Spy's Honor

place?”

Florian laughed. “You were right the first time, when you said you needed to know the particulars. This idea of your cousin’s was practically treason. He wants us to call off the war with Mosar.”

Rhianne turned to Lucien, who grimaced without meeting her eyes.

“I don’t call that brilliance. I call it cowardice,” said Florian, turning to Lucien. “And I will not hear it from you again. Is that clear?”

Lucien nodded.

“Speaking of family, it’s time to expand it,” said Florian. “Rhianne, you shall marry.”

A shiver crept up her spine. Marry? Most of the men were away at war. She hadn’t met anyone she desired to marry. And there were practical considerations. Marrying would almost certainly take her away from the Imperial Palace, and then who would deliver the tetrals? Certainly not Lucien, the way he’d been talking. “Did you have someone in mind?”

Emperor Florian nodded. “Augustan Ceres, commander of our forces at Mosar. When he finishes the military operation, I plan to offer him the governorship of the island, and you shall be his bride.”

“I’m to be a war prize?” She glanced sidelong at Lucien, whose eyes were downcast. He’d already known.

“Not a war prize, a governor’s wife!” said Florian. “You’ve always wanted to travel to foreign lands. Now you shall, to Mosar.”

“I’ve never met Augustan.”

“Easily remedied,” said Florian. “I shall summon him back to Kjall long enough for a brief engagement before he returns to the front.”

“And if I don’t like him?”

“You will,” said Florian.

And if she didn’t, he’d smack her like he had Lucien until she changed her mind.

“Now, if you’ll run along, I have a few more things to discuss with your cousin,” said Florian.

Rhianne walked numbly toward the door.

“One moment,” called Lucien, swinging rapidly toward her on his crutch and wooden leg. When he reached her, he whispered, “We’ll talk later,” and slipped something into the inside pocket of her syrtos. She could tell by the clinking sound that it was the fifteen tetrals.

* * *

What perplexed Jan-Torres, Crown Prince of Mosar, about the slaves of Kjall was that they had so much freedom of movement. He’d been watching them, concealed beneath his invisibility shroud, from outside the slave house on the grounds near the palace for much of the evening, and as far as he could tell, they were unfettered.

Where are the chains? He posed the question to Sashi, his animal familiar, through their telepathic link. Why do they not run away?

Perhaps they will starve if they run away. The ferret, perched on his shoulder, turned his head to watch a yellow-haired Riorcan exit the slave house and head off into the trees. Janto had discovered a well there earlier, and a latrine. The men had trodden a well-worn path to each.

Now Janto frowned. Hunger alone would not enslave a man. There had to be another answer, and he needed to learn it if he was going to pass successfully as a palace slave. He couldn’t hide under his invisibility shroud forever, not if he was going to track down his missing spy. And finding the spy was imperative. That was why he’d left the battlefield in Mosar to come here. He needed the information the spy possessed.

You will find him, said Sashi.

He is probably imprisoned or dead, said Janto. But I appreciate your faith. Even in peacetime, Janto hadn’t been a popular prince. His people preferred warriors, not scholars, as their leaders, and the shame of the tragedy at Silverside Cavern still hung over his head. But none of that mattered now. The threat of losing Mosar to the Kjallans overshadowed all. He had a spy to find and a secret to uncover. I’m going to look inside, he told Sashi. Stay close, and stay hidden.

With a chirp of acknowledgment, Sashi scampered down Janto’s sleeve, leapt to the ground, and disappeared into the darkness alongside the slave house. Janto waited for a group of slaves to return to the house, then, still invisible, slipped through the door with them.

The muffled conversation he’d heard from outside became a roar. Light spilled over him, along with the smell of food—something foreign and not very appetizing. Six long tables just inside the door were crowded with people eating supper, all of them men. Beyond the tables, a partially enclosed sleeping area was crammed so tightly with canvas pallets that there was barely room to walk between them. Warmth poured off the heat-glows mounted on the wall.

Looking back at the tables, Janto saw that the men were divided into three groups. About a third were Mosari like himself. Another third were Riorcans, and another third unidentifiable—Kjallans, he supposed, from conquered provinces. Though no barrier separated them, the groups did not mingle.

He walked past one of the Mosari tables, looking closely at each man’s face, careful not to touch anybody or otherwise reveal his presence. It had been years since he’d last seen Ral-Vaddis, his missing spy, but surely the man hadn’t changed much. Janto would recognize him.

No sign of him at the first table, so Janto moved on to the second. No Ral-Vaddis, but another face caught his eye. Hadn’t that fellow once been a signaler in the palace? Poor man; how had he been captured? He moved on to the third table, and the fourth. His spy wasn’t here. And he couldn’t see any hint, from inside the slave house, of how the slaves were kept under the control of their Kjallan masters.

He glanced back at the second table. Might the signaler be of some use to him?

On a table in the corner of the room sat several logbooks, an ink pot, and a quill. Probably the overseer did his bookkeeping there, but he wasn’t in sight now. Janto picked his way to the table and extended his shroud just enough to cover the writing utensils. He tore a piece of paper out of a logbook and wrote the word Outside on it, followed by his royal signature, the letter J atop a T.

Returning to the table, he slipped the folded paper into the signaler’s hand. The man turned, startled at the unexpected contact, but there was no one for him to look at. Janto headed for the door and slipped outside behind someone heading to the latrines.

Sashi, he called, lowering a hand to the ground. The ferret came running from out of the shadows, up his arm, and onto his shoulder. We might have company.

You found Ral-Vaddis?

Someone else.

The signaler burst out of the slave house and looked around frantically in the moonlight.

With an arc of his hand, Janto extended his magical shroud to include the signaler, an act that rendered both of them invisible to everyone else, but visible to each other.

The signaler jumped as Janto materialized. “Three gods! Is it really you? Your Highness . . .” He started to get down on his knees but thought better of it, glancing about him.

“We’re invisible. You’re in my shroud. Follow me.” Janto’s shroud concealed their visibility and sound, but it didn’t prevent them from disturbing ground cover or being stumbled into by other people. He led the signaler into the cover of the forest.

When he halted beneath the branches of a great oak, the signaler dropped to his knees and bowed his head. “Your Highness.”

See? Your people love you, said Sashi.

Silverside, Janto reminded him. He’d prefer my father or my brother, but he’ll take what he can get. “Don’t do that; it could get me in trouble,” he said. “And don’t say Jan-Torres either. Call me Janto.”

“Your family name?”

“It’s a common name, shouldn’t give me away,” said Janto. “Didn’t you used to be a signaler in the palace? What’s your name, and how did you end up here?”

“My name is Iolo.” He stood. “After the palace, I did some work on merchant ships. I was a signaler on the