Assassin's Gambit: The Hearts and Thrones Series (3 page)

“Welcome,” echoed the crowd.

“In honor of your joining us, I give you your new name,” said Bayard. “No longer shall you be named for the shame of your birth, but for your purpose: to aid the Circle in returning Riorca to its days of light and happiness. Your name is Vitala, ‘life-giver.’”

•   •   •

Lucien didn’t send for her again that day. Vitala read, played Caturanga against herself, drank Dahatrian tea, and, in the evening, visited the imperial baths. The baths were warm, scented swimming pools, a luxury almost beyond her imagination. Bathing in the presence of other nude women was odd, but no one else seemed to be bothered by it. As for the tea, she’d asked for lemon balm, but the guards informed her that lemon balm was forbidden within the palace walls—Emperor Lucien’s orders. She’d known the emperor hated lemon balm, but was surprised to learn he’d banned it.

Two days later, the Legaciatti delivered to her a letter from Emperor Lucien. The emperor had apparently inked it himself, since the signature at the bottom matched the writing. The loops and whorls of his hand were precise and clean.
My illustrious opponent,
he’d written,
I count the hours until we can cross swords again. As my apology for keeping you waiting, I offer you a gift: the Caturanga set in your rooms. I also invite you to a state dinner, tomorrow evening, honoring the delegates from Asclepia, which I hope will prove an enjoyable diversion. Remus has offered to escort you.
She sniffed. Remus again. Since he was part of Lucien’s security detail, she was a little frightened of him. She’d have to be careful what she said in his presence.

She went to the Caturanga set, picked up a cavalry piece, and caressed it, her heart swelling with a fierce happiness. She’d never owned something so beautiful. In fact, she’d never owned anything at all. Her possessions belonged to the Circle. The sad thing was she would probably have to leave the set behind. Once she’d accomplished her mission—if she survived—she would need to leave in a hurry, and unencumbered.

What about the dinner? She had nothing to wear for such an occasion. Aside from the requirements of propriety and fitting in, if Lucien was going to be there, she needed to look her best. She was on the verge of sending for Remus with a plea for help when a Riorcan slave girl arrived at her door, bearing an assortment of dresses.

Vitala had been in Kjall for years now, long enough that the sight of Riorcan slaves no longer shocked her. Still, she found it tremendously awkward, especially when the girl struggled to communicate with her in halting Kjallan, unaware that Vitala could have communicated in fluent Riorcan.

The slave girl helped her try on each garment. Vitala chose a silk gown in royal blue. The girl carried it away to be altered, and Vitala settled down to play a solo game with her very own Caturanga set.

•   •   •

After her initiation, they did not stay at the cave. They traveled to a new one, several days’ journey away. There she joined a classroom with other girls, some of them her age and some a little older. All were dark-haired.

“Study hard, Vitala,” said Bayard, “If you do well, I’ll see you in a few years.”

She clutched his hand. He was her rescuer, and he was all she had. “I don’t want to stay here. I want to go where you go.”

“This is not my enclave,” he said. “And you are not ready for me.”

Her tears did not move him. When he pried her hand away and shut the door behind him, she had no choice but to turn her attention to the hard-faced, matronly woman who was her instructor. “Welcome, Vitala,” said the instructor. She knelt and pinned a bit of white cloth to the front of Vitala’s tunic. On it was a foreign word, written not in the Riorcan runic alphabet but in the strange loops and whorls of the Kjallan language.

The other students all had similar bits of white cloth pinned to their clothes. Some of them had the same word as hers, while others had different words. None were familiar. “What does it mean?” she asked.

The instructor pointed. “This is the Kjallan word for
commoner
. Today you are a commoner.” She pointed at an older girl. “This is Arvina. Today she is a prefect’s wife.” She pointed to another girl. “And Ista is a tribune’s daughter. They are your social superiors, and you must treat them accordingly. If you make a mistake, they will punish you.”

Vitala wrinkled her forehead.

“Kjall is a rank-sensitive society, and the rules are taught to Kjallan children at a very early age. To fit in and pass for Kjallan, you must learn these rules until they are as natural for you as walking. Class, if you are seated and someone of superior rank walks by, what do you do? You may answer in Riorcan.”

“Stand up,” they intoned.

“May you greet someone of superior rank?”

“No,” said the class.

“What do you do instead of addressing them?” She pointed at Ista, whose thumb was raised.

“Curtsy,” said Ista. “A welcome curtsy if the difference in rank is small, or a submission curtsy if the difference is great.”

The instructor drilled the class until Vitala felt dizzy and nauseous. There was so much to learn. So many rules!

“And from now on,” added the instructor, “you will speak only Kjallan.”

Vitala stiffened. “I don’t know Kjallan.”

The instructor smiled. “You will.”

3

T
hat evening, Remus arrived for her in his Legaciatti uniform. She’d expected him to wear some sort of formal syrtos for a state dinner, but what did she know? There were gaps in the Circle’s understanding of the Kjallan aristocracy. When she arrived at the banquet hall, she discovered he did not look out of place. All the military men were in their uniforms, with ranks and insignias and medals boldly displayed.

She spotted Emperor Lucien immediately. He was in the center of the domed hall, unmistakable with his peg leg and crutch and the jeweled loros, and the enormous bodyguard shadowing him. Was that bodyguard always present? Vitala could just imagine him standing there in the bedroom while Lucien made love. Worse, that bodyguard was almost certainly a war mage, which meant she was no match for him. The emperor was in the company of three other men who spoke with him, their faces animated. A woman hung on his arm. Vitala’s heart sank.

A slave showed her and Remus to a table. They were seated in a corner with six minor dignitaries, about as far away as they could be from the centrally located imperial table. Vitala greeted her dinner companions, who spoke to her warmly until they learned she was a commoner, and then lost interest. She snuck glances at the lady who’d sat down with Lucien. She wore a gown of sparkling silver that glittered when she moved. Silver was not a color Vitala could wear; it made her look washed-out. This woman’s complexion was just dark enough to carry it off. Red-gold hair cascaded down her back, suggesting more than a trace of foreign blood, and her face was so flawless it belonged on a sculpture. Vitala was outclassed. She was attractive, she knew that, but she could not compete at that level.

A slave placed a bowl of soup in front of her. It was creamy and tasted of sea scallops.

“Those men with the emperor,” she said to Remus. “Are they the delegates from Asclepia?”

“Yes,” said Remus. “They want to build a dam on some river up north.”

“And the woman? Is she from Asclepia too?”

“Yes.”

“She’s very beautiful.”

Remus smiled, raising his eyebrows at her. “She’s not the only beauty in the room.”

Three gods, was Remus flirting with her? Interesting. Could she work that to her advantage and perhaps arouse some jealousy in Lucien? Maybe not. It might backfire. Remus was a high-ranking Legaciattus, and, for all she knew, he and Lucien had the kind of friendly relationship that precluded them from poaching each other’s women.

After the dessert course was served, the light-glows were dimmed and the orchestra began to play. The first dance was reserved for the imperial party. The Asclepian delegates paired off with palace beauties, while Lucien hovered just off the edge of the dance floor with the Asclepian woman. She looked frustrated at having the only partner in the room unable to dance, even if he was the emperor. Vitala felt a pang of pity for Lucien. How did it feel to be a cripple surrounded by so many examples of physical perfection?

Perhaps she should reserve her pity for the Asclepian woman. Very likely she’d been thrown at Lucien as a bribe to help the delegation get what they wanted. Had she been forced into the role, or did she volunteer? Maybe she stood to gain as much as the men did from the construction of that dam.

No, the Asclepian did not deserve her pity. It could hardly be torture to sleep with Lucien. He was a handsome man, and maybe the passion he’d shown at playing Caturanga also manifested itself in the bedroom. As for the missing leg, Vitala found herself less put off by it than she had been initially, and more curious. What did it look like when not covered by his clothes and that bit of gaudy wood and gold?

The first dance ended, and more couples crowded onto the floor.

Remus held out his hand. “Dance, Miss Salonius?”

She smiled. “Certainly.” Dancing would get her physically closer to the emperor, who was still hovering in the vicinity of the imperial table. Maybe he’d notice her. Though he seemed frustratingly focused on the Asclepian.

Remus’s hand was warm and dry. He led her confidently onto the floor and wrapped an arm around her waist. He danced competently but without artistry or flair. Never mind. He was leading her closer to the imperial table. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to inspire a
little
jealousy. She gazed adoringly into Remus’s eyes as they passed Lucien.

For three rounds, they circled the floor. The dance ended and they retreated, flushed and exhilarated, to their table. It had emptied of the other guests, who’d probably left to seek more prestigious company. A slave refilled their wineglasses, and Vitala drank deeply. To her surprise, she found she was enjoying herself.

Remus scrambled suddenly to his feet.

Following his lead, Vitala set down her wineglass, spilling a few bloodred drops, and stood.

“Sit down, sit down,” said Emperor Lucien. The Asclepian woman, still on his arm, gave Vitala an appraising look. Vitala was amused by her discomfiture. Kjallans were funny. Rank was encoded directly into their language, which had three separate grammatical forms: one for speaking to an inferior, one for an equal, and one for a superior. Thus Kjallans had to determine relative rank before opening their mouths. Usually it was easy to figure it out, because Kjallan men wore insignias denoting their rank, and Kjallan noblewomen, who derived their rank from male relatives, wore a bit of rank-defining jewelry. Vitala, who was at the bottom of the social scale, possessed no jewelry of that kind, so her rank was not evident.

Vitala and Remus sat. The emperor took one of the empty seats and directed the Asclepian woman to the other. The Legaciattus bodyguard lurked unobtrusively behind them as a slave brought more wine.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” asked Lucien.

“Very much, Your Imperial Majesty,” said Vitala. “It’s been lovely, though I fear I’m out of my depth in this company.”

Lucien indicated the woman who accompanied him. “I’d like you to meet Nasica Vestinius. She’s visiting from the province of Asclepia. Nasica, Vitala Salonius.”

Nasica extended a perfectly manicured hand and wrist dripping with bracelets.

Vitala clasped wrists with her.

“Every year,” said Lucien, “there’s a Caturanga tournament held in the city of Beryl, and I invite the winner of the tournament to the palace. That way I can learn from the best. This year, Miss Salonius was our winner.”

A look of surprise, perhaps even disapproval, flitted across Nasica’s face. “I see. You play Caturanga?” She spoke in the diplomatic form of the language, which indicated she had no idea of Vitala’s rank and was being careful not to offend.

“Yes, ma’am.” Vitala corrected Nasica’s mistake by answering her in the submissive. “My father taught me the game.”

Nasica switched smoothly to command. “And your father is?”

“A soldier.”

Nasica cocked her head. “What rank?”

“He was a squad commander.”

“Oh.” Nasica’s gaze drifted away—she’d lost interest. “You must be very proud to have come so far. All the way to the Imperial Palace.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Nasica said nothing further, and Vitala sat in awkward silence. The Asclepian woman outranked her, and that meant Vitala was not free to lead the conversation. Not that she could think of much to say.

Lucien rose irritably. The three of them stood, bowing their heads in deference, and the bodyguard handed him his crutch. “Please avail yourself of drinks and dancing for as long as you like.” Lucien pointed at Vitala. “But keep your mind sharp. I hope to see you at the Caturanga board again soon.”

He limped away with the beautiful Nasica at his side.

•   •   •

Lucien summoned her for Caturanga the following afternoon. When Vitala arrived at his rooms, the door was open, but a knot of Legaciatti stood within the doorframe, blocking it. Her escort made her stop where she was and wait. She obeyed but craned her neck to see what was going on.

Lucien stood in the center of the group, leaning on his crutch with one hand and resting the other on a kneeling man’s shoulder. The kneeling man drew a magical red line across the doorway with his finger.

A tingle of apprehension crawled up Vitala’s neck. The man was laying an enemy ward. That was why Lucien had his hand on him; attuning a ward required physical contact. There hadn’t been an enemy ward before, but now there was going to be one. Why the change? Had something alerted Lucien to danger?

Since there was no doubt she would trigger an enemy ward if she crossed one, she’d have to break the ward before she passed through that doorway.

Lucien looked up and spotted her. His eyes smiled at her. “Vitala.”

She dropped into her submission curtsy. “Your Imperial Majesty.”

“Come inside. We’re done here.” He gestured, and the guards fell back to make a path.

Vitala relaxed her mind to find the enemy ward’s contact point, but it wasn’t there. No contact point. And no ward! Three gods, she’d just seen it placed! What had happened to it?

The guards closed in around her, urging her forward, and she had no choice but to pass through the doorway. Her heart throbbed as she stepped over the threshold, but nothing happened. The ward wasn’t there.

Was the Warder incompetent? That didn’t seem possible; a Warder knew when his wards were laid correctly. It had to have been deliberately mislaid, which meant the Warder was betraying his emperor.

Lucien limped across the floor to the Caturanga board. Poor man, he wasn’t just hated by the Riorcans, but by his own people. Was the Warder acting alone, or were there others involved?
Gods curse it.
What right did these others have to move against Lucien? The man was
her
kill. She’d been training for this for years. And she had a reason to kill him—a
good
reason. What was this other plot about? Power?

Of course. These were Kjallans. This was nothing more than an old-fashioned attempt at a coup. Some brutish Kjallan cull wanted the throne, and the Warder was helping him get it. But who was the cull? The more she thought about it, the more unsettled she became. Her people were operating on the assumption that Lucien’s death, without an heir, would throw the Kjallan Empire into chaos, possibly even civil war. But what if there was another man waiting in the wings, ready to step in and take control? There might be no war, no disruption at all.

And what if the new man was worse than Lucien?

“What’s the matter?” asked Lucien.

Vitala blinked. “Nothing, sire.” She sat down at the Caturanga table.

Lucien was playing blue, so he had the first move. “I’ll have you know I read up on Pelonius and all its variations last night.”

She smiled. “Then I’ll have to be creative. I was surprised you had time to play today. Have the Asclepians gone?”

“Yes.” He opened with Double Cavalry.

She answered with a battalion. Perhaps she should focus on the bottom tier this time. “I heard they wanted a dam built.”

“They did. I turned them down.” He moved one of his mountains.

She wondered if he’d slept with Nasica first. “Your Imperial Majesty, do you mind if I ask why? I apologize if my questions are impertinent. But it’s a rare opportunity for me to see imperial politics firsthand.”

He shrugged. “Ask away; I wish more people took an interest. The reason I said no is that it’s bad for Kjall. We use the lower part of that river for transport, and the downstream farmers use it for irrigation. The dam would spoil it for both purposes.” He made his move and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “The Asclepians are trying to grab a larger share of the river profits for themselves at the expense of everyone else.”

“Then I’m glad you turned them down, sire.”

He shrugged. “Kjall is struggling too much for me to even consider doing otherwise. But I’m sorry to lose the support of that family.”

“With respect, why should you need their support? You’re the emperor. They should be scrambling to earn yours.”

“It’s critical that I retain the support of my high-level commanders and the leading families.”

Perhaps the imperial throne was not as all-powerful as she’d assumed. After all, his own men were plotting against him under his nose. She made her countermove. “Were the Asclepians the emergency that pulled you away the other day?”

“Oh no,” said Lucien. “That was something else. Unrest in Tasox.”

Her hand hovered over the board. “What sort of unrest?”

“Some out-of-work soldiers have turned to banditry and are terrorizing the citizens. I’ve dispatched forces to deal with the problem.”

Vitala studied the board. Lucien was an aggressive, innovative player, which made him difficult to predict. He was setting up terrain obstacles for her in the bottom tier, but he’d made a suspicious move with his Tribune that suggested he was about to make a run for the Vagabond. He’d left himself open in a few spots. She might just be able to get her Traitor across enemy lines. For now, she worked on getting her cavalry into position.

Three gods, she was supposed to be seducing him, and once again she was getting too drawn into the Caturanga. “Has Nasica gone home too?”

He chuckled as if at some private joke. “Yes.” He moved his Tribune again.

Vitala grimaced. He was definitely making a bid for the Vagabond. Time to move her cavalry and block him. No, it was time to focus on her mission, not the gods-cursed game. Nasica was gone, so this was her opportunity.

She reached across the board for a cavalry piece and accidentally on purpose knocked Lucien’s Tribune off the board so it landed near his foot. “Sorry.” She reached for it. He moved to pick it up too, and their fingers met, but she didn’t pull her hand away. His eyes met hers below the table. She parted her lips slightly and felt herself blushing—a natural reaction, and exactly what she wanted. She lowered her eyes and let go of the piece.

He sat up and set it on the board. She moved her cavalry piece, still blushing. His eyes were on her.

“I wonder,” he said slowly, “if you’d like to come back later this evening.”

“Very much, sire,” she said.

“First let’s finish this game.” He neatly captured her Traitor, which was one move away from getting behind his enemy lines.