Spy's Honor hat-2

by Amy Raby

  “What are your expectations for the upcoming negotiations?” asked Durgan.

  “Well,” said Janto, “Mosar will be liberated, either by force or through peaceful agreement. I hope to set up trade settlements to promote better relations over the long term. Realistically, these agreements will work only if Kjall will truly benefit from them, since our influence over Emperor Lucien ends in a matter of days.”

  “And what of Riorca?”

  “Admiral, I am willing to offer your ships and your people safe harbor at Mosar. My soldiers have scoured the city and freed more than a thousand Riorcan slaves—”

  “This I already know,” said Durgan.

  “And I would be happy to welcome them to Mosar as free men and women. We have land available for them to settle.”

  Durgan’s brows lowered. “King Jan-Torres, my people have no wish to be Mosari refugees. Our interest is in liberating Riorca. Am I to understand that these peace negotiations will offer no benefit whatsoever to Riorca?”

  “What concessions do you desire in the negotiations?”

  “No less than what you wish for Mosar. Freedom!”

  “And how are we to negotiate for it?”

  “We demand it in exchange for young Lucien’s life.”

  Janto shook his head. “It won’t work, Admiral. If we kill Lucien, someone else will rise to power in his place. If you can find a way to bring pressure to bear on Kjall such that they will give up Riorca, I would love to see it happen. But I don’t see how. The only reason Lucien will withdraw from Mosar is that his fleet has been destroyed. He could not hold my country if he tried. But Riorca is accessible by land, and we haven’t made a dent in Kjall’s land forces.”

  “My people fought by your side, King Jan-Torres. Do you not now owe us the same favor in return? To liberate Riorca is not as difficult as you believe. My people would rise up. They have already! Even now, there are parts of Riorca Kjall does not control. If your fleet gave us support by sea—”

  “Admiral, surely you are not proposing that my people begin another war.”

  “Finish a war, not begin one.”

  “Take it up with Admiral Llinos, not me. The Sardossians may be capable of fighting another war, but my people are not. We’ve lost nearly a fifth of our population. Some of our cities have been razed, while others are badly damaged, and we’re heading into the storm season, during which we can neither build nor grow food. I fear the Kjallans have plundered our stores, and there’s only so much food we can carry back with us. My people will have their hands full just keeping their children fed. A war is utterly beyond them.”

  “My people fought for you. We gave our lives for you. And you offer us nothing?”

  Janto rubbed his temples. Negotiations hadn’t even begun yet, and already his head hurt. “I offer your people land, safe harbor, and citizenship on Mosar.”

  Durgan glared at him. “I told you, my people have no wish to be refugees.”

  “Then I cannot help you, Admiral.”

  “I see,” said Admiral Durgan coldly. He walked away, his back very straight.

  San-Kullen, who’d been standing at a discreet distance, approached. “Sire? Are you feeling well? You don’t look yourself.”

  Janto shook his head. “I’m just tired. Frustrated.” He made an exasperated gesture at Durgan’s retreating form. “He wants things from me I can’t give. Llinos wants things from me I can’t give. So do Lucien and Rhianne. Why does everyone demand the impossible?”

  San-Kullen smiled wryly. “Welcome to the Mosari throne, Your Majesty.”

  37

  Rhianne’s stomach fluttered when Jan-Torres entered her room. It was so irritating the way her body reacted to him. She knew intellectually that Janto and Jan-Torres were different people and one of them wasn’t even real, but her body hadn’t received the message. Her body remembered only that those were the hands that had stroked her, those were the lips that had kissed her, and that part of her, the stupid part, still wanted him.

  “Rhianne,” he greeted her. He turned to Morgan, who still rested on the couch. “Are you recovering well?”

  “Getting stronger, Your Majesty,” said Morgan.

  “I’m glad to hear it.” He turned back to Rhianne. “I’d like to speak with you in private.”

  Morgan struggled up from his prone position. “I’ll move to the bedroom.”

  “No—stay where you are,” Rhianne scolded. “Jan-Torres and I will go to the bedroom.” When Morgan raised a worried eyebrow, she added, “We’ll be fine. We’re just going to talk.” She had concerns about Jan-Torres, but that he would assault or molest her was not among them.

  Jan-Torres escorted her to the bedroom, which was smaller and more intimate than the one in her imperial apartment. Because of the disruption in the palace, she had no servants or slaves looking after her and was glad she’d taken the trouble to pick up after herself and make the bed, not that she’d done a spectacular job. In a corner of the room, a few chairs nestled in a quiet reading nook. She claimed one of them, sitting up straight and rubbing her palms nervously on the fabric. Jan-Torres took the seat next to her.

  “I have a few things to tell you,” said Jan-Torres. “The first is that we will be negotiating the peace settlement this afternoon. You and Lucien will represent Kjall. My brother and I will represent the Mosari contingent of the invading forces, and we’ll be joined also by Admiral Llinos and Admiral Durgan.”

  “Who are they?”

  “The Sardossian and Riorcan commanders, respectively.”

  Sardossians. She kept forgetting about them and thinking the army belonged entirely to Jan-Torres. “What’s this about a Riorcan commander?”

  “A small contingent of Riorcans assisted us in the invasion, and Llinos and I have offered them a seat at the negotiating table. We need a tiebreaking vote if Mosar and Sardos disagree.”

  Soldier’s hell, that was a terrible idea. “Riorcans are hostile to Kjallan interests. They’re not going to negotiate in good faith for peace with Mosar and Sardos.”

  “I’m aware of the hostility,” said Jan-Torres. “Because of it, Llinos and I will have extra motivation to present a united front. Don’t worry about the negotiating part. It’s Lucien’s job, and he’s well equipped for it. I just think you should be there.”

  Rhianne nodded. Anything to get her out of this gilded prison and see Lucien again. She didn’t like the idea of a Riorcan negotiator, but if the Riorcans had been part of the invasion, perhaps there was no avoiding it.

  “I also came to . . . well, to clear the air between us.” He shifted in his chair. “I’m sorry for any pain I caused when I concealed the fact that I was the Crown Prince of Mosar. Out of necessity, I dodged questions and withheld information about my family and upbringing. But there’s no longer any need for secrecy. If you’d like, I can answer those questions now.” He smiled hopefully.

  Rhianne sighed. He wanted to reconcile with her, for what purpose she wasn’t certain. To assuage a guilty conscience? Because he wanted something else from her, maybe at the negotiations? Or did he want to resume their love affair? “I’m not interested.”

  His smile faded. “The name Janto is real,” he said, apparently determined to talk about himself anyway. “It’s a common Mosari name, the one my mother gave me, and the one my friends and family use. At the age of fourteen, when I achieved soulcasting, I was granted the zo name Jan-Torres. It’s formal—more a title than a name.”

  That was actually surprising, and something of a relief, since she’d thought the name Janto was a fake. But she kept her mouth shut. She didn’t want to encourage him.

  He soldiered on gamely. “Most of the things I told you in the garden were true. Obviously I’ve never been a scribe. But I was a language scholar, and I do speak five languages. It was part of my education as a prince, but I showed a natural aptitude, and beyond that, I was just really interested in languages. My brother, Kal-Torres, was the rough-and-tumble type, always wanting
to wrestle or run a race or practice swordplay, and I always had my nose stuck in a book. I came here not because I was a trained spy—I wasn’t—but because I was a shroud mage and my nation was desperate. I was in charge of Mosari Intelligence, but I’d had the post for only a short while and I had no field experience, so to avoid getting in trouble I stuck as much to the truth as I could. Most of what you know about me is genuine.”

  He paused. Rhianne eyed the ferret sitting in his lap. “Why are you a shroud mage rather than a war mage?”

  Janto’s eyes lit. “You’re right to wonder. I was meant to be a war mage. It’s traditional. The Mosari king’s first son is always a war mage, and his second son a sea mage. If there’s a third son, he’s another war mage, and so on. In the zo crèche, they had an albino brindlecat waiting for me. Albinos are rare, and they save them for the royal family. I was visiting the crèche regularly, feeding my intended brindlecat and getting to know her, and then something happened. Are you familiar with the problems we have regarding ferrets and soulcasting?”

  Rhianne shook her head.

  He stroked Sashi absently. “Ferrets are . . . difficult animals. They refuse the soulcasting bond nineteen times out of twenty. That success rate is just too low, after putting a candidate through all the training and bonding work, and then you end up having to start over with a different animal, and the candidate is set back a year or two. That’s why we have so few shroud mages. Nowadays we don’t even attempt to bond someone with a ferret unless the ferret shows a natural affinity for the candidate. We keep ferrets in the zo crèche and essentially wait for them to choose someone. Which a lot of them never do.”

  “Are you saying Sashi chose you?”

  “He did,” said Janto. “I walked past his cage several times a day, every day, to visit my brindlecat. And Sashi literally flung himself at the bars of his cage, trying to get at me. It created a dilemma, because the albino brindlecat had been set aside for me, and for me to become a shroud mage instead of a war mage violated tradition. But we have this concept in Mosar of quanrok. There’s no Kjallan translation. It means, more or less, gods decide. We feel that sometimes the gods make decisions for us through familiars. My father and mother and some of the zo handlers and I came to an agreement that the gods had made a decision on my behalf. They wanted me to take Sashi as my familiar, not the brindlecat, and so I did. And I became a shroud mage.”

  His story raised half a dozen questions, about quanrok and this concept of an animal refusing the bond, but Rhianne kept them to herself.

  “Any other questions?” asked Janto.

  She shook her head.

  Janto rose from his chair and took her hands, encouraging her to rise.

  She stood, with some reluctance, since clearly he was up to something. He was being kind and, she had to admit, a little bit charming. But gods curse him, he was still her enemy. Her jailer.

  “There’s one last thing I want to talk to you about before the negotiations begin this afternoon,” said Janto. “Before I head home to Mosar.”

  “What?” There went the butterflies in her stomach again.

  “I know this is the worst possible time I could be doing this. But please understand, there is no other time. In a couple of days, I’ll be gone, and once I go—”

  “Doing what?” she demanded.

  He swallowed. “Rhianne, since the moment I laid eyes on you in the Imperial Garden, I’ve been enraptured by your beauty. At the time, I was blinded by my prejudice toward Kjallans. But as I grew to know you better—”

  “Janto, no!” Oh gods, he was proposing.

  Twin lines of worry appeared in his forehead. “Let me finish before you make your decision. As I grew to know you better, I witnessed your bravery and your compassion for people from all walks of life. When I saw firsthand the steadfastness of your heart, my feelings grew from admiration to love. I would be honored if you would consent to marry me and rule by my side as the queen of Mosar.”

  She pulled her hands away. “I can’t marry you!”

  Janto, looking more sad than surprised, moved his hands awkwardly to his sides. “What is your objection?”

  “You lied to me! You betrayed me!” Her hands shook. Her voice shook. What was wrong with her? This should be easy, telling him to go home to Mosar. “You took my riftstone and locked me up like a prisoner.” Gods, the tears were starting. She brushed them away.

  “I thought you knew why I had to do those things,” said Janto. “You have the biggest heart of any woman I’ve ever known. Can you not find room in that heart to forgive, to understand my circumstances?”

  Rhianne choked on sobs. “Just go.”

  “It would be good for our nations! Both yours and mine. It would promote peace between them. If you won’t accept me for my own sake, would you accept me for the sake of Kjall and Mosar?”

  Fury rose like bile in her throat. “Is that why you asked? Because it would be good for Mosar?”

  He lowered his brows. “You know why I asked.”

  She shook her head.

  Janto turned. “I’ll see you at the negotiating table.”

  38

  Janto arrived a little early for the council meeting, with Kal-Torres and a clerk in tow. He’d chosen a Kjallan council room for the negotiations, well-appointed but small, with an oval-shaped table in the center. Admiral Llinos and his adviser were already present.

  Llinos clasped wrists with Janto and began to regale him with the tale of his battle in the harbor with the Kjallan ship Relentless. Janto sat down to listen, while Sashi climbed to the top of Janto’s chair to nap and Gishi perched on the top of Kal’s chair.

  Admiral Durgan entered and took his seat. Janto nodded at Durgan and received a nod in return.

  “We lost the foremast over the port bow—,” Llinos was saying.

  “Starboard,” corrected his adviser.

  “You were not on board, Eurig.”

  As Llinos’s tale continued, Rhianne entered the room, escorted by a contingent of guards, and sat at the far end of the table. Janto stole glances at her, each one sending a shiver of yearning down his spine. Her expression was neutral, but a tremor in her hands betrayed her nervousness. He wanted to go and speak to her, but there was nothing left to say. She couldn’t forgive him, and she didn’t love him anymore.

  “We knew it was unrecoverable, so we had to cut it free . . . ,” said Llinos.

  While Janto listened, increasingly impatient with the tale, Kal-Torres rose and crossed the room. He leaned casually against the table next to Rhianne, with his back to Janto, and apparently began speaking since Rhianne sat up alertly in response. Janto couldn’t hear their voices from where he sat—Llinos was loud—but he watched out of the corner of his eye. Rhianne’s back was very straight. She smiled, looking friendly but reserved. Kal picked up her hand and kissed it.

  Janto tore his eyes away, fuming. Classic Kal. He’d figured out that Janto wanted this woman and was interested in her for more than political reasons, so now he was moving on her. He would steal her if he could, for no reason at all except to demonstrate that he could. Kal turned and smirked at Janto, confirming his intentions.

  Llinos talked on, oblivious. “So then we had a loose cannon. You know what a disaster that is? If you don’t rope it and catch it fast, it causes all kinds of damage. . . .”

  Janto nodded distractedly.

  A change in the body language at the far end of the table alerted him that something had happened. Rhianne snapped angrily at Kal, who recoiled from her.

  Inside, Janto exulted. If he couldn’t have her, at least Kal wouldn’t either.

  The guards arrived with Lucien, a welcome distraction for all parties. Kal came forward to greet Lucien.

  “And then they struck their colors,” finished Llinos. “Was it not a very fine action?”

  “Very fine, indeed,” said Janto.

  The guards shut the door, sealing them in. Lucien limped to his chair, haughty and scornful. He too
k Rhianne’s hand in a show of Kjallan solidarity. They leaned close and spoke in whispers.

  Janto cleared his throat and began in diplomatic Kjallan. “Thank you all for coming. I’ll begin with introductions—”

  “King Jan-Torres,” interrupted Lucien, “I object to the presence of that one.” He pointed at the Riorcan. “He is a criminal, and he sullies these proceedings. Imperial Kjall will not negotiate with him.”

  “You gods-cursed tyrant,” fumed Admiral Durgan. “You are the criminal!”

  “Silence, both of you!” cried Janto. “Emperor Lucien, you are in no position to dictate who sits at this table. Admiral Durgan’s men fought bravely and have earned their place here. If you cannot accept their presence, someone else will negotiate for Kjall.”

  Lucien subsided, grumbling, and Janto introduced the members of each delegation. “Our time is limited, so we’ll get right to it. Our first order of business is to decide the fate of the former emperor Florian Nigellus Gavros. Bring him in, please.” He gestured to the door guards.

  Four men escorted a flint-eyed Florian into the room and took up positions around him. Lucien and Rhianne, who had not seen the former emperor since before the invasion, turned and stared.

  “Florian Nigellus Gavros,” Jantos began, “you have waged unprovoked war against Mosar, Riorca, and Sardos and committed numerous war crimes detailed in this list”—he held up an inked document—“including refusal to honor a Sage flag and the indiscriminate murder and enslavement of Mosari and Riorcan civilians.” He repeated the words in Sardossian. “Do you have anything to say in your defense?”

  Florian’s eyes bored into Janto. “You will die for this.”

  Janto ignored that. “Admiral Llinos, has Sardos reached a decision?”

  Llinos conferred with his adviser. “Yes, Your Majesty. We recommend the former emperor be exiled for life and kept under guard in Sardos or Mosar.”

  Janto nodded. “Admiral Durgan, Riorca’s decision?”

  “Death,” said Durgan. “Former Emperor Florian is responsible for the murder and enslavement of tens of thousands of people. Exile is too lenient. If he is not executed, how can we be certain he will not someday return to power?”