by Amy Raby
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.
• • •
There 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.”
“His interests weren’t being taken seriously. People make trouble when they’re not treated fairly,” said Janto. “I think we should see what happens when we treat them right. We’ve got entire villages that were wiped out and need repopulating, and these people need a place to live. If they can adapt to the Mosari heat and our storm season, this could work out well.”
“The Riorcans don’t like us. They don’t know our ways, and they don’t even want to be there,” said Kal. “It’s going to be another disaster—Silverside all over again. And you let that Kjallan princess go.”
Janto balled his hands into fists. “Don’t bring Rhianne into this.”
“She’s the best match you could possibly have made for Mosar. You couldn’t bring yourself to face a few tears in the marriage bed, for the good of your country?”
“You’re out of line, Fleet Commander,” Janto snapped. “See to your ships.”
• • •
When Janto arrived at his room in the Kjallan palace, he was tired and out of sorts. “No visitors,” he growled to the door guard.
San-Kullen, his bodyguard, awaited orders.
Janto dismissed him with a wave. “Go to bed. Get some rest.”
“Yes, sire. I was wondering—shall I send you up a woman? I think it would do you good.”
Janto blinked. “San-Kullen, can you of all people have forgotten my orders regarding the Kjallan women?”
San-Kullen looked offended. “I mean someone willing. Since we freed the palace women, some of them have been, uh, friendly to the officers. I think we strike them as exotic. And they like our familiars. I won’t have any trouble at all finding someone who wants to sleep with the king of Mosar.”
San-Kullen was probably right; rank had its advantages. And it would do him good. On the other hand, a Kjallan woman would surely remind him of Rhianne—and that would cause him grief. And in the mood he was in, he wasn’t fit for company. “Thank you, San-Kullen. Not tonight.”
San-Kullen saluted. “I’ll see you in the morning, sire.”
The door shut, leaving Janto alone in his room. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to relieve some tension. His supper tray sat on a nearby table. He passed by it without interest and stepped out onto the balcony.
An evening breeze ruffled his hair. The loading of the ships was still in progress. He could see it from here, trails of blue magelight on the water, some gliding toward him, others away. The ships’ masts and rigging, outlined by glows and magelight, glittered like spiderwebs at dawn.
All three moons were out, which was unusual. The Vagabond would be full tomorrow. He’d have to produce enough spirits for everyone on board to deliver the customary toast. Great one, pass us by. He snorted. As if that ever worked.
You’re in a mood, commented Sashi.
Sorry, he said. This has been harder than I expected.
Sashi’s tail flicked over his neck in sympathy.
“Sire.”
He jumped at the quiet voice. “I said no visitors!”
“I’m sorry, sire,” mumbled the door guard. “But it’s the Imperial Princess.”
• • •
Rhianne fidgeted anxiously outside Janto’s door. What if he wouldn’t see her? The guard had refused her at first. She’d pulled rank and argued, saying she was the Imperial Princess and she absolutely had to speak with Jan-Torres tonight. After all, he was leaving tomorrow and wouldn’t be back for years. The door guard held his ground for a little while, but when she’d persisted, he’d grudgingly agreed to see if Jan-Torres would make an exception for her.
Now the guard was returning, at an aggravatingly slow pace. His expression was bland; she couldn’t tell from looking at him what his answer would be.
He trudged up to her. “King Jan-Torres will see you.”
She let her breath out in a rush. “Thank you.”
The guard stepped aside, and she hurried into the room. There was no sign of Janto. “Where is he?” she called over her shoulder.
“Bal
cony,” the guard answered.
Odd that Janto had not come to meet her. Well, she was not at all certain how he felt about her. She hadn’t treated him well for the past several days.
It appeared he’d installed himself in the rooms of one of Florian’s advisers. She looked the place over, noting an untouched supper tray, and a pile of clothes and assorted items laid out on a chair. A light silk curtain, ivory in color, covered the entrance to the balcony, shimmering as the evening breeze tickled its edges. She pushed it aside and stepped out into the night air.
Janto leaned on the marble railing, watching the ships in the harbor. He turned, briefly, to acknowledge her presence. Then the harbor lights seemed to captivate him again—or perhaps he couldn’t bear to look at her.
It stung that he didn’t even smile in her direction, but she couldn’t blame him. He’d tried so hard to win her over, even proposing marriage, and she’d rebuffed him. She swallowed. “You’re leaving tomorrow.”
He nodded. “On the tide.”
She stepped to the railing beside him and looked out into the harbor. “I couldn’t let you go without saying good-bye.”
The lump in his throat bobbed. “If that’s what you’re here for, you’d best leave. I’ve said good-bye already, and I can’t bear to do it again.”
Pox, she was fouling this up. Why had she even said that? It was so cowardly, and it didn’t remotely hint at her real intentions. “That’s not what I’m really here for.” She didn’t like the way he looked, tense and unhappy. His hair was a little mussed, and she wanted so badly to run her fingers through it. “I haven’t seen you this quiet since the day we met. You don’t look yourself at all.”
“Bad day,” he mumbled, staring at the harbor.
She slipped her hand into his. “How so?”
He stiffened, but then curled his fingers around hers and leaned closer, relaxing a little. “Do you remember the Riorcan fellow at the negotiations?”
“Admiral Durgan. Of course.”