Spy's Honor hat-2

by Amy Raby

  She rather hoped he did pop out of nowhere and kiss her, sometime when Lucien wasn’t around. It was exciting to think about.

  “Who is that man?” said Lucien. “What is he? I couldn’t hear half of what you were saying.”

  “That’s for the best. Trust me. No harm is being done here.” She hoped not. She hadn’t meant to commit treason—not exactly. But Lucien had shown her that what her country was doing was wrong. It was wrong for them to attack Mosar, and it would be wrong for them to torture and kill Janto simply for trying to stop them. If her people would simply imprison him, perhaps disable his magic and send him home at the end of the war, then she could have exposed him as a spy with her conscience intact. Not that she would have taken any pleasure in seeing him jailed, given how much she liked him. But send him to his death? How could she do such a thing and not despise herself for the rest of her life?

  “Oh, sure, nothing to worry about.” Lucien rolled his eyes. “That’s why you needed me to hold a gun on this fellow for half an hour.”

  “It was just a precaution. You don’t have to worry about it anymore. It’s over.” Except for a few details she needed to take care of. And maybe a kiss.

  12

  It took Rhianne less than an hour to track down Janto’s missing spy. The prison archivist had on record a Mosari shroud mage whom they’d caught with an invisibility ward and taken into custody thirty-five days earlier. They had hoped to interrogate him, but he had died suddenly, foaming at the mouth. After his death, a dark gray ferret had appeared and darted for the exit. They had cornered and killed it. They had never learned the man’s name.

  With a heavy heart, Rhianne copied the relevant page and hid the copy in an interior pocket of her syrtos to deliver to the bridge later in the day.

  Now she was left with the harder task, dealing with the abuse of the slave women. She wished she could take this problem to Lucien, but he didn’t have the authority to act without Florian’s approval. And if Florian and Lucien disagreed—well, she’d just be creating more friction between father and son. Better to go directly to Florian and take the heat herself, if there was heat to be taken. She was in the right on this one, and her uncle was no proponent of the mistreatment of women, but it was hard to say how much he would care about the plight of slaves.

  She found him in the Sardossian section of the Imperial Garden, sitting ramrod straight on a stone bench, his syrtos and loros impeccable to the last folds. Wiry trees with butter yellow blossoms formed a rough semicircle around his bench. He spotted her, and his craggy face broke into a smile. He beckoned, and she went to him. Brushing away the fallen blossoms, she sat on the bench.

  “I’m glad you came,” said Florian. “I meant to send for you. I’ve heard an interesting story from your bodyguard. Apparently you’ve befriended a Mosari slave in the gardens—these very gardens!” He indicated them with a sweep of his hand. “And later he was arrested on suspicion of being a spy.”

  The little hairs prickled on the back on her neck. Tamienne had snitched on her? That duplicitous, ungrateful . . . But she had to stay calm. It would not do to appear flustered in front of the emperor. “I can’t believe Tamienne spoke to you about such a trivial matter.”

  “You saw fit to intervene in his interrogation and serve as the mind mage administering his truth spell? That’s irregular.”

  “You want to know what really happened? That slave, whom I’d recruited to teach me the Mosari language, was being harassed by an overseer who was raping slave women he’s supposed to be in charge of. The Mosari you speak of tried to stop him. I did administer the truth spell. I know.”

  Florian frowned at her.

  “This is why I came to speak to you today,” Rhianne continued, still trembling a little from the shock of Tamienne’s betrayal. “The overseer, Micah, rapes a slave woman every night. This—this cannot be good for productivity, and we need to put a stop to it.”

  “Melodrama between slaves doesn’t concern me,” said Florian. “This Micah—he’s Mosari?”

  “Yes.”

  Florian shook his head. “That’s just what those Mosari animals do.”

  “Not all of them!” cried Rhianne. “Not the slave who intervened. And, Uncle, it’s wrong. Whether this happens on Mosar or anywhere else, we shouldn’t be allowing it to happen here. No woman, Kjallan or Mosari, slave or free, should have to suffer that.”

  “The slave who intervened probably wanted the woman for himself,” said Florian. “These are people who live in caves and soulcast into animals, Rhianne. They’re not like us.”

  “That’s entirely untrue, Uncle.”

  “I forbid you to meet with this slave again. He’s a bad influence.”

  “I’ve no interest in seeing the slave again.” She was sending him away anyhow. What if Florian’s suspicions led him to investigate further and learn that Janto’s name really wasn’t on the slave books? “But about Micah—”

  “Leave the slaves to their petty excitements, Rhianne. It’s none of our affair. And you’re not to participate in interrogations at all. It’s beneath you. Dirty work, meant for the lesser families.”

  Rhianne wilted. She’d told Janto she would solve this problem because she’d thought it would be easy. Now it didn’t look so easy.

  Florian squeezed her hand. “I’ve been pleased to see you in some of our state meetings lately. It’s refreshing to see a pretty face among my grizzled old officers and counselors. I shall miss you terribly when you go to Mosar. It broke my heart when your mother left.”

  Rhianne swallowed. She had few memories of her mother, only fragments and scattered images, and hated being reminded of what she’d lost.

  He cocked his head at her. “Are you happy, Rhianne?”

  She looked away. “Sometimes.”

  “Your mother,” said Florian, “she was not happy. Even as a youngster, I saw it. She was restless.” He gave her a probing look. “You remind me of her.”

  Rhianne avoided his eyes, not knowing what to say. What she really wanted—freedom to explore, to learn, to make her own choices in life—he would not grant her. And the more she asked for it, the more he would resist. “I’m happy, Uncle. I’m not going to run off like my mother did.”

  “You’ll enjoy Mosar,” he said. “You’ve always wanted to see another country. And marriage has a settling effect. It did for me.”

  “Uncle, I don’t like Augustan.”

  “You barely know him,” said Florian. “He’s a brilliant man. A wonderful strategist, not a speck of cowardice in him.”

  “That doesn’t mean he’ll make a good husband.”

  “Give him time, my dear. You spent all of two days with him. Get to know him better before you make such strong judgments.”

  Rhianne sighed.

  “You’ll give Augustan time?” prodded Florian.

  “I suppose.” What choice did she have?

  * * *

  In the late afternoon, Rhianne sneaked out through the hypocaust and made her way to the Bow Oak Bridge. She wished she had a solution for the slave women, but she’d promised Janto information about his missing spy, and at least she could give him that before he left Kjall. Morning clouds had matured into a light drizzle, and she pulled her cloak’s hood over her head as she approached the bridge.

  No one was out walking. She had the place to herself, which was good.

  Under the bridge, a shallow creek rattled over a bed of pebbles. She wanted her note out of sight and out of the rain, so she followed a rough trail down to the water, looking for a hiding spot beneath the bridge. Possibly she could tuck the note up in the bridge’s supporting beams, but that might be hard for Janto to find.

  Something splashed in the creek. She turned, but there was no one there. She stood still, watching. Perhaps a fish had jumped?

  A pebble rose of its own accord. Then it fell into the water with another splash. Her heart thrummed against her ribs. Janto? She remembered his promise from the other night, an
d a warm tingle of anticipation ran through her.

  A rock on the other side of the creek dislodged itself from the ground and rolled down the bank. Farther up the bank, grass bent, as if by a stiff wind.

  Rhianne ran up the trail and crossed the bridge to the other side. She found the patch of bent grass, which was slowly straightening. In the woods, a pile of dead leaves flew into the air. She hurried to it. Nothing there, but a little farther on, a branch bent on a bush. She ran to the bush. “Janto?” she whispered.

  Someone tapped her on the arm.

  She whirled, and Janto grinned at her. A weasel-like animal sat on his shoulder.

  She pressed a hand to her fluttering heart. “You could have just said something.”

  His grin widened. “That wouldn’t have been as much fun.” He lowered his hand so the animal could run down it and jump off, and swept her into his arms.

  She’d been thinking about this kiss since the night before, imagining it, even wondering if she should protest, though she knew deep down she wouldn’t. She’d never kissed a man before, yet some rebellious side of her had been wanting to kiss Janto almost since the day she’d met him. It was unseemly for a princess to get involved with a slave. But Janto wasn’t a slave—not really. And gods, did she want her first kiss to come from Augustan? Janto’s lips were warm and soft, and his mouth fit hers perfectly. She wondered about that—were mouths supposed to fit? Did that always happen?

  Nervous and bewildered, she tried to figure out what was expected of her. What was she supposed to do with her lips, her tongue? But when Janto tilted her head just so, as if to savor her, she grasped that all she had to do was give herself up and surrender to his kiss. He held her, one arm around her waist and the other stroking her hair, her throat, coaxing her to yield. Something fluttered deep inside her. Her legs trembled, and she relaxed into his grip. He led, and she followed, and her mouth knew exactly what to do.

  “Gods, Rhianne,” he whispered against her lips.

  “How long did you wait for me?”

  “All my life.” He grinned. “Oh, you mean just now. A while, but you were worth it.”

  She twisted out of his arms in sudden fear. “We could be seen. You’re visible now.”

  “No, I’m not,” said Janto, taking her by the hand and drawing her gently back. “And neither are you. When I become visible to you, one of two things just happened. Either I dropped my shroud, or I extended it to include you. If I extended it, and that’s what I did, we’re both invisible to the outside world but visible to each other.”

  “Oh.” She looked around, taking in the bridge and the forest. “We’re both invisible?”

  “Yes. No one saw you kissing a filthy, animal-loving Mosari.”

  She pressed herself against him, shivering with pleasure as his arms snaked around her. “And no one saw you with a cruel, thieving Kjallan. Was that your familiar I saw?”

  “My ferret, Sashi,” said Janto. “He’s gone hunting. He doesn’t like to be around for this sort of thing.”

  Rhianne laughed softly and enjoyed the sight of his warm smile. But then her expression grew dark again. “You have to leave the country, you know.”

  “You’re making it difficult.”

  “I mean it.” Sobering, she pulled away and unfolded the paper from the prison archivist. “I found your spy.”

  He snatched the paper from her hand, and his eyes moved rapidly over its contents. When he came to the key passages, his expression changed. He swallowed, blinked, and sat heavily on a nearby rock. “The prison archives. Of course. Your people record everything.”

  “Is that the man you were looking for?”

  He scrubbed his face with his hands. “I believe so. I should have found this myself. I was in that prison.”

  “You wouldn’t have found it in there,” said Rhianne. “It was older and in storage.”

  He shook his head and stared at a spot off in the trees, looking pale and sick. “You’d know where to look. His name was Ral-Vaddis. Doesn’t matter if you know now.”

  Rhianne bit her lip. He looked desolate, parched of his usual spirit. Surely he must have known the spy would be dead. But if he’d come here to search for the man, he must have harbored some hope that the man lived, and she’d smothered that hope. He’d greeted her with a kiss, and all she had to offer him was crushing disappointment. She wished she could kiss him again, but clearly his mind was on other things. “I’m afraid the rest of what I have to say isn’t much cheerier. I couldn’t get anywhere on stopping Micah. I tried, but . . . well, it didn’t work.”

  “What did you try?” asked Janto.

  “I asked the emperor to intervene, and he refused.”

  “Surely that’s not the only way to solve this problem.”

  Rhianne hesitated. She hadn’t planned to pursue this further once Florian had turned her down. But Janto was so upset about the dead spy, and he was going to lose his entire country soon. She hated to disappoint him again, and he was right. There had to be another way. “I know someone who’s a great tactical thinker. He might have an idea.”

  Janto turned to her, his face lighting with a shred of hope.

  “We can talk to him together, maybe come up with a plan. If it’s not something I can carry out, it might be something you could, with your shroud, or . . . who knows. If I arrange to have the door opened for you, can you sneak into my rooms?”

  “How are your rooms warded?” asked Janto.

  “There’s an enemy ward across my door, attuned to me. You should be able to pass that. I would hope you could.”

  “I can pass it. What about wards in the halls? And how do I find your rooms?”

  She drew him a quick map in the dirt. “There are no wards in the halls. Only across doorways.” She eyed him significantly. “But there will be invisibility wards in the hallways if anyone suspects there’s a shroud mage operating in the palace. That’s how your Ral-Vaddis got caught, and you’ll get caught too if you don’t leave. I’m giving you two more days before I raise the alarm.”

  He gave her a wry smile. “Then we’ll work quickly. You’d better get back so you can open the door for me.”

  13

  Janto believed he had found the entrance to Rhianne’s rooms. Before the arched doorway stood her bodyguard, Tamienne, and another orange-garbed Legaciattus. Two huge, black ironwood doors stood sentinel as well, barred shut through heavy silver rings as thick as Janto’s wrist. One might think Rhianne was a prisoner in her own chambers.

  Janto waited in silence until a tapping of footsteps down the hall indicated the arrival of a uniformed servant, who bore a jug of wine on a tray. The guards removed the bar and, grasping the silver rings, dragged the doors open to let the servant through. Janto trailed after him.

  Inside was a receiving room, lavishly furnished with couches, chairs, and carved tables. Rhianne lounged on one of the chairs, reading a novel. With a flick of her wrist, she indicated an end table, and the servant placed the wine upon it.

  Janto, unable to reveal himself until the servant left, wandered in farther and placed Sashi on the floor to give the place a sniff. An arched entryway led from the receiving room to a sitting room with a well-stocked bookcase and seating for ten people or more.

  I smell brindlecat, said Sashi.

  Janto remembered the brindlecat Rhianne’s fiancé had given her. Now he scanned the room with alert eyes, searching for the predator. A ferret was no match for a brindlecat kitten. He saw no signs of it, but such creatures loved to hide and spring on their prey unawares. Ride on my shoulder, just in case. Janto lowered his arm, and Sashi scampered back up.

  The door shut behind the departing servant. Rhianne rose to her feet, looking around eagerly, and Janto released his shroud. “Alligator,” he said.

  She turned, and a smile lit her face. He started to speak, but she pressed a finger to her lips, beckoned, and moved through the archway into the sitting room.

  Janto followed her as she passed
under a second archway into an enormous bedroom. He swallowed and stared at the bed, a cream and gold monstrosity piled high with goose down pillows.

  “Don’t get any ideas,” said Rhianne. “This is the farthest room from the door guards and the place we’re least likely to be overheard.”

  Janto hoped his embarrassment didn’t show. “I would not dream of debauching an imperial princess of Kjall. Unless, of course, she wanted me to.”

  A flush crept up Rhianne’s cheeks, and she looked away, muttering something about needing wine.

  Janto had been half joking. Of course he’d like to sleep with her, but she was a Kjallan princess and he was a Mosari spy. That he was also a crown prince didn’t signify, given that their nations were at war and he couldn’t reveal his identity. Their lives were on different trajectories. He had no wish to put her in a situation that might cause her grief. A kiss was one thing, bedsport another.

  He waited while she retrieved her jug of wine and poured herself a glass. Her blushing intrigued him—she seemed as embarrassed as he was.

  Was she a virgin? He didn’t know what the rules were for Kjallan princesses, but when he’d kissed her, she’d been so tentative, and her pulse had fluttered under his hand like the heartbeat of a bird. Most Mosari women went to the marriage bed sexually experienced, and he’d heard it was the same in Kjall, but perhaps the imperial family was different. If she was a virgin, and Augustan was to be her first lover . . . well, one could only hope Augustan was a gentler man in the bedroom than his reputation on the battlefield suggested.

  “Wine?” Rhianne’s hand trembled as she offered him a glass. “Let’s stick to business. We’re here to help the slave women. Nothing else.”

  “Of course.”

  “Wait here,” said Rhianne, setting down her glass. “I’m going to send word to someone who may be able to help us. You’d better hide your animal.” She indicated Sashi. “My friend doesn’t know what you are.”