Augustan took in the insignia on Cerinthus’s uniform that marked him as third rank and gave him a dismissive nod.
As they sat, he turned to Rhianne and pushed the mug toward her. “I brought you a drink. Spicebush tea. It’s fine stuff—we brought it back from Mosar.”
Rhianne indicated her wineglass. “Thank you, but I already have a drink.”
He smiled indulgently. “My dear, it is your fourth glass. I know you do not wish to appear unseemly.”
She stared at him, incredulous. Had he been watching her this entire time, keeping track of how much wine she drank? “Thank you, but I don’t care for tea.”
“Try it. Perhaps you will develop a taste for it.” He pushed the mug closer to her and edged her wineglass away.
Rhianne considered how much trouble she would be in with Florian if she threw a mug of spicebush tea into Augustan’s face.
“Well, if you are not thirsty,” said Augustan, a line of irritation appearing in his brow, “I believe the crowd is eager for us to begin the dancing. Shall we?”
“With respect, Legatus, I’m not feeling well enough this evening to dance.”
He stiffened with affront. “Indeed? I beg your pardon. I thought you the very picture of health.” He got up from the table and walked away.
Rhianne slumped in her seat, infuriated, yet relieved he was gone. Who was he to tell her what to drink and act like she was faking when she said she wasn’t feeling well? She shoved the tea away and gulped her wine. Marcella’s hand fell upon hers in sympathy. Cerinthus stared at her in horror.
Moments later, Emperor Florian slid into the seat next to Rhianne. “Leave us,” he barked to Marcella and Cerinthus, who scrambled to their feet and departed. “Rhianne, you are being unacceptably uncooperative.”
“I’m not feeling well.”
He glared at her.
“He’s rude, Uncle. He tried to force me to drink tea because he thought I’d had too much wine—”
“You have had too much,” said Florian. “I see the flush in your cheeks.”
“And now he wants me to dance, when I have a headache that would send the Soldier himself packing off to bed.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Do you think when Augustan is feeling poorly, he cancels the war for the day?”
Rhianne raised her eyebrows. “What a strange argument you make, Uncle. Do you imply that waging war and dancing are equally important?”
“Augustan will only be here for a couple of days, and the empire needs this match.”
“He’s not going to walk away because I refused his disgusting tea or didn’t feel like dancing one evening. I’m your niece. He’d marry me if I had two heads and tentacles.”
“It’s not heads or tentacles I’m concerned about, but your tongue, which is excessively sharp.”
“Augustan, by the way, hasn’t expressed the slightest bit of concern for my condition.”
“Neither have I.”
“From you I have given up expecting it.”
“No more excuses,” said Florian. “Go and dance with him, or your head won’t be the only part of your body that hurts.”
“I’m going.” With a sigh, she stood. The throbbing in her head accelerated to match her pulse. Draining the dregs of her wineglass, she searched the room for Augustan. There he was, speaking to Taia Livia and two young women Rhianne did not know. All three women were simpering in his presence. Great, she thought, shooting a look of exasperation at Florian. Now Augustan will think I changed my mind out of jealousy.
The conversation ceased at her approach. Taia and the two younger ladies dipped into curtsies, murmuring, “Your Imperial Highness.”
“Taia,” she answered. Best to get the moment of humiliation over with as quickly as possible. She turned to Augustan. “Legatus, would you do me the honor of dancing with me?”
A corner of his mouth quirked. “Feeling better, are you?” He offered her his hand.
“No. But I’ll dance anyway.” Deep in her gut, she knew that handing him even this small victory was a mistake. It would only encourage him. But what choice did she have? She had another day of this to endure, and when the war in Mosar was over, a lifetime. Gritting her teeth, she slipped her hand into his.
8
Rhianne cradled the cat in her arms as she walked, trying to make it comfortable, but it squirmed, and one of its needlelike claws poked through her syrtos. She winced and removed it.
“Your Imperial Highness,” said Tamienne from behind her. “Perhaps we should leave the animal in your rooms?”
“No, I want Janto to see it.” She couldn’t wait to see him again. She’d survived two horrid days of Augustan, including the world’s most tedious betrothal ceremony, which had lasted a mind-numbing three hours. She’d finally seen him back to his ship, waving prettily as he set sail and praying that the war lasted another fifty years. If he lost the war entirely, might the marriage be called off? Gods, she was thinking the most horrid thoughts lately. Janto and Morgan and Lucien, with their treasonous ideas, must be wearing off on her.
She sat on her usual bench beneath the Poinciana.
Janto arrived soon after and spotted the cat in her arms. His eyes went wide.
“Please tell me you’re not afraid of cats.” Rhianne patted the space next to her.
“House cats, no,” said Janto. “But, three gods, that is a brindlecat.”
She laughed. “How can it be a brindlecat? They’re ten times this size. And do you see any brindling?” She held up the cat to display its plain brown coloration. It had no stripes at all.
Janto sat beside her. “Brindlecats are born without stripes, and what you have is a kitten. Watch the ears over the next few days—that’s where they’ll appear first. Do you see the claws?” He picked up one of the cat’s paws. “They don’t retract. This is not a house cat. Where did you get this animal?”
“Augustan gave it to me.” She studied the cat—kitten—with chagrin. Maybe it really was a brindlecat. Augustan had said it came from Mosar, and brindlecats were native to that island. He’d probably had no idea what it really was.
Janto recoiled. “Is he trying to kill you?”
“Well, honestly, it doesn’t look dangerous. Can you tell if it’s a boy or a girl?”
Janto inspected the cat. “It’s a girl. Princess, you have to cage this animal. She may not be dangerous now, but if you feed her properly—and it would be cruel not to—she’s going to grow quickly. Within a month, she will be deadly.”
“I can’t imagine.” However, Rhianne could see a little of what he was talking about. The kitten’s claws and teeth were larger than she’d seen before, and the animal wasn’t exactly sweet-natured. “Don’t you think I could make a friend out of her? If I handle her every day?”
Janto looked horrified. “Absolutely not. Brindlecats are wild animals. If you’re the one who feeds her, she’ll probably refrain from clawing you to pieces. But she’ll make a mess of your floors, she’ll shred your furniture, and she’ll play so rough she leaves gashes in your arms. This is not a pet.”
“Three gods,” said Rhianne. “I don’t think Augustan had any idea.”
“I should hope he didn’t.”
Rhianne stroked her brindlecat kitten. Janto was probably right that the animal would grow dangerous quickly, but she would enjoy her while she could.
“Didn’t you bring a book today?” asked Janto.
“No,” said Rhianne. “I thought we could just talk. I want to learn more about Mosar—your customs, your way of life. Is it true your people live in caves?”
Janto’s eyes narrowed. Perhaps he thought she was insulting him. “It depends what you mean by caves. In the Mosari language, we have two words meaning cave. The first is lerot, a beast cave, naturally occurring, usually rough and inhospitable. The second is usont, a man-made cave carved into the mountain by one of our stoneshapers. We live in usonts.”