“Why would I do that?” Rhianne said carefully.
Lucien shifted in his seat. “Because you’d be crazy not to? If I had to marry a woman I didn’t like, and I probably will someday, I’d be running around trying to sleep with as many women as possible beforehand.”
“I’m saying have an affair. Get it out of your system. No one would begrudge you that, not even Florian,” said Lucien. “But not with a Mosari man! Not with that Janto. That would be a scandal the likes of which the Imperial Palace hasn’t seen since your mother ran away.”
“So get to know some Kjallan men. Maybe you’ll find one you like. But please,” said Lucien. “I say this for your own sake. Don’t get involved with the Mosari beyond this slave overseer business. It can only end badly, for you
As Rhianne headed back to her rooms, she decided Lucien was half right. Having an affair, “getting it out of her system” before she married Augustan, wasn’t a bad idea. But there was no way it was going to be with a Kjallan.
After Janto had worked out the details of the plan with Rhianne, he took it to Iolo and Sirali and explained how the sackcloth treatment worked. “We’ll use magic to make it fail-safe,” he said. “Next time Micah assaults a woman, Rhianne and I will approach him under cover of my shroud, and Rhianne will hit him with a confusion spell. That’s how we’ll get him into the sack. You see? No risk to anybody.”
“No such thing as no risk,” said Iolo.
Janto turned to Sirali. “We’ve got everything taken care of except the support of the slave women. Will they participate? Can you recruit them for us?”
“Janto—,” began Iolo.
“I’m asking Sirali,” he said.
Sirali thought for a moment. “Dangerous for them.”
“Yes, but consider the potential benefits,” said Janto. “And with a mind mage on our side, the danger is mitigated. From Micah’s perspective, he’s going to wake up in a sackcloth bag, having no idea how he got there, and then he’ll get beaten up. If things should go horribly wrong for some reason, Rhianne can make him forget the whole episode.”
“Three gods, Janto, I can’t believe you’re doing this!” said Iolo. “What about finding that intelligence for Mosar?”
“Ral-Vaddis is dead, and I fear the intelligence he meant to pass along died with him.” There was also the fact that Rhianne was forcing him to leave the country within two days, or she’d inform on him to the authorities. He hadn’t told Iolo or Sirali about that yet. The odds of his finding the intelligence within that time window were vanishingly small.
“You can’t give up! You don’t know for sure that the dead spy was Ral-Vaddis—”
“Yes, I do,” said Janto. “There were no other Mosari spies stationed here.”
“And even if it was,” continued Iolo, “you are the only hope Mosar has. You can’t risk everything we have on punishing this slave overseer.”
“I understand your concern, but these women are Mosari. I’m their prince, and it’s my duty to protect them,” said Janto. “I’m going ahead with this—that is, if Sirali agrees to her part. The risks are low, and it’s worth doing. Iolo, I won’t ask you to participate.”
“You think it will work?” said Iolo.
Sirali snorted. “Right, and I want to do it even if it
“It will work,” said Janto. “When Micah climbs out of the bag, he’ll see all the slave women there. He’ll know they’re united in their opposition to him, that further abuse will land him in the sackcloth again. And Lucien says the authorities don’t intervene in these cases—this sackcloth treatment is a Kjallan tradition of sorts. Part of their military culture.” He turned to Sirali. “Can you recruit the slave women?”
“Yes.” Her eyes gleamed. “When’s the soonest we can do this? Tomorrow night?”
“Tomorrow night.” And then he would leave the country.
Maybe.
15
Janto, invisible, waited for Rhianne by the well, his stomach churning with a familiar mixture of excitement and nerves. The sackcloth treatment. While the plan was a little frightening to carry out, at least he was
Branches rustled as someone approached through the trees. Janto moved toward the sound and released his shroud. “Alligator?” he called.
Blue magelight flared in the distance. The odd-shaped figure it illuminated looked unfamiliar at first, but he soon sorted out that it was Rhianne with a bulky sackcloth bag thrown over her shoulder. He ran forward to take the bag from her.
Rhianne grunted her thanks. The chamber pot at the bottom rattled as it bumped against the wooden staves. “I forget how handy the Legaciatti are when it comes to hauling heavy things,” she said. “I hope I’m not late.”
Janto shook his head. “See that light through the trees?”
Rhianne nodded.
“That’s the men’s slave house. The door has opened a few times, but Micah hasn’t come through it yet.”
“So we wait?”
Janto nodded, shrouding both of them.
“Where’s your ferret?”
“Hunting.”
“What does he hunt?” said Rhianne. “I saw him when you had him in my rooms, but only for a short while.”
“I’ll bring him back so you can see him.” He called to Sashi through the link. The ferret dashed back through the leaves and scurried up Janto’s arm.
Sashi chittered his irritation. He didn’t like socializing.
She stroked Sashi like she would a cat. “He’s lovely. His fur’s stiff along his back, but soft everywhere else.”
Janto took the ferret back. “His coloration is atypical, the strawberry and white. Most ferrets are brown or gray. His color might have made it harder for him to hunt if not for our shared magic. He hunts invisibly.”
“I never realized that,” said Rhianne. “That your magic was shared. Wait. Janto!” Her hand fell upon his arm: he felt it as a rare, electric touch. “The door’s opening.”
Janto delayed a moment, wanting her hand to stay where it was. But he watched the door and said, “That’s Micah.”
Two routes led from the men’s slave house to the women’s. The first and more direct was a forest path that snaked through the trees. The second route was somewhat more circuitous but wider and brighter in the
