by Amy Raby
The man stood, trembling but confused.
“Pox it,” said Rhianne. “Probably doesn’t speak Kjallan.” She switched to Mosari, hoping she wouldn’t need any difficult words. “Where is Janto?”
A flood of frantic Mosari erupted from the man.
“Wait, wait,” she called. “I don’t understand. Come closer.”
He approached.
“Speak slowly and use easy words. Please. Where is Janto?”
“Guards came,” said the man. “Took him.”
“What?” she cried. “Why?”
The man looked frightened. He shook his head and shrugged.
He knows something, but he doesn’t want to tell me, thought Rhianne. “What guards? Where did they take him?”
“Legaciatti,” said the slave. He pointed toward one of the garden exits.
Rhianne nodded. “Come on, Tami. We have to find him.”
“He said Legaciatti. If they took him—,” began her bodyguard.
“I don’t care.” If Janto’s crime had been something minor, like insubordination or being late to work, ordinary guards or the slave overseer would have dealt with it. Since the Legaciatti were involved, Janto was accused of something serious—theft or the assault of a Kjallan, perhaps. Or they might suspect him of being a spy. From what she’d seen of Janto, it didn’t surprise her terribly that he’d wound up on the wrong side of Kjallan law, but it did frighten her. She realized just how much she didn’t want to see Janto come to harm.
* * *
Janto was trapped. He’d been refilling his wheelbarrow in the company of three other slaves when a bruised and angry-looking Micah had stalked through the gate not twenty paces away, flanked by two orange-garbed Legaciatti. Janto could not throw a shroud over himself with an audience so near. He’d tried to discreetly slip away, but it hadn’t worked. Micah had spotted him.
Micah grabbed him by the tunic and hauled him before the Legaciatti. “This is the one. This is the slave who attacked me last night.”
Sashi, invisible, came running. I’ll bite him, su-kali!
Do not, cautioned Janto. Stay hidden and stay close. His ferret, who lived in the moment and lacked the capacity to regret past errors, would not chide him for failing to kill Micah the night before. But Janto had regrets enough for both of them.
“He’s not on the books?” asked a Legaciattus with a scar on his lip.
“No. I don’t even know his name.”
Lip Scar jerked his chin at his uniformed partner. “We’ll take it from here.”
The Legaciatti led Janto out of the garden and down a long pathway through the courtyard. They entered a small, simply furnished outbuilding with a table and four chairs. Sashi, still invisible, slipped in the door before they closed it and pressed himself into a corner, out of the way.
Kill them now? asked Sashi.
I don’t have a plan yet, said Janto. Sit tight. Killing, unfortunately, was beyond his means. They were armed, and he wasn’t, and one or both of them might be war mages.
Lip Scar pushed Janto into one of the chairs, cuffed his wrists, and sat down across from him. “Get a mind mage,” he ordered his partner, who nodded and left.
A mind mage. Janto felt sick with despair. They would use a truth spell on him, and then he would have two choices, either of which would reveal him. He could use his magic to repel the truth spell, but the mind mage would know if he did that, and he would give himself away as a mage. If he didn’t repel it, the mind mage would know when he lied. One way or another, he faced torture and death. Iolo had been right. Unless he could talk his way out of this, the best he could hope for was to take his poison pill.
“Tell me,” said Lip Scar, speaking Mosari. “How is it that we have an Imperial Garden slave with no paperwork, who is unknown to the overseer?”
“Sir, I believe you need a better overseer.”
Lip Scar snorted. “Oh?”
“The overseer spends his time ravishing the slave women. He has no interest in learning the names of the male slaves, or in keeping his paperwork up-to-date.”
“He says you attacked him.”
“He assaulted a woman,” said Janto. “It was an unfair fight, so I evened the odds.”
“You are not to assault your overseer under any circumstances,” said Lip Scar. “But disciplinary matters among slaves are not my concern. We’ll see how your story holds up when the mind mage gets here.” He shuffled through some papers, initialing a couple of them.
Your tame Kjallan is at the door, said Sashi.
Janto blinked. Tame Kjallan?
The door opened. “I heard you needed a mind mage.”
Janto turned and stared. It was Rhianne. The second Legaciattus followed her into the room.
Lip Scar leapt to his feet. “Your Imperial Highness! I requested a mind mage, but I would never have presumed to trouble you.”
Rhianne flashed him a dazzling smile. “It’s no trouble at all, Bruccian. I ran into your partner outside, and he said you were looking for one, and it happens I’ve no other obligations this morning. What sort of spell do you need?”
“A truth spell,” said Lip Scar. “We’ve reason to believe this man may be a spy. He’s been posing as a slave in the Imperial Garden, but the slave overseer doesn’t know him and says he’s not on the books. He also says this man attacked him last night.”
Rhianne scrutinized Janto’s face as if she’d never seen him before. “He’s clearly been in a fight.”
“Yes,” said Lip Scar. “That’s not important. I want to know whether he’s a spy.”
“I’ll find out.” She turned and stared at Janto imperiously. “Slave,” she said, “give me your hand, and do not be afraid. This won’t hurt.”
Janto’s palms were sweating. He wiped his hand on his slave tunic and offered it to her. She took it with an expression of distaste, which he hoped was feigned.
An electric sensation crept up his hand—her mind magic, invading him. He stared at her hand on his, the point of entry, but it was all happening invisibly, in the spirit world: a breach of his soul. As the tendrils of her magic seeped through and enveloped him like a fog, he felt his own magic screaming rebellion, gathering to repel the foreign magic. But he held it in check and allowed her truth spell its nauseating hold. He could see no way out of this except to put his faith in Rhianne. She had a quick mind and a kind heart. He had a feeling she would not let him down.
“We’re ready,” said Rhianne.
Lip Scar leaned forward and spoke to Janto. “Who and what are you?”
Apparently this man wasn’t the type to ask a few warm-up questions first. “My name is Janto. I’m a slave assigned to the Imperial Garden.” His voice sounded strange inside his own head. There was an echo within, some sort of rumbling overtone.
Lip Scar glanced at Rhianne.
A moment’s infinitesimal hesitation. Her eyes met his. “Truth,” she reported.
“Are you controlled by a death spell and under the oversight of Micah?” asked Lip Scar.
“Yes,” said Janto.
Lip Scar’s eyes went to Rhianne.
“Truth.”
Gods, she was lying for him. He owed her a debt, and he would never be able to repay it.
“Are you a spy?” asked Lip Scar.
“No,” said Janto.
“Truth,” reported Rhianne.
“Is Micah remiss in his responsibilities regarding paperwork and keeping track of slaves?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Truth,” said Rhianne.
“Did you assault Micah because he attacked a slave woman?”
“Yes.”
“Truth,” said Rhianne.
Lip Scar sat back heavily. “Your Imperial Highness, please release him from the spell. I’ve no further need for this man.”
Janto closed his eyes in relief. The fog of the truth spell dissipated within him like the smoke of a discharged pistol, and Rhianne dropped his hand.
“I’m pleased to help,” said Rhianne. “Slave, I’ll write you a chit to explain your absence from work.” Rhianne took a blank sheet of paper from the table, scribbled a few words on it, folded it, and handed it to Janto.
Puzzled, he took the paper. Later, walking back to the garden, he opened the note. It read Bow Oak Bridge, midnight.
11
Janto thought hard about whether to meet with Rhianne as requested. In the end, he decided his honor demanded it. She had rescued him. She knew exactly what he was and had covered for him, an act her people would consider treason. If she’d stuck her neck out for him to that extent, he owed her some sort of explanation.
The Bow Oak Bridge spanned a gravel-strewn creek just northwest of the Imperial Palace’s service entrance. Every morning and every evening, hundreds of slaves trod its ancient oaken planks smooth on their way to and from work. Farther north was the larger bridge, the one wide enough for carts and carriages. The Bow Oak Bridge served foot and horse traffic only, and, for the purposes of his “tame Kjallan,” was more private.
In the darkness, Janto heard the water chattering to itself and smelled its dampness, but he could not see it. He crossed the bridge shrouded from the slave side to the palace side, not wanting his footsteps to echo hollowly on the wood, but as he stepped off the bridge onto the dirt footpath, he dropped the shroud, leaving only Sashi invisible. He slowed his steps, looking for Rhianne on the path ahead and among the trees on either side.
“Stop there,” called Rhianne’s voice. “Are you alone?”
He turned in the direction of the voice and found her just off the path, dressed in dark colors to blend with the night and half hidden behind a great oak. “Of course.” Was she alone? He supposed she might have that bodyguard with her. Is anyone with her? he asked Sashi.
I smell another, answered his familiar.
He kept his expression carefully bland. Find the other person and tell me who it is. The creature chittered acknowledgment and scampered invisibly away.
“Come here,” she called. “Into the trees.”
Wary but still inclined to trust her, Janto headed toward her. He’d never seen Rhianne in the dark. Darkness did interesting things to a woman—reduced her to essentials, as it were. If she wore her fine imperial trappings, they did not show in the dim moonlight. Only her outline, her face, and her hair, rendered in shades of silver.
Her beauty was undiminished. Indeed, he might say it was enhanced. She was but a woman, pure and simple and enchanting. The curve of her throat, lit by a patch of lustrous sagelight, was so lovely it was all he could do not to reach out and touch it.
There is a man back here, said Sashi. He points a gun at you.
So much for the magic of a beautiful woman in the dark. Legaciattus? asked Janto.
Not in uniform.
Warn me if he looks like he’s about to shoot, said Janto.
Rhianne took his hand and spoke in a voice that was barely more than a whisper. “I committed treason to save your life. For that, I want some assurances from you.”
“What assurances?”
“I want the truth.”
The electric feeling crawled up his arm again—her truth spell. As it seeped through and enveloped him, once more his magic rebelled against it, but again he held it in check, permitting the invasion. A gun on him, three gods. He swallowed. “You shall have it.”
“You are a Mosari spy,” she prompted.
“Yes,” said Janto.
“What do you seek in Kjall?”
“Information to help us win the war,” he said. “And another spy we lost touch with.”
Rhianne nodded. “Anything else?”
“No.”
She sighed, and tension melted from her face and shoulders. “Are you armed?”
“No.”
“Are you magical?”
Janto winced. He’d hoped she wouldn’t ask that. “Yes.”
Her eyebrows rose. “What sort of mage are you?”
“I’m a shroud mage.”
Understanding dawned in her eyes. “Are you an assassin? Do you intend harm to me or anyone in the palace?”
“No and no.” The gunman? he inquired of Sashi.
Just standing here.
Rhianne released his hand, and the truth spell dissipated. “I want you to understand why I did what I did. I saved you not because I’m a traitor to my country but because I know you are no villain. You only wish to help Mosar, and nobody with a modicum of sense would blame you for that. If I hadn’t lied to the Legaciatti, they would have tortured you to death. You don’t deserve that. But I won’t betray my people any more than I already have. I can’t let you remain here.”
“Princess—,” Janto began.
She held up a hand. “You must leave. You have three days in which to do so. After that, I will raise the alarm that a shroud mage is active in the Imperial Palace. The place will be salted with invisibility wards, and you will be caught. The other spy you’re looking for. What’s his name?”
Janto regarded her warily.
“I’m trying to help. If we caught your spy, I can find out for you. I don’t see any harm in giving his family peace.”
“It wouldn’t be right for me to give you his name,” said Janto. “But we lost track of him a month ago, if that helps.”
“I’ll find out what I can and leave a message for you under this bridge within the next twenty-four hours.”
“Princess, there’s one more thing.”
“I can’t help you win your war,” said Rhianne. “I’m sorry about it. I think the war is a terrible mistake, but that decision isn’t mine to make.”
“It’s something else,” said Janto. “The reason I got caught was I stumbled on the slave overseer assaulting a woman. I fought him off, and he turned me in to the Legaciatti the next day. But he assaults the slave women regularly. I had been planning to find a way to stop him. If you force me to leave, I cannot do it.”
Rhianne’s brow wrinkled with concern. “You’re certain? If I spoke to the slave women, would they corroborate that story?”
“I believe they would,” said Janto. “If they trusted you enough to talk to you. Or if you used your magic on them.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” said Rhianne. “Who’s the overseer?”
“A Mosari man named Micah.”
“All right. You don’t need to worry about this problem anymore. I’ll take care of it.”
Silence stretched between them. Janto didn’t want to leave, knowing he might never see her again, but he could think of no more excuses to extend the conversation. She’d told him to leave the country, and she had every right to do so. It also saddened him that she’d brought a gunman to this meeting and kept the man hidden. He was a threat to her country, so he understood why she’d banished him, but he would sooner die than do harm to Rhianne. He wished she knew that. He didn’t want to reveal Sashi, but maybe she would confess to the gunman’s presence if he prompted her. “No bodyguard with you tonight?”
“Don’t need one,” she said cheerfully. “You’ve got a gun pointed at you right now, just in case.”
“Really?” That was his princess, all honesty. “Who’s holding the gun?”
“Somebody else. Don’t do anything stupid, because he never misses.”
“Please believe me when I say that I would never hurt you. Not in any circumstance. I’ll miss you, Rhianne.”
“It’s Rhianne now, is it?” She smiled. “Thank you for the language lessons, even if you were just spying on me the whole time.”
“At least one good thing has come of this war,” said Janto. “I didn’t believe there were any kind and decent Kjallans in the world, but in meeting you, I’ve discovered otherwise. You’re as lovely on the inside as you are on the outside, and I hope your fiancé appreciates what a prize he has.”
She looked away.
Janto winced. Normally he got a better response when he complimented a woman. “Did I say something wr
ong?”
“No,” she whispered, staring at a spot near his foot.
He pondered her for a moment, perplexed. “I’m sorry if—”
“Don’t say anything,” she said. “Just don’t.” She reached for him.
Gunman? Janto asked Sashi in alarm.
Swearing to himself in Kjallan, answered Sashi. But he hasn’t cocked the gun.
Janto took Rhianne into his arms, something he’d longed to do almost since the day he’d met her. Her hair slipped through his hands like silk as the scent of orange blossoms washed over him. There was a hitch in Rhianne’s breathing. She was upset, and who could blame her? She was to marry the horrid Augustan. She’d spent two days with him, and he gathered the man had made a poor impression. Rhianne, despite being a Kjallan imperial, was no villain in this drama, but another victim, like himself and all the other Mosari. He rubbed her back, wishing he could do more for her than offer this scant comfort. But if he couldn’t save his own people, how could he save her?
Her body felt electric against his, charged, like the pregnant air during the Mosari storm season. And his inevitable physical response reminded him of how long it had been since he’d touched a woman. He tilted her chin upward and wiped away the wetness beneath her eyes. “Someday, when no one’s pointing a gun at me, I’m going to kiss you.”
She looked up, her eyes bright. “Kiss an imperial princess of Kjall?”
“Princess or not,” he said, “you are a woman in need of kissing.”
Rhianne licked her lower lip. “But you’re leaving. We won’t see each other again.”
Janto smiled. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”
He let her go, stepped back, and disappeared under his invisibility shroud.
* * *
“Are you crazy?” Lucien fell in beside Rhianne on the footpath, slipping the pistol into a pocket of his syrtos. “If Florian finds out about this—”
“You’re not going to tell him, and I’m not,” said Rhianne. “Besides, it’s over. I told him I won’t be seeing him anymore.” Someday, when no one’s pointing a gun at me, I’m going to kiss you. What did he mean by that? Was he really going to pop out of nowhere at some point and kiss her? He was a shroud mage. He said he was leaving, but he could be following her right now.