Spy's Honor hat-2

by Amy Raby

  Janto picked his way around the Legaciatti toward Florian’s desk.

  “It was a faulty ward!” Augustan lifted his head from the floor, but the guards shoved it back down. Two men sat on him while a third fastened manacles onto his arms and legs. “A faulty ward! I am your faithful subject, Emperor, I swear it!”

  Two of the Legaciatti got up and searched the room, yanking back chairs and tables. One of them came straight at Janto. Janto backed away and out of his path. When another guard cut him off from the other direction, he scrambled invisibly onto a table. The guard yanked a chair out from beneath it. Janto slid across to the other side and jumped down.

  The men completed their search. Silence fell, broken only by the sound of Augustan’s harsh breathing. A Legaciattus approached the emperor and his bodyguards and saluted with a thumb to his chest. “The room is secure, sire.” The bodyguards stepped away.

  “What in the Soldier’s hell?” growled Florian, emerging from his corner and heading toward Augustan.

  Janto reached Florian’s desk. Though all eyes were on Augustan, he threw his shroud over the papers lying on the table, just in case someone glanced in his direction, and gathered them into his arms. He’d hoped to slide open the desk drawers and steal their contents as well, but that seemed too risky.

  “Shall we take his riftstone, sire?” asked a Legaciattus.

  “Yes,” said Florian. “Take it to the Epolonius Room. Send for a warder and a mind mage.”

  The Legaciatti rolled Augustan onto his back. One of them reached into his syrtos and retrieved the riftstone on its chain. They lifted him up and placed him in a chair, where he sat hunched forward to accommodate his manacled wrists. The Legaciattus carrying away the riftstone left the door open, granting Janto a welcome escape route. He edged toward it, hoping to get out before someone cast a new ward.

  “Sire,” began a pale and trembling Augustan, “I welcome your truth spell and the opportunity to prove my innocence. This is a mistake. The ward must have been incorrectly cast.”

  Florian frowned. “Silence. We’ll have this sorted out soon enough.”

  Janto slipped out the open door with one last glance at Augustan. Enjoy your interrogation.

  * * *

  Janto tucked himself into an alcove, behind a statue of a Kjallan warrior, to peruse his stolen bounty. His time in the palace was limited now. Once truth spells established Augustan’s innocence and Florian discovered the papers on his desk were missing, he might conclude, correctly, that an invisible spy was operating in the palace. Then the invisibility wards would go up. Janto had been reckless, but it had been worth it to see Augustan humiliated, and who knew? Maybe he would find something of value.

  He looked at the first paper on the stack. Emperor Florian Nigellus Gavros commands your presence on the Fifth Day of the Sage for the Marriage Ceremony of Imperial Princess Rhianne Florian Nigellus to Legatus Augustan Ceres. . . .

  Three gods. Had he picked up a stack of wedding invitations?

  He paged through them. Invitation, invitation, invitation. Yes. A stack of completely useless wedding invitations, which had apparently been left on Florian’s desk because they needed his signature at the bottom. Wonderful.

  Wait—here was something else. A requisitions order from the palaestra. Training equipment. Not very interesting, but it was another document requiring the emperor’s signature. He hadn’t stolen a stack of wedding invitations. He’d stolen a stack of documents needing signatures.

  What else? Execution orders, two of them, for prisoners currently held beneath the palace. No details in the paperwork about their crimes. Janto shivered and paged farther through the stack.

  Here was something.

  Captain, Skylark.

  By imperial command, you are required to proceed through the Neruna Strait and seize control of the harbor at Sarpol. Once the harbor is secured, you will place yourself under the command of Legatus Ahala Philippus and await further instructions.

  Official orders for the Skylark, and juicy ones at that. What was the emperor up to? Sarpol was the westernmost port of Sardos. Was Florian really going to attack Sardos right after conquering Mosar? It boggled the mind. If Ral-Vaddis had known of this plan a while ago, this might be the intelligence he’d believed would turn the war. If Sardos, knowing a Kjallan attack was imminent, could have been persuaded to join the fight while Mosar still stood, the two nations together might have defeated the aggressors. That opportunity might be lost now, but not necessarily. Kal-Torres still had a fleet.

  Janto flipped through the remaining papers and found identical orders for the captains of the Faithful and the Seabird. Just three ships for attacking Sardos? That wouldn’t be enough. There was something missing, something he didn’t understand yet. Perhaps the action in Sarpol was a feint. Or perhaps the orders for other ships involved had already been signed and delivered. He needed to know more—a lot more.

  But first he would find out what was going on with Rhianne.

  * * *

  Rhianne had been dreaming, once again of being chased. She ran and ran, but there was nowhere to hide. It was inevitable: in time she must tire, and her pursuer would catch her. She wasn’t sure who he was, only that she must run from him. But someone was shaking her shoulder, waking her with a gentle touch before the dream could reach its frightening conclusion. Not Florian, since he wouldn’t be gentle. Perhaps her lady’s maid. She slept a lot these days. There was little else to do, and unconsciousness granted her reprieve from thinking about her impossible situation. She opened her eyes.

  A man crouched at her side.

  She scrambled away in a reflex of terror, confusing him with the pursuer from her dream. But it was Janto. He spoke soothingly and reached for her, and as the wispy threads of her dream dissipated, the pounding of her heart eased, and she crawled into his embrace. He held her close, and she began to cry, spilling with her tears the horrors of the past several days.

  He settled on the settee where she’d been sleeping and pulled her into his lap. Inspecting her with careful fingers, he found the bandages on her back—so quickly she had a feeling he’d known to look for them. He drew in his breath sharply. “What’s happened, love?”

  She wanted to speak but couldn’t stop crying.

  He stroked her hair. “When you’re ready. I don’t mean to rush you.”

  His warm hands running through her hair began to quiet her in mind and body. What a comfort his gentle strength was! If only she could have him by her side always, not just at these unpredictable moments. She took a deep breath and let it out. Her trembling subsided. “When Augustan came, he spoke in the audience hall. At the end of his presentation, he held up . . . oh gods. You may not want to hear this.”

  “Go on,” said Janto. “I think I already know.”

  “He held up two severed heads. He had executed the king and queen of Mosar. I’m so sorry. You come from a high family, and you must have known them. Here I am weeping over some stripes on my back, and things are so much worse for you—”

  “The days since the return of the fleet have been the hardest of my life,” said Janto. “That does not diminish what you’ve been through.”

  She sighed, her breath shaky. “I was . . . horrified by the gesture of the severed heads. So I walked out of the ceremony.”

  He looked down at her sharply. “You walked out? When?”

  “After he held up the heads.”

  Janto shook his head in astonishment. “Then we both walked out. I must have gone before you. I was there, invisible, but when he held up the heads, I ran for the exit.”

  “You were there? I wish I’d known—I felt alone up on the platform. But my act of defiance has led to nothing but trouble. Everyone’s turned against me, even Lucien. I’m imprisoned in my rooms, I’m allowed no visitors, and Florian had me whipped. He’ll do it again if I don’t come around. And the worst of it is that while he wants me to wed Augustan willingly, I think that if I continue to refuse,
he’ll just forge my signature on the marriage contract and throw me on the ship to Mosar. What can I do then? I can’t fight Augustan. The man’s a war mage.”

  Janto’s arms stiffened, even as he held her. “That’s not going to happen. Have you given any serious thought to running away?”

  “I’d have run before now if it were possible,” said Rhianne. “I used to be able to sneak out, but Lucien knows my secret route out of the palace. He anticipated me and set Legaciatti to guarding it.”

  “I can get you out with my shroud, but we’ll have to wait for your front door to open. When will that happen next? It looks like supper’s already been delivered, although that isn’t your typical supper—”

  “Florian’s got me on prison rations. Bread and cheese. My lady’s maid should be in later, but she’ll be looking to help me with my clothes. It’s not a great time to sneak out. Other than that, the door won’t open again until breakfast. But we can go out the secret way, if you can get past Legaciatti.”

  “I got past the ones at your door. I came when they delivered your dinner. I was watching you sleep for a while.”

  “Then I don’t see a problem,” said Rhianne. “Wait until dark and I’ll show you. In the meantime . . .” Her voice became small. “Will you lie here with me? Hold me?”

  “Of course.” Janto stretched out on the couch and pulled her body into the crook of his own, handling her gingerly around her bandaged areas.

  She sighed deeply, feeling safe and secure with his hard, solid warmth all around her, and tried not to think about the fact that these might be her last hours of contentedness.

  * * *

  Hours later, after Rhianne had packed her bag and dressed in a sensible syrtos for travel, she moved a chair in her bedroom and shifted a silk rug several feet to one side. Janto watched, his eyes full of questions.

  “This is the tricky part,” she said, kneeling on the floor and working her fingers into a seam between two squares of the parquet floor. “Fingerholds. It’s easier to feel them than see them. Ah—here.” She lifted the entire wooden square out of the floor, leaving a hole that led to blackness.

  Janto’s brows rose. “Where does it go?”

  “Into the hypocaust,” said Rhianne. “You’ll see. I’m afraid it’s not pleasant in there.” She grabbed her bag and shoved it through the hole. Then she sat on the edge and slid in herself, landing lightly on her feet and wincing at the impact. Her head and shoulders stuck out of the hole.

  Janto chuckled. “Not very deep, is it?”

  “No. That’s part of why it’s not pleasant.” She ducked into the dark, sweltering tunnel, turned around, and sat. “Come down.”

  Janto’s legs and torso appeared through the hole, blocking the small rectangle of light that shone in. Then he crouched and turned about, searching for her in the darkness.

  “Here,” she called, igniting a ball of blue magelight.

  His eyes met hers.

  She crawled to him and pushed him lightly on the shoulder. “Move, please.”

  Janto dropped to hands and knees and backed up, twisting his head in alarm when his foot encountered a stone wall.

  Rhianne reached up through the trapdoor, found the square of parquet floor, and lowered it back into place. The last slivers of illumination from her bedroom disappeared, leaving them in darkness except for the ghostly blue magelight.

  A second ball of magelight flared in front of Janto’s face. He eyed a massive heat-glow mounted on the floor. “How did you discover the trapdoor?”

  She crawled past him on hands and knees. The wounds on her back flared with new pain at the movement, but she’d have to live with it for now. Once she was free of the palace, she’d find a Healer. “I didn’t discover it. I had it made. Follow me—you don’t want to get lost in here.”

  A scrape of fabric on stone told her he was trailing after her. “And Florian doesn’t know about it?”

  “No. I’ll tell you the story. As children, Lucien and I had a tendency to get into trouble—”

  “You mentioned that,” said Janto.

  “We’d done something, I forget what. Oh yes, we put fish in the baths as a prank on Lucien’s older brothers. As punishment, Florian forbade us to attend the Consualian Games. We’d been looking forward to the Games all season, and I was a newly minted mind mage who’d recently completed soulcasting. I was drunk on the power, and I wanted to show off. So Lucien and I came up with a scheme. A carpenter came to repair a cracked seam, and I used my magic to control him. I made him create that door. And then I made him forget he’d done it. It was wrong of me, illegal in fact, but I was a child and not terribly sensible or ethical. We had a fabulous time at the Games, sitting with the commoners and watching Florian up in his box, looking all stern and imperial.”

  “The trapdoor seems to have paid off for you.”

  Janto’s voice sounded a little hollow and distant, so she paused and waited for him to catch up. “Lucien and I sneaked out so many times together. That was before he went away to war and lost his leg. I never anticipated I’d use it for something like this.”

  “Aren’t these tunnels a security risk? Shouldn’t the emperor be concerned about spies getting into them?”

  She gave him a stern look over her shoulder. “Don’t get excited. The floors of the Imperial Palace are spelled to muffle sound, as are the walls, so you won’t hear anything through them. Aside from my trapdoor, there are no exits except the one used by the servants who change the glows. So the hypocaust is not the spy’s delight you think it is.”

  She counted heat-glows, turned in the right places, and found the access tunnel. As the ceiling ascended, she stood, shaking her arms and legs to relieve cramped muscles. Behind her, Janto rose to his full height and brushed the dust from his clothes. He pointed to the door ahead. “That’s the exit?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where are the guards? Are they just on the other side?”

  “No,” she said. “There’s a short hallway first. They’re at the intersection of that hallway and the larger one.”

  “Good. Let’s go.” Janto headed for the door.

  “Are you going to shroud us?”

  “Already have. See the shimmer?” He eased the door open, peered out, and beckoned Rhianne through.

  The two guards did not look in Rhianne’s direction as she came out the door, but they were so broad in body they took up the entire hallway. “We can’t get past them,” she whispered to Janto, who slipped out beside her.

  “Not to worry,” he said, and gave the door a shove, angling it on its hinges to make it squeak.

  The guards turned, suddenly alert. “Door’s open,” one of them said to the other.

  The other rolled his eyes. “Well, shut it.”

  The first guard walked toward the door.

  Janto placed a hand on Rhianne’s shoulder and guided her first around the walking guard, then the stationary one. They left the palace through the slave entrance, and Rhianne took the lead, heading for the stables. She needed a horse for her journey, although she would not be able to keep Dice for long. All the horses in the stable were too imperial in appearance, too conspicuous. Also, she was secretly hoping she would need a second horse.

  Janto had said nothing about going with her. He’d only said he would help her escape. She’d been afraid to ask if he would go with her, fearing she wouldn’t like the answer, but there was no getting around it. She had to just say the words. When they were almost to the stables, she stopped him. “Will you come with me?”

  He blinked. “You mean run away?”

  “Yes.”

  His answer was a long time coming. “I can’t.”

  “I know there’s risk involved, but . . .” She blew out her breath, trying to settle her nerves. “I love you, Janto. I want nothing more than a life with you. We can run so far away that Florian will never find us—even out of the country, to Sardos or Inya. You choose which.” She took his hands and looked him in the e
ye. “I don’t care if we’re poor. I don’t care if I’m not royalty. I just want to be with you.”

  “Rhianne . . .” He squeezed her hand, and he looked so sad that she knew his answer was not going to be the one she wanted. She felt the tears starting. He folded her trembling body into his arms. “What sort of man would I be if I ran off to enjoy a comfortable life in exile while my people suffer execution and enslavement? If I did that, I wouldn’t be worthy of you. I have to save my country first. If I accomplish that, then you and I can be together.”

  “Mosar has fallen!” she said. “Your obligation is over.”

  “It will never be over,” said Janto.

  “Whatever plan you have, it is hopeless,” said Rhianne. “You cannot retake Mosar. Even if you did, Kjallan forces would take it back from you. You will wind up enslaved or on a stake. My uncle has destroyed your country. Why let him destroy you as well? Let this be your small victory, your way of showing him he cannot win every battle. Come with me, and we’ll build a life together. Please.”

  “I can’t do it.” He stroked her hair. “However . . . you could come with me to Mosar.”

  She looked up. “And assist in your rebellion?”

  He nodded.

  She rested her head on his shoulder and sighed. “No. If you take back your country, I’ll be cheering for you, but I’m Kjallan. I can’t fight my own people.”

  “Then it seems we’re at an impasse,” said Janto.

  Indeed they were; she could see no way around it. Rhianne closed her eyes and warmed herself in Janto’s embrace until she could no longer bear the pain of their imminent separation. Why had she not brought a gift for him, something for him to remember her by? Perhaps she had never truly believed he would refuse her and stay behind. She would give him a well-wishing, since it was all she had to offer. “Soldier’s blessing upon you,” she whispered.