The Mercenaries of the Stolen Moon

by Megan Derr

  With that, he did a neat military turn and strode off, bellowing for some poor sergeant to attend him.

  "That man is exhausting," Charlaine said. "What were those words he used? He called us that before—flee-tahs. At that, I'm not sure I want to know."

  Jac smiled faintly. "I don't know flittas, but kustari is Gaulden. Allen has called Myra that too. It's a type of…minor diety or something, I think, that protects the homes of the pious and keeps away chaos and strife. He said it's also often used as a compliment for people like housekeepers, secretaries and such, who excel at keeping a house or business running smoothly. There are versions specifically for ships and crops too. Gaulden has all kinds of them. Little spirits, that's what Allen called them. A kustari is a little spirit of order and peace."

  Myra stared in surprise, cheeks darkening slightly as he smiled faintly. "I didn't know that one. But I do know flittas, one of my undersecretaries mentioned them when he was worried about his sister's ship, which was two months late returning to port. It's another of their little spirits, but flittas are spirits who guide the lost home."

  "Leave it to Captain Chass to make compliments sound like insults," Jac said with a laugh, and kissed Myra's cheek.

  "He's terrifying, even when extending compliments," Hibiki replied. "Come on, let's go before we have to deal with him again. Mother Serpent spare me." He led the way out of the port and down a couple of streets to where he secured a carriage.

  Myra closed his eyes as they traveled through the city, focused solely on not throwing up from the stress of the pending reunion with Sarrica. He closed his eyes and bid his stomach behave just a little longer.

  Charlaine and Jac tried to comfort with words and touches, but they must have been at least as anxious as him. The hour of reckoning was moments away, and they had no idea what their future held.

  But at least they had a future. That was more than he'd dared hope for just a few days ago.

  When the carriage finally stopped, Myra didn't give himself any more time to panic. He threw open the door, nearly knocking over the coachman. He apologized profusely, then turned to Hibiki, Kimberly and Yugao. "We'll go speak with His Majesty first, if you do not mind."

  "By all means," Kimberly said. "I'd rather rest and find some food, fortify myself before I am forced to meet this emperor I was supposed to kill."

  Charlaine beckoned a nearby gawking guard and bid him take Kimberly and the others to the kitchens. Then he rejoined Myra and Jac, and together the three of them entered the manor.

  It must have belonged to one of the Seven, or a family member of one of them. Nobody else could have afforded to live in such a ridiculously large house. Soldonir houses usually weren't built so large, and they certainly weren't built with so many stories, at least not this way. That was just asking for trouble when typhoon season came.

  Inside, everything was chaos. Myra almost laughed at the familiar panicked, terrified look on the faces of the bustling servants and various persons waiting in the hall. A harried individual in Harken finery was standing behind an improvised desk, arguing with a Triumvirate noble about an appointment.

  Myra peeked through the slightly open doors that led to an enormous room, some sort of meeting hall that had been converted into an office. He could see secretaries bustling around, Fathoms Deep and Penance Gate soldiers stationed along the walls…

  In the midst of all the chaos, Sarrica's voice carried above all the rest, snarling and snapping like a leopard with a thorn in its paw. Every now and then, Myra could also hear Lesto's voice, but even he wasn't having much luck in calming Sarrica down.

  His eyes stung. Damn it, he'd missed Sarrica. There weren't many days in the past twenty years that they hadn't spent at least part of every day together. He'd spent a lifetime working with Sarrica, learning all his preferences, how best to get certain things accomplished… He missed gently teasing Sarrica, sharing looks about difficult guests, reprimanding him for not doing something and watching the awe on the faces of those unfamiliar with their relationship.

  He missed watching Sarrica: when he bickered with Lesto, fussed over first Nyle, then later Kamir and now Lady Genna. His comradarie with Jader, Rene, his kindness and genuine admiration for Lord Tara. The way he levied a fine on a cocky noble that he thought was a hard slap on the wrist, completely unaware he'd just bankrupted the poor bastard. Myra always sent the official notice to the courts and adjusted the fine to a reasonable, if still painful, amount.

  He missed seeing how kind Sarrica could be, how madly and openly in love with Allen he was, the way he continued working when most others would have quit. How much he cared, about everything, even in the face of people who were quick with demands and criticism, and rarely bothered with praise or gratitude.

  It didn't matter who condemned him, what people said, or how many times they beat him or tried to kill him—he would make the choice to save Sarrica's life over and over again.

  Damn it, he wanted to go home.

  Sarrica yelled at someone again, and Myra looked around the room, recognized that strained tone in his voice. The halfwit probably hadn't stopped to eat or even rest properly since Myra had been gone, and Lesto was no better most of the time.

  Myra turned to the harried clerk. "Has anyone brought His Majesty tea recently?"

  "He hasn't asked for it," the clerk replied, in a tone that questioned Myra's sanity.

  Myra didn't roll his eyes, but only barely. "Send someone to the kitchens and tell them to prepare a full service. Strong black tea and hearty food to go with it—something with red meat, if possible, lamb especially, and make sure it's heavily spiced. Also a pot of coffee and some sweets for Lord Lesto. Do it now."

  When a servant had been sent off, Myra turned to the red-faced man who looked ready to explode. "What is this about an appointment?"

  "I am the Duke of—"

  "Is your name on the list?" Myra interrupted.

  "I do not need—"

  Myra smoothly took the papers from the clerk's slightly trembling hand, skimmed it, and said, "Lord Carroway, Duke of Heron Bay? You were rescheduled for an afternoon appointment."

  "I beg your pardon? I do not get rescheduled."

  Looking up, Myra replied coolly, "Are you saying your time is more valuable than His Imperial Majesty's? Or did you want me to cancel the appointment since you cannot make the new time?"

  The man puffed up like one of the head cook's cats when they were fighting over scraps. "Who are you?"

  Myra ignored him, returning the papers to the clerk and motioning to the two Fathoms Deep guards who'd noticed who was talking and were trying not to grin. "Escort His Grace from the premises. If he wishes to schedule a new appointment with His Majesty, he will have to send a secretary or servant to arrange it."

  He took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and with a last look at Jac and Charlaine for reassurance, turned on his heel, pushed open one of the doors and stepped into the room.

  "I gave orders I was not to be disturbed for any reason," Sarrica snarled, not bothering to turn around. "The only way you're going to live is if you've brought me something to drink."'

  Lesto smiled from the high-backed chair in which he was sitting.

  Myra swallowed. "T-tea is on the way, Your Majesty."

  "Thank you, Myra," Sarrica said, and handed off a piece of paper to a waiting secretary.

  Then he dropped all the other papers he was holding, causing the other secretaries to cry out in dismay, and whipped around. "Myra!" Before Myra could form a reply, Sarrica strode across the room and swept him up into a tight embrace. "You're alive."

  "Barely," Myra choked out, wincing slightly when his ribs protested the squeezing.

  Sarrica immediately let him go. He frowned as he looked Myra up and down. "You've lost weight, and I'm guessing you've a bruised rib or two." He took Myra's chin between his thumb and fingers, turning his head every which way. "Who beat you? Have we arrested them yet? Lesto—"

&nbs
p; "I'm sure if they haven't already been arrested, they will be shortly," Lesto replied, uncurling from his chair like a leopard that had decided it was time to seek out dinner. He glanced past them to Jac and Charlaine, who hovered in the doorway, and gestured sharply for them to enter. "You are lucky I'm no longer High Commander and that Jader is too busy to deal with you himself." His eyes swept over them, studying every bruise, cut, and scrape, but lingering on the lurid bruises around all their wrists. "You were manacled. Why?"

  Jac winced. "You really don't want—"

  "If I didn't want to know, I wouldn't ask," Lesto snapped. "You're in enough trouble, Sergeant. I suggest you not add to that by telling me what I do and do not want to know."

  "Apologies, Your Grace," Jac said, then glowered at him. "Wait a minute. You're not High Commander anymore, and I'm not Fathoms Deep. You can't boss me around."

  Lesto narrowed his eyes, but before he could respond, Sarrica said, "She's not wrong."

  Huffing, Lesto said, "I have every right to demand explanations. I am still in command of Fathoms Deep and we oversee the protection of the imperial family. These two—"

  "Are not yours to punish anymore," Sarrica said. "Lesto, knock it off. They're exhausted and terrified and your Arseni temper isn't helping."

  Lesto shoved him away. "Shut up." He strode over to Jac and Charlaine. "You're a pair of damned fools." Then he embraced them tightly. "It's good to see you alive and well. We were terrified we'd have to send Allen and Kamir bad news."

  All three of them flinched. As Sarrica let Myra go, he asked, "How is His Majesty? I am so very sorry I failed him. I'll never be able to atone for that."

  "You did everything you could, Myra," Sarrica said gruffly. "It's not your fault. You would be the first to say that to anyone else in your position." He turned to the rest of the room, sweeping his arm out and toward the door. "Everybody out. That door is not to open again until I am the one opening it. Anyone who disobeys me will find themselves regretting it sorely."

  Everyone fled, the doors closing with a bang.

  The moment the room was utterly silent, Sarrica bellowed, "What in the Pantheon were you thinking! All three of you were so damned busy trying to play hero that you nearly got yourselves killed, and how exactly did you expect that to help anything?"

  "If I hadn't gone—" Myra stopped when Sarrica motioned sharply.

  Sarrica jabbed him in the chest. "You should have trusted me to take care of the matter." He rounded on Jac and Charlaine. "And you two! You're fucking bodyguards. Your job is to stay where you are, not run off like figures in a bad play—"

  "If we hadn't gone after him, Myra would be dead," Jac said. "I know I've failed in my duties and let everyone down. Especially Allen. I'll accept my punishment for that without complaint. But I won't be sorry I tried to save Myra."

  "Tried to save?" Lesto asked. "What—" He broke off as a knock came at the door.

  Sarrica glared murderously, but before he could go level fines or order some poor servant to the stocks for a few hours, Myra said, "That's the tea."

  "Fine." Sarrica turned and stomped off to a chair next to the one that Lesto reclaimed.

  When the tea had been set out and the servants gone again, Sarrica resumed glaring at them. "Tell me everything."

  Myra drew a breath, let it out slowly, and recounted everything that had happened to him from the moment he'd been taken away. By the time he'd finished his portion, at least up until he reunited with Jac and Charlaine, Sarrica's face was stormier than ever. Lesto rested a hand on his arm, but even that was barely enough to keep Sarrica in his seat.

  Charlaine recounted the first part of his and Jac's tale, and Jac took up the story from where they reunited with Myra.

  When they were finished, Sarrica surged to his feet. "I want Iron Moon—"

  Lesto yanked him back down. "I believe Captain Chass has the rounding up of Iron Moon well in hand. I'm actually rather impressed he's left them alive as ordered. I would have been hard pressed to blame him for any 'accidents'. He has more right to kill them than anyone else here."

  Sarrica ran a hand down his face. "I wouldn't have blamed him either."

  Jac asked hesitantly, "Is Lady Mark all right?"

  "Yes," Lesto said. "We connected with her not long after landing. She is going to be appointed Acting Margrave until a more suitable, native individual is found."

  Myra stared, swallowed. "So…so you are taking the Triumvirate into the Empire?"

  Sarrica lifted one shoulder. "They broke a long list of international laws, and I am within my rights to do as I please, given the blood that is on their hands. But I am not going to punish the whole for the crimes of a few. Unless they give me cause to do otherwise, these nations will be given the same conditions and offer that all who are brought into Harken are given."

  "That must have everyone anxious," Myra said. Even he still had a knee-jerk reaction to such an idea, given what had happened the last time someone had shown up to claim Soldonir as their own.

  But Harken wasn't Benta or Treya Mencee, to pillage and take and reshape. There were overarching laws that everyone in the empire was expected to obey, and most royalty and nobility learned Harken, but by and large the kingdoms were left to govern themselves.

  The provisionary period was two years in which the kingdom in question was expected to follow certain imperial laws, could incorporate or ignore others as they chose—but with the understanding they'd have to adopt them upon formally joining—and decide if joining Harken was what they wanted to do. If they decided to part ways, the exit was worked out between the High Throne and the kingdom's rulers.

  Only Cartha had ever decided against joining Harken. Not every kingdom had joined easily or quickly, but none of them had ever been forced, though Tricemore had an uglier history than most regarding joining Harken.

  "You would be well-suited to the role, given your unique history and ties to both the Triumvirate and Harken." Sarrica said.

  Myra frowned, half-afraid of what he'd missed. "To what role?"

  "Margrave," Lesto drawled.

  "W-what?" Myra shook his head vehemently back and forth. "No, please no. I—" He pinched his eyes closed to will away the sudden sting, then opened them and looked at Sarrica. "I was happy being your secretary. I don't want a title."

  Sarrica smiled. "I admit it would not be the same without you, not after all the years you've been putting up with me."

  Myra swallowed. "Does—does that mean I haven't lost my job?"

  Lesto's sharp bark of laughter drowned out Sarrica's reply, and he completely ignored the scathing look Sarrica sent him. "Harkenesten would collapse if our esteemed High King lost his High Secretary."

  "I should leave you here," Sarrica retorted, kicking Lesto's ankle.

  "Ha!" Lesto kicked him back. "My spouse would have something to say about that."

  "Probably 'thank you for the peace and quiet.'"

  Lesto snorted. "No, that's what your spouse would say."

  Myra laughed quietly, eyes stinging anew. He'd missed this, had been certain he'd never enjoy it again. More than anything, being in Sarrica's midst while he teased and bantered with his family was home.

  Turning back to Myra, Sarrica said, "I will especially need you as a consult as we start sorting out and repairing the damage done by the Seven. I do not think that mode of rule should continue." He scratched his chin. "I leave it up to the Triumvirate to decide what would be best. But that is a problem for later. For the present, I'm not quite done being angry with you three over your careless, reckless, stupid behavior. You know better!"

  Myra reached out and took Jac's hand and offered Charlaine a smile, wishing he could move them all to the sofa where he could sit in the middle and hold them both.

  "Ordinarily such disobedience would result in a prejudicial discharge," Sarrica said, levying a grim look at Charlaine and Jac. "Worse, since you're both imperial bodyguards and fled in the aftermath of an assassination attempt and
your actions could have resulted in a nasty diplomatic mess."

  "We understand," Charlaine replied.

  Sarrica sighed, his anger dulling. "I cannot say I would have acted much different in your positions, and your stories prove that had you not acted so, Myra would in fact be dead by now. I must also take into account that your actions have brought Dark Tide to my attention, and their contributions to future happenings will be crucial. So while I cannot let you go unpunished, you can stop looking like you're going to be thrown out on the street."

  Jac slumped, and Myra could just barely hear her muffled laugh-sob.

  Charlaine eyed Sarrica and Lesto warily.

  Myra commiserated, because they were suddenly looking entirely too pleased with themselves for his comfort.

  "What is our punishment?" Charlaine asked.

  Lesto's smile was evil. "You, Lieutenant, are being temporarily assigned to Penance Gate, there to keep an eye on Captain Chass. He is obviously in severe distress from the both the loss of his brother and this mission, not to mention that he was deeply worried about Allen when we left. When he returns home, he has a drastically different life waiting for him. We're concerned about what all the anguish and stress might do to him—or drive him to do. So you are tasked with shadowing him, and protecting him where necessary, even if that means protecting him from himself. He has not yet been informed. We will be doing that shortly."

  Charlaine groaned. "Could I just have the prejudicial discharge instead?"

  "No," Sarrica said with entirely too much relish.

  "But what about Kamir?" Charlaine asked. "I'm supposed to be his bodyguard."

  "He's married to the High Commander; he'll manage without you a little longer, even if you are both sad about it."

  Charlaine buried his face in his hands, several colorful invectives filling the room.

  "Why is Chass worried about Allen?" Jac asked. "They're estranged, to my understanding."