Rhianne blinked back tears. She couldn’t do this. “I’m not writing it.”
His expression darkened. “Do not try my patience. Wedding plans are under way, and I’ve no time to indulge your childish whims. I was raised never to strike a lady, but I will not hesitate to order you beaten if that’s what it takes to convince you of my seriousness.”
“Cancel the wedding,” said Rhianne. Gods, he was going to destroy her for this. “Forced marriages are illegal in Kjall.”
“My dear.” Florian’s eyes narrowed. “I’m the emperor. Do you think you can tell me what is and isn’t legal?”
Rhianne shivered. “The law applies to everyone.”
Florian laughed. “Your written apology. Until I have it, you are confined to your rooms. You will have no visitors, attend no events, and have nothing brought to you until you think better of your foolishness. And if you think these are the worst things that can happen to you, think again. My forbearance will last only so long.”
Iolo and Sirali looked downcast when Janto met them in the usual spot beneath the trees. He supposed all the Mosari must feel as he did, though perhaps with less personal grief. Most of the others did not know the fates of their families back on the island.
“Is it true?” Iolo said softly. “The rumors about the king and queen?”
“They’re dead,” said Janto.
“I’m sorry,” said Iolo. “That makes you king, doesn’t it?”
Janto nodded.
Iolo inclined his head. “Your Majesty.”
Janto waved his hand. “It’s meaningless. We have no country, not that I won’t do everything in my power to win it back. How are the slaves taking the news?”
“Badly,” said Iolo. “There have been suicides.”
Sirali nodded. “While Mosar held out, we had hope. Now we have nothing.”
“I came to say good-bye,” said Janto. “I’m leaving Kjall.”
Their foreheads wrinkled with concern. “Where will you go?” asked Iolo.
“I’ve a ship that supports me,” said Janto. “I sent it away a few days ago to relay some information, and when it returns, I’m going to have it pick me up and find Kal’s fleet. I’ll join my brother, and we’ll try to retake Mosar.”
Iolo’s eyebrows rose. “Does Kal-Torres have the men to do that?”
“I can’t imagine he does, but we’ll sell our lives as dearly as we can. There’s nothing else left for us. I only wish I’d accomplished more here.”
“Right, and you helped the slave women,” pointed out Sirali.
Janto nodded. At least there was that.
Rhianne crawled through the hypocaust on hands and knees, ignoring the stifling heat and counting heat-glows as she followed her usual pattern. She wasn’t running away—not yet. That would take some planning. But she had to talk to somebody about her plight, and Morgan seemed the only option. He always talked sense, and Florian didn’t keep a close eye on him the way he did Lucien. Morgan would help her figure out what to do.
She reached the access tunnel, where the ceiling became high enough to stand. She rose to her feet, approached the door, and eased it open, just a crack. There were the guards at the end of the short hallway.
Wait—why were they wearing orange? Those weren’t ordinary guards. They were Legaciatti! Magical guards, immune to her spells.
She pushed the door gently shut, her heart thrumming wildly against her ribs as she prayed they wouldn’t turn and see her. The hypocaust guards had always been ordinary palace guards—never Legaciatti. Why the change? Did Florian know about her secret excursions from the palace? How long had he known?
She headed back into the hypocaust, dropping onto hands and knees as the ceiling angled sharply downward. There was nothing for it but to return to the prison of her rooms. She was trapped.
Janto sat on the pier with his back to a post, invisible. Heavily laden boats sliced through the harbor waters, some loaded with supplies, others with troops. A battalion of soldiers massed on a nearby beach, awaiting the boats that delivered them, thirty at a time, to troop ships riding at double anchor.
A bosun’s shrill voice carried on the wind. “Man the falls! Haul taut singly! Hoist away!” Janto turned to watch the shallow-draft frigate nearest him take sealed casks on board with its water-whip. Other men were up on the yards, doing something to the sails; still others clung to ropes slung over the stern. Across the water echoed the knocks of hammers and the scrape of an adze.
The fleet was preparing to sail again. He’d assumed they were going to Mosar, since Augustan was returning there with Rhianne, but it was odd they were loading so many soldiers. Why carry them all the way to Kjall just to send them back to Mosar? It didn’t make sense.
Another thing that didn’t make sense: he’d seen new cargo loaded—things like warm cloaks and blankets. Why would anyone need those things on tropical Mosar?
No. The troops were going elsewhere. He needed to find out where.
Rhianne lay prone on the settee in her rooms, trying not to move or even breathe too deeply. Florian had waited two days for her to change her mind, and when she hadn’t, he’d made good on his threat. Her back, striped with a whip and still raw, hurt like she couldn’t believe. Never again would she speak casually about someone receiving the lash as a punishment. There was nothing trivial about it.
She glanced up as the bolt slid back from her door. It couldn’t be food. Florian was sending her prison rations—bread and cheese and water, three times a day—and it wasn’t time for lunch yet. She wasn’t permitted visitors, so it could only be Florian, whose presence she dreaded.
But it was Lucien! A pleasant surprise. She gritted her teeth and raised herself just enough to make eye contact. “I didn’t think I was allowed to see you.”
“Florian thought I might talk some sense into you.” Lucien grinned and rolled his eyes. He looked again, perhaps noticing her awkward pose and loose clothing, and stopped short. The color drained from his face. “Did he have you whipped?”
“He did,” she grunted. “It was much worse than I thought it’d be.”
Lucien turned away, as if he couldn’t bear to look, though her injuries were bandaged and covered. He limped with his crutch to the far side of the room. “I didn’t think he’d go that far. How many lashes?”
“Ten.”
He rounded on her, his hands balled into fists. “That leaves scars.”
“Not if a Healer closes the wounds. He says he’ll send a Healer when I start cooperating.”
Lucien scrubbed a hand through his hair and limped back to her. He sat, leaning his crutch on the chair. “What he’s doing is wrong. You know it, and I know it. But you should do as he says. If this were a Caturanga match, he’d have you in every possible way—his Traitor behind your enemy lines, his Tribune under the Soldier’s influence, and all your battalions and cavalry mired in terrain while he’s got a clean run across the board. He has every advantage, and you have none.”
“I have my integrity,” said Rhianne. “And the law’s on my side.”
Lucien smiled sadly. “Florian is subject to no law. But think on this, Rhianne—he won’t be emperor forever.” He lowered his voice. “When I ascend the throne, everything will be different. If Augustan mistreats you in any way, I’ll send him packing the moment I become emperor. You have my word on it. And then you shall marry whomever you please. But until that day comes, you and I have to swallow our pride and accept our orders as they come. Florian destroys people who oppose him. I’ve seen him do it.”