Spy's Honor (27 page)

Jan-Torres's eyes narrowed. “Who is that man and how do you know him?”

“First tell me if he lives!” Rhianne protested.

“I'll send a runner to find out.” Jan-Torres rose and went to the door. He conferred with someone and returned to his seat. “We'll have word shortly. How do you know him? He fired on my soldiers in the city of Riat—nearly killed someone.”

“Please forgive him; he was drunk. Morgan is former Legaciatti, forced into early retirement when a Riorcan assassin wounded and disabled him. Florian denied him his pension for failing to kill the assassin. And those pensions are supposed to be guaranteed.”

“Your uncle is a sapskull,” said Jan-Torres, “if you'll pardon my saying so. If Morgan is disabled and without a pension, how does he support himself?”

“I supply the pension,” said Rhianne. “Lucien and I have been privately pooling our funds, and I've been delivering them by sneaking out through the hypocaust.”

Jan-Torres's gaze softened. “I should stop marveling at how many acts of kindness I stumble upon here that have your fingerprints on them.”

Rhianne looked down at her lap. His words warmed her heart, but they did not change the fact that this man was now her jailer. She had loved the gentle language scholar she'd met in the Imperial Garden, and she'd continued to love him when she'd learned he was a spy collecting information to aid his people. But now he was the king of Mosar and the commander of an invading army. She had loved Janto. She was not sure she could love Jan-Torres.

The door opened, and Jan-Torres went to speak to his runner. “Good news,” he called from the door. “Morgan survived the surgery. He's conscious but weak. It will take him some time to recover.”

Rhianne leapt to her feet. “Can he be brought here, to my rooms? I could care for him while his strength returns. It would give me something to do, and I wouldn't be so lonely.”

Jan-Torres's forehead wrinkled.

“Stop being jealous,” she scolded. “You've no right to be. And you know better than anyone that Morgan has never been my lover.”

He shifted uncomfortably. “I'll make the arrangements.”

T
he much-awaited message from the sentries arrived two days later: the Kjallan fleet had been sighted in the Neruna Strait. Janto's stomach knotted. Here was the moment of truth. Now he would find out whether the plans he'd set in motion would save his country or destroy it.

Signals flew wildly between the palace, the cliffs, and Kal's fleet in the harbor, as the Mosari and Sardossians made their final preparations.

Janto had commandeered the suite of a high-ranking Kjallan official as his personal quarters. It was on the third floor, with a large marble balcony overlooking the city and the harbor. From the balcony, he watched the mastheads of the Kjallan vanguard as the ships glided closer. “Rosso,” he called to his door guard. “Fetch Emperor Lucien.”

He'd made arrangements for some of the high-ranking Kjallan prisoners to watch the fleet action from balconies and windows in the palace. Seeing it in person would have a bigger impact on them than hearing about it secondhand.

The young emperor arrived on his crutch and false leg, escorted by six guards. Janto beckoned him onto the balcony; the guards waited outside.

Lucien limped toward him. “Now we find out if you were bluffing about that reserve fleet.”

“What reserve fleet?” Janto smiled and held out a bottle of Opimian Valley red. “Wine, Your Imperial Majesty?”

Lucien stared at the bottle. “You stole that from the imperial wine cellars.”

Janto popped the cork. “I compliment you on its quality. My men have been enjoying it very much.”

Lucien gave him a sour look.

Janto poured the dark vintage into twin crystal glasses and handed one to Lucien. “Your ships are forming up.”

The first seven ships had maneuvered themselves into a line and were sailing into the harbor single file, skirting the western edge of the harbor, moving into a position that would allow them to engage Kal's fleet.

“Wait,” said Lucien. “What happened to the shore batteries?”

Janto gazed at the sad heaps of crumbled stone. “We blew them up.”

“But why? You control them—they give you an advantage!”

“They were complicating things.”

Lucien's eyes narrowed. “You're up to something.”

Janto smiled.

As the first line of ships rounded the edge of the harbor, more ships entered, but in a haphazard fashion. They had seen that the batteries were destroyed, so the only threat to them was Kal's fleet. The first seven ships would engage Kal's fleet while the rest sailed in behind them and landed troops.

Kal's fleet, waiting deep within the harbor, looked small and pathetic.
Gods, Kal, I hope I haven't signed your death writ.
But Kal had positioned his ships well. He'd stationed them as close to the docks as possible, so that no enemy ships could slip around and attack him from the other side. It negated the Kjallans' advantage of numbers. The Kjallans would have to fight Kal's six ships with a roughly equal number of their own; there was no room to bring in more.

Lucien sipped his wine, holding his glass with one hand. With the other, he gripped the balcony railing, his knuckles whitening as the first of the seven ships reached Kal's fleet.

The first broadsides went off almost simultaneously, producing great flashes of light followed by a terrible roar. Wood exploded. Sails shuddered, riddled with holes, and a Mosari mast came down. The Kjallan ships sailed along the line of Mosari ships, firing as they went, until they'd lined up one-on-one against Kal's ships. The extra seventh ship tried, without much success, to place itself so it could rake the last Mosari ship's stern.

“Hold them, Kal,” Janto muttered. His own knuckles grew white on the railing.

Meanwhile, the rest of the Kjallan ships swarmed into the harbor and began dispatching boats full of ground troops. Janto had stationed his own troops, some mounted and some on foot, around the edge of the harbor to engage the enemy soldiers who landed. But most of them were former slaves, some of whom had only just learned how to fire a pistol. Their numbers were small, and the area they were covering immense. They could hold the Kjallans for a little while, but they could not stop a large-scale landing.

Kal's fleet was locked in a deadly melee with the Kjallans. Masts and spars tangled together; sails ripped and flew free. Cannons roared. From this distance, Janto could not tell who had the upper hand.

When does the battle start?
asked Sashi from his shoulder. His whiskers quivered with excitement.

Janto's eyebrows rose.
It's going on right this moment.

Oh. It's far away.
The ferret retreated, disappointed, into Janto's shirt.

The first wave of boats hit the shore, where ground troops engaged them. Still more boats were on the way. His forces would soon be overwhelmed.

Lucien smiled. “Where is that reserve fleet of yours?”

Janto indicated the point of the harbor, where mountains blocked his view of the sea. The bows of two ships glided into view.

Lucien inhaled sharply, then blew out his breath in relief as it became apparent they were Kjallan ships flying Kjallan flags. He squinted at them. “Those aren't enemies. Are they?”

Janto was silent. More ships appeared in their wake—Sardossian ships this time, but also flying Kjallan flags. The new arrivals looked for all the world like the Kjallan fleet returning from Rhaylet, with Sardossian prizes in tow. The ruse would not hold under close scrutiny—there were too many Sardossian ships compared to the number of Kjallan ones. But in the chaos of battle, it would take time for the Kjallan commanders to work that out, and that time would make all the difference.

Lucien turned to him with a pained expression. “It looks like our fleet from Rhaylet. But it's not.”

“No. More wine?” asked Janto.

Lucien wordlessly offered his glass.

By the time the Kjallans realized the new arrivals were not reinforcements but enemies, they were trapped in the harbor. They could not use their advantage of numbers and double up on the new ships in open water, but had to fight them one-on-one from the harbor, where they had no room to maneuver.

“We still have you outnumbered,” said Lucien.

Janto clenched his fists. “Come on, Kel-Charan.”

There it was: the signal. It flew over the palace in exultation, its purples and greens picked up and repeated from one side of the harbor to the other. Orange flashes lit up the eastern and western cliffs. The ships in the middle of the harbor tried chaotically to return fire.

“What did you do?” cried Lucien. “You took the cannons out of the shore batteries and lined them up along the cliffs?”

Janto nodded. “We had to lure your entire fleet into the harbor first. And the batteries were too-obvious a target.”

Soon, the inevitable outcome of the battle became clear. Boxed in by Kal's fleet on the north, the Sardossians and Riorcans on the south, and the cliffside cannons on the east and west, the Kjallans had no room to maneuver. Many of them couldn't fire off a clean shot without harming their own ships. One Kjallan ship struck its colors, and then another. Kal's ships and the cliffside cannons aimed their deadly fire at the boats attempting to land ground troops, sinking many. Janto's ground forces finished off those that made it to shore.

The young emperor stared numbly at the ruins of his fleet.

Janto signaled for the guards and pressed the wine bottle into Lucien's hands. “Retire now, and think on these events. Tomorrow, you and I and the fleet commanders will discuss the terms of our peace agreement.”

•   •   •

Rhianne's door opened, and a pair of guards entered. They carried a makeshift sling between them.

“Morgan!” Rhianne cried.

“Stand back, miss,” said a guard as she approached.

She moved away obediently, seeing how they struggled with their burden. She didn't want her friend to be jostled or bumped. “Place him on the couch there, if you would.”

The guards carried the sling to the couch and deposited Morgan on it. He looked up at her, ashen faced but alert.

“A Healer will come by later to check on him and instruct you in his care,” one of guards told her. Then they left.

“Can I get you anything?” Rhianne asked anxiously. “Food, drink? Uh . . . chamber pot?”

“I'm fine,” said Morgan. “I can walk short distances, so I won't be as much trouble as that. And if I'd known I'd be nursed back to health by an imperial princess, I'd take mad potshots at entire armies more often.”

“Oh, hush.” Rhianne pulled up a chair next to him. “What possessed you to do such a thing?”

“I'd say it was the wine.”

“You need to lay off that stuff.”

“I'll take it under consideration.”

She folded her arms. “Are you patronizing me?”

“Are you mothering me, little girl who's half my age?”

“I'm not a girl, and I'm not half your age either.” Rhianne picked up his hand. It was alarmingly cold. “You need another blanket.” She went to the bedroom, fetched one, and tucked it around him. She picked up his hand again—it was enormous compared to her own—and rubbed it between both of hers, trying to warm it. “You really do drink too much. Are you unhappy, Morgan?”

He moved his shoulders in an approximation of a shrug. “A man's not made to sit around and listen to the gossip of his neighbors.”

Rhianne frowned. Morgan wanted to work, but he was crippled and all his skills and training were physical. His right hand didn't work properly, and he had a hard time raising either of his arms above his head.

“I've been working up the courage to offer myself to that Mosari king,” continued Morgan. “But I can't imagine he'd want me. I was useless before and more so now I've been shot.”

“The Mosari king? You mean Jan-Torres?”

“Whatever his name is,” said Morgan.

“You can't join his service,” Rhianne protested. “You'd be a traitor!”

“Hardly,” said Morgan, “when the emperor cast
me
out first.”

“You don't know anything about Jan-Torres,” she said. “He might treat you badly.”

“Nah,” said Morgan. “I've been in wars, spent time in hostile Riorca, and it's a miracle I didn't bleed my life away in the streets of Riat that night. Do you know how many military commanders will use their precious Healers to save the lives of enemy soldiers or civilians? None, that's how many. But the Mosari king did.”

Rhianne considered this. “Aren't you furious about him marching in here and taking over?”

“I don't give a flying tomtit,” said Morgan. “And anyway, he can't hold this place; not when the reinforcements arrive. I'm surprised he survived the arrival of the fleet—”

“The fleet's returned?”

“Yes, there was a monster of a battle in the harbor. Didn't you hear it? I suppose you're on the wrong side of the palace. Jan-Torres must have won, because his men are still here. But our ground forces are unstoppable. He's not here to hold Kjall, because that's impossible. He's not here for bloodshed, since I'd be dead if he was. So he's here to cut a deal. He's got Lucien by the cods—pardon my language—and you can't blame a man for wanting to save his country.”

“No,” said Rhianne. “I suppose you can't.”

J
anto met with Lucien again the next day.

The young emperor looked up as Janto entered the room. “Have the fleet commanders arrived?”

“Not yet, Your Imperial Majesty.” Janto grabbed a chair from the far wall, casting a surreptitious glance at Lucien. The young man's eyes were hard and calculating. He'd recovered from the shock of losing his fleet, it seemed, and moved on to damage control.

Lucien shrugged. “Every day that passes brings my ground troops from northern and eastern Kjall closer to liberating the palace.”

“We won't be waiting much longer for the fleet commanders. They've had casualties to attend to, and emergency repairs. Also, the harbor's a mess; it's impossible to maneuver in there. I don't envy the man tasked with cleaning it up.” He smiled.

Lucien folded his arms and sniffed. “I hope you came here with a better offer than the one you brought before.”

“Your fleet's been destroyed, and you think I've come with a
better
offer?” He set the chair in front of Lucien and straddled it. “You're lucky I'm not making it worse.”

“I'm not giving up Mosar.”

Janto shrugged. “For your sake, I'm sorry to hear that, since it will cost you the four warships and three battalions of troops you have stationed there. In a matter of days, the Sardossians, the Riorcans, and my own men will sail to liberate Mosar, and we are fully prepared to fight your outnumbered garrison.”

Lucien was silent for a moment. “Perhaps an arrangement can be made.”

“Give me your fleet's private signal and send with me new orders for your men, commanding them to return home in peace,” said Janto. “Otherwise, I'll destroy them. My combined army outnumbers your three battalions on Mosar, and you know I've got more ships. I'm making this offer for one reason only: I'm tired of bloodshed. I want it to end.”

Lucien's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Janto sighed. “Let me also point out that without those four warships stationed at Mosar, you have no fleet.”

“I have other ships.”

Janto chuckled. “You're bluffing. Yes, you have more ships—the three that police the Riorcan harbors. Other than that, nothing. And don't give me any horseshit about putting guns on merchant ships; they're no match for real warships and you know it. We destroyed your Rhaylet fleet, your Sarpol fleet, and your harbor fleet. If you do not accept my offer—my
gift
, Lucien—you'll lose the four ships at Mosar and be left with only the three at Riorca. Which might leave you in some trouble, since Riorca now has ships of its own.”

Lucien stiffened. “
Stolen
ships.”

“That's a matter of opinion.”

The emperor leaned forward, his eyes dark and angry. “It is
nonsense
to speak of Riorcans possessing ships. Riorca is a province of Kjall and has been for decades. Those ships are in the hands of thieves and mutineers. Surrender them immediately.”

Janto shook his head. “You're in no position to make demands. Even if you were, the ships are not mine to give. Take it up with the Riorcan fleet commander.”

“There
is
no Riorcan fleet commander! The man who calls himself that is an escaped slave, nothing more!”

“By some accounts,
I
am an escaped slave.”

Lucien scowled and folded his arms.

Janto rose. It was time to make his exit before Lucien could come up with any more ridiculous ideas. “I'll see you at the negotiating table, Emperor. In the meantime, think on my offer.”

“Wait,” said Lucien.

Janto paused.

“Return my stolen ships, and I will accept your offer. My forces will leave Mosar peacefully.”

“The Riorcan ships are not mine to give. Even if they were, I would not betray an ally who fought at my side.” Janto headed for the door.

“Jan-Torres, what do you want in exchange for those stolen ships?”

Janto waved a dismissive hand. “If you want ships, accept my original offer. It gives you four.”

“I want the two Riorcan ships, and I'm willing to deal. What do you want? Money? Preferential trade agreements? Kjall would be a powerful ally for Mosar.”

Janto hesitated with his hand on the door handle. Indeed, Kjall would. This was exactly the kind of agreement he wanted. But at the price of betraying the Riorcans?

There was no chance Riorca was going to come out of this well. The destruction of the fleet would temporarily prevent the Kjallans from attacking Mosar or Sardos, but not Riorca, which shared their continent and was accessible by land. What difference would it make, in the long run, if he seized the Riorcan ships and returned them to Kjall?

No difference at all, probably. Lucien didn't need those ships; he was demanding them as a matter of principle. But there were lines Janto would not cross, not if he wanted to be worthy of his throne. And he didn't trust Lucien, not fully. It was in the young emperor's interest to break up the alliance between Mosar, Sardos, and Riorca. Janto had to make certain he did not succeed in doing so. “There is nothing you can offer me that will induce me to betray my allies,” he said firmly.

“Perhaps we need only to hit upon the right lure. Did Rhianne accept your offer of marriage?”

Janto froze. “I have not yet made the offer.”

“You were going to.”

“I've been busy destroying your fleet.”

“You haven't made it because you know she won't accept. She's hostile. Am I correct?”

“What do you care?” said Janto. “You said you'd kill me if I touched your cousin.”

“Perhaps I've experienced a change of heart,” said Lucien. “Rhianne once cared about you a great deal. Her happiness means much to me. So tell me: has she been receptive?”

Janto bit his lip. “She's angry about the lives lost in the assault and that I deceived her about my identity.”

“You are making a mistake with her, and I think I know what it is,” said Lucien.

“There's no mistake,” said Janto. “She's angry about the things I've done, and she'll either forgive me or she won't. If I had more time—”

“It's not about time,” said Lucien. “I mean, yes, time would help. But it's unnecessary. Rhianne is rational; she's just not accustomed to war. If someone were to put your invasion into context for her, explain that you haven't been executing anyone, or torturing anyone, or even looting our treasury—”

“I did explain some of that.”

“Yes, but she doesn't trust you right now. She trusts me.”

“And you're offering to talk to her for me?”

“Yes, in exchange for the Riorcans,” said Lucien. “Hand them over, and I'll return Mosar to you peacefully, negotiate trade agreements, and speak to Rhianne on your behalf, an act that might lead to an even stronger alliance between our nations.”

The offer hit Janto like a punch to the gut. It was everything he wanted, absolutely everything. A peaceful recovery of Mosar, an alliance with Kjall, and, possibly, reconciliation with the woman he loved. There was only that small matter of betraying men who'd fought in good faith by his side. He forced his lips to form the words “No deal.”

Lucien sighed. “I see you are intractable on this point. Come sit down, and I'll tell you something about Rhianne.”

“In exchange for the Riorcans?”

“No. For free.”

That sounded suspicious. “Why?”

“Because you're a terrible negotiator, but you seem loyal. This seems a point in your favor.”

Wary, Janto returned to his chair and sat.

“You cannot put Rhianne in a cage,” said Lucien. “It is the worst mistake you can make with her. The story of the woodcutter's son and the horse of mist—do you know it? Is it told on Mosar?”

“I believe so. In our version, it's a potter's son.”

“Makes no difference. The boy goes out late at night and finds a great black horse. He has no bridle or saddle, but he gets up on the animal anyway. The horse is so responsive he can guide it with his hands, and its gaits are so smooth he doesn't need a saddle, and he rides all over the countryside, and it's the fastest and finest of all horses. By morning, the horse has brought him home and gone off on its own, but every night it comes back, so every night he goes on this glorious ride. And he thinks,
I should capture this horse and make it my own.
So he gets a bridle, and that night he tries to put a bridle on the horse so he can keep it. And you know what happens?”

“The horse turns to mist and he never sees it again,” said Janto.

“Exactly. Rhianne is the horse of mist,” said Lucien. “My father thinks her confusing and impossible to understand. He could not be more wrong—Rhianne is the most straightforward of women. She's generous and openhearted, and most of the time she'll tell you exactly what she's thinking. There are only two rules you need follow with her, and they are absolute. First, don't mistreat her. And second, don't cage her. If you try to cage her, she will fight you with every bit of strength she has.”

“I'm not
caging
her,” said Janto. “I put her in custody to keep her safe.”

Lucien rolled his eyes. “That's the mistake I was talking about.”

•   •   •

While he awaited the return of the fleet commanders, Janto visited the wounded, settled disagreements, and attended funerals. As he went about these duties, he noticed a subtle but unmistakable change in his men. They saluted him more crisply; they stood straighter in his presence. They stared at him when they thought he wasn't looking. And high-ranking officers who had questioned his decisions in the past now deferred without a quibble.

He'd always craved the respect of his men, but now that he had it, he didn't enjoy it as much as he'd thought he would. He felt as if an invisible barrier, which nobody, not even his officers, dared to cross, had been erected around him. And with no one questioning his decisions, he had no sounding board for trying out ideas. What if he made a foolish decision and no one called him on it?

Folding his arms, he watched the military procession from his balcony. It wound its way up the switchbacks of the Imperial Road, bringing him Kal-Torres and the fleet commanders.

When they arrived, he met them at the front gates with as much pomp as he could muster. He had no musicians, nor could he spare even a single pyrotechnic from signaling duty. But he lined up his officers to receive the battle-weary men with salutes and shouts. Kal was first to enter, bronze and handsome as a living statue. He'd taken a bullet in the leg during battle, but the ship's Healer had done good work on him, and he wasn't limping. Gishi fluttered above him, keening in triumph. Admiral Llinos of the Sardossians followed, and then Admiral Durgan of the Riorcans. Durgan was a small, quiet man whom Janto studied curiously. As Lucien had mentioned, the man was a former slave. It remained to be seen whether he possessed the skills of a leader and a diplomat.

The kitchens had bustled with activity all morning. Freed slaves and soldiers too infirm to fight had busied themselves cooking a feast for the returning heroes. Janto led the fleet admirals and their officers to the grand ballroom and delivered the first of many toasts celebrating their victory.

Food and wine flowed copiously, though Janto drank lightly in order to retain his wits. When the party was beginning to wind down and an overstimulated Sashi had retreated into his shirt for a nap, Admiral Llinos pulled Janto aside. “Your Majesty, I want to confer with you on a matter of some delicacy before we begin the negotiations.”

“What matter is this?”

“As you know, the Kjallan Empire has always been insular. They marry their imperial princesses to great Kjallan military leaders and the heads of powerful families, never to foreign heads of state. I believe this is part of the reason Kjall so willingly invades other nations. They have no ties to those nations. Now, the deposed Emperor Florian has two daughters—one daughter and one niece, actually—and the niece is of marriageable age. I understand she was previously betrothed, but her fiancé was killed during the invasion.”

“That is correct.”

“So she's available.”

Janto nodded. “I plan to make an offer for her hand.”

“Good, you and I are thinking along the same lines,” said Llinos. “But an
offer
? Under the circumstances, an offer will be refused. You must make it part of the settlement.”

Janto blinked. “Force it on her?”

“An imperial princess never has much of a choice in her marriage partner—nor does a king, as I understand it?” He raised his eyebrows.

“For the most part, no,” Janto agreed.

“We must bring pressure to bear on the Kjallans to join the wider community and marry their women outside the empire.”

“I'll think about it.”

Admiral Llinos departed, swaying a little with drink.

Janto bit his lip, hardly able to sort out his feelings. He wanted Rhianne to marry him and return home with him as the queen of Mosar. But she was so hostile right now, and he had so little time. It was unlikely she would accept his proposal. Could he do as Llinos suggested and make it part of the peace settlement? Rhianne had nearly been forced into one marriage already. It didn't seem right to force her into another. And Lucien's advice lay heavy on his heart. He would never mistreat Rhianne, but under the circumstances, how could he avoid keeping her in protective custody? Lucien didn't understand the realities of his situation.

He sipped his wine. He was looking for San-Kullen when Admiral Durgan, the Riorcan, intercepted him and addressed him in fluent diplomatic Kjallan. “Your Majesty, may I speak to you in private?”

“Of course.”

They moved to a quiet corner of the slowly emptying ballroom.

“What are your expectations for the upcoming negotiations?” asked Durgan.