Assassin's Gambit: The Hearts and Thrones Series (22 page)

Fresh tears started, and she placed a hand over her eyes.

“Sorry,” said Lucien. “Bad time for a joke. It’s just that lots of people must have heard, and by tomorrow rumors will be all over the camp.”

Vitala’s head throbbed. “We’ll get an annulment—a divorce—something.”

“Three gods!” Lucien blinked at her in shock. “Where did that come from? Tomorrow we’ll talk about this, figure out what happened, and fix it. Right?”

Vitala closed her eyes and flopped down on the bed, exhausted and drained.

“Talk to me,” said Lucien sternly.

Vitala gritted her teeth. The young soldier’s face appeared in her head, unbidden.
Say something.

“Kiss me,” Lucien ordered. “Promise me we’ll talk this through in the morning, when you’re feeling better. Promise me you’re not going to give up just because we’ve had a setback.”

“I promise,” she murmured, and when he leaned down, gave him a peck on the lips.

Anything to quiet him for now.

•   •   •

Though sleep came easily to her addled mind, the soldier strode through her dreams, making each of them a nightmare with his bloody froth and convulsions, until blessed unconsciousness eluded her and she found herself staring at the roof of the tent, listening to Lucien’s quiet, even breathing beside her. She rolled out of bed.

“You all right?” he mumbled.

“Chamber pot,” she said.

He turned over and fell back asleep.

The two door guards peered at her curiously as she emerged from the command tent. One of them reddened a little, and she recalled these were the men who’d seen her after the screaming episode. “Yes, Empress?” one of them said.

“Have my horse brought round.”

The guards exchanged glances. “Does the emperor know—”

“You have orders, sir,” she snapped. “Obey them.”

•   •   •

A Riorcan forest by night might have frightened a lesser being, but Vitala was beyond fear. The clawlike branches in the nighttime fog could not intimidate her, nor could the rustling of leaves, the hooting of owls, or the bark of a badger. Vitala had too many nightmares inside her head to worry about the ones on the outside. Besides, she was in no danger. One of the guards was tailing her. He was keeping well back, but she could hear his horse’s hoofbeats.

Her chestnut mare stepped restlessly in the soft dirt, neck overarched with anxiety, a faint sheen of sweat glistening along her shoulder blades. “Shh,” Vitala soothed, and the horse calmed at her touch. Would that Vitala herself could be so easily reassured.

Her official kill count as per the Circle was seven, but she had, in fact, killed ten men. It was one of the three others, one of the men who didn’t count, who haunted her. She didn’t even know his name. He had marked her, taken up residence in her mind like a ghost. She supposed she deserved it; after all, she’d killed him, and this was a fitting revenge.

The chestnut snorted beneath her. She looked up and spotted a glimmer of light peeking at her from between the trees. Sunrise. Time to turn around and go back?

No, not yet.

25

I
n the early evening, she was nearing the encampment when a search party, probably alerted to her location by a magelight signal from her tail, finally intercepted her. “Empress,” said the prefect in charge of the group, “the emperor has been searching for you. I’m to take you directly to the command tent.”

She shrugged. “I was headed there, anyway.”

The ride to the command tent was quiet and somber; some of the soldiers stole glances at her, but no one spoke. She dismounted, someone took her horse, and she entered the command tent, head high, ready for the inevitable confrontation.

Lucien stood as she entered, a teacup and saucer still in his hands. He was red-faced and practically vibrating with fury. “Do you have any idea what this day has been like?”

“Spare me the lecture, Lucien.”

“Do you have
any idea
?”

She sighed and sank heavily into one of the command center chairs. “I suppose it’s been about as pleasant as mine.”

Something sailed past her, and she jolted in surprise as the teacup shattered against one of the wooden beams behind her, followed shortly by the saucer.

“It’s
all over the camp,
” Lucien roared. “It’s
all over the camp
about how I tortured you so horribly in the marriage bed that you screamed like a staking victim and ran off in the dead of night. They think I’m a sadist, a deviant, a violent-tempered monster!”

Vitala stared, astonished, at the tea dripping down the walls. “And you’re doing such a fine job disabusing them of that notion.”

“You promised we would talk about this!” said Lucien. “If you had stayed, we could have made something up to quell the rumors. But when you ran, that was it. I nearly had the guards whipped for letting you go.”

“They were only following their empress’s orders.”

“Then I regret giving you an official rank!”

She shrugged. “I renounce it. We’ll get the marriage annulled. It was never consummated, anyway.”

He looked stricken. “Vitala, you cannot mean that.”

She felt the tears starting and lowered her head.

He crossed the room to her. She realized he was moving without his crutch, that he must be wearing the artificial leg. He waved his hand, and by the sounds of movement, she understood the guards were leaving the room. Then he knelt by her chair and took her hand. “The marriage was consummated.”

She shook her head. “No. You did not . . . spill your seed.”

He smiled crookedly. “How do you know? You weren’t conscious.”

“You couldn’t have. The way you described what happened—I know you would not have continued like nothing had gone wrong.”

“I say I did, and I’m the only credible witness. The guards will attest that you were insensible. I say the marriage was consummated; therefore it cannot be annulled.”

She let out her breath in exasperation. “Then we’ll get a divorce. Kjallans do that all the time—”

“I will not grant you one. The husband can divorce the wife, but the wife cannot divorce the husband. Did you not know that?”

“No. I never studied Kjallan marriage law. I never thought it would apply to me!”

He made a clucking sound with his teeth. “You ought to have looked into it.”

“There’s a third option: murdering you in your sleep.”

Lucien grinned. “Gods, you’re giving me such a cockstand.” He got up from the floor and sat in the chair next to hers. “Tell me what happened last night.”

“There’s no point,” she said. “I can’t stop it from happening.”

“How do you know you can’t stop it?”

“Because I’m not conscious when it happens. I have no control,” she said.

“Are you implying this has happened
before
?” he cried.

Vitala bit her lip. Time for honesty. “It has.”

“But I thought—didn’t this have something to do with Remus?” He looked stricken. “When could it have happened before?”

“I never said it had anything to do with Remus. I know you assumed that, and I encouraged that assumption.”

“No, you said it outright. You said something happened in the tent that night.”

“Something did. I had a vision in the tent that night, but it was interrupted when Remus and the others showed up.”

He paused, and his brow wrinkled. “A vision? I think I remember. Your eyes went all strange—I thought it was because you heard the noise outside. Explain. What was going on inside your head?”

“No point explaining. You realize I can’t sleep with you, right? This marriage you’re so nobly trying to preserve—it would be a sham, a mockery. I cannot give you an heir.”

“You’re giving up too easily. One bad experience and you’re finished? What happened to the woman who said she wanted to conquer this?”

“Let’s pretend for a moment that we sleep together tonight and everything goes fine. I don’t have any screaming fits that make the camp think you’re a sexual deviant. Do you think that means the problem is solved?”

Lucien bit his lip.

“Of course it isn’t solved,” she said. “It could happen again the night after, or at the next Vagabond moon, or a year from now. That fear will hang over us always, and because of that, we’ll never truly be able to enjoy ourselves. Coitus will be a chore, something we hope to get through without a disaster. That’s my reality, Lucien. It will always be my reality, but it doesn’t have to be yours. Don’t you realize I’m trying to help you?”

“You’re making assumptions,” said Lucien. “You think this will never get better, but maybe it will. Maybe each episode will be weaker than the last, until it fades away entirely.”

“Or maybe they’ll get
worse
. When I’m having one of those episodes, I’m not myself. Next time, I might do more than scream and cry. What if next time I summon a Shard and attack you?” It was possible. More than possible. Clearly, some of her actions in the vision were echoed by her real self. Theoretically, she could disarm herself and get rid of her Shards, but in the middle of a war, that didn’t seem like a good idea.

“I’m a war mage. I’m not easy to kill.”

“Lucien, I
specialize
in killing war mages.” She’d thought about it at length during her ride, and concluded that she simply couldn’t take the chance. Fear and discomfort were one thing; losing control was another. “I’m sorry. I won’t go to bed with you again.”

“Vitala—”

“You must divorce me. I love you, and I wish it didn’t have to be this way. But there can be no more middle-of-the-night screaming. I apologize for humiliating you.”

His cheeks reddened. “Look, I’m sorry I lost my temper. Let the soldiers make up stories. It doesn’t matter what they think—”

“I’m going back to the Circle,” said Vitala. “That’s what I came here to tell you.”

Lucien gaped at her, momentarily speechless. “Please tell me this isn’t because I threw the gods-cursed teacup.”

She smiled sadly and shook her head. “I made my decision while I was out riding. Think about it. You don’t need my protection; there are no assassins after you. You’ve got the battalions well in hand—you are the military strategist, not I. I cannot be your wife without failing spectacularly. I have only one skill, and with the Circle I can put that skill to use.”
Killing people,
she thought bitterly.
My sole talent.

“You’re the Empress of Kjall! And you do not have only
one skill
—” he began.

Someone knocked loudly on the door. “Sire!”

His brow tightened in annoyance. “Is it an emergency, Quincius?”

“Yes, sire,” came Quincius’s voice.

Lucien gave Vitala a stern look. “Do not move. I’m not finished with you.” He called out, “Come in.” As Quincius entered, he reached for the teapot and an unbroken cup and saucer. “What’s the news?”

“A fleet’s been sighted in the Great Northern Sea.”

Lucien froze in the middle of pouring. “Soldier’s hell.”

“They’re not Kjallan ships, sire. They’re Mosari.”

After a moment of stunned silence, Lucien leapt to his feet, wobbling a bit on the new leg. He hurried unevenly to the door, with Quincius on his heels. “Three gods, man, if that’s who I think it is—”

“Who?” said Vitala. “Who do you think it is?”

Lucien pointed an urgent finger at her. “Do
not
leave!” He called to the door guards, “On pain of excruciating death, do not allow the empress to leave the command tent!”

“What’s going on?” cried Vitala, rising from her seat.

But both Quincius and Lucien were already out the door.

26

L
ucien burst back into the command tent. “Pack a day’s supplies. We’re riding out.”

Vitala stood up, startled. “Right now? It’s getting dark.”

“All the more reason to hurry.” He slap-thumped into the bedroom.

She stepped outside to whistle up Flavia, who had the run of the camp. Moments later, with the dog at her side, she followed Lucien into the bedroom and found him yanking clothes out of a chest and tossing them on the bed for his batman to pack. “What were the ships?”

“They’re carrying my cousin Rhianne and her husband, the king of Mosar. We’ve spoken by signal relay, and I must see them immediately—they’ve come to help us. You’d better start packing, or you’ll have nothing to wear.” He ogled her for a moment. “Of course, that has possibilities.”

Sighing, she went to her own trunk. “Why do we have to go to them? Can’t they come here?”

“My dear Vitala, I love you, but ships cannot travel on land.”

She raised a hand to slap him. “You know what I mean!” But the smile he lobbed in her direction was so joyous, so full of buoyant energy, that she lowered her hand and went back to picking out clothes. “Isn’t this a bad time to leave the army? The usurper’s forces aren’t far away.”

“Quincius will remain here, in charge, and I’ll be in touch with him by signal. Once I’ve spoken to King Jan-Torres and determined our course of action, we’ll move the battalions. Besides . . .” He rose to his feet and seized her around the waist, hugging her fiercely. “This will be
fun
. We’ve been hearing and smelling the Great Northern Sea for ages. Don’t you want to get up close where you can
taste
it?” His kissed her neck.

Laughing, she pushed him away. How strange: a moment ago he’d been in the worst of moods and now he was happy again, but she wasn’t the one who’d brought about the change. His cousin Rhianne had done it. Irrational as it was, she found herself jealous. “I said I was going back to the Circle. This doesn’t change that.”

“But if you meet with the Mosari leaders first, you’ll have actual intelligence to carry back. Won’t you?”

“I suppose so.” She glanced at him sidelong. Not long ago, he’d been arguing with her vociferously on this subject.

A corner of his mouth turned up in a sly smile as he grabbed Flavia and hugged her about the shoulders, then dug deeper in his trunk. That Caturanga head of his was at work, scheming as usual. Whatever plan he’d dreamed up this time would likely prove a disappointment, but she was glad, at least, to see him back to his old self.

•   •   •

They packed only the bare minimum and were off at once. A baggage train would follow them with more supplies and a larger party of soldiers. For now, they rode in a vanguard of twenty horsemen and galloped through the entire remaining hour of daylight, pausing only twice to rest the horses.

Traveling among the soldiers, Vitala began to realize how badly she’d damaged Lucien’s reputation. The men watched them closely. Time and again, she saw them whisper to one another and look at her with pity, or at Lucien with revulsion. Lucien bore it well, but was not blind to it. While they rested the horses at a walk, he stared straight ahead, his mouth a thin, hard line.

What could she do to fix this? She couldn’t explain to the soldiers what had happened in the bedroom that night; it was too intimate, and it wasn’t anyone else’s business. She didn’t owe them an explanation. And if she told the truth, would they believe it? The rumors probably sounded more plausible than the reality. By now any explanation she or Lucien tried to make would have
cover-up
written all over it.

Let them figure this one out.
She kneed her horse close enough to Lucien’s that her leg brushed against his, then leaned over in the saddle and kissed him on the lips. His eyes opened wide, but he lost no time in returning the kiss and slipping a hand behind her neck to deepen it. The murmurs of idle conversation behind them suddenly ceased, leaving behind only the rhythmic thudding of hoofbeats. Oh yes, she and Lucien were being watched very closely indeed.

•   •   •

Two days of hard travel brought them to the coastal village of Tovar. Long before the village came into view, they saw the masts of the Mosari ships peeking above the cliffs. Then they rounded the hillside and the harbor came into view. The ships towered over the Riorcan fishing boats like antlered stags among field mice. Their hulls were broader and their bows rounder than Kjallan ships. Carved wooden animals decorated the rails. Though under assault by the unruly waves of the Great Northern Sea, they bobbed in a stately, dignified manner.

While Lucien and his men inquired as to whether the Mosari royals were ready to receive them, Vitala went out on the pier. The little Riorcan fishing boats were delightful to watch. Navigated by oars and a single sail, these tiny vessels, carrying four to six men each, ventured out into waves twice their height, braving rock-strewn passageways as they headed out to sea. Only the incredible skill of the sailors kept them from capsizing. One man in the front of each boat seemed to be in charge. He kept watch for rocks and currents and yelled orders to his crew, who hastened to obey. Watching their frenetic movements, Vitala’s heart surged, full of love for her brave, capable countrymen.

Someone called her name, and she turned to see Lucien beckoning. After a last, longing look at the fishing boats, she left the pier and joined him.

“They’re ready for us,” he said.

“Did you say the king was sick?”

“He was,” said Lucien. “Seasick—these waters would do it to anyone. Rhianne says he’s feeling better now. Is that Flavia?”

Vitala turned to the shoreline. Last she’d seen, Flavia had been running up and down the beach, tugging bits of driftwood out of the sand.

“No, in the water.” Lucien pointed.

“That little brown dot?” She could hardly believe it. Flavia was so far out in the ocean, swimming against the waves, that she could barely make her out. “She’s way out there, and the water’s so cold!”

“Look at her handle those waves. She’s absolutely fearless.”

“She has no idea of the danger. What if she drowns?” Vitala whistled, but Flavia didn’t seem to hear her.

“I don’t think she’ll drown,” said Lucien, but he grabbed a stick and hurled it with magically enhanced strength all the way out to where Flavia was swimming. It landed with a splash, and Flavia’s ears went up. She swam for the stick, seized it, and headed for shore. When she emerged from the water, she shook herself off and paraded about, looking pleased. “What a swimmer!” said Lucien. “She’s a natural.”

Vitala held her tongue. She was more convinced than ever that Flavia was Riorcan bred. What Kjallan dog, bred for the balmy lakes of the south, would, on a lark, brave the frigid waters of the Great Northern Sea?

Lucien took her hand. “Let’s go in. Don’t mention to Rhianne that you once tried to assassinate me. It’s not something she would understand.”

“All right,” Vitala said, bemused.

Lucien led her into the decrepit town hall, which needed a paint job and a new roof. Vitala spotted a large dog prowling the open space within. No, not a dog—it was a great cat, dark brown in color and brindled with black stripes. The creature bared its huge yellow teeth, and Vitala stopped short. A rumbling at her side alerted her to Flavia, whose muzzle had wrinkled into an unaccustomed growl.

“Quiet,” snapped Lucien.

Flavia fell silent. The cat eyed them briefly, then turned away. A second cat, slightly smaller but with the same coloration, slept on the floor.

Three men and a woman awaited them. Vitala picked out King Jan-Torres by the four-strand gold necklace he wore around his neck. Though not a large man, Jan-Torres had a calm confidence about him that made it clear he was the one in charge. He was colorfully dressed in the Mosari style, but with a Riorcan cloak thrown about him for warmth. Most astonishingly, there was an animal perched on his shoulder, a sleek, furry, weasel-like creature with rust-and-white fur and intelligent black eyes.

The two other men, both physically imposing and well armed, she took for bodyguards or military officers. A brindlecat sidled up to one of them and rubbed against him. The woman had to be Rhianne. Though paler-skinned than the others, she was darker than the typical Kjallan, no doubt an effect of the tropical Mosari sun. Strands of gold streaked her walnut-brown hair. Her syrtos was Kjallan in its cut and style, but gauzy and multicolored, an apparent compromise between Kjallan and Mosari modes of dress.

“Lucien!” cried the woman. “Are you
walking
? Without a crutch?”

Lucien glanced down at the artificial leg and scowled. “It pinches like a gods-cursed—”

“Three gods. I can’t believe it!” Rhianne flung herself into his arms with enough impact to knock the wind out of him. “The things you don’t mention in your letters!”

Vitala swallowed the lump in her throat and told herself,
I am not jealous of Lucien’s cousin.
She caught the King of Mosar watching her calmly but intently.

“Three gods,” murmured Lucien. His hand was on Rhianne’s belly, and Vitala realized with a start that the woman was pregnant. “Speaking of things not mentioned in letters . . .”

“I wanted to surprise you,” said Rhianne.

“How far along?” asked Lucien.

“Five months.”

“What are you doing sailing halfway around the world?” cried Lucien. “You should be at home! Send your husband on errands like this.”

With a tight-lipped smile, Jan-Torres stepped between Lucien and Rhianne. “We decided it would be better for her to come along.” Vitala was surprised to hear him speak the Kjallan language fluently.

“Jan-Torres. Your Majesty,” said Lucien, extending his hand. “A pleasure.”

The two men clasped wrists, their movements stiff and guarded. They circled each other like a pair of wolves with their hackles up.

“Lucien,” said Rhianne. “You haven’t made introductions.” She turned to Vitala, her eyes bright and friendly. “Who is this lovely young lady?”

Lucien hurried back to Vitala, grabbed her hand, and pulled her towards the Mosari royals. “This is my wife, Vitala, the Empress of Kjall.”

Rhianne’s mouth fell open.

“Before you say anything about leaving that out of the letters,” Lucien added hurriedly, “the wedding was three days ago.”

Rhianne beamed at Vitala with a smile so wide it forced tears out of the corners of her eyes. “Lucien’s wife. Three gods.” She reached for Vitala’s hand. They clasped wrists, and then Rhianne, apparently unable to resist, pulled her into a full-body hug. “I’m
so
glad to meet you, Empress. Please take good care of my cousin. He’s a good man, but if he gets carried away with anything, talk to me. I know a few tricks for dealing with him.” She winked.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Vitala choked out, half-crushed by the hug and aching with guilt. Rhianne didn’t know, of course, that she was Lucien’s wife in name only, that she had asked for a divorce and would soon flee to the Obsidian Circle. No point bringing it up now.

“Emperor.” Jan-Torres had a rich, powerful voice, one that instantly commanded the attention of everyone in the room. “You seem to have landed yourself in a bit of trouble.”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Shall we discuss it?”

“Absolutely, Your Majesty.”

Rhianne released Vitala from the hug but clung to her hand. “While they talk business, why don’t you and I go for a walk? We have much to discuss.”

Vitala hesitated, wondering what she could have to say to this woman.

“Stories about Lucien,” Rhianne confided in a mock whisper. “Would you like to hear about the time he learned how to make explosives and blew up the door to his brother’s room?”

“Rhianne, you are not telling her that!” cried Lucien.

Vitala smiled. “Yes, Your Majesty. I’d like that very much.”