Spy's Honor

by Amy Raby

  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 wrong?”

  “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.

  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, and 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 giv
e 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.”