The officers in the room broke into polite, subdued applause.
Rhianne couldn’t take any more of this farce. She turned on her heel, stepped off the platform, and left the audience hall.
The former king and queen of Mosar.
Janto had been too far away to see the heads clearly, but those words sent him reeling. He wanted to rush the platform, to slay Augustan and Florian where they stood in recompense for this unspeakable crime, but he was unarmed and surrounded by enemies. It wasn’t possible. He scrambled for the exit.
Three gods, three gods, three gods. His mother and father were dead, murdered by Augustan.
Several heads turned in his direction as he raced invisibly down the center aisle. In his mad rush, he wasn’t being careful. He was creating a breeze, maybe even brushing some people with the edges of his cloak. He didn’t care.
Nobody followed him out into the corridor, where he fell upon his knees in a paroxysm of grief. He thought of the heads again, the heads of his parents. He emptied his stomach.
I’m sorry, su-kali, said Sashi, clinging to his shoulder. We will kill them for what they’ve done.
We’ll do what we can.
Which, so far, had been a whole lot of nothing.
Back in the audience hall, the officers were applauding. Kjallan filth! Rhianne was the only decent human being among them. He’d watched her kiss Augustan at her uncle’s bidding, her movements stiff and unyielding, every cell of her body screaming abhorrence. The Kjallans had applauded that too. Was there no horror they wouldn’t celebrate?
The officers in the audience hall sounded restless, and he suspected they were about to be dismissed, probably to the feast. He hoped the sight of the heads had diminished some appetites. Clutching his stomach, he straightened and hurried along the corridor, heading for the slave entrance. While this might be a good opportunity for spying, he was in no condition for it, and given the circumstances, what was the point? Mosar was lost. As for seeing Rhianne, he had a feeling he was no longer welcome. She didn’t want Augustan, but she was committed to going through with her marriage, and there was nothing he could do to help her.
He was out of the Imperial Palace and halfway to one of his bolt-holes when he realized that some days ago, when Augustan had murdered his father, Janto had unknowingly ascended the throne—for whatever that was worth. He was now king of Mosar. It was almost funny.
21
Rhianne sat quietly in her receiving room, still in her ridiculous white gown, waiting for the maelstrom that was certain to arrive as soon as Florian extricated himself from the remainder of the ceremony. She hadn’t planned on walking out. It had just happened. Morgan had said she’d had choices. It appeared that for better or for worse, she’d just made one. Probably for worse. She’d rebelled against Florian in dozens of clandestine ways over the years, but never had she challenged him openly. She could envision no scenario in which this worked out well for her.
A thump and a grating noise outside her door told her the bar was sliding back, granting someone entrance to her chambers. She swallowed. The door opened, and, no surprise, Florian stepped through, looking angry as a harassed hornet.
She leapt to her feet, a gesture of respect that had become as reflexive as blinking, aware of the irony after she’d shown him the disrespect of walking out of the ceremony. Perhaps it would appease him a tiny bit.
He strode toward her, stepping so close she was tempted to cower. She held her ground, trembling, as he towered over her.
“I was raised not to strike a woman in anger,” Florian grated through his teeth. “That’s for the lower families. But never have I been so tempted.” He pointed at a chair. “Sit.”
Wordlessly, Rhianne sat.
Florian took the seat across from her. “This morning’s ceremony was to be Augustan’s moment of glory, after nine months of hard campaigning. You spoiled it with your childish behavior. You shall immediately make amends. You shall sit down at your writing desk and compose a brief speech of apology. This you will show to me, and after I approve it, you will go to Augustan and, in front of his servants and top-ranking officers, humbly beg his forgiveness for the insult you delivered him in the hall this morning.”
“Uncle—”
“This is not a negotiation,” said Florian. “I am giving you orders. We will follow your apology with a gift. I was thinking—”
“Uncle—”
“Stop interrupting, girl! Must I call the guards and order you beaten for your intransigence?”
“I’m not marrying Augustan.”
For a moment, he was actually speechless.
Rhianne leapt into the opening of his stunned silence and spoke in a rush. “I hate him, and he doesn’t care for me either. I cannot marry him. I’m sorry to disappoint you.”
Florian remained silent. A muscle bulged at the back of his jaw. After a moment, he turned his back on her, pacing the room. “Let me make something clear to you. Do you see all the fine things in here?” He swept his arm to indicate the furnishings.
“Yes,” she said softly.
“Take a moment to recall the other fine things you’ve had. Your horse and magical training, fine clothes, fine food, the imperial baths, the guards who protect you—”
“Guards who spy on me.”
“For your protection,” said Florian. “Do you think I give you those things out of the goodness of my heart? No. You are here to serve a purpose, just as I serve a purpose, as Lucien serves a purpose. Your purpose, Rhianne, is marriage. Marriage to the right man, to strengthen the family line and strengthen the empire through the governance of a new vassal state.”
Rhianne drew up her knees and clutched them beneath her gown. What he said was true. She harbored no illusions about her role in the imperial family. And yet. “I never asked for these things. I never asked for this life. You took me. You brought me here, without my parents’ consent—”
His nose wrinkled in a snarl. “You were always meant for it, even if my sister, your mother, shirked her responsibilities.” He pointed at her. “You shall not shirk yours.” After a moment, he blinked and sighed, rubbing his face. In a gentler voice, he continued. “Why did you walk out on the ceremony? Was it because of the heads?”
Rhianne nodded. “Uncle, it’s not right. Those were innocent people Augustan murdered for no reason except that they were in his way. I cannot love a man who thinks he should be praised for such a thing.”
Florian smiled sadly. “He should not have brought the heads to the ceremony—not with a lady present. I’ll speak with him about it, and that will pave the way for your apology. He was impolitic, but you were rude. Both of you were at fault. You must understand he has been at war a long time, and solely among men. He forgets that women are sensitive and have no stomach for war, especially its gruesome side.”
Florian didn’t understand. It wasn’t the gruesomeness of the heads that bothered her, but what they represented. Her country had done something horrid, and it shamed her. She couldn’t write the apology he asked from her, because it would make her complicit in those crimes. Crimes against Janto and his people.
“Still,” said Florian sternly, “this nonsense from you must cease. Augustan killed those people on my orders, and I gave those orders for the good of the empire. I do not expect you to understand why I make hard decisions that you find unsavory, but it is not your place to question my commands. It is your place, as it is Augustan’s, to obey them. Therefore I expect your written apology, for my review, within the hour.”