by Amy Raby
Lucien rode far better than he walked, his seat and posture flawless.
Vitala watched him admiringly. “You ride very well,” she commented.
He nodded. “Been up on horses since I was four years old.”
He rode on her left side, so she couldn’t see his wooden leg. He looked so capable that she had to remind herself he was crippled. It was like seeing the man he’d been before he lost his leg. “So why do you need a crutch and a wooden leg?”
He shrugged. “More stability that way. I can get by with just the crutch when I need to, and I can walk on the leg without a crutch. But it hurts.”
“Why does it hurt?” She’d known a Riorcan man, a member of the Circle, who used a wooden leg, and she’d never known him to complain of pain. He didn’t use a crutch, not that she’d seen.
He looked at her with annoyance. “When I walk on that leg, all my body weight is on the stump. It’s not meant to bear that much weight. I use the crutch to take some weight off it.”
Maybe Lucien’s wooden leg was poorly constructed. When they reached the Obsidian Circle headquarters, she would ask around and find that man with the wooden leg, see who’d made it for him. Riorcans were excellent woodworkers.
“Look.” Lucien pointed to the road ahead, which forked, one branch heading north and the other east. “Decision time. Who do you work for, and where are we going?”
“We’ve been over this before. I can’t tell you that.”
“Because you work for the Obsidian Circle.”
She shook her head. “No.”
He snorted in anger. “You think this game of yours is funny? The Obsidian Circle killed my brothers. They cost me my leg.”
“I know. It’s not a game.” Strange how those events made her feel simultaneously proud and ashamed of her people. She’d been in training when those attacks took place. Her stomach had knotted when she’d learned that Lucien had been injured by the assassins but not killed. She was relieved that the target she’d been aimed at for years hadn’t been taken away from her, but the partial failure had been a blow to Riorca at the time, especially since the assassins had all died in the operation, and the pressure on her to complete her training had become that much more intense.
“So,” said Lucien, “when we get to that fork, you’re either going to keep going north, toward Vesgar, or you’re going to turn east toward Worich. If you choose north, I’m going to assume you’re Obsidian Circle.”
Her bay gelding chose that moment to swish his tail at a fly, and Vitala, annoyed more with Lucien than with the horse, rebuked the animal with a kick to the ribs. The horse tossed its head in affront. “And what if I’m not Obsidian Circle but my destination is still north?”
Lucien shrugged. “I’m listening. Explain.”
“Gods, Lucien. I’m sick to death of this argument.” She kicked her horse into a canter. Why did her plans never go the way she intended them to? If she’d just killed Lucien as ordered, her troubles would be over. She would ride home and be praised as a hero, even if the assassination didn’t start the civil war they’d hoped for.
The problem was she was starting to second-guess herself. The more she thought about it, the more she feared the Circle would not see things the way she did. In theory, the Circle’s purpose was to free Riorca. But for a lot of people, it was really more about killing Kjallans. What if she brought Lucien to the Circle and they decided they’d rather execute him than see him in command of an army opposing Cassian? Her efforts would have been wasted. Riorca would be no better off than it was before, and a man would die for no good reason.
Rhythmic hoofbeats behind her grew louder as Lucien caught up. “You seem touchy,” he said. “Why? Guilty conscience?”
“I’ve been through a lot over the past few days,” she said. “I’ve killed people. I’ve seen people killed. I’ve been—gods, never mind what all I’ve been through. I’m not in the mood to fight with you over this.”
He spoke calmly. “I’m not fighting. I just want the truth.”
She pulled up her horse. They’d reached the crossroads.
“Here’s the truth, as much of it as I’m going to give you,” said Vitala. “I’m going north. You can come with me, or you can go somewhere else. It’s up to you.”
He looked taken aback. Clearly he’d expected her to work harder to keep him with her. “What about my riftstone?”
“It stays with me.”
His brows lowered. “That’s not fair.”
“Good-bye, Lucien.” She sent her horse into a trot, taking the northern road toward Vesgar. To her irritation, Flavia did not follow her, but stayed behind with Lucien.
Vitala listened with increasing desperation for hoofbeats behind her, but they didn’t come. Finally she looked back and saw Lucien and Flavia loping east, toward Worich.
12
She’d taken a risk. She knew that. Possibly a foolish risk, one the Circle would admonish her for. But what else was she supposed to do? She wasn’t trained for this. She was trained to play Caturanga and to seduce and kill men, not kidnap them and haul them halfway across the country. This wasn’t her area of expertise, and Lucien was no sapskull to be easily deceived.
She had to trust her Caturanga head. It told her that the board was better for Riorca with Lucien alive than dead. And surely Lucien would not leave his riftstone behind for long. He’d galloped away to call her bluff. When she didn’t give in, he would come back. He needed her more than she needed him. She was risking only her reputation and standing with the Circle, but Lucien, a hunted man, risked his life.
She held her horse at a trot, not wanting to cover so much ground that Lucien couldn’t catch up. He knew where she was. He could track her through his riftstone. Unfortunately, it didn’t work the other way around. He could be following her right now, or he could be halfway to Worich. He could be lying dead on the roadside. She had no idea. If he wanted to, he could ambush her, though she doubted he would try. He knew she’d killed Remus, after all.
It was dusk when Vitala finally heard him cantering up behind her. She hadn’t realized how tense she’d been until she let her breath out and her whole body collapsed in relief. Her horse snorted, as if to say, About time.
But her relief soon turned to a fresh unease. If Lucien had ridden away and not returned, that would have been an embarrassing thing to explain to the Circle, but at least her role in these events would come to an end and she would no longer be responsible for what happened to him. Now the burden was solidly back on her. She held not only Lucien’s fate in her hands, but possibly the fate of her entire country. If the Circle killed Lucien, his death would be on her conscience, Riorca would suffer, and she would never forgive herself.
Lucien rode alongside her in silence for a while, then said, “Your gambit is accepted.”
Vitala chuckled, but her eyes swelled with unshed tears. This was the highest-stakes Caturanga game she’d ever played. She stretched her arm out to Lucien, and they clasped wrists. She glanced back and saw the dog was still with him.
Lucien grinned. “At least this way, I’ll find out who you really work for.”
“I’m not telling you.”
“But I’ll find out eventually, won’t I?”
She nodded. “Eventually.”
“So, you’re heading north,” he said conversationally. “Why am I not surprised?”
“Our enemies are south of us,” she said. “Therefore, we’re going north.”
“And if we headed east, our enemies would be west of us.”
Vitala smiled. “Eventually.” She felt his eyes on her as they rode. She tolerated it for a while, but he just kept on looking. “Will you quit staring at me?”
“I see it now,” said Lucien.
“See what?”
“The Riorcan in you.”
“What?” Vitala turned to him, her surprise genuine, because she’d always thought she looked entirely Kjallan. “I’m not Riorcan.”
“Base
d on your looks, I’d guess you’re three-quarters Kjallan, one-quarter Riorcan. But if you’re Obsidian Circle, you’re probably half and half.”
Vitala snorted. “I’m as Kjallan as you are.”
He studied her again. “No, I don’t think you are. It’s subtle. I never would have noticed if I wasn’t looking for it, but I see it now around your eyes, your mouth. It’s part of your beauty, actually. A hint of the exotic.”
Pleasure suffused her at the compliment—not that she hadn’t been praised for her beauty before, but it meant more coming from him. She turned to thank him, but his eyes had gone glassy. He was looking straight at her, but without focus. “Lucien?”
No response. Lucien’s horse slowed to a stop and tossed its head uncertainly.
Vitala turned her horse and reined up beside him. “Lucien?” Had his fever returned? No, surely not. He was warded now; she could see the threading. She placed a hand on his shoulder, which wasn’t excessively warm, and shook him gently. “Lucien?”
His pupils contracted and he blinked. “What?”
“You went all strange just now. Like you couldn’t see or hear me.”
Lucien stared at her numbly, then wheeled his horse in a circle, scanning his surroundings. “We can’t take this road. Not this section of it, anyway.”
Vitala looked around, searching for whatever he’d seen, but there was nothing. Just a road and weedy farmland on either side. She saw no other travelers or even a house or barn. “But this is our route.”
“We’ll circle around and pick up the road farther north.”
“Lucien, what trick are you playing?”
He frowned. “No trick. Didn’t I say I’d go to your people?”
She didn’t trust him; he had to be up to something. But when he took off at a gallop, circling wide around the field, she sent her horse after him, not sure what else to do.
A little over a mile later, they angled back and picked up the road again, with Vitala none the wiser about what they’d avoided behind them. She turned in her saddle and saw nothing but fields and road. At a loss, she sent her horse onward. In front of them, a cloud of dust resolved into a light carriage drawn by two grays. It passed by, creaking on its wheels. The driver, half-asleep on his box, lifted his cap at them.
“Was it rape?” asked Lucien, when the carriage was gone.
“What?” Vitala straightened in shock. Was he talking about Remus?
“Was your mother raped by a Kjallan soldier?”
Oh. “Gods, no.”
“That’s where most half-breeds come from.”
“I’m not a half-breed,” said Vitala. “And how rude of you to ask. I should slap you.”
“Try it. You’ll never land the blow.” He grinned, taunting her.
Vitala gave him a dirty look. Why did he have to be a war mage?
“Look, I know why you’re reluctant to talk,” said Lucien. “The Circle and I aren’t exactly friends. But I don’t hold grudges, and if your people are willing to negotiate with me, I’ll negotiate with them. The Circle is powerful. If they can put me back on the throne, I’ll make concessions. Big ones.”
“That’s very interesting, but I don’t know why you’re talking to me about it,” said Vitala.
Lucien rolled his eyes and fell silent.
• • •
In the town of Vesgar, they spotted a newsboy on a corner selling the Imperial Herald for a fifth tetral. Vitala bought one. She flipped it to the inner page, which had the most recent news, and read the headline EMPEROR LUCIEN MURDERED BY OBSIDIAN CIRCLE ASSASSINS. She glanced uncomfortably back at Lucien. At least there was no woodcut displaying his image.
His eyes narrowed, chiding her for drawing attention to him. He reached for the paper. “Go on and buy grain. I’ll read.”
“No, I’m reading it.” Then she saw the smaller headline below it: IMPERIAL PRINCESS CELESTE WEDS CASSIAN NIKOLAOS. She bit her lip. “On second thought, you take it.” She shoved the paper at him and hurried off.
When she returned from her errands, having bought food, grain for the horses, and warm blankets for Riorca’s cold nights, an unusually somber Lucien handed her the folded paper. She felt she ought to say something to him—comfort him, perhaps? But what words could bring comfort? Anyway, they couldn’t speak in the middle of Vesgar. They mounted and jogged their horses through the crowded streets until they’d cleared the city traffic, then sent the horses into a ground-eating canter. Vitala waited to speak until they pulled up their horses for a breather well outside of town. “What did the paper say?”
Lucien shrugged. “What I expected it to say. That Obsidian Circle assassins have murdered Emperor Lucien, and the imperial princess has taken a husband.”
“Cassian.”
Lucien nodded.
“You believe she was forced to marry?”
“Of course she was,” snarled Lucien.
“How can you be sure?”
“She hates Cassian!”
“You said you didn’t know her very well.”
“I know her that well.”
“I just want to consider every possibility,” said Vitala. “Do you think Cassian . . .” She paused, trying to figure out how to word it delicately. “Do you suppose he consummated the marriage?”
Lucien was silent.
Vitala finally said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“It is against the law for Cassian to consummate the marriage,” Lucien said softly. “At thirteen, Celeste is legally marriageable, but only for political purposes. He cannot take her to the marriage bed until her fifteenth birthday.”
“I suppose that’s some relief,” said Vitala.
“No, it isn’t. In stealing my throne and forcing my sister into marriage, Cassian has shown no respect whatever for Kjallan law. I have no reason to believe he’ll honor this aspect of it. He hates me, and he hates her. She is in his power, and I fear he will inflict pain on her any way he can. I wish—” He looked over his shoulder, in the direction of the imperial city of Riat. Then he sighed. “Never mind.”
Vitala rode in silence by his side. For the first time, a twinge of guilt throbbed within her for deceiving Lucien back at the camp rather than helping him to recover his throne. By forcing him into exile, she’d abandoned Celeste to who knew what fate.
Keep your eyes on the end goal, she reminded herself. She was here to free Riorca; that was all that mattered. Celeste was merely one more name in a long list of people who had suffered in pursuit of that goal. One day Vitala expected to be on that list herself.
She glanced back at Lucien, who was clutching his stomach as if he’d eaten bad fish, and frowned. It would be best if he could stop thinking about her, at least for a while. “So, why are they blaming your assassination on the Obsidian Circle?”
“Do you need to ask? You’re always the scapegoat of choice.”
“Not me. The Obsidian Circle.”
Lucien managed a ghost of a grin. “I heard you.”
Vitala waved away his baiting. Had this news reached her enclave? Unless their intelligence network told them otherwise, the Circle would take these lies at face value and believe her mission complete. Her stomach twisted. Had she completed her mission, she would have seen exactly the same headline, only it would be the truth. Would she have been proud of it?
She didn’t feel proud now. “Stop playing games, Lucien, and answer my question. Why is Cassian blaming your so-called assassination on the Circle?”
“He has to blame it on somebody,” said Lucien. “And the Circle is an easy target. Now he’ll be able to justify his plan for Riorca.”
Vitala turned to him, her throat tightening. “Which is?”
“Decimation.”
“Of what? A village? An enclave?”
“Riorca,” said Lucien.
“The entire country? Why?”
“Because he hates Riorca almost as much as he hates me and Celeste. And he’s setting an example, same as he did in Tasox
. This is what happens to people who cross him. Don’t forget that Kjall is in economic crisis. There’s a lot of anger, a lot of discontent, and he wants to focus that anger away from him and the imperial government. Riorca’s a convenient scapegoat.”
Vitala clenched the reins, causing the bay gelding to toss its head in irritation. She’d come within a hair’s breadth of walking into a trap. Had she followed her orders to the letter and assassinated Lucien, this was what would have happened. No civil war, no freedom for Riorca. Instead, the worst sort of tyrant on the throne, and one in every ten Riorcans killed. Every last one of those deaths would have been her fault.
But she hadn’t followed orders, so the situation was salvageable. Lucien was alive. She had evidence, physical evidence riding at her side, that the accusations against the Obsidian Circle were false. The Circle had saved Lucien, not assassinated him. She absolutely had to keep Lucien safe. Her people’s lives depended on it.
“Your thoughts?” asked Lucien.
“Cassian’s a right bastard,” she spat.
Lucien snorted. “Besides the obvious.”
“I’m glad I saved your life.”
“Vitala, I’m loyal to my friends,” said Lucien. “You rescued me at considerable risk to your own life, and that’s why I trust you, even though my gut tells me you’ve been lying to me.”
Vitala bit her lip. She couldn’t keep her secret forever, and it was clear Lucien had already guessed it. He was just going to keep badgering her until she told the truth. “Look, what happened to my mother—it wasn’t rape.”
Lucien’s ears pricked like those of a hound sighting its quarry, and he kneed his horse closer to hers. “Did she lie with a Kjallan willingly?”
Vitala frowned. “Not exactly. I don’t know what to call what she did.”
“What happened?” asked Lucien.
“Do you know the Riorcan village of Iber?”
Lucien shrugged helplessly. “There are so many villages. . . .”