Spy's Honor

Lucien sat on a couch inside, his posture relaxed, his crutch leaning next to him. “Not a mere spy after all,” he said, “but the king of Mosar. And poor Rhianne thoroughly taken in.”

“It was never my intent to take advantage of her,” said Janto. “Only to save my country by any means necessary.”

Lucien narrowed his eyes. “If you think you’ve accomplished that, you are mistaken. How is it we missed your familiar?”

“He was hiding in the hypocaust.”

“Ah.”

Kjallans are fools, said Sashi from his shoulder.

Not exactly. “You underestimate them,” he said to Lucien. “You Kjallans who’ve never known animal familiars. They’re intelligent, like people.”

“My father’s mistress says that about her lapdog.”

Janto felt his ferret’s indignance through the link. He took a seat. “There is not the remotest similarity. Lucien Florian Nigellus, you are now the emperor of Kjall. Allow me to be the first to congratulate you.” He held out the jeweled loros he’d taken from Florian.

Lucien’s face went ashen. He accepted the garment with a trembling hand.

“I don’t mean to shock you,” Janto added. “Your father is alive. I am removing him from power until our council passes judgment on him.”

“I see.” Lucien gathered the loros into his lap, visibly relaxing. “Your arrogance, King Jan-Torres, can hardly be believed. The Kjallan fleet will be here in a matter of days, and our ground troops will arrive not long after. No matter what you do to me or Florian or anyone else in the meantime, my people will overwhelm you. Every last one of you will be staked. As punishment for this rebellion, Kjall will decimate the vassal state of Mosar. Do you know what that means?”

“It’s not going to happen.”

“One in every ten Mosari will be selected by lot and staked. That will be your legacy, Jan-Torres of Mosar. The suffering and death of thousands.”

Janto swallowed, unnerved by the threat, which was marginally credible, but determined Lucien should not see weakness. “I do not fear the return of the fleet, Your Imperial Majesty.”

Lucien leaned back, folding his arms. “We have thirty ships to your half dozen.”

“An exaggeration. You have twenty-three ships. And I have the shore batteries.” They were heaps of stone, completely destroyed, but he had them.

“With our numbers, it won’t matter.”

“I also think the return of the fleet will be cold comfort for you, young emperor, if you are dead before they arrive.”

“Ah,” said Lucien. “Here we come to the crux of it. You mean to kill me if I don’t cooperate with your demands. What could those demands be?”

Janto smiled inwardly. Lucien was smart but inexperienced. His eagerness belied his attempt at nonchalance. Beneath that facade, he was afraid, and he wanted very much to strike a deal. “I imagine there are many Kjallan noblemen who’d be happy to rule this country in your stead.”

Lucien snorted laughter. “They could not hold on to it! Every weak Kjallan emperor for the last three centuries has been deposed. That’s what would happen to me if I gave in to your demands. What were they again? I only ask for the potential amusement value.”

“Everything changes if your fleet loses the battle,” said Janto. “Here are my demands. First, your troops must leave Mosar, now and forever. You will have no further claim on my nation. Second, we will establish trade agreements to foster peace between our countries. Third, if she consents, I would like to marry your cousin.”

Lucien leaned forward, lowering his brows. “If you touch Rhianne, I will kill you.”

“An empty threat if I ever heard one, prisoner. I don’t need your consent. Only hers.”

He sniffed and leaned back on the couch. “You are not marrying anybody. You will be dead within a week. Your demands are as ridiculous as I thought they’d be. Give up Mosar? Be serious. Here are my terms. You and your men will give up the palace and any other structures you occupy, return to your ships, and sail away. I cannot promise that there will be no punishment for Mosar for the crime of this invasion, but you will be treated as a vassal state and hence your people will have some value to us as slaves. Surely the lives of your countrymen mean something to you.”

“I am not at all tempted by your offer.”

Lucien’s eyes narrowed. “When the fleet arrives, you will wish you had accepted it.”

Janto shook his head. “No. I think we are done here.” He rose to leave.

“King Jan-Torres,” called Lucien. “The Sardossians loaned you ground troops. Did they loan you ships as well?”

“I cannot discuss such details with you.” Turning his back, Janto headed for the door.

“Are you holding them in reserve? How many ships?”

As he opened the door, Janto turned and smiled at Lucien. He had as many ships as he was going to need if he and Kal-Torres pulled off the plan they’d worked out. “Good day, Your Imperial Majesty.”

* * *

Rhianne had requested from the guard, and been granted, a list of known casualties of the invasion. The list was frighteningly long, but after reading through it, she’d realized it was long in part because it included the Mosari and Sardossians as well as the Kjallans. There were a lot of names she didn’t recognize. But she recognized enough, and they shattered her. None of these people would be dead if not for her treachery.

She’d tried repeatedly to get an update on how Morgan was doing, but her guard didn’t know who Morgan was and did not attempt to locate him for her.

When her door opened and King Jan-Torres strode in, her heart surged with both hope and trepidation. She was not at all eager to hear his self-serving justifications as to why he’d betrayed her to save his own people. But he was in charge around here, at least until the Kjallan reinforcements arrived. He had information, and what he didn’t know off the top of his head, he could find out.

“Princess.” Jan-Torres lowered his arm, letting his ferret scamper down to the floor. He moved about the room, taking in the furnishings and general surroundings, his eye lingering on the food tray that had been delivered an hour ago. Too grieved to eat, she’d barely touched it. The suite his guards had imprisoned her in, one of the palace guest rooms, was smaller than her own, with two rooms instead of three. Jan-Torres, who’d walked past her to peer into the bedroom, spoke again. “Have you been well treated?”

She twisted to glare at his back from her settee. “I am a prisoner.”

“Are the guards kind and respectful? Have they brought you the things you need?”

“I have no complaints about the guards, save that they do not answer all my questions.”

He turned and faced her. “I want to thank you again for setting the brindlecat on Augustan. I’m sure you saved my life.”

“You saved mine by showing up in the first place.” Her hand strayed to her neck. “On that score, I call us even.”

He strode back and took a seat across from her. He looked so little like the Janto she’d known in the Imperial Garden and at the bridge. He’d exchanged his bland, nondescript syrtos for a colorful Mosari tunic and a gaudy three-banded necklace of gold. But it was more than that—he stood prouder and straighter. Taller, even. He looked more commanding, more kingly.

She frowned. Some women would be impressed by that. Rhianne had seen any number of women fling themselves at powerful men like Florian and Lucien. Power was said to be an aphrodisiac, but Rhianne had spent nearly twenty years enslaved to Florian’s tyranny. If the lure of power had ever been a temptation for her, Florian had long ago stamped out any such inclination. Let other women chase princes and kings and war leaders; the only aphrodisiac she wished for was kindness.

Jan-Torres settled himself on the couch. His ferret, which had been sniffing about the room, came running and leapt into his lap. Jan-Torres idly stroked the animal. “I want you to know that both Florian and Lucien are safe and unharmed. Your younger cousin as well, eight-year-old Celeste.”

“For now. Do you intend to execute them?”

“I didn’t come here to execute people. I came to save my country.”