“And what’s an usont like?”
“Like any indoor space, except carved of stone. Our stoneshapers’ magic can make the walls, ceilings, and floors flat and the corners right-angled, like your Kjallan houses built of wood. But stoneshapers can also make graceful curves, undulations, strange textures, rooms that are perfectly round. Parts of the Mosari palace would astonish you.”
“It sounds interesting. But why do you live in caves rather than houses?”
“Because of the storm season. During the late summer and fall, Mosar is battered by storms so severe that they would rip apart the sorts of houses you build here on Kjall. During the storm season, we send our ships to safer waters and retreat into our usonts for safety. The rest of the year is our growing and building season, and we erect some temporary structures then. But there’s not much wood on Mosar. What we have, we wouldn’t waste on houses. We use it for ships.”
“Does it not drive you crazy, sitting in a cave all through the storm season?”
Janto raised his eyebrows. “Does it not drive you crazy, sitting in the Imperial Palace all year long?”
Rhianne bit her lip. She sneaked out on a regular basis. But he didn’t know that.
“In answer to your question,” said Janto, “no. Our usonts make up entire cities. There is much work to be done indoors, whether it’s more building, or artwork, or scholarship, or magical training.”
“Tell me something else,” said Rhianne. “What’s something Mosari people do when it’s not the storm season? Something fun.”
Janto shrugged. “Lots of things. We hunt lorim eggs.”
“What’s a lorim?”
“A seabird. They nest by the millions along our cliffs in spring and early summer, just before the storm season. You can hardly hear for their squalling, and when they fly, their wings darken the sky. Mosari youngsters—boys and young men, mostly, but some of the girls get in on the fun—like to climb up the cliff face and harvest the eggs. We’ve a law that you must leave two eggs in each nest, so by late season, the easy eggs have been harvested, and you’ve got to climb way up to find an eligible nest.”
“You’ve done this personally?”
“Oh yes,” said Janto. “You’re a coward if you don’t. The cliff claims a few lives each year, but it wouldn’t be exciting if it weren’t a bit dangerous. It’s not easy clinging to the rocks with your fingertips while the birds’ wings beat in your face.”
Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Rhianne’s lunch, a crystal tray piled with cold venison, soft cheese, biscuits, oranges, and sliced apples.
“You want some of this?” she asked.
“I wouldn’t say no to it.”
She set the tray down between them, and they shared.
“Have you ever been to Sardos?” asked Rhianne.
“No.”
“Their language is a lot easier than yours. The pronouns aren’t so ridiculous.”
Janto’s eyebrows rose. “You speak Sardossian?”
“Yes. Bellam khi oberym.” Good morning, my alligator.
He laughed and answered, “Qua oberym, bellam khi iquay.” I understand, my alligator. Good afternoon to you.
“How many languages do you know?”
“Five.”
Her jaw fell. “Five?”
“Mosari, Kjallan, Inyan, Sardossian, and Riorcan. Except my Riorcan is awful. Maybe we should say four and a half.”
“And you’re a palace scribe? Seems to me your talent is wasted.”
“Languages are more of a personal interest for me, but I’ve done translation work and foreign correspondence.”
Translation work and foreign correspondence? She didn’t doubt he’d done plenty of that, but as a palace scribe? That seemed less and less likely. She’d been suspecting for a while, and now she was convinced: this man was Mosari nobility.
Lucien was at his Caturanga board when Rhianne found him, playing a game with some minor official she knew vaguely by sight but not by name. Lucien gave her a cursory glance. “Give us a few minutes. The game’s almost over.”
She nodded and retreated to a couch to thumb through his books.
Behind her, she heard the sounds of the game finishing and the two men discussing it, their voices raised in passion—it appeared Lucien had won. Then the official left, and Lucien limped over on his crutch and wooden leg. “No one around here can give me a challenge anymore. You should play more.”
“Caturanga?” Rhianne rolled her eyes. “That’s a man’s game. I couldn’t be less interested.”
“Nonsense,” said Lucien. “There’s a woman tearing up the tournament circuit in eastern Kjall as we speak. What are you here for? Is it time for the tetrals?”
“Not yet. I came to ask you about something else.”
“Make it quick. I’ve got a meeting in half an hour.”
“I sort of got in an argument with someone about the war in Mosar, and I think I came off looking like a fool.”
“With Augustan?” Lucien shook his head. “He’s the commander of the invasion. If you argue with him about that war, you are a fool.”
Rhianne considered correcting him, but she decided against it. Lucien might not approve of her discussing the war with a Mosari slave. “I realized I don’t know that much about Mosar. Or even much about Kjall, politically and economically. I think the histories I’ve read were . . . shall we say, self-serving. Florian doesn’t involve me in meetings the way he does you, and—well, you know a great deal. You’ve got your own ideas. You’re opposed to the war, for example.”
“You don’t want to hear my ideas. They’re unpopular. Treasonous.”
“But they’re right. Aren’t they?”
He shrugged. “Yes.”
“I want to hear them.”
“All right, but it’s on you.” He pointed an accusing finger at her. “Don’t complain to me if you repeat this stuff to Florian and he goes up like a pyrotechnics display. In fact, you’d better not repeat anything to him at all.”
“Of course I won’t,” said Rhianne. “So why is the war in Mosar a bad idea?”
“Because we can’t afford it.”
“You’ve already lost me. We have an enormous army, and we’re a wealthy nation.”
“Right on the first count, wrong on the second,” said Lucien. “We’re a poor nation, and the size of our army is part of the reason for it. Our economy is based on plunder, tribute, and slave labor. We invade a neighboring nation, plunder their wealth, take slaves, and extract tribute from them henceforth. But the tribute payments don’t grow—in fact, they diminish over the years because the captured provinces do not flourish under the harsh conditions we impose on them. We solve the problem of our dwindling treasury by invading someone else, but after we conquered Riorca, there wasn’t anyone else left. We have the entire continent.”
“So we invaded the island of Mosar,” said Rhianne.
“Yes, and now you see how uncreative Florian’s thinking is. Invading Mosar is a stopgap solution, and we’ve reached the point where our constant wars are making our problems worse, not better,” said Lucien. “We have to face the real problem, which is that our empire is too far-flung and too backward—”
“Backward?”
“You’ve never been to Sardos or Inya. If you had, you’d know they’re ahead of us. The Inyans can build bridges the likes of which we can only dream of, and the Sardossians—well, Sardos is a bit of a mess, but I assure you they don’t leave so many of their natural resources unexploited.”