Assassin's Gambit: The Hearts and Thrones Series (25 page)

“By the way he stared at me, I could tell that of all the things he’d expected to happen to him—torture, interrogation, execution—having a young, skimpily dressed woman enter his cell was not one of them. He was lying on the bed with his wrists and ankles bound. I walked over and untied him. I had no knife, no weapons at all, so undoing the knots was painstaking work. He questioned me endlessly as I worked. Who was I? What was I doing here? Why was I untying him? I didn’t say a word, and I’m sure he believed I was Kjallan—a fellow prisoner, perhaps, who’d come to aid or comfort him. When I finished the last knot, I kissed him. And then I started to undress him.

“I can’t imagine what he was thinking. He’d been expecting to be killed or interrogated, and here was this young woman who untied him and wouldn’t say a word, but apparently wanted to make love to him. He didn’t resist. He was quite cooperative.”

Lucien’s arm moved suddenly, bumping her, and he muttered a quick apology. His muscles were hard, she realized, knotted up with tension.

“I’ll skip the details,” she said. “What struck me was how young he was—no more than seventeen, I think. He was handsome. Indeed, he was almost a younger version of you, very sweet and gentle.”

“I’m not sweet and gentle,” grumbled Lucien.

“I think you are,” said Vitala. “He kept telling me how beautiful I was, though I never said a word back to him. I could feel his beating heart next to mine as he . . .” She swallowed. “I did what I’d been trained to do. You’ve seen my death spell in action. It’s not a pleasant sight, and I was literally attached to him—his hands locked around me as the paralysis took effect, and in the early stages of his death throes he was also . . . in me. You know. When I finally freed myself from his grip, I fled to the far side of the room. And I had the strangest experience. It was like I left my body. I was on the outside, looking down at myself as I cowered in a corner, staring at his shuddering, dying body on the bed.”

She crammed her fists into her eyes as if to physically press back the tears. “I have no memory after that point. Someone must have come and fetched me.” She took a deep breath.

Lucien was still for a long time. His hand on her back had gone motionless.

She let the tears come. “So, now you see why I can’t—”

“Three gods, Vitala,” choked out Lucien. “I’m sorry. That sounds worse than what happened to me.”

“For you, it’s lemon balm tea. For me, it’s—”

“I know.” He hugged her face to his chest. “But wait. You killed seven men after that incident. Weren’t some of those—well, for lack of a better term, sex kills?”

“Yes, two of them. Remus and one other man, a sort of practice mission I was assigned before I went after you.”

“So why didn’t you have this problem with them?”

“I don’t know.” She wiped her eyes. “Probably because they didn’t remind me of that young soldier at all. They were much older. They didn’t look like him, they didn’t act like him—”

“Wait,” said Lucien. “So the whole problem is the way I look? What you’re saying is we could solve this by putting a sack over my head.”

Vitala sobs turned to a surprised, choked laugh. “I don’t want you to put a sack over your head!”

“But we could,” he insisted. “If that’s what it took.”

“Maybe. I don’t think it’s entirely visual. I know it is partly, because I’ve had . . . ‘events’ . . . based merely on seeing someone who looked like that soldier. It happened to me in the Imperial Palace with one of your door guards.”

He stared at her. “You slept with one of my door guards?”

“No, no. I just saw him in the hall, and that was enough to trigger it.” She reached up and stroked his face, pushing back the hair that drooped over his forehead. “You look like the soldier, but not exactly. Your hair and face are similar, but I remember him having peach fuzz on his chin, and you don’t.” She ran her hand over the rough stubble. “I think you don’t look similar enough to cause a problem just by my looking at you. But in a bedroom situation, combined with all the other sensations—touch, sound, smell—that’s when it happens.”

“You might have said something.”

“I’m sorry. I was ashamed. I didn’t think you’d react well to hearing that I see images of another man when I’m with you. It’s not something I want to happen or that I can control, but until you told me your story, I didn’t think you’d understand.”

“I don’t like it,” said Lucien. “But I understand. It seems the real problem is—well, how should I say? When the man enters you. That’s what caused the event.”

She shuddered. “Yes. And I don’t think that was visual at all, because I had my eyes closed.”

He was silent for a moment, thinking, his fingers idly stroking her back. “Am I correct in assuming Remus entered you?”

“Yes, but it was . . . completely different. He was rough. I was dry. It hurt.”

He sighed. “Well, I don’t think the solution is me hurting you.”

“No.”

Again he paused to think. “But you don’t have a problem when I use my mouth or my hand.”

“No. But I can’t give you an heir that way—”

“Shh.” He squeezed her in gentle rebuke. “It’s too early to be worrying about heirs. My point is that we know at least one way to avoid your visions. We may find other ways.”

“But, Lucien . . .” How could she explain this to him? She was so limited. He had made her an empress, but she couldn’t do this simple thing that virtually any woman could do. He wouldn’t be happy with her long term, couldn’t be. He was normal, and she was broken. “You deserve more,” she choked out. “You deserve
better
.”

“This is what’s really bothering you. Isn’t it? You think I’m unhappy with you.”

“If you’re not now, you will be. I’m not normal.”

“No, you’re certainly not normal,” said Lucien. “You’re extraordinary. You’re beautiful and smart and deadly, and I love you. And if you’ve got some problems, remember I’m a Caturanga player. I view those as
challenges
.”

“Lucien—”

“Look,” he said, grabbing her hand and placing it on the stump of his missing leg. “Am I normal?”

She rolled her eyes. “You get around fine. It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” He snorted. “In Kjall, a nation that worships physical perfection? Do you know how many of my legati laugh at me behind me back? Do you have any idea what my father used to think of me?”

“I’m sorry—I had no idea. It’s never bothered me.”

He kissed her. “I know it doesn’t bother you. You’ve never reacted to my weakness with anything more than curiosity, and I love you for that. We made a deal before. I propose we make another.”

“What sort of deal?”

“We’re neither of us flawless. You accept my broken parts, and I’ll accept yours.”

“But I’ve already accepted—”

“Shh,” he said, unbelting her syrtos. “So have I. Makes it all the easier. Doesn’t it?”

“What are you doing?” His tongue found her nipple, and she gasped.

“Sealing the deal. No more words, love, unless you’re screaming my name.”

“I don’t scream your—” She bit her tongue, because he was doing that thing with his fingers that she loved.

“Don’t lie, Vitala. Yes, you do.”

•   •   •

Early the next morning, Vitala watched the small encampment spring into action. Lucien had signaled Quincius and ordered him to march the bulk of the army to Blackscar Gulch. Now the small contingent of troops that had accompanied them to the coast was packing up; they’d be off by midday. She and Lucien had a final breakfast with Jan-Torres and Rhianne.

“Empress,” said King Jan-Torres. “May I speak with you privately this morning?”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

She and the king of Mosar retired to a small office off the great hall, which seemed to have been raided of its furniture; it contained only a single chair and a flimsy desk. Jan-Torres bade her sit and fetched a chair from another room, then took a seat beside her. He seemed less intimidating today than yesterday, and she realized it must be something he could turn on and off as he desired.

“I hear you’re considering returning to the Obsidian Circle,” he said.

Vitala bit her lip. Had Lucien told him that? Perhaps Lucien had told Rhianne and she’d passed it along. “I was, but not anymore.”

“I understand you and Lucien are having problems,” he said. “I don’t know the details; you two will have to work them out. But something Rhianne said struck me, and I wanted to speak to you about it. She said you felt useless in the role of empress and believed you could best aid the war effort by taking up your former role of assassin.”

She nodded. “Lucien and I are getting along better now. But it’s true: my role as empress is an empty one. We don’t rule a country yet. We rule an army, and that army has a chain of command I have no business inserting myself into. Besides, my knowledge of strategy is confined to Caturanga. It has little real-life application. It’s not as if this war is going to be easy to win, so why waste my talent on being a figurehead? One more assassin could shift the balance.”

He smiled and said nothing.

“You agree with me?”

“Not at all. Empress, I recognize what you’re going through. Most of my officers go through it when first promoted to a captaincy. You’ve been a doer all your life, someone who accomplishes things through direct action. But now, in this less-active role, you feel useless.”

Vitala nodded.

“But you’re not doing nothing—far from it. You were the one who rescued Lucien and brought him to Riorca, and when your superiors at the Obsidian Circle didn’t share your vision of a productive alliance, you broke him out and helped him gather an army. This alliance between Riorca and Lucien’s forces came about entirely because of you.”

She flushed, pleased at his praise, but she had to correct him. “The army part was all Lucien.”

Jan-Torres nodded. “You did your part, and he did his. Remember that you are a symbol to both Kjallans and Riorcans. You and Lucien, united in marriage, are living, breathing proof that former enemies can work together for a shared cause. What would it mean to those Kjallans and Riorcans if you were to suddenly abandon them?”

“I wasn’t going to abandon them. I’d be helping the war effort.”

He shook his head. “Now that you’re a figurehead, you have to consider the
appearance
of what you’re doing. Running away makes it look like you’ve given up. What kind of message does that send your people?”

Her shoulders sagged. “That I think things are hopeless.”

“War is psychological, Vitala. Your role is not to
do
, but to
inspire
. Work out your problems with Lucien in private. But in public, stand by his side. Show your people that you will not give up on them. You must hold this coalition together.”

Vitala swallowed the lump in her throat. “Yes, sire.”

Through the town hall’s thin walls, she heard a centurion barking orders, calling soldiers to attention. The king of Mosar cocked his head to listen. He stood, took her hand, and lifted her from her seat. “Your people are ready. Go on and take back your country.”

29

F
rom the top of the ladder, Vitala poked her head over the partially completed stone wall. A gust of wind surged up the canyon, whipping her hair about her face. She clambered onto the wall and stood, staring out onto the rocky bleakness of Stonemaw Pass. Once a river canyon, it was now dry and dead, with only a few wilted spinebushes raveling up from the cracks.

Lucien stepped onto the wall beside her, snugged an arm around her waist, and said, “What do you think?”

“The men are making good progress.”

He nodded. “Every day counts.” He pulled her in for a kiss.

She wrapped her arms around him, sighing with contentment.

A shuddering boom startled her. Lucien’s hand tightened around her waist, and she turned to see an avalanche of rocks tumbling into the gorge. A cloud of dust and pulverized stone drifted silently upward on the tongues of the wind. Just another pyroglycerin blast, clearing space and providing raw materials for the walls that climbed a little higher each day. Two of the five were already complete. Above them, crude towers and shelters were also taking shape, as well as rockfalls that could be released onto the enemy soldiers.

Similar preparations were in progress at Ashfeld, the southern pass. The gulch where the battalions were now encamped could be reached only through one of the two passes or by traveling up the Ember River from the ocean. The Mosari fleet guarded the river mouth, and if Lucien’s troops blocked both passes, the usurper would find it difficult to inflict much harm on them.

“Sire,” someone called from below.

Vitala looked down at the messenger standing in the bottom of the gorge.

“What is it?” Lucien called back.

“The boat’s arrived, sire.”

Lucien grimaced. “Obsidian Circle,” he said to Vitala. “You’d better come along.”

•   •   •

Bayard, accompanied by only Asmund, didn’t even look at Vitala as he entered the command tent, but she pulled him aside for a moment, anyway. “Did you make the inquiries I asked you to make about Flavia?”

“Who?” He blinked in confusion.

“The dog.”

Bayard shook his head. “I’ve more important things to do, Vitala.”

“If you’re meeting with people, anyway, it doesn’t hurt you to ask an extra question. If for no other reason than to honor the memory of our agents who died in Tasox.”

“I’m sorry. It never crossed my mind.” He moved away.

“Gentlemen,” said Lucien, clasping wrists around the table. He took a seat, and the others followed. “What’s the news?

“Our news is over a week old,” said Bayard. “Cassian has retaken enough signal towers to make them unreliable, and travel by barge is slow.”

“Understood,” said Lucien. “Slow intelligence is better than no intelligence.”

“Cassian’s forces have torched the villages of Tanim, Quattan, and Bluas,” said Bayard. “There were no survivors.”

A chill settled in the pit of Vitala’s stomach.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Lucien.

Asmund huffed angrily. “Your troops were supposed to prevent these abuses, yet here they are, holed up in the gulch. Why have you gone to ground like a coward?”

“The usurper has more than twice as many troops as I do. I cannot face him in open battle.”

“What good are your troops if they will not fight?” demanded Asmund.

“They will fight,” said Lucien. “But only in a situation where they can win.”

Bayard spoke up. “How many more Riorcans must die before that happens? We cannot supply you forever.”

“I do not think it will be much longer,” Lucien said. “He will come after me.”

Vitala cleared her throat. “Gentlemen, the emperor is right. I’m as disturbed as anyone about the loss of the villages, but to come out of the gulch and face the usurper in open battle would lead only to a certain loss. Just as in Caturanga, some sacrifices must be made in order to achieve victory.”

“Is that what those villagers are?” said Bayard.
“Sacrifices?”

Asmund fumed. “Why is it that whenever sacrifices are called for, it’s always Riorcans who are offered up?”

Vitala folded her arms. “There will be hardships enough to go around when the usurper’s army arrives.”

“This is a difficult loss,” said Lucien in his gentlest tone. “But we have no choice. We must face the usurper where I can neutralize his advantage in numbers. Right now he’s making a tactical error. He hopes to draw me out and is probably trying to locate and cut off my supply lines. But he doesn’t know we’re supplying by river, and his reluctance to attack is working to our benefit. We’ve nearly succeeded in walling off both entrances to Blackscar Gulch.”

“And what if he never comes?” said Asmund. “What if he sweeps across the whole of Riorca, leaving death and ashes behind him?”

“He won’t,” said Lucien, “because dead villagers pay no tribute. Once he realizes I cannot be lured out of the gulch, he will come after me.”

The Riorcans sat for a moment in disgruntled silence.

“Is there anything further?” asked Lucien.

“Yes,” said Asmund. “Cassian is leading the invasion personally.”

Lucien sat up straighter. “He’s in Riorca? Did he bring Celeste?”

Asmund nodded. “Our spy has not actually seen her, but we’re told she’s with him.”

“Can she be rescued and brought here?”

Bayard and Asmund exchanged looks.

“I don’t see how that would be possible,” said Bayard. “We have no ability to rescue people. Instead, I propose that we attempt to assassinate Cassian.”

“Your assassin could also retrieve Celeste.”

Bayard flicked a glance at Vitala and shook his head. “Our assassins are not trained for that. We wanted to ask you, since presumably you understand the mind-set of Kjallan soldiers, would assassinating Cassian end the war?”

“Hard to say,” said Lucien. “There are four legati in his army who might attempt to seize power if Cassian died. Of those, Dignus and Sorio are loyal to Cassian but they despise each other; they won’t join forces. Titillian would support me if he knew I were alive, and Getha is a wild card. None has solid support from the enlisted men or a clear advantage over the others. This is one reason we need to get Celeste out. If Cassian died, there would probably be a string of murders and possibly outright civil war as those four men maneuver to be her next husband. On the other hand, if she were gone, nobody would have a way to legitimize himself as emperor. Have you been circulating those rumors, as I asked?”

“Yes,” said Bayard. “Not only has the rumor that you’re alive and commanding the troops in Riorca taken root, but the usurper is also trying to quell it. Right now any enlisted man who speaks your name gets ten lashes, and, of course, that’s just convincing everyone that the rumor must be true.”

“In that case, if you assassinate Cassian and get Celeste out, I believe the war will end. Titillian should have the most support from the enlisted men.”

Bayard nodded. “We’ll attempt the assassination, but it’s a long shot. We normally prepare for high-profile assassinations years in advance. Did you know Vitala was assigned to you at the age of thirteen? She had a full seven years to learn your habits.”

“I cannot thank you enough for sending her to me,” Lucien said dryly. “What about extracting Celeste?”

Bayard shook his head. “I can’t promise that. The assassination itself will be very difficult, especially since we know so little about Cassian and his weaknesses. In fact, it would be easier . . . Well, we’ll do our best.”

Vitala spoke up. “Bayard, I should be part of the assassination team—”

“It will be easier if what?” interrupted Lucien.

“Nothing,” said Bayard. “If we had more information.”

“It would be easier if your assassin killed Celeste along with Cassian, to prevent her being used once more as a pawn,” said Lucien. “That’s what you were about to say.”

Bayard shook his head. “That’s not what I was about to say.”

Lucien’s voice grew quiet. “If your assassin kills my sister, you can forget the Circle’s sweet deal. I’ll stake the lot of you.”

Bayard glared at him. “And just how successful have you been at quelling the Circle in times past?”

“Maybe I just needed more motivation,” said Lucien.

“Gentlemen,” said Asmund. “Of course our assassin will not harm Celeste.”

“I should be part of the assassination team,” said Vitala.

“And do what?” cried Lucien, looking horrified. “Seduce Cassian?”

Vitala shook her head. “It doesn’t have to be done that way. In fact, it probably won’t be. For an assassin to gain intimate access to a man of that rank takes years, and we don’t have that kind of time. We can infiltrate as camp followers, but emperors don’t sleep with whores. They have other options.”

“If it’s not to be done by seduction, why send a woman at all?” said Lucien. “Send a group of men, like the ones who took my leg.”

“It must be women,” said Vitala, “because they can infiltrate the camp.”

“Vitala has the right of it,” said Bayard. “But she cannot participate in the operation. She’s no longer an Obsidian Circle assassin.”

“I have the skills,” said Vitala. “No other assassin in the Circle has ever successfully targeted someone so highly placed.”

“You never killed your target,” said Bayard.

“She could have if she’d chosen to,” said Lucien. “But I agree. The empress cannot be risked on such a mission.”

Vitala laid a hand on Lucien’s arm. “Whom do you trust—me or some nameless assassin? I wouldn’t harm Celeste. I’d go out of my way to rescue her. I don’t know any other Obsidian Circle assassin who’s performed a successful rescue mission.”

Lucien looked stricken. “Don’t you understand? I can’t risk you
both
.”

“She’s not going,” said Bayard.

“I concur,” said Lucien.

Vitala sat back in her chair, fuming, as Lucien and the others discussed the logistics of the proposed assassination. She’d promised Jan-Torres she wouldn’t abandon her position as empress, but this would be no ordinary assassination. This mission could end the war! It wouldn’t be an easy task, to be sure, but was anything worthwhile ever easy?

“What sort of man is Cassian? What are his weaknesses?” asked Bayard.

“He’s ambitious. Combative,” said Lucien. “Not especially loyal. I know little else.”

“What about his sexual proclivities?”

Lucien swallowed, looking suddenly nauseous.

“Must you ask him that?” Vitala snapped. “Cassian forced his thirteen-year-old sister into marriage.”

“I’m sorry if this conversation is disturbing to the emperor, but it’s very important,” said Bayard.

“I don’t know his sexual proclivities, as you put it,” said Lucien. “What have your spies seen, as far as he and Celeste?”

“You mean, is he fucking her?” asked Bayard. “We don’t—”

“You cull!” cried Lucien, rising from his seat, his face hot and flushed. “Is that how you speak about the Imperial Princess?”

“My apologies, Emperor.” Bayard’s half-hidden smile, contrary to his words, made it clear he was delighted to have provoked such a response.

Vitala took Lucien’s hand and stroked it with her thumb until he had calmed enough to sit back down.

“The answer is, we don’t know,” Bayard continued. “We don’t have spies that close. What we’re trying to find out is if he can be tempted into some kind of liaison. Vitala is correct that high-ranking men usually aren’t interested in common whores, but if he has a weakness, some way he can be tempted . . .”

Lucien shook his head. “I don’t know of one.”

“In that case,” said Bayard grimly, “I hope your army is prepared for war.”