Spy's Honor

constructed a mental map of the place—where the furniture was, and anything else he might trip over—and made a tentative lunge at Augustan.

Augustan parried the blade with a laugh. “Slow. Terribly slow.”

Janto circled around to the side and tried again.

Augustan, turning to orient on him, batted away the invisible blade as easily as swatting a gnat.

The opening sallies had told Janto enough. War mages nearly always outclassed him; he’d sparred with enough of them to know. Besides always knowing where the blows were coming from, they possessed preternatural strength and speed. Still, some war mages harnessed the magic better than others, and some were lazy in training. Janto could occasionally defeat a weak, inexperienced war mage, but never one at his peak. He had an idea now which category Augustan was in.

Augustan came at him so fast he was a blur. Janto whipped up his sword to intercept. Steel clashed inches from his neck, although Janto knew Augustan couldn’t see how close he’d come to cutting him. He sucked in a breath of air, and Augustan’s blade came at him again. He leapt back and parried, only to see steel lashing toward his chest. He swung his sword as fast as he could, beating off the attacks. He lost ground with every exchange. He unshrouded and shrouded himself, flashing in and out of visibility. It was the only technique he’d ever found that worked against a war mage, just because it was so disorienting to them.

Augustan hesitated, his timing thrown off by the flashing. Janto slipped in his blade and grazed Augustan’s wrist, leaving behind a thin line of blood.

“Gods curse you,” growled Augustan. He leapt forward.

The attacks came so fast Janto could barely see the flying blade; he backed away rapidly, stepping over a table, stumbling over the back of a settee, flashing visible and invisible. Augustan was adapting to the flashing. Janto knew beyond a doubt he could not win this fight. He lowered his weapon, removing the threat so Augustan could no longer sense him, and fled, invisible, to the other side of the room.

Augustan looked around, perplexed. “Have I beaten you so quickly? Did you run away? Or have I struck you down?” He turned to the still-closed suite doors. “You’re still here, somewhere. You take a breather, then. I’ll finish killing the traitor.” He strode toward the bedroom.

No! Janto flung a shroud over Rhianne, who still lay gasping on her bed. But the shroud wouldn’t stop Augustan—not for long. He would find her. And she was in no condition to run.

“Stop!” he cried, unshrouding himself. “I’ll fight you.”

Augustan turned back, grinning. He raised his sword and lunged at Janto.

Janto parried the furious attacks, again flashing in and out of visibility. His arm burned with fatigue. Augustan’s sword strokes were not only fast but powerful. It took all of Janto’s strength to block them, yet Augustan did not seem to be expending much effort.

Then Augustan’s left arm drew back and flung something. A glass bowl struck Janto, shattering on impact. He drew in a sharp breath, choked, and coughed violently. The air was full of smoke. No—face powder.

“Now you can’t hide!” Augustan’s furious sword swings backed Janto into a corner. The war mage smiled. He knew he’d won. Janto glanced at the bedroom door. Maybe Rhianne was too far gone. Maybe she would not recover.

Kill!

Augustan shouted in pain and twisted away from Janto. Sashi clung to his leg, hanging on by his teeth.

Janto leapt out of his corner and lunged, powder flying off him in clouds. When it wore off, his shroud would be effective again. Augustan knocked his blade aside distractedly, then grabbed the invisible ferret, yanked its teeth out of his flesh, and flung the creature against the wall. Sashi screamed.

Janto checked the link. The ferret was injured but alive. Seeing a gap in Augustan’s defenses, he swung his blade. Augustan blocked him and counterattacked furiously, stabbing at Janto’s heart. Janto flung himself to one side.

The blade caught him in the shoulder. He cried out, nearly dropping his sword. Blood welled from the wound. Distracted by the pain, he lost his shroud, and Rhianne’s.

Augustan advanced. “Shall I kill you slowly or quickly? Or perhaps I should finish Rhianne first.” He began to smile. Then his eyes widened in alarm, and he flung himself to the side. A pistol cracked.

Rhianne stood in the bedroom doorway, holding the weapon in both hands. Janto recognized it as the one he’d dropped—she must have reloaded it. Smoke rose from the barrel.

Augustan chuckled as he rose to his feet, unharmed.

“Rhianne!” Janto cried. “Run! You can’t save me. Just go!”

She hesitated.

Damn her. What was the sense in both of them dying? He tried another tack. “Go to the Mosari army—give them the name Jan-Torres, and they will not harm you. Have them send help!”

She glanced at the door but didn’t move. He couldn’t fool her; she knew any help would arrive too late.

“Go!” he cried in desperation.

Her eyes lit as if with a sudden realization, and she disappeared into the bedroom again.

Augustan swung his sword lazily, toying with Janto as he backed him into a corner. “That’s the trouble with women,” he drawled. “Too foolish to take orders, even when it’s for their own good.” He pointed his blade at Janto’s heart.

Janto raised his own sword. His arm shook with fatigue. He didn’t have the strength to resist the death blow. His eyes went to the bedroom door. Why wouldn’t she run? She couldn’t save him, but he could have saved her.

He heard the clank and grate of an iron door opening, and a furious snarling that made his hair stand on end.

Whiskers?

A brown and black streak flew out the bedroom door and tore across the room. Augustan hesitated, half turning to face the new threat. Janto used the last of his strength to fling a shroud over himself, leaving only Augustan visible. He thrust his blade at Augustan, forcing the man to engage his war magic and dodge the blow.

Whiskers slammed into Augustan, knocking him to the floor. Augustan screamed, and the brindlecat tore out his throat.

* * *

Janto hurried through the hallways of the Imperial Palace, clutching Rhianne’s hand, cocking his head to listen for shouts and gunshots. The battle was getting closer. He heard a voice he thought he recognized and turned into a side hallway.

The hallways were as deserted as the city streets had been before. Nearly all the doors were shut. Probably locked too, as those not equipped to fight hid themselves as best they could.

From within his shirt, Sashi made a sad mewling noise.

I’ll get you help soon, Janto told him. The poor creature had a broken leg. He’d wrapped it as best he could, and Rhianne had wrapped his bleeding shoulder. They’d tried to coax Whiskers back into her cage, but she had ignored them utterly, consuming her kill. In the end, they’d had no choice but to leave her there; they certainly didn’t want to become her next dinner. Janto wrote a note in multiple languages and pinned it to the door, explaining to his soldiers what was inside so they didn’t burst in on a wild, battle-crazed brindlecat.

“You’re bleeding through the bandage,” panted Rhianne. Her voice was hoarse, and she was having trouble breathing. “Look at the floor.”

Janto slowed to look, and grimaced. He was leaving a trail of blood.

She squeezed his hand. “You need a Healer.”

“We’ll find one.” His eyes lingered on her. The red marks on her throat were going to develop into some truly spectacular bruises if they weren’t dealt with soon.

She rubbed her neck, as if in response to his scrutiny. “Janto, you’ve got to speak to your commander. This attack on Kjall is beyond foolish. It can accomplish nothing and will only bring about a brutal retaliation. What are your people after? It is just vengeance?”

“Not vengeance.” He turned away, frowning. She didn’t know he was in charge. Of course she didn’t. He’d been so careful not to tell her who he was.