Assassin's Gambit: The Hearts and Thrones Series (27 page)

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I
nfiltrating the usurper’s encampment took almost no effort at all; young women like Vitala were more than welcome. She’d expected to pay a substantial rent for tent space, but half the tents were unoccupied, so she got it for a pittance. She was also able to buy a syrtos in the proper style for a camp follower—shorter, light, and gauzy—as well as a furred cloak to throw around it for warmth. Food prices, however, were five or six times the norm. No wonder so many women had left.

After securing accommodations and changing into her new clothing, she bought some ridiculously priced “pork” on a stick that tasted like no pork she’d ever eaten and wandered the camp to get a feel for the place. How should she approach this task? She needed to reach Cassian, but gaining entry to the officers’ pavilion would not be as easy as infiltrating the camp. The pavilion was well guarded. Camp followers weren’t allowed inside.

A pair of rank-and-file soldiers propositioned her as she walked, but she turned her back on them. She needed an officer with access to Cassian. And if she found one, how was she to proceed from there, when she knew nothing about Cassian himself? How different this was from her original mission! She’d studied Lucien for nearly a decade before trying to approach him.

“Three gods!” cried a woman behind her. “Vivian, is that you?”

A tingle of familiarity ran down Vitala’s spine. She turned just in time to catch Ista, who rushed into her arms.

Ista squealed and hugged her. “What happened? Was the action too slow in White Lion? Why do you look so dumbfounded? You can’t be surprised to see me.”

“No, of course not.” Vitala blinked. She’d never seen Ista “on” before; it was startling.

Ista slipped an arm around her waist and led her from the crowd. “You must stay with me. I’ve got a fabulous tent, lots of space. Just ignore the bitch next door. The men here are wonderful! I’ll introduce you to some of my beaux—there’s more than enough to go around.” She nattered on, talking of nothing, until they reached a large red tent with strings of beads hanging over the entryway. Ista parted the beads to go inside and dragged Vitala after her.

Vitala glanced around the tent. They were alone. “What’s going on?”

Ista put a finger to her lips.

Vitala leaned forward to whisper but was interrupted by a muffled wail, which emanated from the adjacent tent.

Ista pounded on the tent wall. “Shut it, you old bitch!”

The wailing intensified.

“Gods, she never stops.” Ista rolled her eyes.

“Why are the food prices so high?” asked Vitala, feeling that was a safe subject to discuss even if they were being spied upon.

“Not enough to go around,” said Ista. “Whatever you get your hands on, eat it quickly, because the battalion leaders may come through and confiscate it for the soldiers. The good news is lots of women are leaving. The bad news is there have been women attacked, even killed. Sometimes the men don’t pay enough for what they ask for, or don’t pay at all. And good luck to you if you try to seek redress.”

Vitala nodded, biting her lip. “And how is the war going?”

“Better,” said Ista. “For a while, we weren’t getting anywhere. The rebels had walled themselves into a gulch and our men couldn’t get through, but then we had a stroke of luck. A flash flood knocked down a couple of walls and drowned a few centuries of soldiers, and now we’re advancing steadily. We’ll probably have to pack up and move the camp again tomorrow. Have you heard the rumor that the rebel troops are commanded by the old Emperor Lucien?”

“I thought Emperor Lucien was dead,” Vitala said carefully.

Ista shrugged. “Maybe he is and maybe he isn’t.”

Vitala chafed with frustration. She had so much to ask Ista, and no privacy in which to do it. “Are your friends still here, or did they clear out when the food prices went up?”

The wailing next door intensified, and Ista punched the side of the tent a few more times. “Shut it!” she cried.

“We could go to my tent,” said Vitala.

Ista shook her head. “It’ll be as bad there, most like. My friends are gone. But now
you’re
here. We can look after each other. We’ll have fun together!”

So the Circle had presumably sent a team of assassins. And all of them were gone except Ista? What had happened?

“There’s a junior officer I’d like to introduce you to,” continued Ista. “His name is Glavius, he’s very handsome, and he always pays. I’m meeting him tonight. You should meet him too.” There was a gleam in her eye that told Vitala this meeting was important.

“That sounds wonderful,” said Vitala.

Ista lowered her voice. “Let me tell you what to do.”

•   •   •

“Izzy, you got company already?” The young officer poked his head into the tent, rattling the beads. “You know what I said—” His eyes found Vitala, and he fell silent.

Ista grinned. “I
do
have company. I was thinking we’d have a little extra fun tonight. Did you bring what I asked?”

The officer stepped all the way into the tent. He was a big man, tall and well muscled. He pulled a bottle of wine from his syrtos and held it up enticingly. “Of course.” He eyed Vitala appreciatively. “What sort of extra fun did you mean?”

“This is my sister Vivian. She likes a good time too. Don’t you, Vivian?”

Vitala wrinkled her face into a pout. “It smells in here.”

“Vivian, who cares?” Ista turned to the officer. “She’s new to camp life, not used to it yet. But she and I used to have a lot of fun together. Vivian, this is Glavius. Isn’t he the most handsome man you ever saw?”

Vivian looked him over and nodded, giving him the ghost of a smile. “But it smells. And that old bitch never shuts up.” As if on cue, the woman next door started wailing again. “I couldn’t possibly have fun
here
. You two do what you like. I’ll leave you to it.” Vitala stood and headed for the tent-flap door.

“Vivian,” protested Ista.

Glavius stepped in front of the door, blocking it. When she paused in front of him, he lifted her chin and examined her face. He smiled. “What if we went to another tent?”

“They all smell bad,” said Vitala.

“I know one that doesn’t,” said Glavius.

“Where?” said Vitala.

“In the officer’s pavilion. My own tent.”

Ista gasped. “You would take us
there
?”

Glavius shrugged. “I think we can relax the rules this one time. The rebels are in retreat, and the camp’s going to pick up and move tomorrow. Why shouldn’t you ladies move a little early? Vivian’s right. It
does
smell in here.”

“Vivian, say yes,” said Ista. “The officer’s pavilion is so much nicer than here.”

Vitala gazed adoringly into Glavius’s eyes. “Yes.”

•   •   •

The officers’ pavilion was on high ground, surrounded by a makeshift fence and guarded by uniformed soldiers. Some of the guards looked like they wanted to say something when they saw Vitala and Ista at Glavius’s side, but after a look at his insignia and blood mark, they bit their tongues.

Inside the pavilion, Vitala passed a junior officer who looked right at Ista’s chest, then at Glavius with a raised eyebrow.

“Prisoners to be interrogated,” said Glavius.

The officer grinned, his eyes bright. “Need help?”

“Nah.”

As they walked, Vitala analyzed the layout of the pavilion. The tents were of different shapes and colors and sizes. The size of each tent, she inferred, was a function of rank, with the larger tents reserved for the more senior officers. One tent, located in the center of the pavilion, towered over the others. That one must be Cassian’s. Her heart beat faster. She and Ista were getting close.

Glavius’s tent was one of the smaller ones, red in color. Two battle standards leaned against each other at the entrance; a human skull dangled from one of them. Vitala softened her mind to check for wards and found an enemy ward across the doorway. Before she could ward-break it, it fizzled away into the Rift. Ista had broken it first.

Inside the tent, Glavius tidied up a little, grabbing clothes, a helmet, and a mail shirt off the backs of chairs and his cot and tossing them haphazardly into a leather-bound chest. He grinned and uncorked the wine, then sat in a chair and bade them sit together on his cot. “Let’s play a game,” he said. “For each swig, you have to take something off.” He handed the bottle to Vitala.

Vitala tilted the bottle, blocking the opening with her tongue so that only a little wine leaked into her mouth. Then she removed one of her belts and passed the bottle to Ista. The officer watched her every move, his eyes shining. As the game continued, she glanced around the tent and at the cot. The cot wasn’t large enough for three people. What was Ista planning? What role was Vitala intended to play? Glavius seemed to like being in charge, so their best bet might be to follow his lead for now. Ista would make her move when she was ready.

Vitala took another pretend swig from the bottle. After several rounds, she’d removed her two belts, her cloak, and her shoes. There was nothing left to do but take off her syrtos, so she did so, stripping down to her chemise. She shivered, and her nipples tightened. Glavius stared at her chest.

“Glavius, dear.” Ista drank from the bottle and removed her own syrtos. “You know mine are better.” She brandished her ample chest. “And it’s no fair taking off things like your sword and your pistol. Look at all those clothes you’ve got on compared to us. Take off something that counts.”

He grinned and pulled down his trousers. “Like this?”

“Yes, exactly like that,” said Ista, as he drank deeply from the wine bottle.

His gaze moved from one of them to the other, and he licked his lips. “So, do you ladies often do this together?”

“Indeed we do, sweetie,” said Ista.

“Say.” His eyes lit. “Do you ladies ever . . . you know . . . with each other?”

“Glavius, we’re sisters. That would be incest.”

“Oh. I suppose you’re right.”

“So it’s one at a time, love. I’ll go first.” Ista peeled off her chemise, revealing creamy white skin.

Glavius stood and moved toward her, but Vitala caught the barely perceptible hand gesture Ista had sent her.

“No, me first.” Vitala pulled off her own chemise, shivering as the cold air tickled her bare skin.

Glavius goggled at her, then at Ista. “Maybe both of you could, um . . .” He turned to the cot, which could barely fit two people, let alone three. “Hmm.”

Though disrobed from the waist down, he was still wearing his unbelted syrtos and a mail shirt and undertunic. Ista removed the syrtos and began pulling the mail and undertunic over his head. Vitala stepped forward to help. Lying against his lightly furred chest was his riftstone, the topaz of a war mage.

“I go first,” crooned Ista, meeting his lips with hers as they emerged from the shirt. She led him to the cot and he followed, unresisting.

Vitala trailed after them, feeling awkward, but if Ista was going to take the lead on this, she wouldn’t object. Not that she would hesitate to sleep with this man if that was what it took to save Lucien, but she certainly didn’t relish the idea. And what if she had one of her “events”?

Glavius climbed atop Ista and, as far as Vitala could tell, penetrated her almost instantly. Ista moaned. Vitala assumed she was faking, but it was hard to tell; Ista was an awfully good actress. Vitala turned away and waited, having little desire to watch or even think about what they were doing. It reminded her too much of those awful practice sessions. After a time, Glavius’s breathing grew heavy, his movements stronger, jerkier, which meant the end was near. Vitala swallowed uncomfortably.

He grunted, and the cot began to shake. Vitala heard the sounds of a struggle and forced herself to look, in case Ista needed help. Glavius was shuddering in his death throes, and Ista was trying to squeeze out from under him. “Get him off,” she choked.

Dry-mouthed, Vitala rolled the twitching Glavius off the bed.

“Gods, he’s like an ape.” Ista scrambled off the bed and grabbed a blanket, which she used to wipe off Glavius’s sweat and spittle.

Vitala stared at Glavius. He wasn’t dead yet.

“What are you doing—daydreaming?” snapped Ista. “Get dressed.”

Vitala tore her eyes away from the living corpse. “Doesn’t it bother you?”

“What—killing this sapskull?” Ista pulled on her chemise, then her syrtos.

“Killing anyone. Doesn’t it give you nightmares?”

“Anyone who’d let himself get suckered like that deserves what he gets.”

Vitala picked her syrtos and chemise off the floor and began to get dressed. “What happens now?”

“I don’t know. I got us into the pavilion. Now you’d better come up with some ideas. Whatever we do, it’ll have to wait for morning. There are too many officers here now, resting in their tents.”

“Won’t Cassian be away in the daytime, along with his officers?”

“Probably, but we could have a look around his tent, maybe set up an ambush.”

“You don’t think this can be done by seduction?”

“No. He’s not interested in whores. There’s a woman who goes to his tent most nights, a mistress he’s known for a long time. I doubt we can impersonate her, so we’re looking at something more straightforward, like putting a sword through his gut.” Ista went to the first of Glavius’s two leather-bound chests, opened it, and rifled through it. “Clothes. Hmm.” She went to the second, but it wouldn’t open. “Find the key.”

Wrinkling her nose, Vitala went to Glavius’s corpse—he was dead now—then realized she wouldn’t find anything on a naked body. She found his clothes and fished through the pockets. “Here.” She handed Ista a ring of keys.

Ista opened the second chest and whistled. “Guess who’s a weapons aficionado.” She lifted a couple of beautiful, high-quality pistols from the chest.

“Too noisy for this kind of work,” said Vitala. “But nice in case of emergency.”

“Agreed.” Ista took one pistol for herself and gave the other to Vitala, then resumed looking through the chest. She set a couple of lesser-quality pistols on the ground, then several swords and knives. “Oh, look.” She pulled out several wine bottles and set them on the ground. “Make him look like a drunk, will you?”