She pushed the door gently shut, her heart thrumming wildly against her ribs as she prayed they wouldn’t turn and see her. The hypocaust guards had always been ordinary palace guards—never Legaciatti. Why the change? Did Florian know about her secret excursions from the palace? How long had he known?
She headed back into the hypocaust, dropping onto hands and knees as the ceiling angled sharply downward. There was nothing for it but to return to the prison of her rooms. She was trapped.
Janto sat on the pier with his back to a post, invisible. Heavily laden boats sliced through the harbor waters, some loaded with supplies, others with troops. A battalion of soldiers massed on a nearby beach, awaiting the boats that delivered them, thirty at a time, to troop ships riding at double anchor.
A bosun’s shrill voice carried on the wind. “Man the falls! Haul taut singly! Hoist away!” Janto turned to watch the shallow-draft frigate nearest him take sealed casks on board with its water-whip. Other men were up on the yards, doing something to the sails; still others clung to ropes slung over the stern. Across the water echoed the knocks of hammers and the scrape of an adze.
The fleet was preparing to sail again. He’d assumed they were going to Mosar, since Augustan was returning there with Rhianne, but it was odd they were loading so many soldiers. Why carry them all the way to Kjall just to send them back to Mosar? It didn’t make sense.
Another thing that didn’t make sense: he’d seen new cargo loaded—things like warm cloaks and blankets. Why would anyone need those things on tropical Mosar?
No. The troops were going elsewhere. He needed to find out where.
Rhianne lay prone on the settee in her rooms, trying not to move or even breathe too deeply. Florian had waited two days for her to change her mind, and when she hadn’t, he’d made good on his threat. Her back, striped with a whip and still raw, hurt like she couldn’t believe. Never again would she speak casually about someone receiving the lash as a punishment. There was nothing trivial about it.
She glanced up as the bolt slid back from her door. It couldn’t be food. Florian was sending her prison rations—bread and cheese and water, three times a day—and it wasn’t time for lunch yet. She wasn’t permitted visitors, so it could only be Florian, whose presence she dreaded.
But it was Lucien! A pleasant surprise. She gritted her teeth and raised herself just enough to make eye contact. “I didn’t think I was allowed to see you.”
“Florian thought I might talk some sense into you.” Lucien grinned and rolled his eyes. He looked again, perhaps noticing her awkward pose and loose clothing, and stopped short. The color drained from his face. “Did he have you
“He did,” she grunted. “It was much worse than I thought it’d be.”
Lucien turned away, as if he couldn’t bear to look, though her injuries were bandaged and covered. He limped with his crutch to the far side of the room. “I didn’t think he’d go that far. How many lashes?”
“Ten.”
He rounded on her, his hands balled into fists. “That leaves scars.”
“Not if a Healer closes the wounds. He says he’ll send a Healer when I start cooperating.”
Lucien scrubbed a hand through his hair and limped back to her. He sat, leaning his crutch on the chair. “What he’s doing is wrong. You know it, and I know it. But you should do as he says. If this were a Caturanga match, he’d have you in every possible way—his Traitor behind your enemy lines, his Tribune under the Soldier’s influence, and all your battalions and cavalry mired in terrain while he’s got a clean run across the board. He has every advantage, and you have none.”
“I have my integrity,” said Rhianne. “And the law’s on my side.”
Lucien smiled sadly. “Florian is subject to no law. But think on this, Rhianne—he won’t be emperor forever.” He lowered his voice. “When I ascend the throne, everything will be different. If Augustan mistreats you in any way, I’ll send him packing the moment I become emperor. You have my word on it. And then you shall marry whomever you please. But until that day comes, you and I have to swallow our pride and accept our orders as they come. Florian destroys people who oppose him. I’ve seen him do it.”
“I know you mean well,” said Rhianne, “but Florian is healthy and strong. He could rule for another forty years.”
Lucien took her hand and squeezed it. “You speak as if you have a choice in this matter. You don’t.”
“I could run like my mother did. I’d have done it already, except . . .” She sighed in exasperation. “There are Legaciatti guarding the hypocaust now. Florian must know. Or else it was a lucky guess.”
Lucien lowered his head. “Florian doesn’t know. I put the Legaciatti there.”
“You!” hissed Rhianne. “Why would you put them there?”
His eyes glistened, liquid with guilt. “Because I knew you’d try it. And if you run, he’ll find you. And that will only make things worse.”
Rhianne, realizing his hand was still holding hers, flung it back at him. “Of all the people I thought might betray me, I never guessed it would be you!”
“I knew you’d be angry,” said Lucien. “I only hope someday you’ll understand. I did it because you’ll never escape Florian’s net. He has resources you can’t even imagine: signal towers that offer him near-instantaneous communication with every settlement in Kjall, guards in each city who can track your progress through the food and grain you buy and the houses you sleep in—”
“I’ve got forgetting spells.”
“Not as useful as you think. Mind magic is unsubtle. Forgetting spells leave holes in people’s memories, and if Florian’s agents know the right questions to ask, they’ll discover them. Flight is impossible. You’ll be caught and dragged back home and forced to marry anyway, and what is Augustan going to think of all this? Do you think you have any chance at all of a happy marriage when your fiance knows you had to be beaten and dragged halfway across the country to wed him?”
As if there had ever been a chance of her enjoying a happy marriage with Augustan. “Remove the Legaciatti, Lucien.”
He shook his head. “I can’t watch you destroy yourself.”
“Remove them!” she cried.
“No. I’m sorry.”
“Get out of my room, then,” she snapped. “You and I are finished.”
Lucien rose wearily, turned his back on her, and limped for the door.
22
For the first time, Janto entered the north dome of the Imperial Palace, the home of Emperor Florian’s personal chambers and offices. This area was certain to be salted with wards, but he was less concerned about tripping one than he had been before. With Mosar conquered and most of his family dead, part of him almost welcomed the opportunity to use his poison pill.
So far he seemed to be getting off easy. No wards yet, and with so little traffic, these hallways were easier to navigate invisibly than other areas of the palace. Legaciatti guarded most of the doors, and probably some of the rooms beyond those doors contained reams of useful intelligence, but finding a way into them would not be without challenge.
Around the corner, a pair of voices broke the silence. Janto moved toward them.
“He’s not back yet,” said one man.
“But I’m on his schedule,” replied another.
Janto turned the corner and saw Augustan Ceres, accompanied by one of his officers, speaking to a door guard.
“He’s running late,” said the Legaciattus. “You can wait in the anteroom.”
Augustan nodded and, along with the officer, headed toward a side room. Janto followed and was delighted to discover the anteroom had no door. He didn’t enter but hovered outside, in case the arched entryway was warded.
