She couldn’t stop thinking about Janto. Did he know? How was he taking the news? He seemed to be all alone on Kjall. He would have no one to confide in or seek comfort from as he confronted this new reality. And he could not come to her. It was not possible. She prayed he would not attempt it, not with Augustan in the palace and so many people in and out of her rooms.
Janto was strong. She prayed he would survive this blow and see the necessity of escaping as a refugee to Sardos or Inya. With his language skills, he could start a new life there. No future remained for him on Mosar, and he would never have a future in Kjall.
Today she had her own horrors to face. Augustan had come for her, and her days of relative freedom had come to an end. Her husband-to-be would not dally at the Imperial Palace. He had a vassal state to stabilize and govern. Florian had not discussed details of the wedding, but she knew that under the circumstances, it would be rushed. She would be wedded and bedded and shipped off to Mosar in less than a week. She must say good-bye to all the people she loved: Morgan, Marcella, even Lucien. She would not be able to say good-bye to Janto.
Her lady’s maid slipped into the room. “Your Imperial Highness, shall we get you dressed? Our signalers report that the legatus is at the base of the hill.”
Janto, concealed within the crowd, followed the procession as it wound its way through the city of Riat. When the parade reached the city gates, a line of guards blocked the civilians and prevented them from following. The soldiers, led by Augustan, filtered through the gates and continued up the hill to the Imperial Palace. Janto, determined to learn what had happened on Mosar, donned his shroud and slipped in among the soldiers as they passed by the guards.
The soldiers marched uphill through switchback after switchback until they crested the peak and the whole of the Imperial Palace came into view. Though they still had some distance to cover, what remained was an easy march on a flat, paved road, shaded by ancient oaks. As they approached, the front gates of the palace were flung wide in welcome. Did the emperor intend to host the entire retinue?
Uniformed officials just inside the gates directed traffic, sending Augustan and the other officers in one direction, the rank and file in another. The smell of roasting meat wafted down the hallway, and Janto guessed that a banquet awaited the hungry soldiers. He hungered for information rather than food, so he followed the officers.
The officers filed into a high-ceilinged, white marble audience hall. Two rows of gray pillars flanked a central aisle. At the far end of the hall stood a raised platform, also gray, upon which three figures awaited them, one dressed in orange, one in blue, and one in white.
Such arrogance, thought Janto, to wear the colors of the gods.
But he did not have to look twice to recognize the figure in white as Rhianne. She stood on the left, and the young man on the right, in blue, was Lucien, the Imperial Heir. The man in the middle, wearing a broad, glittering loros over a shimmersilk orange syrtos, had to be Emperor Florian.
The emperor was tall and imposing, middle-aged and showing it, but Janto had envisioned a nastier, more vicious-looking man. Did cruelty show? Janto believed it often did, especially in the later years, when the lines of one’s face began to tell the tale of one’s life. Florian appeared stern and resolute, more a hard man than a cruel one. It puzzled him.
He found a quiet corner where he could watch the proceedings without being bumped into or trodden on. The officers took up places behind the pillars, leaving the aisle clear. When everyone was inside and settled, Augustan entered the end of the hall opposite Florian, escorted by two burly officers and two servants carrying the wooden boxes Janto had seen during the parade.
All fell silent, and Augustan strode down the aisle, his entourage a few steps behind him. He stopped just shy of the gray platform.
Emperor Florian spoke in a deep, commanding voice. “Report, Legatus.”
Rhianne shifted subtly on her feet, relieving a muscle in her back that was beginning to cramp. She’d been too long motionless. She watched as her husband-to-be, instead of responding succinctly to Florian’s order, turned to acknowledge one side of the aisle and then the other.
“My fellow officers . . . Princess . . . Your Imperial Highness . . . my illustrious Emperor.” He inclined his head at Florian and addressed the crowd. “Today is a glorious day for the empire. When first we set sail from Kjallan shores nine months ago . . .”
Rhianne suppressed an eye roll. Was he going to turn this into a long speech? Of course he was; it was his moment of glory. If one could call it glory, murdering innocent people to take their land and wealth. The whole affair sickened her. Not to mention she had to stand in front of everyone looking ridiculous in a dress white as cuttlebone because Florian had this notion that the royal family should dress as the gods. As if that wasn’t going to offend anybody. And he had her and Lucien backward. If anything, he should have dressed wise Lucien as the Sage and her as the rebellious Vagabond, but that was classic Florian. He’d never truly known his family.
Was Augustan building up to a point? It sounded like it.
“. . . And so, thanks to the courage of our fighting men and the leadership of the officers you see before you, I report triumphantly that Mosar has been brought to heel. We have accepted Mosar’s unconditional surrender, and Kjall takes the former nation as its vassal state.”
The audience hall erupted in cheers, and Florian stepped to the edge of the platform to clasp wrists with Augustan. From there, Florian pulled him up onto the platform. “Legatus Augustan Ceres, you are a credit to your forebears and to the Kjallan Empire. I am pleased to offer you the governorship of Mosar, beginning immediately, and I welcome you to the imperial family as my son-in-law.” He gestured to Rhianne.
This was her cue to step forward and kiss Augustan. He approached with a cocky smile. She managed not to recoil when he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. She had to rise on her tiptoes to reach his lips, and he didn’t help her by bending down, so she didn’t feel guilty when she gave him only a peck. Even then, she wanted to wipe her lips afterward, but she knew better than to do that in front of her uncle.
The crowd cheered their pathetic kiss.
“I have something else to present, Your Imperial Majesty,” said Augustan.
“The floor is yours, Legatus,” said Florian.
He gestured to the servants carrying the wooden boxes. “Part of the task I was assigned on Mosar was to exterminate the existing royal family. That job is not complete. Some of the royals have, as one might expect of Mosari cowards, gone to ground. As the Mosari governor, I shall make it one of my first priorities to flush them from their hiding places. Nonetheless, progress has been made. Your Imperial Majesty.” He swept his hands toward the servants, as each pulled from his box a severed head and held it high for all to see. “The former king and queen of Mosar.”
A hush fell over the room.
Rhianne recoiled in horror. She’d had no idea those boxes contained anything so grisly. She’d expected stolen relics, perhaps artwork or jewelry. The heads were not badly decomposed, and they smelled more of brandy and camphor than of rot, but how was she supposed to react to such a sight? Never mind the grisliness of it; her stomach could handle that, as long as she didn’t put anything in it for a while. But these had once been people, and they hadn’t done anything to deserve this fate. Augustan was a murderer, showing off his crime as if proud of it, and her own uncle Florian was the man who’d ordered him to commit it.
“Well done, Legatus, well done,” said Florian.