Spy's Honor

Augustan and the officer took seats, looking irritated.

The officer spoke in a quiet voice. “You think he’ll give us the ships?”

“Can’t imagine he wouldn’t,” said Augustan. “There’s still a Mosari fleet out there, and he won’t want anything to happen to his precious niece.”

The officer snorted a laugh. “What’s the word on her? She break yet?”

Janto blinked, confused but interested. Augustan and the officer had to be referring to Rhianne, but what was this about her breaking?

Augustan shook his head. “He had her whipped yesterday, but she’s a stubborn bitch. Not giving in yet.”

Stubborn bitch? She’d been whipped? Surely Janto had heard wrong or misunderstood. They could not be talking about an imperial princess. They were speaking softly, and he could have missed something. Maybe they were talking about a hunting dog, or a horse.

Or maybe they weren’t. What in the Sage’s name had been going on here while he’d been hiding away, mourning his parents and his conquered land?

“He’s going about it all wrong,” said the officer.

“’Course he is,” said Augustan. “She’s thoroughly spoiled. Forget the wedding—just sign the marriage papers and throw her into my cabin on the Meritorious. I’ll make a wife of her. I’ll have her on her knees on the quarterdeck before the voyage is over, sucking my cock and thanking me for the privilege.”

Janto stiffened. He didn’t know how he would do it, but somehow he was going to kill that man. His fingers twitched, wanting to wrap themselves around Augustan’s neck and crush it.

Yes, muttered Sashi darkly, picking up his thoughts. Kill.

Later, said Janto, coming to his senses. That man was a war mage, blessed with preternatural speed and strength, as well as the gift of anticipation, which allowed him to sense blows before they landed. His combat skills would be formidable, to say the least. Right now, I need to buy Rhianne some time.

Augustan and the other officer launched into a comparison of their sexual exploits, some of which had involved captured Mosari women. Janto listened with half an ear, not wanting to get too angry and lose his composure. Finally one of the door guards came and nodded at Augustan. “He wants to see you first.”

Augustan rose. “Any word on the princess?”

“You’ll have to ask him yourself.” The guard led him to the door, and Janto followed.

“Come in. Don’t stand on the doorstep,” called Florian from inside.

Augustan stepped into Florian’s office. Janto, invisible at his side, crossed the threshold with him.

Fireworks crackled and spat as fingers of red and blue lightning raced along the door frame. Shouts erupted, and Legaciatti raced into the room. Two of them backed Emperor Florian into a corner, shielding him with their bodies. Another shut the door, while others tackled Augustan and wrenched his arms behind his back. The legatus cried out in confusion and anger. He could have fought them—he was a war mage—but he seemed to have the wit not to resist.

Janto picked his way around the Legaciatti toward Florian’s desk.

“It was a faulty ward!” Augustan lifted his head from the floor, but the guards shoved it back down. Two men sat on him while a third fastened manacles onto his arms and legs. “A faulty ward! I am your faithful subject, Emperor, I swear it!”

Two of the Legaciatti got up and searched the room, yanking back chairs and tables. One of them came straight at Janto. Janto backed away and out of his path. When another guard cut him off from the other direction, he scrambled invisibly onto a table. The guard yanked a chair out from beneath it. Janto slid across to the other side and jumped down.

The men completed their search. Silence fell, broken only by the sound of Augustan’s harsh breathing. A Legaciattus approached the emperor and his bodyguards and saluted with a thumb to his chest. “The room is secure, sire.” The bodyguards stepped away.

“What in the Soldier’s hell?” growled Florian, emerging from his corner and heading toward Augustan.

Janto reached Florian’s desk. Though all eyes were on Augustan, he threw his shroud over the papers lying on the table, just in case someone glanced in his direction, and gathered them into his arms. He’d hoped to slide open the desk drawers and steal their contents as well, but that seemed too risky.

“Shall we take his riftstone, sire?” asked a Legaciattus.

“Yes,” said Florian. “Take it to the Epolonius Room. Send for a warder and a mind mage.”

The Legaciatti rolled Augustan onto his back. One of them reached into his syrtos and retrieved the riftstone on its chain. They lifted him up and placed him in a chair, where he sat hunched forward to accommodate his manacled wrists. The Legaciattus carrying away the riftstone left the door open, granting Janto a welcome escape route. He edged toward it, hoping to get out before someone cast a new ward.

“Sire,” began a pale and trembling Augustan, “I welcome your truth spell and the opportunity to prove my innocence. This is a mistake. The ward must have been incorrectly cast.”

Florian frowned. “Silence. We’ll have this sorted out soon enough.”

Janto slipped out the open door with one last glance at Augustan. Enjoy your interrogation.

* * *

Janto tucked himself into an alcove, behind a statue of a Kjallan warrior, to peruse his stolen bounty. His time in the palace was limited now. Once truth spells established Augustan’s innocence and Florian discovered the papers on his desk were missing, he might conclude, correctly, that an invisible spy was operating in the palace. Then the invisibility wards would go up. Janto had been reckless, but it had been worth it to see Augustan humiliated, and who knew? Maybe he would find something of value.

He looked at the first paper on the stack. Emperor Florian Nigellus Gavros commands your presence on the Fifth Day of the Sage for the Marriage Ceremony of Imperial Princess Rhianne Florian Nigellus to Legatus Augustan Ceres. . . .

Three gods. Had he picked up a stack of wedding invitations?

He paged through them. Invitation, invitation, invitation. Yes. A stack of completely useless wedding invitations, which had apparently been left on Florian’s desk because they needed his signature at the bottom. Wonderful.

Wait—here was something else. A requisitions order from the palaestra. Training equipment. Not very interesting, but it was another document requiring the emperor’s signature. He hadn’t stolen a stack of wedding invitations. He’d stolen a stack of documents needing signatures.

What else? Execution orders, two of them, for prisoners currently held beneath the palace. No details in the paperwork about their crimes. Janto shivered and paged farther through the stack.

Here was something.

Captain, Skylark.

By imperial command, you are required to proceed through the Neruna Strait and seize control of the harbor at Sarpol. Once the harbor is secured, you will place yourself under the command of Legatus Ahala Philippus and await further instructions.

Official orders for the Skylark, and juicy ones at that. What was the emperor up to? Sarpol was the westernmost port of Sardos. Was Florian really going to attack Sardos right after conquering Mosar? It boggled the mind. If Ral-Vaddis had known of this plan a while ago, this might be the intelligence he’d believed would turn the war. If Sardos, knowing a Kjallan attack was imminent, could have been persuaded to join the fight while Mosar still stood, the two nations together might have defeated the aggressors. That opportunity might be lost now, but not necessarily. Kal-Torres still had a fleet.

Janto flipped through the remaining papers and found identical orders for the captains of the Faithful and the Seabird. Just three ships for attacking Sardos? That wouldn’t be enough. There was something missing, something he didn’t understand yet. Perhaps the action in Sarpol was a feint. Or perhaps the orders for other ships involved had already been signed and delivered. He