Spy's Honor

by Amy Raby

  Suddenly, the key rattled in the lock. Janto, still manacled to the wall, sat up on his hard bench. He didn’t think it was dinnertime yet, but one could hardly tell in this place, and he was seldom hungry, though eating did at least give him something to do. The door opened, and he looked for his jailer.

  Rhianne stood in the doorway.

  Gods, she was beautiful. Disheveled and unhappy, her eyes all bloodshot, and it didn’t matter. When he looked on her, the whole world fell away. His throat seized up—he didn’t know what to say. She shouldn’t be here. It meant she’d been captured and would be forced to marry Augustan.

  Then he saw the man behind her, gripping her arm. Emperor Florian. Forget him, he decided. They’re going to kill me anyway. “Rhianne, I’m sorry,” he grated with a voice he hadn’t used in days.

  “Janto, I—” She yelped as the emperor did something to her arm and dragged her away.

  Janto tried to rise from his bench to see where they were going, but his manacles didn’t allow him to do so. He sat as quietly as he could, his heart thudding wildly in his chest. He cocked his head and tried to listen. He could hear them moving—more than two people. Perhaps some guards as well as Rhianne and the emperor. Were they leaving? No, they seemed to be entering a room down the hall from where he was. There was talk, but he couldn’t make any of it out. Only the men were speaking, not Rhianne.

  He heard what sounded like a blow and sat up very straight. Then came another blow, followed by a small cry from Rhianne.

  She was getting another set of stripes.

  He huddled against the wall, wincing as the blows came faster. Why had he not gone with her and protected her from discovery? Why had he not saved her from this?

  26

  Rhianne sat in Florian’s office, leaning forward so her bandages didn’t touch the chair. Her back was a searing wall of pain. Florian frowned at her from across his hardwood desk. Lucien was with them too, for what purpose she could not guess. He wasn’t making eye contact with anybody, and he looked awfully uncomfortable. He sat on the same side of the desk as Rhianne but apart from her, his knees angled toward the door, as if he wished he could make a run for it.

  “My patience is exhausted,” said Florian. “You will sign the marriage contract, and you will sign it now.”

  Rhianne shook her head. “I’m not marrying Augustan.” She needed to get this waste-of-time meeting over with so she could find out more about Janto. Why had Florian shown him to her? Had he been sentenced yet, and could she possibly get him out? He must have been captured recently—her people never held spies for long. Lucien would know.

  “Foolish girl,” said Florian. “Do you think I picked Augustan for you by accident? Do you think I don’t know what you are? Do you think I don’t know what he is?”

  The hair rose on the back of Rhianne’s neck. She lifted her eyes to meet her uncle’s.

  “You were a wild, rebellious girl who grew into a wild, rebellious woman. No surprise—I knew your mother well, and you’re just like her. I knew you would need a stern, no-nonsense husband, one with a reputation for bringing to heel the laziest, most dissipated soldiers in the ranks—”

  “Rhianne is neither lazy nor dissipated,” protested Lucien.

  “If he can tame the worst of my soldiers, he can tame Rhianne,” said Florian. “So. You’ll either sign, and we’ll have a lovely imperial wedding with all the trimmings. Or I’ll forge your signature and throw you on the boat with Augustan. We’ll forgo the wedding, and he’ll do what he must.”

  Rhianne sat speechless. How was she to choose between those two horrible options? And Soldier’s hell, what was she going to do about Janto?

  “Oh,” said Florian, “Lucien has some alternative plan he wants to present to you.”

  She turned to her cousin with pleading eyes. Could he really help her?

  Lucien swallowed. “Don’t get your hopes up. It’s not much of an alternative.” He took a deep breath. “We’ve captured a Mosari man—he’s down in the prison. I asked Florian to show him to you because I believe you’re familiar with him.”

  Rhianne’s heart beat faster. How much should she confess to? “He was a slave. He used to teach me the Mosari language in the Imperial Garden.”

  “Yes, well, as it happens—I know you weren’t aware of this, but it turns out he was a Mosari spy named Janto.” Lucien pulled some papers out of an interior pocket of his syrtos and handed them to her. “We caught him at the docks, trying to leave the country with these in his possession.”

  Rhianne studied the papers. They were written in Mosari, and hastily so. She couldn’t make the writing out very well. There were a lot of numbers, and some place names. She picked out Sarpol and Mosar. “I’m not sure what I’m looking at.”

  “It’s a rough copy of a military document. The point is he’s a spy and he’s been sentenced to death. I know you were fond of him at one time and might prefer he didn’t die. Is that so?”

  Rhianne nodded.

  “Now it seems to me that you have something Florian wants, your signature on the marriage contract and willing participation in the imperial wedding. And he has something you want, the life of this man. I thought a trade might be brokered between the two of you.”

  Hope surged within Rhianne. Of course! She’d have thought of it herself if she hadn’t been panicking and fogged with searing pain. She would trade her compliance for Janto’s life.

  “What?” said Florian. “I cannot spare the life of an enemy spy.”

  “Can you not?” said Lucien. “We could use a forgetting spell on him so he remembers nothing of what he learned here, and then exile him to Dori. He’s Mosari. His country is already conquered and no threat to us. Why not show mercy in this one case?”

  Rhianne looked Florian in the eye. “I’ll sign the marriage contract in exchange for the Mosari man’s life, but under no other condition.” Exile to violent, unstable Dori, an island cursed by the gods, wasn’t ideal, but she would do anything to save Janto’s life.

  Florian stared at the two of them, clearly stunned at the direction this conversation had taken. “You’ll sign?” he asked Rhianne. “And you’ll participate in the wedding without protest? In exchange for some worthless man’s life?”

  “You have my word,” said Rhianne, “provided Lucien makes all the arrangements regarding the Mosari’s exile.”

  “Done,” said Florian. He held out his wrist, and Rhianne clasped it.

  • • •

  Another day crept by. Janto had been certain something would happen after Rhianne’s capture. Either whatever Lucien had referred to would take place—something about finding a use for him—or he’d be executed. But instead he languished in his cell, wondering if Lucien had forgotten about him. And what was going on with Rhianne? Was she being forced to marry? He tried not to think about that.

  Then two Legaciatti and a woman entered his cell.

  “What’s going on?” he asked in Kjallan.

  The Legaciatti grabbed his arms and shoved him against the wall.

  “I’m not to be interrogated. Orders from the Imperial Heir—”

  “Quiet,” said the woman.

  One of the guards spat on the floor. “Personally, I think he should be flogged to death.”

  The woman placed a hand on his forehead. Janto twisted away, suspecting mind magic, which frightened him more than the prospect of being beaten. He touched the link to assure himself it was still there. Sashi was asleep but within range.

  “Be still,” said the woman through gritted teeth, grabbing a hank of Janto’s hair to immobilize him.

  I want to cooperate with these people. The thought ran through his head, confusing him because he didn’t want to cooperate with these people, but the thought remained, persistent. Then his magic rose up within him and forcibly expelled the thought, leaving him clearheaded.
A suggestion. She’d used a suggestion on him.

  Not wanting her to realize that her magic hadn’t worked, Janto relaxed in her grip.

  “See?” said the woman to the guards. “No need for brutality. Quiet, now,” she instructed Janto. “This is just a forgetting spell.”

  “What are you making me forget?” That was more disturbing than a suggestion.

  “Your ill-gotten knowledge,” said the mind mage.

  “What does it matter what I know? I’m going to be executed!”

  The mind mage sighed. “Actually, you’re not. Someone has struck a deal for your life. You’re being exiled to Dori.”

  Janto stared at them, unblinking. To Dori? Not his first choice of destinations, to be sure, but he wouldn’t quibble. He had no doubt who had bargained for him, and it wasn’t Lucien—not acting on his own, anyway. “What did Rhianne trade for my life?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, spy.”

  Probably she really didn’t. Janto suspected the deal had been struck behind closed doors, and nobody knew the details outside the imperial family. He had a sick feeling it involved Rhianne’s marriage. “Is the princess getting married?”

  “Of course,” said the mind mage.

  Gods curse it. She’d traded something, and it couldn’t possibly be good. She shouldn’t have intervened. It was his failure, getting caught at the docks. He should be the one to suffer the consequences for it.

  “Be still,” ordered the mind mage. “This won’t hurt. And once it’s done, you’ll be out of prison and off to Dori.”

  “Hope you like volcanoes,” added a guard.

  Sashi, called Janto.

  Mm? answered the sleepy creature.

  Wake up. They’re shipping us off to Dori. But first—

  He felt the unfriendly magic invade his mind, probing crudely against his defenses. It would be a simple matter for him to throw the spell off. But a forgetting spell was more invasive than a suggestion, and if he simply threw it aside, the mind mage might notice. Instead, he touched the repugnant magic tentatively with his own. The mage’s spell was soft and pliable. In the domain of his own mind and body, his magic was stronger. Gently, he diverted the invading spell. He played with it, making it spin in harmless circles.

  The magic vanished.

  “It’s done,” said the mage. “He’s forgotten everything that’s happened in the last six months.”

  Janto feigned a look of blank incomprehension.

  A Legaciattus chuckled. “Instant sapskull. I wish I could do that.” He unshackled Janto’s wrists. “On your feet, idiot.”

  Janto stood, his legs shaking with weakness at the unaccustomed effort. Sashi, they’re about to move me, I think to a ship at the docks. You’ve got to meet me there somehow.

  I have more distance to cover than you! cried a panicking Sashi.

  Hurry. I’ll try to delay them.

  Going, said Sashi. The link died as he went out of range.

  The mind mage left, and the Legaciatti led Janto up the stairs and out of the palace. Outside, a carriage awaited them.

  He looked around desperately for his familiar. The link was still dead. He could orient on Sashi’s direction—northwest of him—but he had no idea how much distance lay between them.

  A Legaciattus opened the carriage door. “Get inside.”

  Janto yanked his arm out of the guard’s grip and punched him in the face. A brief scuffle ensued. In moments, Janto was pinned in the grass with his arms wrenched behind him.

  “What the fuck’s wrong with you?” cried the Legaciattus he’d struck.

  “He’s confused,” said the other Legaciattus. “He’s forgotten everything, remember?”

  Janto fought them as they hauled him up. He shoved a foot against the carriage wall as they tried to force him in.

  “Let go!” cried a guard. Another kicked his leg aside, and they shoved him into the carriage.

  His world lit up. The link came afire, and though he couldn’t see Sashi yet, he threw a shroud over him. In the carriage!

  The Legaciatti climbed in. One sat across from Janto while the others took places on either side of him, squeezing him in tightly. He craned his neck to see through the open door. A rust and white streak bounded over the grass, invisible to everyone but himself. Janto’s heart leapt.

  The carriage surged into motion. Nobody felt the impact, but Janto sensed it, when his ferret leapt onto the footman’s seat in the back.

  The ship they brought him to was the Lynx. It was a clipper, small and narrow bodied and fast. Unlike the big warships moored out in the harbor, the Lynx was shallow enough to be tied up right at the docks.

  “You there!” called a Legaciattus to the man standing watch, high above them on the ship’s deck. “We’ve got your passenger.”

  “Hurry up or we’ll lose our tide,” the sailor called down.

  Sashi, get in now, advised Janto.

  The shrouded ferret ran up one of the hawsers fastening the ship to the docks and disappeared through the cat hole.

  The Legaciatti forced Janto to climb a rope ladder leading up the side of the clipper, one man ahead of him and one behind. Once on board, they showed him into the darkness of the ship’s hold and chained him to the wall. Janto was prone to seasickness. On a ship’s deck, his stomach was always a bit dodgy. Just the idea of being in the hold, belowdecks, made it clench, and his mouth began to water.

  “Here are your orders concerning the prisoner,” said a Legaciattus, holding out a packet of papers to the sailor. “Direct from the Imperial Heir, so don’t improvise.” Janto watched the papers change hands and hoped they didn’t contain any surprises.

  The Legaciattus tossed a sack at Janto. “By imperial command, you are to have supplies when you reach Dori. There they are.”

  That had to be a good sign. If the Kjallans meant to kill him at sea, or when they reached land, why bother giving him supplies? Rhianne must have negotiated this deal carefully.

  The men climbed hurriedly up the ladder to the upper decks. Janto sat very still, hoping to avoid seasickness, though he knew it would be unavoidable once the ship left port. When his nausea subsided, he opened the sack. Clothes, a blanket, a block of soap wrapped in linen, and food—hardtack and dried meat. All would be useful things when he landed.

  He was not enthusiastic about his destination. Several decades ago, the gods had cursed Dori, destroying its coastal cities with a massive sea wave and its inland cities with a volcanic eruption. People still lived there—one could see lights when passing by the shores of Dori at night. But few dared to land there, except to drop off exiles. Mosar had twice sent expeditions to Dori to see if there was anything worth recovering from that broken nation, but neither expedition had returned.

  Still, Janto had his magic. He might survive the gods-cursed island better than most.

  His questing fingers discovered something hard inside the blanket. He searched through the folds, located the item, and drew it out.

  It was an alligator, about half the length of his hand and heavy for its size. Cast in bronze and painted, the creature was openmouthed, revealing teeth carved of onyx. Janto ran his finger across them. They were sharp. Tiny gemstone eyes glittered at him in the darkness.

  He stared at it for a while, his eyes swelling with tears. I never gave her anything.

  His stomach began to gurgle ominously. He lay down against the ship’s hull, pulled the blanket over him, and cradled the trinket against his heart.

  27

  Janto slept on and off for several days, weak and ill. His sleep was fitful and marred by discomfiting dreams. At first, the crew mocked him for his seasickness, but as he grew weaker, they became concerned. It seemed their orders required them to deliver him alive. They started bringing him a cup of broth several times a day.

 
A sailor named Bellus, delivering his morning broth, spotted the bronze alligator in Janto’s fist. “What’s that?” He snatched it up and ran his finger over the shiny onyx teeth. “Too nice a piece for a Mosari beast-worshipper.” He moved to pocket it.

  Janto launched himself at Bellus. His fist glanced off the sailor’s jaw as the man scrambled out of range, leaving Janto to flail uselessly against his chains. “Give it back! Give it back, you jug-bitten, jack-scalded . . .” He couldn’t think of anything sufficiently insulting. Sirali would have had the words on the tip of her tongue.

  Bellus laughed and held the alligator just out of Janto’s reach. He called to his mates who were rigging a pump nearby. “He’s not so weak now, neh? Look at him!”

  “Give it back!” Janto roared.

  “Give it to him, Bellus,” said one of the sailors at the pump.

  “Why?”

  “It’s a talisman,” said another of the men. “A good luck charm. You want to bring ill upon us near the gods-cursed island?”

  Bellus pocketed the alligator. “If it’s a good luck charm, might as well be my luck, not his, neh?” He winked at Janto and climbed up the ladder.

  Janto sank back against the ship’s hull.

  He upset you, said Sashi, fierce and angry. Kill.

  No, su-kali, said Janto. It’s a piece of bronze. Not worth killing over.

  But he already missed his alligator.

  • • •

  Janto awoke to screams in the night. He’d been dreaming of hunting rats. Kill! Kill! No. He shook his sleep-clogged head. That was Sashi’s dream, spilling over the link.

  “Help! Oh gods, there’s blood everywhere!” came a yell from above.

  What’s going on? he asked Sashi.

  Don’t worry.

  Don’t worry about what? Janto sat up and looked for Sashi in the nest he’d made for him in a corner of the hold. The ferret was not there. Where are you?