“I know you mean well,” said Rhianne, “but Florian is healthy and strong. He could rule for another forty years.”
Lucien took her hand and squeezed it. “You speak as if you have a choice in this matter. You don’t.”
“I could run like my mother did. I’d have done it already, except . . .” She sighed in exasperation. “There are Legaciatti guarding the hypocaust now. Florian must know. Or else it was a lucky guess.”
Lucien lowered his head. “Florian doesn’t know. I put the Legaciatti there.”
“You!” hissed Rhianne. “Why would you put them there?”
His eyes glistened, liquid with guilt. “Because I knew you’d try it. And if you run, he’ll find you. And that will only make things worse.”
Rhianne, realizing his hand was still holding hers, flung it back at him. “Of all the people I thought might betray me, I never guessed it would be you!”
“I knew you’d be angry,” said Lucien. “I only hope someday you’ll understand. I did it because you’ll never escape Florian’s net. He has resources you can’t even imagine: signal towers that offer him near-instantaneous communication with every settlement in Kjall, guards in each city who can track your progress through the food and grain you buy and the houses you sleep in—”
“I’ve got forgetting spells.”
“Not as useful as you think. Mind magic is unsubtle. Forgetting spells leave holes in people’s memories, and if Florian’s agents know the right questions to ask, they’ll discover them. Flight is impossible. You’ll be caught and dragged back home and forced to marry anyway, and what is Augustan going to think of all this? Do you think you have any chance at all of a happy marriage when your fiancé knows you had to be beaten and dragged halfway across the country to wed him?”
As if there had ever been a chance of her enjoying a happy marriage with Augustan. “Remove the Legaciatti, Lucien.”
He shook his head. “I can’t watch you destroy yourself.”
“Remove them!” she cried.
“No. I’m sorry.”
“Get out of my room, then,” she snapped. “You and I are finished.”
Lucien rose wearily, turned his back on her, and limped for the door.
22
For the first time, Janto entered the north dome of the Imperial Palace, the home of Emperor Florian’s personal chambers and offices. This area was certain to be salted with wards, but he was less concerned about tripping one than he had been before. With Mosar conquered and most of his family dead, part of him almost welcomed the opportunity to use his poison pill.
So far he seemed to be getting off easy. No wards yet, and with so little traffic, these hallways were easier to navigate invisibly than other areas of the palace. Legaciatti guarded most of the doors, and probably some of the rooms beyond those doors contained reams of useful intelligence, but finding a way into them would not be without challenge.
Around the corner, a pair of voices broke the silence. Janto moved toward them.
“He’s not back yet,” said one man.
“But I’m on his schedule,” replied another.
Janto turned the corner and saw Augustan Ceres, accompanied by one of his officers, speaking to a door guard.
“He’s running late,” said the Legaciattus. “You can wait in the anteroom.”
Augustan nodded and, along with the officer, headed toward a side room. Janto followed and was delighted to discover the anteroom had no door. He didn’t enter but hovered outside, in case the arched entryway was warded.
Augustan and the officer took seats, looking irritated.
The officer spoke in a quiet voice. “You think he’ll give us the ships?”
“Can’t imagine he wouldn’t,” said Augustan. “There’s still a Mosari fleet out there, and he won’t want anything to happen to his precious niece.”
The officer snorted a laugh. “What’s the word on her? She break yet?”
Janto blinked, confused but interested. Augustan and the officer had to be referring to Rhianne, but what was this about her breaking?
Augustan shook his head. “He had her whipped yesterday, but she’s a stubborn bitch. Not giving in yet.”
Stubborn bitch? She’d been whipped? Surely Janto had heard wrong or misunderstood. They could not be talking about an imperial princess. They were speaking softly, and he could have missed something. Maybe they were talking about a hunting dog, or a horse.
Or maybe they weren’t. What in the Sage’s name had been going on here while he’d been hiding away, mourning his parents and his conquered land?
“He’s going about it all wrong,” said the officer.
“’Course he is,” said Augustan. “She’s thoroughly spoiled. Forget the wedding—just sign the marriage papers and throw her into my cabin on the Meritorious. I’ll make a wife of her. I’ll have her on her knees on the quarterdeck before the voyage is over, sucking my cock and thanking me for the privilege.”
Janto stiffened. He didn’t know how he would do it, but somehow he was going to kill that man. His fingers twitched, wanting to wrap themselves around Augustan’s neck and crush it.
Yes, muttered Sashi darkly, picking up his thoughts. Kill.
Later, said Janto, coming to his senses. That man was a war mage, blessed with preternatural speed and strength, as well as the gift of anticipation, which allowed him to sense blows before they landed. His combat skills would be formidable, to say the least. Right now, I need to buy Rhianne some time.
Augustan and the other officer launched into a comparison of their sexual exploits, some of which had involved captured Mosari women. Janto listened with half an ear, not wanting to get too angry and lose his composure. Finally one of the door guards came and nodded at Augustan. “He wants to see you first.”
Augustan rose. “Any word on the princess?”
“You’ll have to ask him yourself.” The guard led him to the door, and Janto followed.
“Come in. Don’t stand on the doorstep,” called Florian from inside.
Augustan stepped into Florian’s office. Janto, invisible at his side, crossed the threshold with him.
Fireworks crackled and spat as fingers of red and blue lightning raced along the door frame. Shouts erupted, and Legaciatti raced into the room. Two of them backed Emperor Florian into a corner, shielding him with their bodies. Another shut the door, while others tackled Augustan and wrenched his arms behind his back. The legatus cried out in confusion and anger. He could have fought them—he was a war mage—but he seemed to have the wit not to resist.
Janto picked his way around the Legaciatti toward Florian’s desk.
“It was a faulty ward!” Augustan lifted his head from the floor, but the guards shoved it back down. Two men sat on him while a third fastened manacles onto his arms and legs. “A faulty ward! I am your faithful subject, Emperor, I swear it!”
Two of the Legaciatti got up and searched the room, yanking back chairs and tables. One of them came straight at Janto. Janto backed away and out of his path. When another guard cut him off from the other direction, he scrambled invisibly onto a table. The guard yanked a chair out from beneath it. Janto slid across to the other side and jumped down.
The men completed their search. Silence fell, broken only by the sound of Augustan’s harsh breathing. A Legaciattus approached the emperor and his bodyguards and saluted with a thumb to his chest. “The room is secure, sire.” The bodyguards stepped away.