Spy's Honor

“What a ridiculous accusation!”

“I don’t think so,” said Augustan. “That Mosari man was flesh and blood—several sources have confirmed to me that they saw him. But if you check the records, he doesn’t exist. No references to him whatsoever. There’s been a cover-up, and I have a feeling you were at the center of it.”

She could throw his own misdeeds back at him—the war crimes he’d committed, the people he’d enslaved, the lives he’d taken. What good was loyalty to emperor and country when loyalty led him to do such things? Could he really shame her, when all she’d done was save a man’s life?

But she would say nothing. She was supposed to marry this man, and it was no good fighting with him.

“Don’t think I don’t know what my place is in all this,” said Augustan bitterly. “I thought when Florian offered me his niece, he was presenting me with a reward for my faithful service in Mosar. How naive! You are no prize. You’re the bad seed, Rhianne. The family member he needs to send as far away from the palace as he can. And my job in the battalion, before I became a legatus, was to reform the troublemakers.

“Well, I’ll do it,” he said resolutely. “The emperor wants my service, and he’ll have it. I’ll reform his problem niece on the distant island of Mosar. And I don’t expect you to appreciate it, though it’s for your own good. But let’s not bother with the small talk.”

* * *

The Sparrowhawk slipped upwind toward Kjall in darkness. Janto climbed the ratlines to the masthead and settled in the crosstrees. Sashi leapt from his shoulder and scampered into the rigging, chirruping with pleasure; he was fond of heights. Janto shook the rainwater off his boat cloak, pulled out a spyglass, and studied the Kjallan harbor. Up in the tops, the natural motion of the ship was magnified, sending him around in great, nausea-inducing circles. Good thing he’d skipped dinner.

Kal came up, hooked an arm through the shrouds, and settled next to him. “You can go higher for a better view.”

Janto glanced at the topmast above him and shuddered. Heights didn’t bother him, but up there the motion would be even more exaggerated. “I can see well enough. Ugly night,” he added.

Kal shrugged. “It’s barely blowing. And the rain covers our wake.”

Janto nodded. They’d left the rest of the fleet behind in order to scout the Kjallan harbor. He’d had to shroud the entire ship, something he’d never done before. It wasn’t hard, but there was a dilemma—whether to shroud the part of the hull that lay below the waterline. If he did shroud it, he left a giant ship-shaped gap in the water. If he didn’t shroud it, he left the bottom of the ship visible at the waterline. Either way, an enemy eye could spot the anomaly. Thus they’d chosen to scout at nighttime under cover of darkness. The rain was unplanned, but it helped. He raised the spyglass back to his eye.

“Well?” said Kal. “What’s the word?”

“The attack fleet has left. There are only three ships in the harbor.”

“Good,” said Kal. “No waiting, then. May I?”

Janto handed him the spyglass.

Kal stared through it. “Those are seventy-five-gun ships. They outclass ours. If we double up on them, it’ll be a fair fight, or it would be in open water. It’s going to depend on your taking that battery.” He pointed at the tower at the northwest entrance of the harbor.

“I’ll take it,” said Janto. “You can count on that.”

“I’d like to have the Riorcans with us, for extra firepower in case things go wrong.”

Janto shook his head. “No Riorcans in the initial assault. I don’t trust them to show restraint when fighting Kjallans.”

“Under the circumstances, I’m not sure we can trust our own men to do that.”

“If we cannot, Mosar is doomed.”

Kal pursed his lips. “As you command. No Riorcans.” He climbed down from the masthead. Moments later, signals flashed up in silent communication to the crew. Men raced to their positions, some scrambling past Janto toward the topsails. Sashi leapt back into Janto’s shirt for safety, and the ship began ponderously to turn downwind.

Janto raised the spyglass to his eye and peered closely at the lettering on the stern of each Kjallan ship anchored in the harbor. The Blue Rose, the Reliant, and—gods help him, there it was—the Meritorious. He lowered the spyglass, his stomach tightening with worry. Rhianne had not yet left for Mosar. It was good news, in a way. Her wedding to Augustan might not yet have taken place. But she would be at the palace when his men landed. She would be in the direct path of his invading force, and in the chaos of battle, nobody could control the path of every bullet or the arc of every sword swing.

30

Rain sluiced across the black seawater and spattered into the bottom of the boat as it rowed away from the Sparrowhawk. Despite diligent bailing, water had reached the level of Janto’s ankles and was seeping through his boots. Twenty-four men, handpicked for their skill at gunnery, pulled at the oars with muffled grunts of exertion, forgetting, as did most people inexperienced with shroud magic, that there was no need to be quiet. They pulled into the harbor, veered wide around the Meritorious and the Blue Rose, and headed for land.

Kill, Sashi muttered, his whiskers quivering with anticipation.

Janto’s stomach clenched at the grim reminder. He’d never liked war.

The boat ground to a halt against the gravel shore. Janto jumped out, landing knee deep in seawater, and splashed toward dry land. He wobbled on his legs; the solid ground felt funny after so long at sea. The two brindlecats that partnered his war mages leapt gracefully from the bow. Several of the men grabbed the boat by its tow rope and dragged it ashore.

“Sire, shall we leave someone with the boat?” asked a young man with stubble on his chin.

Janto struggled to remember his name. “Palo, isn’t it?”

The man’s eyes lit. “Yes, sire.”

“We’ll not leave anyone behind, Palo. We’re not going back. We’re here to stay.” Indeed, if they failed here, escape would be impossible.

The men divided themselves into two prearranged squads, each headed by a war mage. Janto gestured toward the steep, craggy shore. “Let’s go.”

There was no path. They had to scramble up the rocks, gear and weapons jangling on their backs and belts. The tower loomed above them, the gleaming barrels of its cannons peeking out from gaps in the walls. Lights glowed within.

Janto struggled up the final slope. As they reached the tower wall, one of the brindlecats growled a warning. Moments later, two men in the orange of Kjallan soldiers appeared around the corner.

Janto drew one of the three pistols he’d stuck in his belt and gestured to the war mage San-Kullen. “On three,” he said, and counted. He and San-Kullen fired simultaneously, dropping both Kjallans. Sashi chittered in triumph. Janto extended his shroud over the dying men to muffle any sound.

It was possible the tower had been alerted, but not likely. The shroud muffled the sounds of the pistol shots, but not the initial cries of the men. It was a tricky business, knowing just when to extend his shroud to include the enemies. Too early, and the enemies would see him. Too late, and their cries would be heard. He examined the enemy soldiers to make sure they were dead, then shoved the spent pistol back in his belt and drew another. “Come on.”

They jogged around the tower to the front gate. Two more guards stood there. Janto’s men shot them and entered the tower.

Inside was a large spiral staircase. Sashi leapt off Janto’s shoulder and raced into the hallway beyond. First door on the left, sleeping quarters, he rattled off. A dozen men in their beds. Second door, five men playing dice. First door on the right, kitchen, two occupants.