Assassin's Gambit: The Hearts and Thrones Series (24 page)

“I doubt it. The thing is, I think she’s right about it being unfixable. I think I even know what’s happening.”

“What, then?”

He sat back down. “Do you remember that dinner party with the Bromidus family where I left the room and never came back?”

“Yes. Florian was so angry.”

“I told you I was sick, but that wasn’t the reason. Do you remember when I lost my leg?”

Rhianne grimaced. “How could I forget?”

“I never told you all the details about that. The story involves a patch of lemon balm plants. So now I avoid anything that smells of lemon balm. That night at the dinner party, the cooks served lemon balm tea along with the second course, and when I smelled it—”

“It reminded you. Of course! Why did you never tell me? I knew you hated lemon balm tea after coming back from Riorca, but you never said why.”

“Rhianne, it’s more than just being reminded. I’ve never told anyone about this before. But there’s this fellow from the Obsidian Circle, name of Bayard. He told me that their people sometimes suffer from what he called intrusive memories—these are like nightmares that happen when you’re awake. You can’t control them; they’re a form of madness. He warned me that Vitala might suffer from them, but when he mentioned it, I realized I had them myself. Sometimes when I smell lemon balm tea, or lemons, actually, I don’t just remember what happened back then, I
relive
it.”

“What do you mean?”

“In my head I go back there and reexperience it again and again. I thought I was going mad, but if I avoid lemon balm, I don’t have any problems. And, for the most part, lemon balm is easy to avoid.”

“So, you think Vitala experienced one of these intrusive memories?”

“Yes! During sex, which makes some sense given her history. The problem is, just like I avoid lemon balm tea, she believes she must avoid sex. And I understand why she feels that way. I just . . . don’t want her to give up so easily.”

“Have you told her any of this?”

“Only that I don’t want her to give up.”

“Well, there’s your mistake. Tell her all of it.”

He shook his head. “It will only reinforce her feelings on the matter. I never conquered the problem; I only avoided it.”

“Lucien, your wife is not a Caturanga board. You can’t strategize and manipulate and tell her only what you want her to hear. You tell her
everything
. If you won’t do that, then it’s your own gods-cursed fault if you lose her.” Rhianne looked bemused. “What a sly creature she is. We talked for hours, and she said nothing of this. Mostly she spoke of how much she loves you.”

A flicker of hope lit in his chest. “Maybe she changed her mind about the divorce.”

Rhianne shifted on the rock, placing a protective hand on her belly. “I don’t think so. There was an undercurrent of grief to her words. I sensed at times she was on the verge of tears, which I attributed to fear of the usurper and his army, but now I wonder if this was her way of saying good-bye. She was singing your praises to me, telling me things she might have been uncomfortable stating to you directly. Maybe she hoped they would work their way back to you.”

“I’d better get back.” He headed for the trail.

Rhianne got up from the rock and picked her way toward him. “Why the hurry?”

“Vitala could run off at any time. It’s one of her irritating habits.”

Rhianne took his arm. “Promise me something.”

“That I’ll talk to her?”

“Yes. Regardless of your feelings on the matter, I think you’re more likely to succeed with Vitala if you tell her what you told me about losing your leg. Open up to her, and she may open up to you.”

“Fine,” he said. “But I’m only humoring you. After all, you’re pregnant and you’ll probably get all emotional if I refuse.”

He dodged her incoming slap easily, then grinned, walking backward down the trail just fast enough to stay out of her range. Gods, he’d missed Rhianne.

28

V
itala had been eating cod since their arrival in Riorca, always dried or salted, but at the feast that evening, the fish was fresh off the boats, fried with tiny black mushrooms, and more delicious than she could have imagined. The Mosari provided some delicacies from their ships: tropical oranges, tart and juicy, and a bitter drink of shaved chocolate. During dinner, Jan-Torres and Rhianne acted as translators between Lucien and the Mosari ship captains, who argued and gestured over maps. Meanwhile, brindlecats prowled beneath the table, and seabirds squawked from their perches on the backs of chairs. The presence of the animals was exceedingly strange, but she was beginning to accustom herself to Mosari customs. Mosari mages focused their magic through animal familiars instead of through riftstones, so the creatures accompanied them everywhere.

When Vitala had heard enough of Lucien’s plans to have something worth carrying to the Circle, she slipped out. A bodyguard followed her, but she left him behind a closed door on the pretext of using a chamber pot, and escaped out the window. A quick trot down to the stables, and she was struggling with her mare’s bridle. She had the bit in place and was pulling the straps over the animal’s ears when she heard movement outside the stable. The bodyguard, perhaps? She ducked beneath the stall door.

The door opened, and she heard a familiar
slap-thump, slap-thump
. Lucien, gods curse him. She bit her lip in exasperation as the footsteps came closer.

His head appeared over the stall door. “Going for another midnight ride?”

She straightened, as if nothing were amiss, and buckled the throatlatch. “I told you I was leaving.”

“You weren’t going to say good-bye?”

“You’d have made it difficult for me.”

He leaned over the stall door. “Should I have made it easy?”

She opened the door, pushing him out of the way, and led the mare out. “I’m sorry. I know it’s wrong to run away, but I couldn’t face you. I still can’t.” She picked up a saddle pad from the shelf.

Lucien snatched the saddle pad from her hand. “Stay one more night.”

“I can’t keep putting this off.”

“Just this once.”

“You said that last time. Give me the gods-cursed saddle pad.”

He clutched it to his chest. “You want it? Take it from me.”

Vitala sighed. He was too strong; she’d never wrestle it away from him. “Why one more night?”

“I want to talk.”

“We’ve already talked.”

“I know, but . . .” His face screwed up as if he’d bitten into something unpleasant. “About something else. I want to tell you about my brother. How he died.”

“I already know how your brothers died.” She blinked. “Which one?”

“Mathian.”

“What does his assassination have to do with anything?” Despite her protests, he’d piqued her curiosity. All three assassins who’d targeted Lucien and Mathian had been killed in the attack. Only Lucien himself knew exactly what had happened.

“Stay and you’ll find out.”

“Are you just trying to make me too curious to leave?”

“No.” He paused, and his eyes lit. “Is it working?”

“I’m not sure.”

Lucien drew his sword and pressed the blade against the saddle pad. “Stay one more night, or I cut this saddle pad to pieces.”

Vitala laughed in spite of herself.

“I’m a war mage. I never miss,” he added.

“You win. Spare the poor saddle pad.” She led the mare back into the stall and unbuckled the throatlatch. “But you have to tell me about the assassination.”

Without enthusiasm, he said, “I will.”

•   •   •

The bed in their town-hall room sagged like a swaybacked mare. Someone had piled extra blankets on it, which was good, since even heat-glows couldn’t keep away the chill of a Riorcan night. Vitala stripped down to her chemise and burrowed under the blankets, shivering. Lucien joined her, wrapping her in his warm body. “So, what do you know about the assassination attempts against me and my brothers?”

“Our assassins were supposed to target each of you separately, but, for some reason, after the successful hit on Sestius, they attacked you and Mathian together.”

“Yes. That was by accident. Mathian was supposed to travel alone that day, riding out to the tower to speak to our dear father by signal relay. To his annoyance, I joined him at the last minute, hoping to air some grievances about our Riorcan policy.”

“Wouldn’t Mathian have brought a bodyguard?”

“Oh yes. He did bring one, and so did I. I think the assassins, not expecting me to be there, mistook me for another bodyguard. I wasn’t in imperial dress.”

Vitala nodded, sympathetic to the assassins, who probably hadn’t seen Lucien in person before that day. She was lucky she’d been presented to Lucien at the palace rather than having to pick him out of a crowd.

“We were in the foothills of southern Riorca,” said Lucien. “Wild country, rocky, lots of places to hide. I had been rehearsing my speech in my head, the one I meant to give to my father, when I heard a wet thud and looked around in time to see Mathian hit the ground with two arrows in him. That’s how to kill a war mage, if you want to take notes. Lie in wait and fire three arrows at him from three different directions. Mathian must have known the arrows were coming, but he couldn’t dodge all of them at once.

“The bodyguards ran to help Mathian, who was screaming and obviously still alive. I think that’s why the assassins didn’t come out of hiding at first. If they’d struck Mathian dead in that first volley, they could have run. Why stick around to fight the bodyguards? But they hadn’t killed him, not yet, so they hesitated, trying to determine if his injuries were fatal. In those moments of delay, I spurred my horse in their direction.

“I found the first assassin behind a rock. With my height advantage from horseback and room to maneuver, I made short work of him. By then, the other two assassins had emerged and were fighting with the bodyguards, trying to get to Mathian. I hurried to join the fight. Vespillo went down before I got there—”

“Vespillo?” asked Vitala.

“My bodyguard at the time, Soldier’s Peace be upon him. When I arrived, it was two of us against two, all war mages. Your assassins, they fight well, but they’re weak at high blocks. I got past the guard of one of them and half decapitated him. As for the other . . .” Lucien’s mouth twisted.

“What about him?” prompted Vitala.

“I don’t recall, exactly. From that point, the memory is hazy. I think I’d been struck, a blow to the leg. Hard to say exactly when I was hit, since in the heat of battle I don’t feel pain, and there was so much blood I didn’t know who it all belonged to. Bruccius, the other bodyguard, went down next, and somehow I slew the final assassin. That left me the last man standing, but when I took a step toward Mathian, the leg injury caught me and I fell, so there was no one standing. From the ground, I assessed Mathian’s wounds. One arrow protruded from his side; another from his back. ‘Help me up,’ he said, and I tried, but he was limp and useless. He had no feeling in his legs.

“There was nothing I could do for him. If I could have lifted him onto a horse, he might have had a chance, but such a thing was impossible. He asked for water, and I gave him some, but after a moment I pulled the skin away. We hadn’t meant the trip to be a long one, and our supplies were scanty. I might need every drop of water we had to get home myself, and no amount of water was going to save Mathian.

“When I moved away, he began to panic. He begged for help, and I ignored him. I tried to catch a horse, but they wouldn’t let me near, not even my mare, who’d taken a carrot from my own hands every gods-cursed morning. I suppose I smelled too much of blood. So I crawled about, collecting supplies, while Mathian berated me. He accused me of betraying him so I could steal the throne, of taking my anger out on him over the long-past insults of childhood. You’re aware there was no love between us when we were young?”

“I’d heard you didn’t get along.”

“Both my older brothers bullied me back then, and Rhianne and I retaliated by playing tricks on them. But that’s ancient history, of no importance now. The assassins had no supplies on their persons. They’d hidden them somewhere, and I would never find them. When Mathian’s tirade had run its course, he began to cry, and I realized I couldn’t just leave him there. What if there were other Obsidian Circle agents about? He could fall into their hands. And if the Circle didn’t get him, the wolves and scavengers might. So I went back, and I slit his throat.”

“Gods, Lucien.”

“So now you know my secret, the one I’ve never told anyone, not even Rhianne. Mathian didn’t die at any assassin’s hand. He died at mine.”

“I wouldn’t say he died at your hand. That was a mercy killing.”

Lucien pulled her closer. “And yet, if he’d had help, he might have survived. I just couldn’t get him that help. I still wonder sometimes if . . . well, if on some level I wanted him to die. And if that influenced my decision.”

“I don’t see how it could have, if there was only one reasonable option to choose from. How did you get back to camp?”

“I never made it,” said Lucien. “I crawled for a day, maybe two, and then I collapsed in a bed of plants, unable to continue. They were lemon balm plants, Vitala. I’ll never forget that smell, the tang of the lemon balm and the stink of my rotting leg. I couldn’t stop thinking about Mathian and the horror of opening his throat. I lay there a while—days, maybe. Then, next I remember, I was in the infirmary tent back at camp, with my lower leg amputated. A search party had found me. But they never found Mathian and the others, though I showed them where the attack took place.”

“They were eaten by wolves,” said Vitala. “You made the right decision.”

“We assumed the Obsidian Circle had found them.”

“No, my people never did. Although if they had found Mathian while he still lived . . . Well, he’d have been better off with the wolves.”

“I don’t know, Vitala. I’ve had many occasions to examine the decision I made that day with a clearer head, and I’m not certain I did the right thing. He had a chance, and I took it from him.”

Vitala shook her head firmly. “I’d have made the same decision.”

His mouth quirked. “Somehow I’m not entirely reassured by that. But I’m glad someone knows now besides me. It’s been a hard secret to carry.”

Vitala fell silent, marveling at Lucien’s trust. His claim to the imperial throne could be compromised if his detractors knew he’d killed his elder brother. Cassian would certainly have made much of it. “So, now I know why you hate lemon balm tea.”

“Do you remember that field I made us go the long way around, just north of Tasox? There was lemon balm growing by the side of the road.”

“And you didn’t want to be reminded. It makes sense to me now.”

He sighed. “Vitala, it’s more than that.”

“How do you mean?”

“It’s more than not liking lemon balm tea. It’s hard to explain, but sometimes when I smell lemon balm, I go back to that time, the day of the attack, the aftermath, the days spent lying in those crushed plants. I don’t mean I just think about it. I mean I feel as if I’m
literally there
, reliving the event. I can’t control it. It happens, and I sort of . . . lose myself.”

Vitala’s throat suddenly constricted. He
relived
the incident? Wasn’t that just like what happened to her? Her heart throbbed, its pace increasing until she could hear the blood rushing in her ears. “Lucien—three gods—I think I know what you’re talking about. It happened to me.”

His voice was soft. “What’s happened to you?”

“I’ve relived a past incident like that. The other night, in the marriage bed.
That’s what happened.
”

“Tell me.”

His voice was gentler and less surprised than she’d expected, and she realized he’d already guessed it. He’d known that what had happened to her in the marriage bed was analogous to what had happened to him when he smelled lemon balm tea. Why hadn’t he said anything before? Perhaps he’d been too ashamed—it couldn’t have been an easy story to relate. For that matter, she didn’t especially want to tell hers. But now that he’d shared with her, it seemed only fair. Besides, if he understood what was happening to her, maybe he could help. “I was fourteen when I killed for the first time.”

“Was that a practice kill?”

“Yes. How do you know about those?”

“Bayard said something. He was trying to talk me out of marrying you.”

Vitala snorted. Somehow the knowledge that Bayard had tried to prevent this marriage made her more inclined to make it succeed. “He’s such an ass. What did he say about my practice kills?”

“That you were reluctant to carry them out.”

“Well, that’s true.” She took a deep breath. “The first time, the man was tied up and gagged. He was a Kjallan soldier, a patrolman who’d strayed too close to the enclave. I was to use my Shard on him. I was hanging back; I remember this terrible cramping in my stomach. Bayard had to yell at me and threaten me to get me to make the kill, and I finally stepped forward and did it. The second time, I was a year older. The man was loose in a room, weaponless, and I was armed with a knife and a sword. They threw me in the room with him, and my job was to come out alive. That was the easiest of my practice kills, because he immediately tried to take the weapons from me, and I fought back, so even though it was an execution, I just went through the motions like in the training room, and it felt like self-defense.

“The third was two years later, and . . . that was the difficult one.” Her throat tightened again, and she paused for a moment, trying to calm herself. Lucien rubbed her back. “This man, another Kjallan soldier, was locked in a small room and left there for a few days. He was given food and water, as if we were going to keep him prisoner, but the Circle does not keep prisoners. I was sent in, unarmed and dressed in a light shift. My orders were to seduce and kill the soldier as I would a war mage. He was tied up, so I could have killed him outright, like the first man, but my superiors wanted me to practice the technique I would be using in the field. They were watching from a hidden window.