Assassin's Gambit: The Hearts and Thrones Series (23 page)

27

N
ot since he’d last seen his father had Lucien felt so inadequate. He and King Jan-Torres were roughly the same height and weight, but as they strode down the hallway together, Lucien felt like the other man was twice his size. Jan-Torres was the man who, under attack by vastly superior Kjallan forces, had boldly invaded the city of Riat, held the empire in a choke hold, and deposed Lucien’s father, granting Lucien the throne. He’d also run off with Rhianne, though Lucien didn’t hold that against him, since his cousin had gone enthusiastically.

And three gods, she’s pregnant.
A smile played about his lips, disappearing as he thought back to his own depressing situation—a wife who’d rejected him after a single night in the marriage bed. Yet another way in which he compared unfavorably. There were no children in
his
future.

“We can talk in the bedroom,” said Jan-Torres beside him. “Best place for privacy.”

“I knew you were fond of me, but not
that
fond,” said Lucien.

Jan-Torres did not respond. What did Rhianne see in him, anyway? He was so serious, so somber. Lucien found himself wanting to provoke the man just to see if he could get a rise out of him.

Jan-Torres’s bodyguard opened the bedroom door and allowed the two of them inside. Lucien was instantly embarrassed. The room was small and the furniture shabby. Some country he was running. “I’m sorry about the accommodations,” he said. “If I had the means, I’d put you up in the style you deserve.”

“Don’t worry about it.” A corner of the king’s mouth quirked upward. “I’m no stranger to hardship.”

Lucien snorted. He had no doubt of that; before ascending his throne, Jan-Torres had once posed as a slave in the Imperial Palace to spy on Kjall. Spreading a map out on the bed, Lucien placed markers showing the location of his and the usurper’s troops.

Jan-Torres set his ferret on the floor and smiled as the creature scampered gaily about, sniffing along the walls and corners. “First things first,” he said. “I cannot provide you with ground troops. My own armies are depleted after the last war.”

“I understand,” said Lucien, though it was a crushing disappointment. Mosari ground troops would have been a huge asset. The brindlecats that accompanied their war mages would have struck terror into Cassian’s soldiers.

Jan-Torres leaned over the map. “Aren’t you outnumbered?”

“A bit,” said Lucien.

“More than a bit!” said Jan-Torres. “Look, I don’t give two tomtits who rules your country. Coming here was Rhianne’s idea. She’s concerned about you and Celeste.”

“Has she heard from Celeste at all?”

“She has.”

“What did she—”

“It’s family business, so I’ll let Rhianne speak to you about it.”

“You should care who rules my country, Jan-Torres. Have you considered what it will mean if something happens to Celeste?”

“Rhianne will be distraught,” said Jan-Torres. “She loves the two of you.”

“It’s bigger than that. Imagine for a moment that I am killed in battle, and Celeste dies without producing an heir for the usurper. This is not an unlikely scenario, especially if Celeste takes her own life. Who in these circumstances is the legitimate heir to the throne?”

Jan-Torres blinked in surprise. “Three gods. The baby.”

Lucien nodded. “If male, the child Rhianne carries,
your son
, will be heir to the Kjallan throne. As such, the usurper will perceive him as a threat, and you’ve seen what that man does to people who stand between him and what he wants. “

Jan-Torres smiled wanly. “Then I shall pray for a daughter. I despise Kjallan politics, Emperor. Your court is a pit of snakes.”

Lucien snorted. “And I have fangs of my own.”

Jan-Torres scanned the map. “What are your plans, Emperor? You cannot fight the usurper from your current position. He will flank you.”

“If you are not providing me with ground troops, Jan-Torres, what are you offering?”

“Support by sea,” said Jan-Torres. “Ten warships that outclass anything of Kjall’s.”

“Very well.” Lucien took the markers representing his six battalions and moved them all to Blackscar Gulch. “Here’s what I propose: I shelter my forces within the gulch. The mouth is narrow. We can hold the usurper’s forces at the mouth and prevent him from using the full advantage of his numbers.”

“There’s more than one entryway. He will come through here and flank you.” Jan-Torres pointed to Stonemaw Pass.

“He will try,” said Lucien, “and the war will be won or lost at Stonemaw. I’ll station two battalions at the mouth of Blackscar Gulch and three at Stonemaw Pass. Meanwhile, I’ll split the last battalion into small groups and send it behind the Usurper to destroy his supply lines. If we can hold them at the gulch until the soldiers lose the will to fight, we’ll win. But if the Usurper’s forces break through . . .”

“What about your own supply lines?” asked Jan-Torres. “You’ll be cut off in the gulch. No way in or out.”

“That’s where your fleet comes in,” said Lucien. “I had considered and rejected this plan earlier because of the supply line problem. But do you see this?” His finger traced the blue line of the Ember River from the ocean to Blackscar Gulch. “We don’t need overland supply routes. We can ship everything by water.”

Jan-Torres raised an eyebrow. “You want my warships to act as shipping barges?”

“One or two of them, yes, to ferry supplies from coastal villages to the river mouth,” said Lucien, growing excited as the possibilities of the plan took hold. “The rest will guard the river mouth. Then we’ll have a system of barges going up and down the Ember. It’s perfect, do you see? The Usurper cannot sabotage it! But we can sabotage his supply lines all we want.”

Jan-Torres smiled. “It’s not a bad plan. I’ll speak to my ship captains, and we’ll discuss details at dinner.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

The King of Mosar sat in a wobbly chair and leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head. “Tell me about your wife. Is she a Kjallan like yourself?”

“Half Kjallan, half Riorcan. She’s from the Obsidian Circle.”

“Obsidian Circle? What’s that?”

“A Riorcan resistance movement. A network of spies and assassins.”

Jan-Torres blinked. “You married a spy?”

“An assassin.”

He laughed. “I wish you every happiness.”

“Thanks,” said Lucien, annoyed.

“Emperor,” said Jan-Torres. “Say nothing further to Rhianne about how she should have stayed home because of the pregnancy.”

“As you wish. Obviously, she’s here now, and there’s no going back until your fleet leaves. But you should have said something at the time. I know she loves to travel—”

“Lucien,” Jan-Torres broke in. “It’s her second pregnancy.”

“Her
second
?” Lucien’s eyes widened as he imagined a baby already at home in Mosar—and then he realized that if a child had been born, Rhianne would have said something in her letters. Something fluttered briefly in his chest and turned to pain.

“She miscarried,” said Jan-Torres. “When we learned of her pregnancy, we were on the verge of leaving on a trip for Inya. I talked her into staying home, and while I was gone, she lost the baby.”

“Not because she stayed home!”

“Of course not. It was the Vagabond’s will, nothing more. But I told myself that if she got pregnant again, I wouldn’t ask her to stay home. Whether the baby lives or dies, she will be with me. She will not be alone in her grief. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Lucien lowered his eyes. He might not be fond of Jan-Torres, but there was no question that the man loved his wife. And with Rhianne pregnant for the second time . . . well, it was clear they weren’t having any difficulties in the bedroom. Why couldn’t he have that with Vitala?

•   •   •

Lucien’s troubles faded the moment he saw Rhianne. Once again he marveled at the bulge in her belly. He was going to be an uncle! Or something. What did children call their mother’s cousin, anyway?

“Lucien.” She folded him into a hug.

Her touch drained away his tension, turned him to butter. No one could calm him the way Rhianne did. Vitala, he hoped, would eventually be the woman whose presence made his muscles unknot, but they didn’t fully trust each other yet. They needed more time.

Rhianne pulled back and studied his face. “Will you go walking with me, cousin? There are some things we should discuss.”

“Of course.”

Trailed by a handful of discreet guards, they took a trail of switchbacks leading up the hill and found themselves on the high cliffs overlooking the sea. Rhianne walked right up to the edge, watching the waves break against shards of black rock. She sighed. “This is my first visit to Riorca. I had no idea it was this beautiful.”

“It’s an awful country,” said Lucien. “Underpopulated, run-down, poor as dirt.”

“I meant the landscape. But as for the rest of it, whose fault is that?”

“Not
mine
,” he snapped.

She sent him a chiding look. “That was my point.”

He sat down on a rock. “So, the baby. What do you think it is—a boy or a girl?”

“I don’t know.”

“Aren’t women supposed to just know?”

“I don’t.” Rhianne sat beside him. “Lucien, can you win this war?”

He shrugged. “It’s going to depend on a lot of things.”

“You realize we can evacuate you to Mosar. You and Vitala and whoever else we can find room for.”

He sighed. It was a tempting offer, but there was no way he could accept it. “I’ve got to see this through. After all, what about Celeste? You can’t evacuate her.”

“I know, but better one of you than neither. If you change your mind, the offer’s open.”

He nodded. “Jan-Torres told me you’d heard from Celeste.”

Rhianne made a face. “I have. I brought the letter so you could see it.” She pulled a folded piece of paper from a pocket and held it out to him.

Lucien read. The letter had definitely been written by Celeste—he recognized her handwriting—but the things she said were all wrong. She wrote of her grief at Lucien’s death and her happiness in marrying Cassian, but the words were empty and vacuous. Where was her wit? Where were the asides she always wrote in the margins? Frowning, he handed the letter back to Rhianne. “This is not her. Someone forced her to write this.”

“That was what I thought,” said Rhianne. “And I’m trying not to think about what else he may be forcing her to do.”

Lucien shifted uncomfortably on the rock.

She nudged him. “So, tell me about your wife. How’d you meet her?”

“You just spent hours talking with her and that subject never came up?”

“I want to hear about her from your perspective. What was it about her that attracted you?”

“She’s beautiful.”

“So are lots of women. What else?”

He bit his lip. “She’s strong. She’s brave. She can fight like you wouldn’t believe. And she’s an amazing Caturanga player—”

Rhianne rolled her eyes. “Caturanga! Now I know your reason. You finally found a woman who will play that silly game with you.”

“Vitala
gets
Caturanga, truly gets it. She won the tournament in Beryl, you know. She beats me two games out of three.”

“And your fragile ego can handle this?”

“My ego’s not fragile. She used to beat me in
every
game. I’m getting better, though. You watch. By next year, I’ll have turned that around.”
If we’re still married a year from now. And the usurper hasn’t killed us all.

“You married her because she can beat you at Caturanga.”

“Did I mention she was beautiful?”

“For what it’s worth, I like her a lot,” said Rhianne. “I think you chose well. I spoke with her a long time. She’s prickly on the outside, but underneath, she has a good heart. In that respect, she’s a lot like you. You practically married a copy of yourself, which, given your ego, is probably a good thing.”

Lucien snorted.
Married a copy of myself. How silly.

Rhianne’s eyes were teasing. “You disagree?”

“She has both her legs, unlike me,” he pointed out.

“How did you meet her?”

“She won a Caturanga tournament, and I invited her to the palace to play.”

“And she’s from the Obsidian Circle? A covert organization?”

Lucien shrugged. “Everybody has to come from somewhere.”

“What was she doing playing Caturanga if she’s part of a covert organization?”

“She’s entitled to a hobby. Don’t you think?”

“Hmm. I think you’re keeping something from me.”

He glanced up, checking the position of the sun. “Sadly, this visit will be too short for me to go into all these details.”

She scowled. “I hate it when you act like this.”

“Good thing you’re not Vitala. She has to put up with it all the time.” He uttered a silent prayer, mustering his courage. “Cousin, you have to help me. I’m losing Vitala.”

“Losing her? What do you mean?”

“She wants a divorce.”

Rhianne’s mouth fell open. “But you’ve been married only three days!”

“It was a rocky three days.”

“Please tell me you didn’t lose your temper with her!”

“I may have thrown a teacup.”

“Lucien!” she scolded.

He scowled. “Not
at
her. It’s not about the teacup. It’s about . . . this is embarrassing. You have to promise not to tell anyone about this, especially Jan-Torres. Promise?”

“All right, I promise.”

“Then here goes.” With much awkwardness, much halting and backing up, he explained what had happened on their wedding night. “Have you ever heard of anything remotely like that? A woman screaming in the middle of the sex act because, I don’t know, her mind had gone somewhere else?”

Rhianne looked dumbfounded. “No. Never.”

“Thanks. You’ve been a big help.” Sighing, he rose to his feet.

“Wait.” She grabbed him by the arm. “Have you talked to her about it? About exactly where her mind went, what she saw?”

“I’ve tried, but she always changes the subject and says there’s no point discussing it because it can’t be fixed.”

“Well, that’s no help. Do you think she’d be more comfortable talking to me about it? A woman?”