39
While Janto supervised from the palace, his ships in the harbor were loading, bringing on board soldiers and freed slaves, and filling their holds with provisions. His withdrawal from Kjall was, in effect, a controlled retreat. The final hours would be the most dangerous, with his occupying force at its smallest.
The amethyst riftstone was warm in Janto’s hand as he approached Rhianne’s door. He addressed the guards. “Brocah, Tassio, you’re dismissed. Report on board the
Grins split the guards’ faces as they saluted and left.
Janto opened the door right into Rhianne, who’d been waiting just on the other side. Her hungry eyes sought the riftstone in his hand. No doubt she’d sensed its approach—indeed, her mind magic should already be restored by its proximity.
She looked up at him expectantly. “May I have it?”
He dropped the precious object into her hand. “I’m returning it to you.” He bowed slightly. “You’re free to go.”
She clutched her riftstone to her chest and watched the retreating forms of Brocah and Tassio. “No more guards?”
Janto nodded. “No guards. Tomorrow my people sail for Mosar.”
A line appeared in the middle of her forehead. “You too?”
“Yes, I’m going too.” Was that regret he saw on her face? He waited to see if she would say something more. When the silence became uncomfortable, he cleared his throat. “I have a question for you.”
She nodded, looking a little anxious.
“May we take Whiskers back to Mosar?”
“Whiskers?” Her eyebrows rose. Apparently it wasn’t the question she’d been expecting.
“Yes, the brindlecat. I know you’re fond of her, but she’s dangerous if left loose, and it’s unkind to keep her in a cage. We have better facilities for her on Mosar.”
Rhianne lowered her eyes. “You’re right. Please take her back to Mosar. May I say good-bye to her first?”
“Of course. I’ll send word to my men.” Once more, he waited for her to say something further, but again he was disappointed. “Do you remember this?” He pulled out the jeweled bronze alligator she’d sent with him when he’d been exiled to Dori.
“Oh!” She clasped her hands. “You still have it.”
“He’s been through a lot,” said Janto. “An attempted theft, an attack at sea, the invasion here in Kjall. But I’ve held on to him. I wanted to give you the opportunity to take him back, if you feel that . . . Well, I know I lied about who I was, so if you feel the gift was given under false pretenses, here he is.” He held out the alligator on the palm on his hand.
She looked hurt. “You don’t want him?”
“I do. I just don’t want you to resent having given him to me.”
“Keep him,” she said firmly.
He pocketed the trinket and smiled. “I only wish I had something to give you. I hope to return several years hence for a diplomatic visit. I’ll bring something then—I promise.”
“You’ll be away several years?” She sounded wistful.
He nodded. “The damage to my country is severe. We have much rebuilding ahead of us, and my earliest diplomatic visits will be to Inya, our ally and most important partner in trade.”
“Oh.” Her eyes were downcast.
One last time, Janto waited for her to say more, but she was silent. “I suppose there’s one thing I can give you, before I go. Would you like a Mosari blessing?”
She nodded shyly.
He held up three fingers. “Blessings of the Three.” He lifted his hand to her forehead, hovering so she could pull away if his touch repulsed her. But she leaned forward. He drew his fingers down her forehead. “Soldier, Sage, and Vagabond.”
When she did not respond, he turned and swept out, retreating down the corridor. He felt her eyes on his back the entire way.
There wasn’t enough space on the Mosari ships to load everything they wanted to take. Since he couldn’t leave behind any of the human cargo, Janto had to choose between essential supplies like food and plundered Mosari treasures.
Jewelry and small pieces of artwork were no trouble, and he was also carrying back some rather grisly cargo: the heads of the former king and queen, for proper burial. But was it worth hauling back a marble statue when his people on Mosar might be starving for lack of provisions? Weren’t his people’s lives worth more than treasure?
While Sashi hunted rats, Janto walked among the collected Mosari artifacts on a cordoned-off area of the dock. A senior officer had already tagged the pieces, designating them either to be taken or left behind, depending on their quality, value, and size. Janto was looking over the rejected items in case he wanted to override any of those decisions. Those left behind would be stored for Mosar to retrieve later, but who knew for sure whether Lucien would ultimately return them?
Kal-Torres, returning by boat from a visit to the
Janto smiled. “I got a few swats for that myself.”
Kal examined its tag. “We’re leaving it behind?”
Janto shrugged. “It’s too big. We need the space for food. When we get home, we’ll commission a new one.”
“It won’t be the same. How much food do we need?”
“I have no idea. If the stores on Mosar are truly depleted, we’ll need far more than we could ever cram on board.”
Kal frowned. “We shouldn’t be taking the Riorcans.”
“I promised they’d have a home with us.” Admiral Durgan had relented and accepted his offer of asylum on Mosar. “Besides, they have their own ships and can carry their own food.”
“They’ll be trouble. Durgan tried to sabotage the negotiations.”
“His interests weren’t being taken seriously. People make trouble when they’re not treated fairly,” said Janto. “I think we should see what happens when we treat them right. We’ve got entire villages that were wiped out and need repopulating, and these people need a place to live. If they can adapt to the Mosari heat and our storm season, this could work out well.”
“The Riorcans don’t like us. They don’t know our ways, and they don’t even want to be there,” said Kal. “It’s going to be another disaster—Silverside all over again.
Janto balled his hands into fists. “Don’t bring Rhianne into this.”
“She’s the best match you could possibly have made for Mosar. You couldn’t bring yourself to face a few tears in the marriage bed, for the good of your country?”
“You’re out of line, Fleet Commander,” Janto snapped. “See to your ships.”
When Janto arrived at his room in the Kjallan palace, he was tired and out of sorts. “No visitors,” he growled to the door guard.
San-Kullen, his bodyguard, awaited orders.
Janto dismissed him with a wave. “Go to bed. Get some rest.”
“Yes, sire. I was wondering—shall I send you up a woman? I think it would do you good.”
Janto blinked. “San-Kullen, can you of all people have forgotten my orders regarding the Kjallan women?”
