Janto smiled. “I got a few swats for that myself.”
Kal examined its tag. “We’re leaving it behind?”
Janto shrugged. “It’s too big. We need the space for food. When we get home, we’ll commission a new one.”
“It won’t be the same. How much food do we need?”
“I have no idea. If the stores on Mosar are truly depleted, we’ll need far more than we could ever cram on board.”
Kal frowned. “We shouldn’t be taking the Riorcans.”
“I promised they’d have a home with us.” Admiral Durgan had relented and accepted his offer of asylum on Mosar. “Besides, they have their own ships and can carry their own food.”
“They’ll be trouble. Durgan tried to sabotage the negotiations.”
“His interests weren’t being taken seriously. People make trouble when they’re not treated fairly,” said Janto. “I think we should see what happens when we treat them right. We’ve got entire villages that were wiped out and need repopulating, and these people need a place to live. If they can adapt to the Mosari heat and our storm season, this could work out well.”
“The Riorcans don’t like us. They don’t know our ways, and they don’t even want to be there,” said Kal. “It’s going to be another disaster—Silverside all over again. And you let that Kjallan princess go.”
Janto balled his hands into fists. “Don’t bring Rhianne into this.”
“She’s the best match you could possibly have made for Mosar. You couldn’t bring yourself to face a few tears in the marriage bed, for the good of your country?”
“You’re out of line, Fleet Commander,” Janto snapped. “See to your ships.”
When Janto arrived at his room in the Kjallan palace, he was tired and out of sorts. “No visitors,” he growled to the door guard.
San-Kullen, his bodyguard, awaited orders.
Janto dismissed him with a wave. “Go to bed. Get some rest.”
“Yes, sire. I was wondering—shall I send you up a woman? I think it would do you good.”
Janto blinked. “San-Kullen, can you of all people have forgotten my orders regarding the Kjallan women?”
San-Kullen looked offended. “I mean someone willing. Since we freed the palace women, some of them have been, uh, friendly to the officers. I think we strike them as exotic. And they like our familiars. I won’t have any trouble at all finding someone who wants to sleep with the king of Mosar.”
San-Kullen was probably right; rank had its advantages. And it would do him good. On the other hand, a Kjallan woman would surely remind him of Rhianne—and that would cause him grief. And in the mood he was in, he wasn’t fit for company. “Thank you, San-Kullen. Not tonight.”
San-Kullen saluted. “I’ll see you in the morning, sire.”
The door shut, leaving Janto alone in his room. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to relieve some tension. His supper tray sat on a nearby table. He passed by it without interest and stepped out onto the balcony.
An evening breeze ruffled his hair. The loading of the ships was still in progress. He could see it from here, trails of blue magelight on the water, some gliding toward him, others away. The ships’ masts and rigging, outlined by glows and magelight, glittered like spiderwebs at dawn.
All three moons were out, which was unusual. The Vagabond would be full tomorrow. He’d have to produce enough spirits for everyone on board to deliver the customary toast. Great one, pass us by. He snorted. As if that ever worked.
You’re in a mood, commented Sashi.
Sorry, he said. This has been harder than I expected.
Sashi’s tail flicked over his neck in sympathy.
“Sire.”
He jumped at the quiet voice. “I said no visitors!”
“I’m sorry, sire,” mumbled the door guard. “But it’s the Imperial Princess.”
Rhianne fidgeted anxiously outside Janto’s door. What if he wouldn’t see her? The guard had refused her at first. She’d pulled rank and argued, saying she was the Imperial Princess and she absolutely had to speak with Jan-Torres tonight. After all, he was leaving tomorrow and wouldn’t be back for years. The door guard held his ground for a little while, but when she’d persisted, he’d grudgingly agreed to see if Jan-Torres would make an exception for her.
Now the guard was returning, at an aggravatingly slow pace. His expression was bland; she couldn’t tell from looking at him what his answer would be.
He trudged up to her. “King Jan-Torres will see you.”
She let her breath out in a rush. “Thank you.”
The guard stepped aside, and she hurried into the room. There was no sign of Janto. “Where is he?” she called over her shoulder.
“Balcony,” the guard answered.
Odd that Janto had not come to meet her. Well, she was not at all certain how he felt about her. She hadn’t treated him well for the past several days.
It appeared he’d installed himself in the rooms of one of Florian’s advisers. She looked the place over, noting an untouched supper tray, and a pile of clothes and assorted items laid out on a chair. A light silk curtain, ivory in color, covered the entrance to the balcony, shimmering as the evening breeze tickled its edges. She pushed it aside and stepped out into the night air.
Janto leaned on the marble railing, watching the ships in the harbor. He turned, briefly, to acknowledge her presence. Then the harbor lights seemed to captivate him again—or perhaps he couldn’t bear to look at her.
It stung that he didn’t even smile in her direction, but she couldn’t blame him. He’d tried so hard to win her over, even proposing marriage, and she’d rebuffed him. She swallowed. “You’re leaving tomorrow.”
He nodded. “On the tide.”
She stepped to the railing beside him and looked out into the harbor. “I couldn’t let you go without saying good-bye.”
The lump in his throat bobbed. “If that’s what you’re here for, you’d best leave. I’ve said good-bye already, and I can’t bear to do it again.”
Pox, she was fouling this up. Why had she even said that? It was so cowardly, and it didn’t remotely hint at her real intentions. “That’s not what I’m really here for.” She didn’t like the way he looked, tense and unhappy. His hair was a little mussed, and she wanted so badly to run her fingers through it. “I haven’t seen you this quiet since the day we met. You don’t look yourself at all.”
“Bad day,” he mumbled, staring at the harbor.
She slipped her hand into his. “How so?”
He stiffened, but then curled his fingers around hers and leaned closer, relaxing a little. “Do you remember the Riorcan fellow at the negotiations?”
“Admiral Durgan. Of course.”
“I offered him and his people asylum in Mosar. Seemed a harmless thing to do, a bit of basic human decency, but now my brother’s giving me a hard time about it, saying they’re going to be trouble, and this is Silverside all over again.” He exhaled forcefully. “I know it sounds trivial—nothing I should get out of sorts over—but it’s always like this with Kal. I’m not good enough; my judgment is faulty; I should step aside and let him be king.” He shook his head. “There was more, but I won’t share it. Ugly stuff.”
Rhianne slipped an arm around his waist. In response, he wrapped an arm around her shoulder. She leaned into him. It felt good to touch him again.
“I hesitate in telling you about the Riorcans,” added Janto. “You’re Kjallan. You see things differently where Riorca is concerned.”