Assassin's Gambit: The Hearts and Thrones Series (14 page)

Bayard was on the ground and Vitala was on top of him. He thought his eyes must be playing tricks on him, because the scene was ludicrous. Bayard was so much bigger than she; he could have flung her off easily. But he lay passive and still, taking shallow, frightened breaths. Looking closer, Lucien saw that Vitala held something tiny and dark to his throat. A trail of blood tracked its way down the man’s neck.

The shouting hurt his ears. He could hardly make sense of it. The guards were shouting at Vitala. Bayard was shouting at the guards. But Vitala was silent, her mouth a hard, thin line.

“Get back! Get back!” cried Bayard. “She’s got a Shard. Don’t threaten her!”

A Shard? Lucien looked closer. Was that the tiny black thing piercing Bayard’s throat? Her knife and her two pistols sat at her belt within easy drawing range, yet they were untouched. When she’d wanted a weapon, she’d reached not for one of them, but for this Shard.

“Vitala . . .” said Bayard placatingly.

“I’ll kill you,” snarled Vitala. “You touch him again, and I release the death spell.”

The hair rose on the nape of Lucien’s neck. He’d never seen Vitala like this. When she’d fought at the bonfire, she’d been cool and dispassionate. Now her whole body trembled with rage. On a ship in a storm, he’d seen a hawser pulled so tight it quivered and hummed under impossible strain, until finally it broke. Vitala was like that hawser, poised just shy of the breaking point, tense and fragile and dangerous all at once.

“Haven’t we been friends?” said Bayard in a tremulous voice. “Did I not save you from a family you hated and bring you someplace better?”

Vitala spat in his face.

A lump bobbed in Bayard’s throat. “All right. I’ll end the interrogation. Someone will see to Lucien’s injuries—”

“A Healer,” said Vitala.

“Yes, a Healer will see to Lucien’s injuries. Let me up and take that Shard out of my neck, and we’ll discuss this later, when our tempers aren’t running so high.”

“You have to promise me he won’t be harmed. If you hurt him again, I’ll kill you.” She looked around the room, catching the eye of the two guards, both of whom recoiled from her gaze. “I’ll kill anyone who hurts him.”

“I promise,” said Bayard. “He will not be harmed. Let me up, Vitala. Please.”

Vitala removed the tiny, dark object from Bayard’s throat, hid it in her fist, and stood. Bayard got up next and brushed himself off. “Well?” he snapped at one of the guards. “You heard the orders. Fetch the Healer for Lucien.” He turned to Vitala. “Go and calm yourself. I’ll do the same, and we’ll discuss this later.”

15

V
itala lay on the bed in her room, staring at the cracks in the wall. As a child, she had often done this, stared at the cracks in the wall and made up stories about them, imagining them to be animals and people and places. But those were different cracks, in a different location. The enclave had been in this cave for only a couple of years, and she’d spent most of that time on the Caturanga circuit. These were not her old friends. What could she make of them? The nearest one looked like a broken window, the one near the corner like a human face. The one by the chair looked like a bloodstain, spreading and spreading until . . .

She squeezed her eyes shut. What was wrong with her? Could she see nothing but destruction and ruin?

“Are you all right, Miss Salonius?” piped a timorous voice from the girl in the chair.

“I’m fine.” It had been Bayard’s idea to have her watched by a twelve-year-old. He knew Vitala wouldn’t do anything crazy in the presence of a child. But the girl didn’t know that, poor thing. She was an assassin in training under Bayard’s tutelage and named Estelle, if Vitala remembered right. She was cute and innocent; it would be a few years yet before the ugly part of her training began.

Vitala sighed and rolled over onto on her stomach, propping her chin on folded arms. She’d never before noticed the enclave’s bleakness. Raw stone walls; crude wooden furniture. When an enclave moved, it typically left any furniture behind; the Circle possessed little in the way of pack animals, and carts could not navigate the rough mountain paths. Lumber was plentiful in Riorca, and support staff would quickly build new furniture at the new location, but the hurried, uncaring construction showed. The chair Estelle sat on was creaky and bristled with splinters. The legs on Vitala’s bed were so uneven that she could rock the structure back and forth. The Imperial Palace had spoiled her, not only with its beauty, but with its sense of permanence. Here everything was temporary, neither valued nor cherished.

The door handle clicked.
Bayard
.

Estelle scooted to the edge of her chair in eager anticipation of her rescuer, while Vitala stared at the door with dread.

He entered. “Estelle, thank you. You may go.”

The girl leapt from her chair and fled through the open door.

“Vitala.” Bayard shut the door. “I’m sorry about earlier. We both acted rashly.”

That was her cue to return the apology, but she only regarded Bayard stonily. She would not apologize for defending Lucien, nor for stopping Bayard from an ill-conceived act that might have spoiled Riorca’s chances for a better future.

After a moment of awkward silence, Bayard said, “I’ve spoken to the prisoner.”

Vitala gasped. “You promised you wouldn’t—”

He held up his arms. “I said I wouldn’t touch him and I didn’t. I only wanted to see what questions he would answer voluntarily, and he was quite forthcoming.”

“I told you. He was forthcoming because he’s not our enemy.”

“Mm.” Bayard shook his head slightly. “He’s not our friend either, but I didn’t come here to argue about that. Shall we debrief? I heard a few details about what you’ve been through from Lucien, and it sounds like you’ve increased your kill count.” He smiled. “Ista will be envious.”

Vitala waved her hand, denying that. “Isn’t her kill count nine already?” She took a deep breath and told the story of her mission, beginning with the day she met Remus on the docks of the imperial city. Bayard listened without apparent emotion at first, but his eyebrows went up at her description of the fighting in Lucien’s tent and at the bonfire, particularly her encounter with Remus. The events at Tasox shocked him. The news of the town’s near destruction had not yet reached the enclave.

“Your tale is astonishing,” said Bayard. “I’m sorry for the loss of our agents in Tasox.”

“I know.” Vitala felt a pang, thinking of the sweetly indomitable Hanna and Glenys. “And their deaths were so senseless. Lucien grieved for them too.”

“I’ll speak with the enclave leaders about getting someone else out there quickly.”

“There’s something else about them. The dog was theirs, and because of some hints they dropped, I believe it may be a Riorcan dog.”

“We’ve no Riorcan dogs, not any longer. The Kjallans wiped them out.”

“Glenys said the bloodline had survived, hidden away. Will you make inquiries with the other enclaves, see if Flavia is one of those survivors?”

He shrugged. “I’ll ask around. It sounds like you had six kills on this mission, all of them incidentals. Remus, the Warder, the two sentries at the bonfire, and the two Legaciatti guarding Lucien. Am I right?”

She nodded. “Yes, six.”

“Did you collect any riftstones for us?”

She made a face. “Only the Warder’s.” She pulled it from her pocket and placed it in Bayard’s hand. “I would have taken more, but we were in a hurry.”

“I understand,” said Bayard.

Vitala’s heart twisted at his look of disappointment. She’d spent so much of her life trying to please this man. Later, that desire had worn off—so she’d thought—but it seemed some small part of her still wanted to make him proud. Then she remembered something. “Wait. I have the loros.”

“The imperial loros? You’re joking.”

“No. It’s in one of the saddlebags.”

“How did you carry it such a distance without attracting thieves?”

Vitala shrugged. “It was just in the saddlebag. Nobody knew.”

Bayard shook his head in wonder. “I’ll fetch it directly. Well, you’ve gone from one kill to seven in a single mission. Or perhaps eight. I’m wondering if I shouldn’t count Lucien. You didn’t kill him, but you did bring him to us, and I think that may be the greater achievement. It’s obvious you could have killed him at any time, if you’d chosen to.”

“Don’t count Lucien,” said Vitala. “Leave it at seven.” Counting Lucien as a kill might make it look as if she were giving up on him, which she had no intention of doing.

Bayard frowned. “Very well. Now, about this morning—”

“Listen,” said Vitala. “You’ve got to let Lucien go. Stop treating him as a prisoner and open negotiations. He claims he can raise an army—”

“I find that hard to believe.”

She shrugged. “Either he can do it or he can’t. If he can’t, then he’s a powerless fugitive and no threat to us. If he can, then he’s an ally of great importance.”

Bayard shook his head. “Lucien is not and never will be an ally to Riorca.”

“His interests and ours are aligned—”

“Vitala!” His voice grew sharp. “You are not thinking clearly, and the reason is obvious. You did what an assassin is never supposed to do. You fell in love with your target.”

Vitala blinked at him, shocked at that possible truth.
Was
she in love with Lucien? No, surely not. She was sleeping with him, and she found him attractive, but that wasn’t love. Or was it? How would she know, when she’d never been in love?

Bayard spoke gently. “We all know how it happens. You studied this man for years. Fixated on him, as an assassin must. For nearly a decade, he occupied your thoughts, and then you finally met him. You were nervous and excited, and you mistook your intense feelings—”

“No.” She shook her head. “That’s not what happened. I’m not in love with Lucien.” Bayard’s words cut deeply. They couldn’t be true. She’d always prided herself on her professionalism. She would never allow personal feelings to cloud her judgment.

“He was too crippled to overpower you physically, so he came at you another way—charmed his way past your defenses, made an ally out of you, got you to plead his ridiculous case. He’s a clever boots, I’ll grant him that—”

“Bayard—”

“—but he’s not worth an iota of our respect or consideration. He’s poison, Vitala, toxic as an undergrown spinefruit. For what he’s done to you alone, I’d gladly beat him to death.”

“Bayard, you cannot!”

“I’ve promised not to touch him, and I’ll keep my word. But maybe you’ll change your mind later, when his influence over you begins to wane. I think you’ll soon realize how much he’s lied and taken advantage of you.”

“What about Cassian and his plan to decimate Riorca for our supposed assassination of the emperor? At the very least, we must prove him a liar by producing Lucien alive,” said Vitala.

“Do you believe Cassian will call off his plans for decimation if we prove that Lucien lives?”

Vitala considered. “No. But it’s not Cassian we’re trying to reach. It’s the Kjallan people. If we show them the truth, they’ll know Cassian lied to them, that he seized the throne under false pretenses. They may refuse to carry out his orders, maybe even rise up against him.”

“Mm,” said Bayard. “I think Kjallans like the lie. They want someone to blame their troubles on, and vilifying Riorca has always been Kjall’s favorite sport. How many people can even identify Lucien on sight? We might be accused of producing a false emperor.”

“I’m sure there are people who know Lucien well and could vouch that he’s the real man.”

Bayard shook his head. “There
were
such people. Cassian will remove them from power, discredit them, or have them killed.”

Vitala bit her lip in exasperation. Every solution she produced, Bayard found flaws in. “What can we do?”

“Consider this,” said Bayard. “The Circle had trouble stirring up rebellion under Lucien’s rule. He was a status quo emperor; he neither improved our situation nor made it worse. Our people are suffering, but they’re not suffering so badly that they’re willing to risk their lives and their families in rebellion. Cassian, on the other hand, is aggressively targeting Riorca for punishment. It’s a deflection tactic so that the Kjallans turn a blind eye to other abuses, and our people will not stand for the random, ruthless executions of decimation.” Bayard’s eyes glinted. “Vitala, I think we shall finally have war.”

She stared at him, horrified. “Is that what you want? An emperor worse than Lucien, one who will drive our people into such despair that they’ll throw their lives away in rebellion?”

“They won’t be
throwing them away
.” Bayard folded his arms. “You’ve never had any illusions about the Circle, Vitala. You know that our goal is to free Riorca, whatever it takes. Our methods may not be noble or honorable. We’re fighting an enemy far more powerful than ourselves. Honor is a luxury we cannot afford.”

Vitala lowered her head. She knew this was true; she’d accepted it long ago. Why else would she have agreed to devote her life to dealing out death? “I know. What will be done with Lucien?”

“I’ve summoned the leaders from two other enclaves. They’ll be here in a few days, and we’ll discuss what to do with him. This is too big a decision for a single enclave to make.”

“May I make my case to the other enclave leaders for allying ourselves with Lucien?”

“I wish you wouldn’t,” said Bayard. “It will do you no credit. But if you insist, you may speak on his behalf.”

“Thank you.”

He nodded. “Before I go, there’s one more thing I must ask of you.”

“What?” asked Vitala.

“I understand you’re carrying Lucien’s riftstone, which means his war magic is still active from proximity. As you know, we have no proper facilities for keeping prisoners. All we can do is restrain Lucien and place guards over him, and I’d feel better about that if we could at least deprive him of his war magic. I need that riftstone.”

“What are you going to do with it?”

“Send it to another enclave for safekeeping.”

Vitala shivered. While she was certain Bayard was not lying when he said Lucien’s fate would be discussed and decided in a meeting of enclave leaders, she was equally certain that Bayard had no intention of ever freeing Lucien or accepting him as an ally. So where did that leave her? Where did it leave Lucien? If she let the riftstone go, it severed too many options. Lucien would lose his magic permanently; she’d never be able to recover the stone.

She reached into her pocket, pulled out a broken chain with a yellow topaz riftstone, and placed it in Bayard’s hand.

His hand closed over it. “Thank you,” he said gently.

It was Remus’s riftstone.

•   •   •

Vitala spent the next few hours staring at the cracks in the wall and thinking. One thing she knew for sure: she couldn’t let the Circle’s shortsightedness spoil Riorca’s best chance for freedom.

Approaching footsteps startled her out of her reverie, and she looked up to see Ista scowling in her doorway. “Kill count
seven
? What’d you do, take out Lucien’s entire personal guard?”

Vitala smiled, flushing with pleasure at the backhanded praise. Somehow Ista still intimidated her, though she shouldn’t. They were equals now, both proven and accomplished assassins. They had much in common. Ista, like Vitala, was a dark-haired Kjallan/Riorcan half-breed, rejected by her family and village. She was shorter than Vitala, but just as appealing to men if not more so, with her curvier, larger-breasted body and an outgoing personality that captivated her victims. Bayard said Vitala and Ista were different types, that Vitala would appeal more to aristocrats and Ista more to commoners, but from what Vitala had seen, Ista was capable of seducing any man she chose. If Ista had possessed Vitala’s Caturanga skills, she would likely have been the one assigned to kill the emperor.

“It was complicated,” Vitala answered. “I didn’t actually kill Lucien. I rescued him from a palace coup, and I killed four Legaciatti and two sentries in the process.”

Ista looked closely at Vitala’s hands. “And you used only three Shards?”

Vitala nodded. She wiggled her fingers, relaxing her mind just enough to see the contact points for her seven remaining Shards. Sometimes she forgot that they weren’t invisible to absolutely everyone; other wardbreakers, like Ista, could see them or even break them. She’d actually used only two during the mission. The third missing Shard was the one she’d pulled on Bayard.

“I heard the former emperor is imprisoned here,” said Ista.

“Have you seen him?” Vitala asked eagerly.

“No. They won’t let me in.”

Vitala nodded, unsurprised. Obsidian Circle assassins were rarely permitted to show themselves to enclave visitors; they needed their anonymity preserved. It made for a lonely existence—the assassins had only the enclave staff and each other. For that reason, it was sad that she and Ista had never struck up a friendship. The difference in their ages had been a barrier. Ista was four years older and had been so much more advanced in her training. She had ignored Vitala, just as Vitala now ignored younger girls like Estelle. Later, when they had both been fully qualified assassins, they’d kept their distance through a petty rivalry that now seemed silly.