Janto shook his head. “You’re in no position to make demands. Even if you were, the ships are not mine to give. Take it up with the Riorcan fleet commander.”
“There is no Riorcan fleet commander! The man who calls himself that is an escaped slave, nothing more!”
“By some accounts, I am an escaped slave.”
Lucien scowled and folded his arms.
Janto rose. It was time to make his exit before Lucien could come up with any more ridiculous ideas. “I’ll see you at the negotiating table, Emperor. In the meantime, think on my offer.”
“Wait,” said Lucien.
Janto paused.
“Return my stolen ships, and I will accept your offer. My forces will leave Mosar peacefully.”
“The Riorcan ships are not mine to give. Even if they were, I would not betray an ally who fought at my side.” Janto headed for the door.
“Jan-Torres, what do you want in exchange for those stolen ships?”
Janto waved a dismissive hand. “If you want ships, accept my original offer. It gives you four.”
“I want the two Riorcan ships, and I’m willing to deal. What do you want? Money? Preferential trade agreements? Kjall would be a powerful ally for Mosar.”
Janto hesitated with his hand on the door handle. Indeed, Kjall would. This was exactly the kind of agreement he wanted. But at the price of betraying the Riorcans?
There was no chance Riorca was going to come out of this well. The destruction of the fleet would temporarily prevent the Kjallans from attacking Mosar or Sardos, but not Riorca, which shared their continent and was accessible by land. What difference would it make, in the long run, if he seized the Riorcan ships and returned them to Kjall?
No difference at all, probably. Lucien didn’t need those ships; he was demanding them as a matter of principle. But there were lines Janto would not cross, not if he wanted to be worthy of his throne. And he didn’t trust Lucien, not fully. It was in the young emperor’s interest to break up the alliance between Mosar, Sardos, and Riorca. Janto had to make certain he did not succeed in doing so. “There is nothing you can offer me that will induce me to betray my allies,” he said firmly.
“Perhaps we need only to hit upon the right lure. Did Rhianne accept your offer of marriage?”
Janto froze. “I have not yet made the offer.”
“You were going to.”
“I’ve been busy destroying your fleet.”
“You haven’t made it because you know she won’t accept. She’s hostile. Am I correct?”
“What do you care?” said Janto. “You said you’d kill me if I touched your cousin.”
“Perhaps I’ve experienced a change of heart,” said Lucien. “Rhianne once cared about you a great deal. Her happiness means much to me. So tell me: has she been receptive?”
Janto bit his lip. “She’s angry about the lives lost in the assault and that I deceived her about my identity.”
“You are making a mistake with her, and I think I know what it is,” said Lucien.
“There’s no mistake,” said Janto. “She’s angry about the things I’ve done, and she’ll either forgive me or she won’t. If I had more time—”
“It’s not about time,” said Lucien. “I mean, yes, time would help. But it’s unnecessary. Rhianne is rational; she’s just not accustomed to war. If someone were to put your invasion into context for her, explain that you haven’t been executing anyone, or torturing anyone, or even looting our treasury—”
“I did explain some of that.”
“Yes, but she doesn’t trust you right now. She trusts me.”
“And you’re offering to talk to her for me?”
“Yes, in exchange for the Riorcans,” said Lucien. “Hand them over, and I’ll return Mosar to you peacefully, negotiate trade agreements, and speak to Rhianne on your behalf, an act that might lead to an even stronger alliance between our nations.”
The offer hit Janto like a punch to the gut. It was everything he wanted, absolutely everything. A peaceful recovery of Mosar, an alliance with Kjall, and, possibly, reconciliation with the woman he loved. There was only that small matter of betraying men who’d fought in good faith by his side. He forced his lips to form the words “No deal.”
Lucien sighed. “I see you are intractable on this point. Come sit down, and I’ll tell you something about Rhianne.”
“In exchange for the Riorcans?”
“No. For free.”
That sounded suspicious. “Why?”
“Because you’re a terrible negotiator, but you seem loyal. This seems a point in your favor.”
Wary, Janto returned to his chair and sat.
“You cannot put Rhianne in a cage,” said Lucien. “It is the worst mistake you can make with her. The story of the woodcutter’s son and the horse of mist—do you know it? Is it told on Mosar?”
“I believe so. In our version, it’s a potter’s son.”
“Makes no difference. The boy goes out late at night and finds a great black horse. He has no bridle or saddle, but he gets up on the animal anyway. The horse is so responsive he can guide it with his hands, and its gaits are so smooth he doesn’t need a saddle, and he rides all over the countryside, and it’s the fastest and finest of all horses. By morning, the horse has brought him home and gone off on its own, but every night it comes back, so every night he goes on this glorious ride. And he thinks, I should capture this horse and make it my own. So he gets a bridle, and that night he tries to put a bridle on the horse so he can keep it. And you know what happens?”
“The horse turns to mist and he never sees it again,” said Janto.
“Exactly. Rhianne is the horse of mist,” said Lucien. “My father thinks her confusing and impossible to understand. He could not be more wrong—Rhianne is the most straightforward of women. She’s generous and openhearted, and most of the time she’ll tell you exactly what she’s thinking. There are only two rules you need follow with her, and they are absolute. First, don’t mistreat her. And second, don’t cage her. If you try to cage her, she will fight you with every bit of strength she has.”
“I’m not caging her,” said Janto. “I put her in custody to keep her safe.”
Lucien rolled his eyes. “That’s the mistake I was talking about.”
While he awaited the return of the fleet commanders, Janto visited the wounded, settled disagreements, and attended funerals. As he went about these duties, he noticed a subtle but unmistakable change in his men. They saluted him more crisply; they stood straighter in his presence. They stared at him when they thought he wasn’t looking. And high-ranking officers who had questioned his decisions in the past now deferred without a quibble.
He’d always craved the respect of his men, but now that he had it, he didn’t enjoy it as much as he’d thought he would. He felt as if an invisible barrier, which nobody, not even his officers, dared to cross, had been erected around him. And with no one questioning his decisions, he had no sounding board for trying out ideas. What if he made a foolish decision and no one called him on it?
Folding his arms, he watched the military procession from his balcony. It wound its way up the switchbacks of the Imperial Road, bringing him Kal-Torres and the fleet commanders.
When they arrived, he met them at the front gates with as much pomp as he could muster. He had no musicians, nor could he spare even a single pyrotechnic from signaling duty. But he lined up his officers to receive the battle-weary men with salutes and shouts. Kal was first to enter, bronze and handsome as a living statue. He’d taken a bullet in the leg during battle, but the ship’s Healer had done good work on him, and he wasn’t limping. Gishi fluttered above him, keening in triumph. Admiral Llinos of the Sardossians followed, and then Admiral Durgan of the Riorcans. Durgan was a small, quiet man whom Janto studied curiously. As Lucien had mentioned, the man was a former slave. It remained to be seen whether he possessed the skills of a leader and a diplomat.