Spy's Honor hat-2

by Amy Raby

  That left Janto in the role of tiebreaker. He stole a glance at Rhianne, who watched Florian, wringing her hands in anguish.

  He exchanged glances with Kal, who nodded. They’d discussed the matter at length already. “Exile. While Admiral Durgan speaks with honesty and passion about the severity of Florian’s crimes, let this gesture of mercy demonstrate our willingness to forge a lasting peace. Since Mosar has been more injured than Sardos by Florian’s actions, I propose we house him on Mosar, guarded by my own men.”

  “Sardos concurs,” rumbled Llinos.

  Admiral Durgan said nothing. His eyes smoldered.

  Janto turned to Lucien. “He will be well looked after.”

  “Thank you,” said Lucien. Rhianne stared down at her lap, her shoulders shaking. She seemed to be silently crying.

  He nodded at Florian’s guards. “Take him back to his room.”

  “You will die for this,” said Florian over his shoulder, as the guards hauled him up and escorted him out. The door shut behind him.

  “On that note,” said Janto, eliciting a chuckle from his fellows, “let’s discuss the removal of Kjallan troops from Mosar.”

  As Janto had expected, Lucien, denied any further opportunity to break up the alliance and turn his enemies against one another, agreed to peacefully withdraw his troops and ships from Mosar. He was going to lose the island anyway. This way he could keep his four desperately needed ships and spin it as a strategic withdrawal instead of suffering another humiliating defeat.

  Janto and Llinos then began negotiating trade agreements with Lucien, who bargained with them in good faith while denying every request from Admiral Durgan.

  To Janto’s surprise, Rhianne, whom he’d expected to be a silent observer, spoke up often. Since Florian had never involved her in matters of state, her knowledge was limited. She was careful not to display her ignorance, but she intervened when discussions became too heated. She had a knack for smoothing ruffled egos and speaking sense in simple terms that couldn’t be denied. It made Janto desire her all the more, not just as a lover, but as a diplomatic asset for Mosar. Three gods, Florian, you’ve wasted this woman.

  However, Rhianne never spoke up for the Riorcans. Janto understood her reasons. Lucien would not survive as emperor if he appeared weak. To give the impression of strength after Kjall’s crushing losses, Lucien had to take a hard line somewhere, and Riorca, the only country accessible to him by land, was his unlucky target. Admiral Durgan grew furious as the negotiations proceeded, and Janto felt bad for Riorca, but there wasn’t much he could do.

  By suppertime, they’d hashed out most of the important points. The delegations were growing tired and irritable, so he dismissed the group until morning.

  The next day, when they reconvened, they worked out some sticky points regarding the use of the Kjallan-controlled Neruna Strait. After that, Janto proposed some changes in the treatment of Riorcan slaves, which Lucien firmly shot down. Admiral Durgan barely paid attention. He seemed to view the negotiations as a farce.

  “Are we finished?” Janto turned to his clerk. “Cialo, when will you have a document ready for signing?”

  Cialo lifted his head from the paper. “Very soon, sire. I’m copying the final passages.”

  “There is one more matter to discuss,” said Admiral Llinos.

  “Speak,” said Janto.

  Llinos turned to Lucien and Rhianne. “Kjall has long been an insular nation, rarely if ever marrying its women outside its own borders.”

  Rhianne’s eyes narrowed. Lucien took her hand protectively and glared at Llinos.

  “My delegation believes, as does the Mosari delegation, that this practice contributes to Kjall’s culture of war, and that if the Imperial Princess Rhianne were to marry outside the empire, that gesture would further peace among our nations.”

  “Admiral Llinos, you are out of line,” said Lucien. “It is not your business whom the princess marries.”

  “With respect, Emperor, you do not have a vote at this council,” said Llinos. “Now, the Sardossian First Heir has expressed a desire to wed the Kjallan Imperial Princess—”

  “The First Heir has fourteen wives already,” said Lucien. “It is an insult to suggest that the Kjallan Imperial Princess, the highest-ranking woman in Kjall, should be one of fifteen.”

  “By our laws, she would be his First Wife and thus of superior rank to any of them,” said Llinos in a tone of practiced patience that suggested he’d explained this to ignorant foreigners before. “Rhianne’s firstborn son would thus be First Heir to the First Heir.”

  Janto struggled to hide his annoyance. If he survives to adulthood. Ranking sons in Sardossian hive-families had a high mortality rate.

  “However,” added Llinos, “since Mosar has suffered the most in this recent war, I move that she instead be married to King Jan-Torres.”

  Everyone turned and looked expectantly at Janto. He opened his mouth as if to say something and closed it again. Rhianne folded her arms and glared at him.

  “I second,” announced Admiral Durgan. “Let the princess be married to the king of Mosar.” He smiled. “That’s a majority, Jan-Torres. We don’t even need your vote!”

  The delegates chuckled. Rhianne stared down at her lap, but he knew she was fuming. Lucien showed no emotion, not yet. He was waiting for Janto’s response.

  Which was going to be . . . what?

  He’d planned to vote against the arranged marriage, in accordance with Rhianne’s wishes. But he hadn’t expected to be outvoted before he even opened his mouth. Both Sardos and Riorca wanted the marriage to take place. Durgan was probably trying to cause mischief with the Kjallans, but Llinos’s vote was sincere. Could Janto throw his hands in the air and say it wasn’t his fault? He was outvoted.

  No. Rhianne wasn’t going to accept that explanation.

  She’d made a mistake when she’d turned him down. He was certain of it. She felt she didn’t know him and couldn’t trust him, but the man she’d fallen in love with, whom she’d trusted implicitly and offered her body to, was the real Janto. In time, given half a chance, he would prove that to her. A marriage would give him that time, that chance. Otherwise he would sail home to Mosar, and they might never see each other again. Should he not correct her mistake?

  If he accepted the results of the vote, Rhianne would be his. Lucien would bluster, but he couldn’t do anything about it. Kjall had no fleet. Mosar would be untouchable to him for years, and by the time Lucien had rebuilt, Janto would have won Rhianne over. She would no longer want to return home.

  Rhianne trembled in her chair, avoiding his eyes. Could she not understand? Her experiences with Florian and Augustan had left their scars, but Janto was not like them. He would not abuse her. She would be happy on Mosar. Wouldn’t she?

  No. She’d run away from him, like she’d run from the others. Three gods, who was he kidding? If he forced her into this, she would never love him again.

  “Respectfully, I must decline,” said Janto. When Durgan opened his mouth to protest, he held up his hand. “I’m outvoted, I know, but this is my life we’re talking about, and you two cannot vote me a wife, much as it may amuse you. While I greatly admire the Imperial Princess, I believe she does not desire this match.”

  Kal turned to Janto, his eyebrows raised expressively. Janto shrugged in response.

  Lucien spoke. “King Jan-Torres, I am glad someone in this room possesses some sense.”

  Janto smiled wanly. He might have earned Lucien’s respect, but inside he cursed himself for a fool. Now he and Rhianne would never have a chance to reconcile. It might be years before he paid a diplomatic visit to Kjall, if he ever did. By that time, who knew? She might be married to someone else.

  He looked up to see Rhianne’s eyes on him, warm and soft, and his breath caught in his throat. How long had it been since she’d looked at him like that? It wasn’t love, though; it was gratitude. Gratitude for removing himself from her life. What was he supposed to
say? You’re welcome? Must she twist the knife? He turned away.

  “Since the Mosari king refuses the match,” said Llinos, “I move that Rhianne be married instead to Sardos’s First Heir.”

  Durgan smiled. “Seconded.”

  Llinos’s ruddy cheeks warmed. “Once again, Jan-Torres, we have no need of your vote.”

  Janto started to protest, but Lucien leapt up. “This is outrageous! My cousin the Imperial Princess will not be bartered about like spices or salt cod! Kjall will exact its vengeance on any nation that attempts to take her by force.”

  “With what fleet?” drawled Durgan.

  “I must remind you, we will not always be without a fleet. And while our ground forces are far away, they remain strong. Furthermore,” said Lucien, “Rhianne is in no condition to marry at this time. She was previously betrothed, and her fiancé was killed during the invasion. She is in mourning.”

  Llinos shrugged. “It is no object. We are prepared to wait the length of the traditional Kjallan mourning period before the marriage takes place.”

  “Admiral Llinos,” said Janto, “may I speak with you privately?”

  The admiral locked eyes with him. “Certainly.”

  Janto led him to a side room and closed the door. “You’re making a mistake.”

  “No, I’m not,” said Llinos. “Lucien’s bluster is just that. Bluster. By the time he has a fleet capable of attacking Sardos, Rhianne will be fully invested in the Sardossian First Family, with children of her own. Kjall is not going to declare war on us. Marrying Rhianne into the First Family will make war less likely.”

  “Don’t be so certain. I think Durgan is trying to stir up trouble.”

  “Of course he is,” said Llinos. “Can you blame him?”

  “It’s more than just tweaking the Kjallans. Given that we’ve declined to help the Riorcans with their rebellion, what’s the most useful thing he can do in these peace talks?”

  Llinos shrugged. “Sabotage them. Stir up trouble between Kjall and Sardos, or Kjall and Mosar. Both, if possible. But consider this. It doesn’t matter what Lucien signs or doesn’t sign in these negotiations. Once his ground troops arrive, our influence over him ends, and he can throw these peace accords in the compost heap.”

  “Exactly!” said Janto. “We need his willing cooperation. We can’t antagonize him.”

  “But if we take Rhianne, it gives us leverage. He doesn’t have the power to forcibly remove her, not yet. And by the time he does, she won’t want to leave. Everything we’re negotiating today, he may reverse himself on, but not this. It’s irreversible.”

  “You’re assuming Rhianne will adapt to this marriage and come to enjoy her new life—that in the end, Lucien will not attempt to forcibly remove her because she’s happy on Sardos. But that’s not going to happen. Rhianne will fight you every step of the way. I know her.”

  Llinos looked skeptical. “Hm.”

  “She and her cousin have been confidants since childhood. I can easily see Lucien declaring war to recover her. It’s a serious insult to Kjall, one around which he can unite and rally his people.”

  Llinos grumbled, his eyes going distant.

  “Bringing back Rhianne as a wife for your First Heir may win you a promotion in the short term, but consider what may happen later on if that act leads to war with Kjall. You would be responsible for that war, Admiral.”

  Llinos frowned. “Perhaps this marriage idea is more trouble than it’s worth.”

  Janto nodded. “It is.”

  They returned to the meeting room.

  “I’ve changed my vote,” announced Llinos. “I withdraw my marriage proposal, out of respect for the lady.”

  Rhianne looked at Janto with profound gratitude.

  He managed a bitter half smile at her and turned to his clerk. “Is the paperwork ready for signing?”

  “Yes, sire,” said Cialo. He handed Janto four copies of the freshly inked accords, which Janto passed around the table. Janto, Lucien, and Llinos each put quill to paper.

  Admiral Durgan refused to sign.

  39

  While Janto supervised from the palace, his ships in the harbor were loading, bringing on board soldiers and freed slaves, and filling their holds with provisions. His withdrawal from Kjall was, in effect, a controlled retreat. The final hours would be the most dangerous, with his occupying force at its smallest.

  The amethyst riftstone was warm in Janto’s hand as he approached Rhianne’s door. He addressed the guards. “Brocah, Tassio, you’re dismissed. Report on board the Falcon. We set sail tomorrow morning.”

  Grins split the guards’ faces as they saluted and left.

  Janto opened the door right into Rhianne, who’d been waiting just on the other side. Her hungry eyes sought the riftstone in his hand. No doubt she’d sensed its approach—indeed, her mind magic should already be restored by its proximity.

  She looked up at him expectantly. “May I have it?”

  He dropped the precious object into her hand. “I’m returning it to you.” He bowed slightly. “You’re free to go.”

  She clutched her riftstone to her chest and watched the retreating forms of Brocah and Tassio. “No more guards?”

  Janto nodded. “No guards. Tomorrow my people sail for Mosar.”

  A line appeared in the middle of her forehead. “You too?”

  “Yes, I’m going too.” Was that regret he saw on her face? He waited to see if she would say something more. When the silence became uncomfortable, he cleared his throat. “I have a question for you.”

  She nodded, looking a little anxious.

  “May we take Whiskers back to Mosar?”

  “Whiskers?” Her eyebrows rose. Apparently it wasn’t the question she’d been expecting.

  “Yes, the brindlecat. I know you’re fond of her, but she’s dangerous if left loose, and it’s unkind to keep her in a cage. We have better facilities for her on Mosar.”

  Rhianne lowered her eyes. “You’re right. Please take her back to Mosar. May I say good-bye to her first?”

  “Of course. I’ll send word to my men.” Once more, he waited for her to say something further, but again he was disappointed. “Do you remember this?” He pulled out the jeweled bronze alligator she’d sent with him when he’d been exiled to Dori.

  “Oh!” She clasped her hands. “You still have it.”

  “He’s been through a lot,” said Janto. “An attempted theft, an attack at sea, the invasion here in Kjall. But I’ve held on to him. I wanted to give you the opportunity to take him back, if you feel that . . . Well, I know I lied about who I was, so if you feel the gift was given under false pretenses, here he is.” He held out the alligator on the palm on his hand.

  She looked hurt. “You don’t want him?”

  “I do. I just don’t want you to resent having given him to me.”

  “Keep him,” she said firmly.

  He pocketed the trinket and smiled. “I only wish I had something to give you. I hope to return several years hence for a diplomatic visit. I’ll bring something then—I promise.”

  “You’ll be away several years?” She sounded wistful.

  He nodded. “The damage to my country is severe. We have much rebuilding ahead of us, and my earliest diplomatic visits will be to Inya, our ally and most important partner in trade.”

  “Oh.” Her eyes were downcast.

  One last time, Janto waited for her to say more, but she was silent. “I suppose there’s one thing I can give you, before I go. Would you like a Mosari blessing?”

  She nodded shyly.

  He held up three fingers. “Blessings of the Three.” He lifted his hand to her forehead, hovering so she could pull away if his touch repulsed her. But she leaned forward. He drew his fingers down her forehead. “Soldier, Sage, and Vagabond.”

  When she did not respond, he turned and swept out, retreating down the corridor. He felt her eyes on his back the entire way.

  * * *

  Ther
e wasn’t enough space on the Mosari ships to load everything they wanted to take. Since he couldn’t leave behind any of the human cargo, Janto had to choose between essential supplies like food and plundered Mosari treasures.

  Jewelry and small pieces of artwork were no trouble, and he was also carrying back some rather grisly cargo: the heads of the former king and queen, for proper burial. But was it worth hauling back a marble statue when his people on Mosar might be starving for lack of provisions? Weren’t his people’s lives worth more than treasure?

  While Sashi hunted rats, Janto walked among the collected Mosari artifacts on a cordoned-off area of the dock. A senior officer had already tagged the pieces, designating them either to be taken or left behind, depending on their quality, value, and size. Janto was looking over the rejected items in case he wanted to override any of those decisions. Those left behind would be stored for Mosar to retrieve later, but who knew for sure whether Lucien would ultimately return them?

  Kal-Torres, returning by boat from a visit to the Sparrowhawk, walked over to join him. He ran a hand lovingly over the ears of a bronze brindlecat statue. “I used to climb this. Do you remember? Father used to swat me for it.”

  Janto smiled. “I got a few swats for that myself.”

  Kal examined its tag. “We’re leaving it behind?”

  Janto shrugged. “It’s too big. We need the space for food. When we get home, we’ll commission a new one.”

  “It won’t be the same. How much food do we need?”

  “I have no idea. If the stores on Mosar are truly depleted, we’ll need far more than we could ever cram on board.”

  Kal frowned. “We shouldn’t be taking the Riorcans.”

  “I promised they’d have a home with us.” Admiral Durgan had relented and accepted his offer of asylum on Mosar. “Besides, they have their own ships and can carry their own food.”

  “They’ll be trouble. Durgan tried to sabotage the negotiations.”