Assassin's Gambit: The Hearts and Thrones Series (8 page)

“I don’t know,” said Vitala.

“Let’s assume he can.” She laid a blanket over him. “We’ll speak in the other room.”

They left Lucien behind, shut the door, and moved to the sitting room.

Hanna took a seat, her bracelets clinking. “If he’s the emperor, we should let him die.”

“No.” Vitala sat down opposite her. “I’m to bring him to the Circle in Riorca.”

Glenys spread her hands. “Why? The Circle wants him dead.”

“Not anymore,” said Vitala. “There’s been a coup. A man named Cassian has taken the imperial throne. If Lucien dies, Cassian will rule the country unchallenged. We need Lucien to raise an army and start a civil war, which will give Riorca the chance it needs to win its independence.”

“That young man doesn’t look capable of raising an army,” said Hanna.

Vitala bit her lip. She had to agree; that was a sticking point. And yet something told her Lucien was capable of more than he seemed. “He’s the best chance we have. Besides, I’m under orders.” That was true; she
was
under orders. Just not those orders.

“What are you? Spy? Assassin?” asked Glenys.

“Assassin and wardbreaker.” She lifted her hair and showed them the two hard spots on her neck where her obsidian riftstone and deathstone were implanted.

They came over and felt them, then sat back, exchanging a glance. Assassins were well respected in the Obsidian Circle. “All right,” said Hanna. “I’ll try to save him, but I make no promises. What does he know?”

“Only that I rescued him. He doesn’t know I’m from the Circle.”

“Let’s keep it that way.”

They returned to Lucien, who was still unconscious on the cot, with the dog keeping him company.

“What’s your dog’s name?” asked Vitala. “And what’s that in her mouth?”

“Flavia, and that’s a rolled-up bandage she likes to carry around. Do you know what’s wrong with him?” asked Hanna.

“I think it’s wound fever. His Warder was one of the traitors.” Vitala pulled up Lucien’s syrtos and unwrapped the bandage.

Hanna hissed at the sight. “Yes, that’s wound fever.”

Vitala bit her lip. “Will he die?”

“Probably not,” said Hanna. “It’s not streaky yet. But we need to get him warded before the sickness spreads any further. Glenys, get Antonius.”

The Riorcan hurried for the door.

“Once warded, he shouldn’t get worse,” explained Hanna. “But curing the existing sickness may be difficult.” She examined his back and sides. “He’s got burns, too.”

“Are they serious?”

“I imagine they’re very painful, and they’ll probably scar. But the blisters haven’t broken, and that’s a good sign. I’ll put ointment on them.”

“What can I do to help?” asked Vitala.

“Nothing yet,” said Hanna. “But you’ll have to nurse him back to health once I get some medicine and wards into him. Glenys and I must continue our midwifery. Do you understand? We could be called away at any time.”

“Yes, ma’am. Of course.”

“For now, I’ll do what I can for him.” Hanna left the room and bustled about the hearth, lighting a fire, putting a kettle on to boil, and mixing an herbal concoction. Vitala discarded the blood-soaked bandage, unstrapped and removed Lucien’s wooden leg, and covered his lower body with a blanket to make him less recognizable. The former emperor’s face was not well-known to the general population of Kjall, but his leg was distinctive.

The Warder, Antonius, arrived and was directed to the back room. He was an elderly man with a kind, wrinkled face. “The standard wards?” he asked.

“Yes, sir, including fertility,” said Vitala. “The patient first, then me.”

She liked to watch wards being placed, since, unlike most people, she could actually see them. She relaxed her mind as the Warder’s fingers traced the symbols in the air, calling the magic from the Rift and anchoring it within Lucien’s person and then her own. He was highly skilled and called forth what he needed with minimal hand movements. Vitala smiled at the perfectly formed blue and violet threading his handiwork left behind. She paid and tipped him with Remus’s coin.

After Antonius had gone, Hanna brought the steaming kettle into the bedroom and set it by Lucien’s bed. She poured some powder into the boiling water, stirred, and dipped a cloth into it, then removed the cloth with tongs and held it out to Vitala. “Let this cool for just a moment, then hold it on his leg. You need to soak the wound for fifteen minutes.”

Vitala took the tongs. She waited until the cloth was cool enough to touch, then placed it on the wound.

Lucien groaned and shifted in his sleep.

Hanna left the room, and returned a while later with a basin and a metal instrument that looked like a large set of tweezers. She took the tongs from Vitala and set them aside. “Hold on to him,” she ordered.

Vitala gave her a questioning look. “He’s unconscious.”

“He may not stay that way.”

Vitala pushed Lucien’s arms into the bed, holding him down.

“No,” said Hanna. “Go behind him. Pull his arms behind his back.”

Vitala climbed onto the bed behind Lucien, lifted his upper body, and laid him against her chest. She twisted his arms behind his back and held them there.

Hanna used the tweezers to pry open the infected wound. Vitala winced and looked away.

Lucien, who had been deadweight in her arms, became a writhing, twisting force of nature. His arms ripped out of her grip. Something struck her on the chin. His arms flailed, and she ducked. The basin overturned.

“Be still! Be still!” Hanna shouted.

Lucien was yelling something incomprehensible.

Vitala tried to grab Lucien again, but he twisted out of her grip. She was afraid to try again. She was no match for magically enhanced strength.

Hanna righted the basin. “Lie down, you fool! I’m trying to help you!”

“What’s going on? Who are you?” cried Lucien.

“Lucien, it’s me!” Vitala circled around the room into his view.

He recognized her and quieted.

“You’re in Tasox,” said Vitala. “This is my aunt Hanna. She’s helping you with your leg.”

“Helping me with . . .” He looked at the leg wound, then at Hanna with her tweezers and basin. “What quackery is this? I need a Healer!” He tried to stand, but his injured leg buckled underneath him. Vitala caught him and maneuvered him back onto the bed. His voice sounded strange. Though his words seemed to be the product of a clear mind, she suspected they were fever induced.

“Shh,” said Vitala, laying her hands on his arms and pushing gently to get him to lie down. “There is no Healer available. Of the two in Tasox, one is dead and the other is a prisoner of the bandits.”

“Soldier’s hell! When is the battalion getting here?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea, but their arrival won’t be a good thing for us.”

“Pox it all,” fumed Lucien. “Let’s get out of here and move on to the next town. There are Healers in Worich.”

“You’ll never make it that far,” said Hanna. “Not until we drain that leg.”

Lucien paled. “Drain it?”

“You have wound fever,” Hanna explained. “We have to drain the sickness out of the leg. Otherwise you’ll lose the leg, and considering it’s the only good one you’ve got left, I don’t think you want that.”

“Pox that. You’re not opening up my leg. I’ll kill you before I let you do it.”

Vitala turned to Hanna. “He’s not lucid—not rational. How about I take his riftstone out of range so he loses his magic? Then Glenys can hold him while you drain the leg.”

Hanna frowned. “You shouldn’t be on the streets. Not with Gordian’s men out there.”

“I’m not defenseless, and it won’t take long. Will it?”

“No, but—”

“Don’t go.” Lucien stared up at her, his eyes cloudy and confused. “Don’t take my riftstone.”

“I’ll stay, but only if you hold still for Aunt Hanna.”

He winced but nodded acquiescence.

Hanna prodded at the open wound, and yellow fluid oozed out of it. She moved the basin to catch it.

Lucien howled in pain. He looked at what Hanna was doing, and his voice rose to an alarming pitch. “What’s that yellow stuff? Blood is not yellow!”

“It’s the sickness.” Hanna continued to prod deeper into the wound, finding more yellow gunk. Bile rose in Vitala’s throat. She’d never seen anything so disgusting in her life. “I’m getting it out so your leg can heal,” continued Hanna. “Are you feeling better yet?”

Lucien’s eyes glazed over. “Can’t even stand up,” he mumbled. “Gods-cursed horse.”

Vitala and Hanna exchanged perplexed glances.

Lucien turned to Vitala and started, as if he’d just noticed her. He raised his hand gently to the sore spot on her chin. “Who did that to you? I’ll poxing stake him—”

“You did that, you sapskull.”

He looked shocked. “I couldn’t have.”

“It was an accident. Don’t worry about it.”

As if in apology, he kissed her on the chin. When she did not protest, he leaned in to kiss her on the lips.

She shoved him away.

As Hanna probed deeper into the wound, trying to extract every last bit of the foul-smelling stuff, Lucien’s body stiffened and he gritted his teeth. He looked again at the yellow fluid draining from his leg. “Gods-cursed horse,” he murmured, and suddenly he was deadweight in her arms.

“Out cold?” asked Hanna.

Vitala lowered him to the cot. “I think so.”

Hanna clucked in sympathy. “Poor creature. It’s for the best.”

9

T
hat evening, Hanna and Glenys were called out to attend a birth. Vitala stayed behind with Lucien and Flavia, following the orders Hanna had left her. Every four hours, she soaked the wound in boiled, treated water, packed it with powder, and bandaged it. To Vitala’s discomfiture, they could not stitch the gash closed; it had to be left open until the sickness was gone. When Lucien woke, still delirious, Vitala plied him with medicine and water and, when he would take it, a little food.

By morning, Lucien was still weak, but the wound looked considerably less angry. He was aware of the dog and reached down from time to time to stroke her ears.

A few hours later, Hanna and Glenys burst in the door. “They’re coming,” said Hanna. “Down in the basement, both of you.”

“Who’s coming?” Vitala ran to the back bedroom. She would need help carrying Lucien.

“Gordian’s men.” Hanna pulled a rug aside, revealing a trapdoor. “Leave Lucien where he is; they won’t want him. It’s you and Glenys I’m worried about. They take young women. Better take Flavia too, in case they shoot animals for sport.”

“How many of them are there? Do they have magic?”

“Don’t fight them, child. Gordian will just send more.” She raised the trapdoor and gestured to the ladder.

Glenys hurried down. Vitala grabbed her weapons and followed. The rickety ladder creaked under her feet. At the bottom, her feet dropped onto soft dirt.

“Here, take Flavia,” called Hanna from above.

Vitala saw her handing the dog down, and her stomach tightened. She had no experience with dogs. Some of the Kjallan soldiers had them—great war dogs with bulging muscles, spiked collars, and mouths that bristled with teeth. Flavia wasn’t a war dog. She seemed gentle, yet she was a sizeable animal nonetheless.

“I’ll get her,” said Glenys, stepping forward. She took the dog in her arms, to Vitala’s relief, and set her on the dirt floor. The trapdoor shut above them, leaving them in darkness, but Glenys activated a light-glow that revealed a close space and shelves all around them. The shelves were stacked high with powder-filled jars, dried herbs, bandages, and food supplies. There was no furniture. Vitala sat cross-legged on the floor, half cocked her pistol, and rested it on her lap. Above, she heard a scraping noise as the rug was replaced over the trapdoor.

Flavia padded around restlessly, then curled up next to Vitala. Vitala recoiled, having never touched a dog before, but slowly relaxed; the animal obviously meant no harm. Tentatively, she reached for Flavia’s head to stroke it the way she’d seen Lucien do. The animal’s medium-length fur was coarse on the outside, but there was a softer layer underneath.

“You’re not accustomed to dogs,” said Glenys. “But our people used to keep them. Did you know?”

Vitala shook her head.

“The Kjallans slaughtered them, but a few survived, and the bloodline has been preserved. Few people are aware.”

Vitala opened her mouth to reply, but shut it as, above them, the door to the cottage flew open with a bang. Footsteps thudded across the floor.

Flavia leapt to her feet, but before she could bark or growl, Glenys seized her muzzle.

“Madam Hanna,” said a man’s voice overhead. “We need supplies.”

“Whatever for?” she replied. “Haven’t you got a Healer?”

“Gordian didn’t like him.” More banging as furniture was shoved aside and cupboard doors roughly opened.

“What do you mean, Gordian didn’t like him? Is he
dead
?”

No answer. The footsteps crossed over their heads into Lucien’s bedroom. “Who’s this cull?”

“Never you mind,” said Hanna. “Someone your men did wrong, that’s who.”

One of the men chuckled. “What’s in the bowl? Soup?”

“Ain’t for you,” said Hanna.

A spitting noise. “Aggh, it’s medicine.”

More banging, more footsteps. There was a loud tromp as one of the men stepped right on the trapdoor, then a more welcome sound, that of the front door opening. “Thanks, Hanna. So obliging.”

“You’re nothing but thieves, you are!” she called after them. The door closed.

A few minutes later, the trapdoor opened, and Hanna peered down at them. “Well, come on up.”

“What’s the damage?” asked Glenys when they’d emerged from their hideout.

Hanna rifled through her cabinets. “Not bad. Our real stores are in the cellar. And they don’t know what they’re looking for. Look, they took the bandages but left this.” She held out a jar of ointment.

Hanna and Glenys laughed.

Vitala asked, “What’s in the jar?”

“Burn ointment,” said Glenys. “Valuable and hard to get. They were sapskulls to leave it behind. So they killed the Healer?”

“Sounds that way,” said Hanna.

“I never thought I’d say this,” said Glenys, “but I’d welcome that battalion.”

•   •   •

Hanna and Glenys were called out again that evening and had not returned by morning. Lucien’s wound looked almost healthy at this point. Vitala wished Hanna would return and look at it and, hopefully, stitch it up. She didn’t know what was delaying the battalion—they ought to have been here by now—but if the delay continued, she might get Lucien out before they arrived. It was time to move things along.

Lucien was getting his color back. He looked less like a corpse and more like the handsome young man she’d made love to in the imperial tent. Well, she supposed it was more that he’d made love to her. The memory of that night brought a flush to her cheeks and a disconcerting throb to her nether regions. Gods, what had happened to her? She’d been with many a man before Lucien, but never had her body responded the way it had to him. Was it his looks? His skill? His personality? It hardly mattered, considering what had happened afterward. She’d been worried that a vision of the young soldier might intrude and steal her consciousness, and that was exactly what had happened. If Remus and his soldiers hadn’t interfered and forced her back to reality, there was no telling how far the vision might have progressed. She might have reached the ugly part, the part that made her start screaming, and what would Lucien think if he saw that? She couldn’t risk sleeping with him again.

Still, nursing him back to health was less unpleasant than she’d expected. Now that he was stripped of his imperial uniform, he didn’t look like an enemy. Tucked away in a back bedroom in Tasox, he wasn’t the emperor who’d persecuted her people and presided over the massacre at Stenhus. He was just a man, and a handsome one at that. Even the dog seemed to like him. Flavia no longer slept beneath his cot but atop it, right next to him, and he often rested a hand on her or idly scratched her ears.

Vitala laid a hand on his cheek to check for fever and found it cool to the touch. She stared at his closed eyes, half wishing they would open. They were his most attractive feature, not their shape or color, which were ordinary, but their intensity. It was the intelligence that lay behind them that made them fascinating. She missed those eyes. Then there was his second best feature: his lips. Gods, but the man could kiss. She throbbed again at the memory, and in a moment of unthinking pleasure, bent down and brushed his lips with her own.

His eyes opened. She stood and turned away so he wouldn’t see her reddening cheeks.

“Don’t stop there,” he said. “Things were just getting interesting.” He was lucid now; she could tell by the sharpness of his voice.

“I was checking to see if you had a fever.”

“Do I have one?”

“No.”

“Maybe you should check again.” He faked a cough.

It must have been his looks that had reeled her in, because it sure wasn’t his personality. “You’re not funny.”

“I can’t make you laugh, but I can make you blush.”

Time to change the subject. “Gordian’s men were here. They stole supplies from Hanna.”

“When is the battalion coming into town?”

“They should have been here already. They’re delayed.”

“Why?”

“I have no idea,” said Vitala. “I’d wager because of your disappearance.”

“If Remus died in the fire, the traitors are leaderless and disorganized. They’d probably send back to Cassian for instructions before moving on. On the other hand, if Remus survived—”

“He didn’t survive.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I killed him.”

“You lie. He’s a war mage. You could not have killed him.”

She pulled Remus’s riftstone from her pocket and dangled it before Lucien’s disbelieving eyes. It was important he know she was capable of killing a war mage. It would inspire an appropriate level of respect.

“It’s not possible,” he said.

“We killed that other war mage by the fire.”

“
We
killed him. Two of us. And one of us was a war mage with really good aim. I watched you fight. You’re good, but you could not have beaten him alone.”

“Maybe not, but I did kill Remus.”

“How?”

Vitala smiled. “Why would I divulge my secrets?”

He scowled. “What are you—Obsidian Circle?”

She was shocked that he had guessed so easily. But, then, it wasn’t as if there were numerous well-known spy networks operating within Kjall. “I think the Obsidian Circle would have killed you, not rescued you.”

He looked thoughtful. “Not necessarily. The Circle would have reasons for wanting me on the throne instead of Cassian.”

“Really? What reasons?”

“If you’re not Obsidian Circle, why do you want to know?”

Vitala bit her lip, frustrated. She was going to have to tell him eventually. It would become obvious once he realized their destination was Riorca. And it wasn’t going to be easy to transport him there without his willing cooperation. She had his riftstone, which gave her some leverage, but she couldn’t rob him of his magic without taking it out of range, and how could she control him if she didn’t stay close to him? She couldn’t tie him up—he’d break the bonds. Chains would be conspicuous. And how would she get them on him in the first place?

No, force was not feasible. Her only option was to make him believe she was on his side.

She sat beside him on the bed. “Look, I’ll explain what I can. Yes, I work for someone. An organization. I can’t tell you what it is.”

“Why not?”

She ignored the question. “My superiors knew of the plot against you. My orders were to get close to you and stay close, and if the traitors made their move, get you to safety.”

“If you knew about the plot, you should have told me! There were steps I could have taken—”

“No,” she said. “The plot was too big for that. Now that the traitors have made their move and I’ve rescued you, my orders are to bring you to my superiors.”

He rolled his eyes. “And you can’t tell me who they are or what they want.”

“They want you back on the throne. If I’m not mistaken, that’s also what you want.”

“If you’re my ally, give me my riftstone.”

“My orders aren’t to follow your instructions. They’re to bring you to my superiors. And I don’t trust you to cooperate unless I have some leverage.”

His face twisted in frustration. “Look, Vitala. I can’t operate like this. I need details or I can’t strategize. You can’t play Caturanga if you can’t see the board. I need to know who these people are and how they plan to help me.”

“I don’t have those details. I’m not the brains of the operation; I just follow orders. You’re going to have to trust me. Don’t forget I saved your life.”

“I’m grateful to you for saving my life, but it doesn’t oblige me to follow you anywhere.”

She smiled. “Now you see why I need leverage.”

He opened his mouth to argue some more, but changed his mind and waved a hand in capitulation. “I’m hungry.”

She headed toward the kitchen. “I’ll get you something.”

“Vitala?”

She turned with her hand on the door.

“If you’re not the brains of the operation, you should be.”