Spy's Honor

my wife!”

“Mercy, sire,” cried the second. “We made a mistake. We will not do it again!”

Janto tried to tune out their pleas. He couldn’t afford to relent.

“Jan—,” began Kal-Torres in a tone of protest.

Janto rounded on his brother and snapped, “If I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it.” He turned to the prisoners. “I’m assuming the person you assaulted wasn’t the Kjallan who killed your wife; therefore I fail to see how this is justice. You had strict, specific orders, and you disobeyed them. You knew in advance that the sentence for doing so would be death.” He turned to the bosun’s mate. “Tell Kel-Charan.”

The bosun’s mate nodded, ashen faced, while the condemned men wailed.

“Come on,” snarled Janto to his entourage, and they swept off down the hallway.

For several minutes, nobody dared to speak. Then Kal put a hand on his shoulder. “Jan—”

Janto whirled on him. “Are you going to question my every decision?”

“You have no idea the kind of pressure these men are under—”

“I know exactly what kind of pressure they’re under.” He pointed in the direction of the chamber where Lucien was being held. “Over there sits a young man who has the power to destroy us. As we speak here in this hallway, he dreams of vengeance, and every crime we commit against his people brings that dream closer to his heart. Do you think I want to sacrifice everything we’ve achieved so that those two men can satisfy their lust? Should I give up the whole country for that?”

Kal-Torres blinked at him. “I just think that under the circumstances, a death sentence seems excessive —”

“I know it’s excessive. I’m setting an example! The men will hear of this, and they’ll know I mean what I say. Kal, if I’m lenient on this first incident, we’ll have another dozen by tomorrow morning.”

“Brother—” Kal glanced around at their escort. San-Kullen, Mor-Nassen, and the guards were staring at them, stunned. “May I speak with you privately?”

Janto growled assent. He signaled the escort to stay put and walked with Kal down the hallway.

Kal rounded on him. “Whose side are you on, ours or theirs? You’re sounding like a Kjallan sympathizer.”

Janto rolled his eyes. “Kal, we’re going to have to negotiate with these people, and that means not only delivering them a few humiliating military losses to force them to take us seriously, but finding common ground with them and demonstrating that our intentions are to establish peace.”

“Common ground? They attacked us.”

“I know that. The Kjallans’ thinking must change, and for that to happen, we must set the example. As to whose side I’m on, I’m on the side of peace and prosperity for Mosar. Are we done here?”

Kal looked away. “I suppose we must be.”

Janto beckoned to San-Kullen and the escort.

As they approached, Kal gave him an odd look. “You’ve changed, Brother.”

“War does that to a man.”

They left the palace and set out on the long walk to the slave house that Janto knew so well. As they traveled, Kal enumerated the details of the fleet’s status—damage to the ships, casualties, stores of gunpowder and spars and sailcloth. His report was thorough, but his tone was flat. He was clearly still angry.

When they arrived, the slave house was in chaos, but it seemed a happy chaos. The room was more crowded than ever, containing now both men and women. Apparently the two houses had mixed. Janto spied a few couples exchanging kisses in the back of the room, and one pair who’d gone considerably beyond that. The others were talking animatedly in mixed-gender groups. Many of the men were missing—the presence of the women had fooled him into thinking everyone was present. Perhaps some of the slaves had been in the palace when the fighting began. They might have surrendered to the Mosari troops and had their death spells removed. Others might have been killed.

Conversation ceased as he and his entourage marched in the door. The slaves took in his soldier’s uniform and makeshift carcanet, as well as the uniforms of the men who surrounded him, and stared expectantly. Not one of them seemed to fully recognize him, though a few of the women cocked their heads as if trying to figure out where they’d seen him before.

“Attention,” called San-Kullen. “Jan-Torres, king of Mosar, wishes to speak.”

Janto stepped forward. “Where are Iolo and Sirali?”

“Here, sire.” Iolo shuffled out from within a crowd of men. He seemed uncertain what to do with himself— approach, bow, or ask the questions that lay heavy on his mind. Sirali, across the room, stepped out from a group of people and just stared.

“Well, come up here, both of you!” cried Janto.

Iolo and Sirali walked to the front of the room, their eyes on San-Kullen’s brindlecat. Iolo started to kneel, but Janto seized him about the shoulders and pulled him into a hug.

“I’m glad I found you.” He released Iolo and embraced Sirali, who submitted somewhat stiffly to the attention. “Stand here by my side.” He raised his voice to address the crowd. “As of this day, you are free men and women, Riorcans and Mosari and Kjallans alike.”

A great cheer went up from the slaves.

“I have brought a Healer to remove your death spells.” Janto indicated Mor-Nassen, who stepped up beside him. “Line up, please, behind Iolo and Sirali.”

The slaves scrambled into a line.

“When your spells are removed, you may accompany us to the palace, where we have food and drink for you, and a safe place to berth. Now, there is more fighting to come, and we need every soldier we can get. Those of you who are able-bodied and willing shall be armed and assigned to a commander. If we succeed in the upcoming battle, ships will be available to return us all to our homelands.”

The slaves cheered again.

Janto stepped aside to let Mor-Nassen do his work. Iolo and Sirali rejoined him after their death spells had been removed.

“Stay with me,” he told them. “I want the two of you by my side, now and for always. When we return to Mosar, you’ll be among my advisers in the palace, if that suits you.”

San-Kullen edged toward him. “Where’s the man you wanted me to arrest?”

“I haven’t seen him yet.” He turned to Iolo and Sirali. “Where’s Micah?”

“No sign of him in a while,” said Iolo.

“Right, and I know where he is,” said Sirali. “I had nothing to do with it.”

Janto and San-Kullen exchanged a look. “Nothing to do with what?” said Janto.

“Right, and you’ll see.” Sirali headed for the door. Janto followed her, accompanied by Kal-Torres, San- Kullen, and Iolo.

Sirali led them a short way into the forest, past the well. She paused at a clearing. “There.”

Janto looked into the clearing. A shape lay on the ground. He advanced tentatively. Sashi wrinkled his nose. It was Micah’s very dead, very mutilated body.

34

Janto stood outside Lucien’s door, steeling himself for the encounter to come. The young heir was clever and would be more slippery to deal with than his father. Furthermore, this conversation actually mattered. Florian would never rule Kjall again, but Lucien might. Janto had some negotiating power now, and he would have still more if his forces managed to destroy the returning Kjallan fleet. He just had to convince Lucien that it was in Kjall’s best interest to withdraw from Mosar.

“Shall I come in with you?” asked San-Kullen.

“No, wait outside,” said Janto. “He’s not going to attack me.”

The guards opened the door and admitted him.