Spy's Honor

harassed hornet.

She leapt to her feet, a gesture of respect that had become as reflexive as blinking, aware of the irony after she’d shown him the disrespect of walking out of the ceremony. Perhaps it would appease him a tiny bit.

He strode toward her, stepping so close she was tempted to cower. She held her ground, trembling, as he towered over her.

“I was raised not to strike a woman in anger,” Florian grated through his teeth. “That’s for the lower families. But never have I been so tempted.” He pointed at a chair. “Sit.”

Wordlessly, Rhianne sat.

Florian took the seat across from her. “This morning’s ceremony was to be Augustan’s moment of glory, after nine months of hard campaigning. You spoiled it with your childish behavior. You shall immediately make amends. You shall sit down at your writing desk and compose a brief speech of apology. This you will show to me, and after I approve it, you will go to Augustan and, in front of his servants and top-ranking officers, humbly beg his forgiveness for the insult you delivered him in the hall this morning.”

“Uncle—”

“This is not a negotiation,” said Florian. “I am giving you orders. We will follow your apology with a gift. I was thinking—”

“Uncle—”

“Stop interrupting, girl! Must I call the guards and order you beaten for your intransigence?”

“I’m not marrying Augustan.”

For a moment, he was actually speechless.

Rhianne leapt into the opening of his stunned silence and spoke in a rush. “I hate him, and he doesn’t care for me either. I cannot marry him. I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

Florian remained silent. A muscle bulged at the back of his jaw. After a moment, he turned his back on her, pacing the room. “Let me make something clear to you. Do you see all the fine things in here?” He swept his arm to indicate the furnishings.

“Yes,” she said softly.

“Take a moment to recall the other fine things you’ve had. Your horse and magical training, fine clothes, fine food, the imperial baths, the guards who protect you—”

“Guards who spy on me.”

“For your protection,” said Florian. “Do you think I give you those things out of the goodness of my heart? No. You are here to serve a purpose, just as I serve a purpose, as Lucien serves a purpose. Your purpose, Rhianne, is marriage. Marriage to the right man, to strengthen the family line and strengthen the empire through the governance of a new vassal state.”

Rhianne drew up her knees and clutched them beneath her gown. What he said was true. She harbored no illusions about her role in the imperial family. And yet. “I never asked for these things. I never asked for this life. You took me. You brought me here, without my parents’ consent—”

His nose wrinkled in a snarl. “You were always meant for it, even if my sister, your mother, shirked her responsibilities.” He pointed at her. “You shall not shirk yours.” After a moment, he blinked and sighed, rubbing his face. In a gentler voice, he continued. “Why did you walk out on the ceremony? Was it because of the heads?”

Rhianne nodded. “Uncle, it’s not right. Those were innocent people Augustan murdered for no reason except that they were in his way. I cannot love a man who thinks he should be praised for such a thing.”

Florian smiled sadly. “He should not have brought the heads to the ceremony—not with a lady present. I’ll speak with him about it, and that will pave the way for your apology. He was impolitic, but you were rude. Both of you were at fault. You must understand he has been at war a long time, and solely among men. He forgets that women are sensitive and have no stomach for war, especially its gruesome side.”

Florian didn’t understand. It wasn’t the gruesomeness of the heads that bothered her, but what they represented. Her country had done something horrid, and it shamed her. She couldn’t write the apology he asked from her, because it would make her complicit in those crimes. Crimes against Janto and his people.

“Still,” said Florian sternly, “this nonsense from you must cease. Augustan killed those people on my orders, and I gave those orders for the good of the empire. I do not expect you to understand why I make hard decisions that you find unsavory, but it is not your place to question my commands. It is your place, as it is Augustan’s, to obey them. Therefore I expect your written apology, for my review, within the hour.”

Rhianne blinked back tears. She couldn’t do this. “I’m not writing it.”

His expression darkened. “Do not try my patience. Wedding plans are under way, and I’ve no time to indulge your childish whims. I was raised never to strike a lady, but I will not hesitate to order you beaten if that’s what it takes to convince you of my seriousness.”

“Cancel the wedding,” said Rhianne. Gods, he was going to destroy her for this. “Forced marriages are illegal in Kjall.”

“My dear.” Florian’s eyes narrowed. “I’m the emperor. Do you think you can tell me what is and isn’t legal?”

Rhianne shivered. “The law applies to everyone.”

Florian laughed. “Your written apology. Until I have it, you are confined to your rooms. You will have no visitors, attend no events, and have nothing brought to you until you think better of your foolishness. And if you think these are the worst things that can happen to you, think again. My forbearance will last only so long.”

* * *

Iolo and Sirali looked downcast when Janto met them in the usual spot beneath the trees. He supposed all the Mosari must feel as he did, though perhaps with less personal grief. Most of the others did not know the fates of their families back on the island.

“Is it true?” Iolo said softly. “The rumors about the king and queen?”

“They’re dead,” said Janto.

“I’m sorry,” said Iolo. “That makes you king, doesn’t it?”

Janto nodded.

Iolo inclined his head. “Your Majesty.”

Janto waved his hand. “It’s meaningless. We have no country, not that I won’t do everything in my power to win it back. How are the slaves taking the news?”

“Badly,” said Iolo. “There have been suicides.”

Sirali nodded. “While Mosar held out, we had hope. Now we have nothing.”

“I came to say good-bye,” said Janto. “I’m leaving Kjall.”

Their foreheads wrinkled with concern. “Where will you go?” asked Iolo.

“I’ve a ship that supports me,” said Janto. “I sent it away a few days ago to relay some information, and when it returns, I’m going to have it pick me up and find Kal’s fleet. I’ll join my brother, and we’ll try to retake Mosar.”

Iolo’s eyebrows rose. “Does Kal-Torres have the men to do that?”

“I can’t imagine he does, but we’ll sell our lives as dearly as we can. There’s nothing else left for us. I only wish I’d accomplished more here.”

“Right, and you helped the slave women,” pointed out Sirali.

Janto nodded. At least there was that.

* * *

Rhianne crawled through the hypocaust on hands and knees, ignoring the stifling heat and counting heat- glows as she followed her usual pattern. She wasn’t running away—not yet. That would take some planning. But she had to talk to somebody about her plight, and Morgan seemed the only option. He always talked sense, and Florian didn’t keep a close eye on him the way he did Lucien. Morgan would help her figure out what to do.

She reached the access tunnel, where the ceiling became high enough to stand. She rose to her feet, approached the door, and eased it open, just a crack. There were the guards at the end of the short hallway.

Wait—why were they wearing orange? Those weren’t ordinary guards. They were Legaciatti! Magical guards, immune to her spells.