by Amy Raby
Vitala and Remus sat. The emperor took one of the empty seats and directed the Asclepian woman to the other. The Legaciattus bodyguard lurked unobtrusively behind them as a slave brought more wine.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” asked Lucien.
“Very much, Your Imperial Majesty,” said Vitala. “It’s been lovely, though I fear I’m out of my depth in this company.”
Lucien indicated the woman who accompanied him. “I’d like you to meet Nasica Vestinius. She’s visiting from the province of Asclepia. Nasica, Vitala Salonius.”
Nasica extended a perfectly manicured hand and wrist dripping with bracelets.
Vitala clasped wrists with her.
“Every year,” said Lucien, “there’s a Caturanga tournament held in the city of Beryl, and I invite the winner of the tournament to the palace. That way I can learn from the best. This year, Miss Salonius was our winner.”
A look of surprise, perhaps even disapproval, flitted across Nasica’s face. “I see. You play Caturanga?” She spoke in the diplomatic form of the language, which indicated she had no idea of Vitala’s rank and was being careful not to offend.
“Yes, ma’am.” Vitala corrected Nasica’s mistake by answering her in the submissive. “My father taught me the game.”
Nasica switched smoothly to command. “And your father is?”
“A soldier.”
Nasica cocked her head. “What rank?”
“He was a squad commander.”
“Oh.” Nasica’s gaze drifted away—she’d lost interest. “You must be very proud to have come so far. All the way to the Imperial Palace.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Nasica said nothing further, and Vitala sat in awkward silence. The Asclepian woman outranked her, and that meant Vitala was not free to lead the conversation. Not that she could think of much to say.
Lucien rose irritably. The three of them stood, bowing their heads in deference, and the bodyguard handed him his crutch. “Please avail yourself of drinks and dancing for as long as you like.” Lucien pointed at Vitala. “But keep your mind sharp. I hope to see you at the Caturanga board again soon.”
He limped away with the beautiful Nasica at his side.
• • •
Lucien summoned her for Caturanga the following afternoon. When Vitala arrived at his rooms, the door was open, but a knot of Legaciatti stood within the doorframe, blocking it. Her escort made her stop where she was and wait. She obeyed but craned her neck to see what was going on.
Lucien stood in the center of the group, leaning on his crutch with one hand and resting the other on a kneeling man’s shoulder. The kneeling man drew a magical red line across the doorway with his finger.
A tingle of apprehension crawled up Vitala’s neck. The man was laying an enemy ward. That was why Lucien had his hand on him; attuning a ward required physical contact. There hadn’t been an enemy ward before, but now there was going to be one. Why the change? Had something alerted Lucien to danger?
Since there was no doubt she would trigger an enemy ward if she crossed one, she’d have to break the ward before she passed through that doorway.
Lucien looked up and spotted her. His eyes smiled at her. “Vitala.”
She dropped into her submission curtsy. “Your Imperial Majesty.”
“Come inside. We’re done here.” He gestured, and the guards fell back to make a path.
Vitala relaxed her mind to find the enemy ward’s contact point, but it wasn’t there. No contact point. And no ward! Three gods, she’d just seen it placed! What had happened to it?
The guards closed in around her, urging her forward, and she had no choice but to pass through the doorway. Her heart throbbed as she stepped over the threshold, but nothing happened. The ward wasn’t there.
Was the Warder incompetent? That didn’t seem possible; a Warder knew when his wards were laid correctly. It had to have been deliberately mislaid, which meant the Warder was betraying his emperor.
Lucien limped across the floor to the Caturanga board. Poor man, he wasn’t just hated by the Riorcans, but by his own people. Was the Warder acting alone, or were there others involved? Gods curse it. What right did these others have to move against Lucien? The man was her kill. She’d been training for this for years. And she had a reason to kill him—a good reason. What was this other plot about? Power?
Of course. These were Kjallans. This was nothing more than an old-fashioned attempt at a coup. Some brutish Kjallan cull wanted the throne, and the Warder was helping him get it. But who was the cull? The more she thought about it, the more unsettled she became. Her people were operating on the assumption that Lucien’s death, without an heir, would throw the Kjallan Empire into chaos, possibly even civil war. But what if there was another man waiting in the wings, ready to step in and take control? There might be no war, no disruption at all.
And what if the new man was worse than Lucien?
“What’s the matter?” asked Lucien.
Vitala blinked. “Nothing, sire.” She sat down at the Caturanga table.
Lucien was playing blue, so he had the first move. “I’ll have you know I read up on Pelonius and all its variations last night.”
She smiled. “Then I’ll have to be creative. I was surprised you had time to play today. Have the Asclepians gone?”
“Yes.” He opened with Double Cavalry.
She answered with a battalion. Perhaps she should focus on the bottom tier this time. “I heard they wanted a dam built.”
“They did. I turned them down.” He moved one of his mountains.
She wondered if he’d slept with Nasica first. “Your Imperial Majesty, do you mind if I ask why? I apologize if my questions are impertinent. But it’s a rare opportunity for me to see imperial politics firsthand.”
He shrugged. “Ask away; I wish more people took an interest. The reason I said no is that it’s bad for Kjall. We use the lower part of that river for transport, and the downstream farmers use it for irrigation. The dam would spoil it for both purposes.” He made his move and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “The Asclepians are trying to grab a larger share of the river profits for themselves at the expense of everyone else.”
“Then I’m glad you turned them down, sire.”
He shrugged. “Kjall is struggling too much for me to even consider doing otherwise. But I’m sorry to lose the support of that family.”
“With respect, why should you need their support? You’re the emperor. They should be scrambling to earn yours.”
“It’s critical that I retain the support of my high-level commanders and the leading families.”
Perhaps the imperial throne was not as all-powerful as she’d assumed. After all, his own men were plotting against him under his nose. She made her countermove. “Were the Asclepians the emergency that pulled you away the other day?”
“Oh no,” said Lucien. “That was something else. Unrest in Tasox.”
Her hand hovered over the board. “What sort of unrest?”
“Some out-of-work soldiers have turned to banditry and are terrorizing the citizens. I’ve dispatched forces to deal with the problem.”
Vitala studied the board. Lucien was an aggressive, innovative player, which made him difficult to predict. He was setting up terrain obstacles for her in the bottom tier, but he’d made a suspicious move with his Tribune that suggested he was about to make a run for the Vagabond. He’d left himself open in a few spots. She might just be able to get her Traitor across enemy lines. For now, she worked on getting her cavalry into position.
Three gods, she was supposed to be seducing him, and once again she was getting too drawn into the Caturanga. “Has Nasica gone home too?”
He chuckled as if at some private joke. “Yes.” He moved his Tribune again.
Vitala grimaced. He was definitely making a bid for the Vagabond. Time to move her cavalry and block him. No, it was time to focus on her mission, not the gods-cursed game. Nasica was
gone, so this was her opportunity.
She reached across the board for a cavalry piece and accidentally on purpose knocked Lucien’s Tribune off the board so it landed near his foot. “Sorry.” She reached for it. He moved to pick it up too, and their fingers met, but she didn’t pull her hand away. His eyes met hers below the table. She parted her lips slightly and felt herself blushing—a natural reaction, and exactly what she wanted. She lowered her eyes and let go of the piece.
He sat up and set it on the board. She moved her cavalry piece, still blushing. His eyes were on her.
“I wonder,” he said slowly, “if you’d like to come back later this evening.”
“Very much, sire,” she said.
“First let’s finish this game.” He neatly captured her Traitor, which was one move away from getting behind his enemy lines.
“Yes, sire, but it’s already over.” With a Double Cavalry Strike, she captured his Tribune and a battalion.
His hands went up in shock. “Three gods.”
He tried to recover, but it was impossible. Half a dozen moves later, she controlled all three moons. “Soldier’s Sweep.”
“Pox,” he said. “I’d ask for a rematch, but . . .” He looked up at his bodyguard. “Septian?”
The huge man gave a slight shake of his head.
He looked into her eyes. “Well. This evening, then?”
“Yes, sire.” She stared at his mouth and licked her lips.
He gazed at her for a moment. After an awkward silence, he said, “I look forward to it. Let me show you to the door.” He slipped the crutch under his left arm. She walked with him, slowing her strides to match his swinging ones.
At the door, she turned and performed her farewell curtsy. When she stood, his hand ventured toward her face and pushed a stray lock of hair away from her forehead. He looked like he was going to say something, but apparently he decided against it. He smiled and signaled to the guards.
Her escort began to walk her back to her room. Gods, how easy that had been! She supposed she should have expected it. Lucien was a man who would be accustomed to women making sexual advances, even subtle ones.
She’d made progress. Now she just needed to finish the job.
• • •
Bayard returned a year later. Not for Vitala, but for Ista.
Vitala burned with jealousy. Ista. That poxy cull! The older girl was the smartest in the class, the instructor’s favorite, good at everything. But Vitala was capable of anything Ista could do. Or would be in time. She couldn’t help that she was younger.
Bayard took only the best of the fourth-year girls, and before Ista there had been two years where he didn’t take anybody at all. Everyone knew he trained assassins. The other fourth-year girls left with different trainers. Some would be spies; some would be support staff. There was a role for everybody, but the assassins were the most important members of the Circle. They learned magic. They learned how to fight and how to kill. They were the ones who would make a difference, who would one day set Riorca free.
Vitala would show them. She’d be the best in her year. She’d study nights. She’d work harder than anyone else. Then when her four years were done, Bayard would come for her. And she’d show him how much better she was than Ista.
4
“The Kjallan infantryman.” Lucien’s voice rang out over the vast hall, returning to him in a slight echo. “My estimate of him was formed in Riorca when I fought by his side.” He paused to let the words sink in. He was no soft aristocrat, but a seasoned war veteran. Eager young faces stared up at him from stiff, new uniforms, their eyes shining. “I know his patience, his fortitude, his grim determination. I have seen him march from dawn to dusk in wind and rain, bent under his soggy pack, and then form up for battle, his back straight, his strength undiminished.
“Today you join the finest fighting force in the world. You are well trained and well equipped, but that is not the secret to your success.” He looked out over the crowd, making eye contact with a few individuals, who swallowed and blinked. “The secret to your success is your Kjallan heart. You were born to this legacy, as your fathers were before you, and their fathers before them. Your fathers did not sit idle, resting on the achievements of their forebears. Instead, they carved the Kjallan legacy on the breast of their enemies.”
His eyes roamed the silent crowd. “You have much to live up to. I say this not to intimidate you—but, then, it is not the nature of the Kjallan infantryman to be intimidated. He conquers grasslands, hills, and mountains. He sails the Great Northern Sea in all its capriciousness of wind and weather. He stands unflinching in the face of gunfire; he stands before the cavalry charge with bayonet in hand, straining to meet the enemy. He fears nothing, but, I assure you, his enemies fear him. Sons of Kjall, welcome to our country’s most august tradition. It is time to write your legacy.”
Cheering and foot stomping rose behind him as he stepped down from the podium. He clasped wrists with soldiers in the front row until his Legaciatti closed ranks around him and escorted him toward the door. “That went well,” he commented to no one in particular.
“Indeed,” rumbled a deep voice beside him. “Your Majesty is surprisingly eloquent.”
Three gods, had Septian actually spoken? “Why do you say surprisingly?” he teased.
Septian’s voice was humorless. “Because your father never possessed the talent.”
It was true. Lucien was a better orator than his father. And no one ever acknowledged it unless they were baldly attempting to curry his favor. He smiled at the unexpected praise.
Pox. Remus was standing in front of his carriage. Lucien’s smile faded. “Is there another disaster?” he called out.
“The same one as before,” said Remus. “May I ride back with you?”
Lucien nodded wordlessly and climbed into the carriage. Remus stepped in after him. Lucien had barely settled before the vehicle jolted into movement. He reached down and massaged his stump where the peg leg attached. It often became irritated when he walked on it. “So, Tasox has taken a turn for the worse.”
“Several of the larger groups of bandits have formed an alliance and taken control of the town. They’ve run out the troops you sent and publicly staked the governor.”
“What’s our paper in Tasox? The Tribune?”
“They’ve shut it down.”
“Who’s leading the bandits?”
“A man named Gordian.”
“Never heard of him. Is he a former officer?”
“A former prefect,” said Remus.
Lucien slumped against the plush carriage back. What a mess. He’d have to send a whole battalion. Worse, the situation could spiral out of control if he didn’t manage it carefully. “We’ll send Blue Hawk.”
“Yes, sire.”
“Clear my schedule and send word. I’m going with them.”
Remus stared at him. “Personally?”
“This will require a delicate hand. I need to be there.”
“We’ll be up half the night making preparations—”
“That was an order, Remus.”
“Yes, sire.”
Double pox. Clearing his schedule meant canceling his tryst with Vitala, and he’d been looking forward to that. Her come-on had been so obvious that he wondered what she wanted from him. A promotion for her father, perhaps? A rich gift? Once in a while he ran into a woman who wanted nothing more than the notoriety of having slept with the emperor, but he doubted Vitala was that type. She had a strategic mind; she was after something.
And who was he to gainsay her? She was no Nasica, trying to dam the river and starve her family’s business competition. Vitala was a commoner, with a commoner’s needs. Any favor she asked of him would be something simple. Indeed, he’d be happy to do her a good turn. He’d probably do it even if she didn’t sleep with him. She was more deserving of imperial aid than most of the brainless aristocrats he made concessions to.
What a strange woman Vitala w
as. She had a hardness to her, a distance. His cousin Rhianne had been openhearted and loving, and she kept no secrets—none that she wouldn’t share with Lucien, anyway. But Vitala had layers. It fascinated him. He wanted to peel back those layers and figure her out. What did she want? What made her tick?
He thought back to the state dinner and what she’d looked like in that borrowed blue gown. Oh yes, he wanted to peel back some layers, all right.
Damn Tasox.
• • •
One day when Vitala entered her classroom, each table was covered with a strange, double-tiered structure. On each structure sat crudely carved blue and red game pieces.
“This is the game Caturanga,” explained her instructor, after the other girls filed in. “The emperor’s youngest son, Lucien, has become obsessed with the game, and we think it might benefit you to know how to play it.”
Caturanga turned out to be a war game. The objective was to gain control of all three moons, the Soldier, Sage, and Vagabond, using foot soldiers, cavalry, and the so-called Principles, powerful pieces, such as the Tribune, that had special abilities. Terrain pieces could also be used either to speed one’s own way or block the enemy’s progress.
Vitala soon found her classmates were easy prey. They moved defensively, trying to protect their pieces while advancing slowly toward the objectives. Vitala moved boldly. She sent her Traitor behind enemy lines. She pushed her cavalry straight into enemy territory. She learned to feint on one side of the board, then make a decisive strike on the other.
Soon none of the other girls wanted to play her anymore.
• • •
The stress of the game with Lucien had brought on a headache, and Vitala made the mistake of lying down. She fell asleep and had one of her nightmares. In it, the young soldier spoke to her, but she couldn’t hear his words. He mouthed them, first calmly, then with increasing fervor and desperation, but no sound came. And she was too paralyzed to say anything back.