over some stripes on my back, and things are so much worse for you—”

  “The days since the return of the fleet have been the hardest of my life,” said Janto. “That does not diminish what you’ve been through.”

  She sighed, her breath shaky. “I was . . . horrified by the gesture of the severed heads. So I walked out of the ceremony.”

  He looked down at her sharply. “You walked out? When?”

  �
��After he held up the heads.”

  Janto shook his head in astonishment. “Then we both walked out. I must have gone before you. I was there, invisible, but when he held up the heads, I ran for the exit.”

  “You were there? I wish I’d known—I felt alone up on the platform. But my act of defiance has led to nothing but trouble. Everyone’s turned against me, even Lucien. I’m imprisoned in my rooms, I’m allowed no visitors, and Florian had me whipped. He’ll do it again if I don’t come around. And the worst of it is that while he wants me to wed Augustan willingly, I think that if I continue to refuse, he’ll just forge my signature on the marriage contract and throw me on the ship to Mosar. What can I do then? I can’t fight Augustan. The man’s a war mage.”

  Janto’s arms stiffened, even as he held her. “That’s not going to happen. Have you given any serious thought to running away?”

  “I’d have run before now if it were possible,” said Rhianne. “I used to be able to sneak out, but Lucien knows my secret route out of the palace. He anticipated me and set Legaciatti to guarding it.”

  “I can get you out with my shroud, but we’ll have to wait for your front door to open. When will that happen next? It looks like supper’s already been delivered, although that isn’t your typical supper—”

  “Florian’s got me on prison rations. Bread and cheese. My lady’s maid should be in later, but she’ll be looking to help me with my clothes. It’s not a great time to sneak out. Other than that, the door won’t open again until breakfast. But we can go out the secret way, if you can get past Legaciatti.”

  “I got past the ones at your door. I came when they delivered your dinner. I was watching you sleep for a while.”

  “Then I don’t see a problem,” said Rhianne. “Wait until dark and I’ll show you. In the meantime . . .” Her voice became small. “Will you lie here with me? Hold me?”

  “Of course.” Janto stretched out on the couch and pulled her body into the crook of his own, handling her gingerly around her bandaged areas.

  She sighed deeply, feeling safe and secure with his hard, solid warmth all around her, and tried not to think about the fact that these might be her last hours of contentedness.