Spy's Honor

loros over a shimmersilk orange syrtos, had to be Emperor Florian.

The emperor was tall and imposing, middle-aged and showing it, but Janto had envisioned a nastier, more vicious-looking man. Did cruelty show? Janto believed it often did, especially in the later years, when the lines of one’s face began to tell the tale of one’s life. Florian appeared stern and resolute, more a hard man than a cruel one. It puzzled him.

He found a quiet corner where he could watch the proceedings without being bumped into or trodden on. The officers took up places behind the pillars, leaving the aisle clear. When everyone was inside and settled, Augustan entered the end of the hall opposite Florian, escorted by two burly officers and two servants carrying the wooden boxes Janto had seen during the parade.

All fell silent, and Augustan strode down the aisle, his entourage a few steps behind him. He stopped just shy of the gray platform.

Emperor Florian spoke in a deep, commanding voice. “Report, Legatus.”

* * *

Rhianne shifted subtly on her feet, relieving a muscle in her back that was beginning to cramp. She’d been too long motionless. She watched as her husband-to-be, instead of responding succinctly to Florian’s order, turned to acknowledge one side of the aisle and then the other.

“My fellow officers . . . Princess . . . Your Imperial Highness . . . my illustrious Emperor.” He inclined his head at Florian and addressed the crowd. “Today is a glorious day for the empire. When first we set sail from Kjallan shores nine months ago . . .”

Rhianne suppressed an eye roll. Was he going to turn this into a long speech? Of course he was; it was his moment of glory. If one could call it glory, murdering innocent people to take their land and wealth. The whole affair sickened her. Not to mention she had to stand in front of everyone looking ridiculous in a dress white as cuttlebone because Florian had this notion that the royal family should dress as the gods. As if that wasn’t going to offend anybody. And he had her and Lucien backward. If anything, he should have dressed wise Lucien as the Sage and her as the rebellious Vagabond, but that was classic Florian. He’d never truly known his family.

Was Augustan building up to a point? It sounded like it.

“. . . And so, thanks to the courage of our fighting men and the leadership of the officers you see before you, I report triumphantly that Mosar has been brought to heel. We have accepted Mosar’s unconditional surrender, and Kjall takes the former nation as its vassal state.”

The audience hall erupted in cheers, and Florian stepped to the edge of the platform to clasp wrists with Augustan. From there, Florian pulled him up onto the platform. “Legatus Augustan Ceres, you are a credit to your forebears and to the Kjallan Empire. I am pleased to offer you the governorship of Mosar, beginning immediately, and I welcome you to the imperial family as my son-in-law.” He gestured to Rhianne.

This was her cue to step forward and kiss Augustan. He approached with a cocky smile. She managed not to recoil when he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. She had to rise on her tiptoes to reach his lips, and he didn’t help her by bending down, so she didn’t feel guilty when she gave him only a peck. Even then, she wanted to wipe her lips afterward, but she knew better than to do that in front of her uncle.

The crowd cheered their pathetic kiss.

“I have something else to present, Your Imperial Majesty,” said Augustan.

“The floor is yours, Legatus,” said Florian.

He gestured to the servants carrying the wooden boxes. “Part of the task I was assigned on Mosar was to exterminate the existing royal family. That job is not complete. Some of the royals have, as one might expect of Mosari cowards, gone to ground. As the Mosari governor, I shall make it one of my first priorities to flush them from their hiding places. Nonetheless, progress has been made. Your Imperial Majesty.” He swept his hands toward the servants, as each pulled from his box a severed head and held it high for all to see. “The former king and queen of Mosar.”

A hush fell over the room.

Rhianne recoiled in horror. She’d had no idea those boxes contained anything so grisly. She’d expected stolen relics, perhaps artwork or jewelry. The heads were not badly decomposed, and they smelled more of brandy and camphor than of rot, but how was she supposed to react to such a sight? Never mind the grisliness of it; her stomach could handle that, as long as she didn’t put anything in it for a while. But these had once been people, and they hadn’t done anything to deserve this fate. Augustan was a murderer, showing off his crime as if proud of it, and her own uncle Florian was the man who’d ordered him to commit it.

“Well done, Legatus, well done,” said Florian.

The officers in the room broke into polite, subdued applause.

Rhianne couldn’t take any more of this farce. She turned on her heel, stepped off the platform, and left the audience hall.

* * *

The former king and queen of Mosar.

Janto had been too far away to see the heads clearly, but those words sent him reeling. He wanted to rush the platform, to slay Augustan and Florian where they stood in recompense for this unspeakable crime, but he was unarmed and surrounded by enemies. It wasn’t possible. He scrambled for the exit.

Three gods, three gods, three gods. His mother and father were dead, murdered by Augustan.

Several heads turned in his direction as he raced invisibly down the center aisle. In his mad rush, he wasn’t being careful. He was creating a breeze, maybe even brushing some people with the edges of his cloak. He didn’t care.

Nobody followed him out into the corridor, where he fell upon his knees in a paroxysm of grief. He thought of the heads again, the heads of his parents. He emptied his stomach.

I’m sorry, su-kali, said Sashi, clinging to his shoulder. We will kill them for what they’ve done.

We’ll do what we can.

Which, so far, had been a whole lot of nothing.

Back in the audience hall, the officers were applauding. Kjallan filth! Rhianne was the only decent human being among them. He’d watched her kiss Augustan at her uncle’s bidding, her movements stiff and unyielding, every cell of her body screaming abhorrence. The Kjallans had applauded that too. Was there no horror they wouldn’t celebrate?

The officers in the audience hall sounded restless, and he suspected they were about to be dismissed, probably to the feast. He hoped the sight of the heads had diminished some appetites. Clutching his stomach, he straightened and hurried along the corridor, heading for the slave entrance. While this might be a good opportunity for spying, he was in no condition for it, and given the circumstances, what was the point? Mosar was lost. As for seeing Rhianne, he had a feeling he was no longer welcome. She didn’t want Augustan, but she was committed to going through with her marriage, and there was nothing he could do to help her.

He was out of the Imperial Palace and halfway to one of his bolt-holes when he realized that some days ago, when Augustan had murdered his father, Janto had unknowingly ascended the throne—for whatever that was worth. He was now king of Mosar. It was almost funny.

21

Rhianne sat quietly in her receiving room, still in her ridiculous white gown, waiting for the maelstrom that was certain to arrive as soon as Florian extricated himself from the remainder of the ceremony. She hadn’t planned on walking out. It had just happened. Morgan had said she’d had choices. It appeared that for better or for worse, she’d just made one. Probably for worse. She’d rebelled against Florian in dozens of clandestine ways over the years, but never had she challenged him openly. She could envision no scenario in which this worked out well for her.

A thump and a grating noise outside her door told her the bar was sliding back, granting someone entrance to her chambers. She swallowed. The door opened, and, no surprise, Florian stepped through, looking angry as a