Assassin's Gambit: The Hearts and Thrones Series (28 page)

Vitala uncorked the bottles one at a time. She poured their contents over Glavius, then stashed the empties around the tent, making it look like he’d drunk himself into a stupor. When she finished, the whole tent reeked of alcohol, and Ista had amassed a pile of weapons next to the chest. Vitala selected a sword and a pair of throwing knives from the pile. Ista brought out a selection of poisons she’d hidden in her clothes, and they coated the knives with a paralytic. It would have no effect on a war mage like Cassian or Glavius, but it should work beautifully on anyone nonmagical they came across.

“We’re going to have to sleep in here, aren’t we?” noted Vitala. “With the corpse.”

“Yes, unless you have a better idea,” said Ista. “He’s my kill, by the way. I was working on him before you arrived. Don’t you even think of claiming him!”

“Of course. He’s your kill.”

Ista nodded, satisfied. “You sleep. I’ll take first watch.”

33

V
itala was startled out of the quiet of her early morning watch by a thundering roar that shuddered through her body. Had the storm returned, or was it a cannon? Moments later, there were answering booms, accentuated by the staccato crackle of musket fire.

She ran to the cot and shook Ista. “Wake up.”

Ista rose silently, armed and clothed.

The camp began to rouse. Vitala heard shouts, movement, footsteps.

“Glavius!” The voice came from just outside the tent. Vitala slipped behind the cot and covered herself with the blanket. Ista ducked behind a chest. There was a rattling sound. Vitala flinched, wondering what it was, and finally figured out it was the skull banging against the battle standard. “Wake up, Glavius. We’re under attack!” A pause. “Glavius?” The tent flap opened. The voice, closer now, was full of scorn. “Gods, Glavius.” The tent flap closed and the footsteps ran off.

Vitala stood up from behind the cot.

“Are Lucien’s forces attacking the pavilion?” whispered Ista.

“No, those cannons are distant,” said Vitala. “I’m sure the officers are being roused so they can help at the front lines. I think Lucien’s making some kind of desperate push.”

“Could be an opportunity for us,” said Ista.

Vitala nodded. She and Ista waited in the tent while the camp emptied. When the sounds of activity faded, Vitala poked her head out the tent, ascertained there was no one watching, and emerged with Ista behind her.

The grumbling and groaning of the cannons sounded horribly near as they worked their way toward the imperial tent, but Vitala knew from experience that they were farther away than they seemed.
How far?
she wondered. Wherever the action was, Lucien was probably close by. He could be within walking distance. Of course, with thousands of hostile troops in between the two of them, the physical distance didn’t matter at all.

Two guards stood in front of the imperial tent.

Vitala peered at them from behind a weapons rack and grimaced. “Legaciatti.”

“Yes and no,” whispered Ista. “Most of the Legaciatti are dead, killed during the coup or afterward during the purge. Cassian has been assigning ordinary soldiers to Legaciatti positions.”

“Really?” Vitala brightened. “Then these might not even be magical.”

“They might not be,” said Ista. “But we shouldn’t assume.”

“I don’t think we should kill them,” said Vitala. “It leaves too obvious a calling card.”

They crept around to the back of the tent, where they found more guards. These she and Ista dispatched with the poisoned knives. From the outside, the tent appeared to have the same shape as Lucien’s old imperial tent, the one she’d burned. Assuming it was also the same on the inside, she worked out where the bedroom would be and crouched in the dirt along its back wall. Vitala began cutting a slit near the floor of the tent. The leather was thick, and she strained with the effort. Ista shoved the guards’ bodies up against the tent wall and kept watch. Vitala had dulled the first knife and switched to a second by the time she’d opened enough of a gap that they could slip through.

She peeked through the opening. It was indeed a bedroom. “I don’t see anyone.”

“Go in,” said Ista. “We’re still clear outside. I’ll shove the bodies in after you.”

Vitala pocketed her knives and squirmed headfirst through the small opening. She was just tugging her hips through when something landed on her head.

She bit her tongue to keep from crying out and fought silently, twisting to free her trapped shoulder. She flung the weight off of her, surprised at how light it was. She turned and located her attacker, a boy with a knife.

He launched himself at her, swiping inexpertly with the knife. Vitala dodged the blow and caught his hand. She applied pressure to the wrist, making him drop the weapon, then scooped it up herself. She grabbed her assailant and held the knife to his neck, but it wasn’t a boy at all. Her attacker had long hair and a delicate, feminine face. She’d been fighting a teenage girl.
Celeste.

I should put down the knife and let her go,
Vitala thought. But no, that was a bad idea—she needed to explain herself first, or the girl might summon the guards.
I should put down the knife and let her go.
The thought recurred, forceful and persistent. And strange. Nonsensical. Vitala blinked in confusion. Then something rose in her, so virulent she almost vomited, and shoved the thought from her mind as if it were a foreign invader. In the moment of clarity that followed, she realized that was exactly what it had been. Celeste, like most Kjallan noblewomen, was a mind mage.

“Nice try,” she said, keeping her voice low, “but I’m magical. Your tricks won’t work on me.”

“Who are you?” squeaked the girl.

“Believe it or not, I’m the Empress of Kjall,” she said. “Lucien sent me.” A pang knifed through her; looking into the girl’s black eyes was like looking into Lucien’s, and she missed her husband terribly. But there were differences. Celeste’s hair was lighter than Lucien’s, and she had a sprinkling of freckles across her cheeks. Where had those come from? Vitala didn’t know Lucien’s ancestry beyond a couple of generations. Did his line carry foreign blood?

Ista squeezed in behind her and gasped. “Is that Celeste?”

“Yes,” said Vitala. “Get the guards’ bodies in here.”

“What’s going on?” hissed Celeste—but quietly, as if she didn’t want the guards out front to hear.

“I’ll explain in a moment,” said Vitala. Then, to Ista, “Get the bodies.”

Instead Ista launched herself at Celeste.

“No!” cried Vitala. She flung herself at Ista. Spying a poisoned knife in Ista’s hand, she grabbed it, forcing it away from Celeste’s neck. Celeste squeezed herself out from under the two of them and scrambled away, and Vitala and Ista crashed to the ground, wrestling over possession of the knife. Ista kneed Vitala in the crotch, a tactic that didn’t accomplish much, and Vitala, unable to free up a fist to strike with, elbowed Ista in the face. She had a height and strength advantage. Grunting with the effort, she used that advantage to maneuver the knife blade to Ista’s throat. “Yield,” she whispered. “Or I finish this mission alone.”

Ista let go of the knife and stared up at Vitala. “We have to kill her. Don’t you understand?”

“You’re mad,” growled Vitala. “I am not killing Lucien’s sister.”

Pounding footsteps approached. Vitala froze with the knife in her hands and turned to see the two guards standing in the doorway, weapons drawn, ready to attack. Celeste moved to intercept them. Though only half their size, she faced them down.

“Everything’s all right,” said Celeste. “You may go back to your posts.”

The guards stared at Vitala and Ista. There could be no question that they were aware that intruders had broken in, and yet their eyes whirled with foggy indecision. “You’re certain, Empress?”

“I’m certain,” said Celeste. “Return to your posts.”

The guards turned to leave, and Vitala shuddered. Mind magic was the creepiest thing she’d ever seen.

“I can call them back at any time,” said Celeste, with a pointed look at Ista. “So you’d better not touch me again.”

“Your guards are no threat to us,” Ista sneered.

“We’re not here to kill you,” said Vitala. “At least I’m not. I’m here on Lucien’s behalf, to assassinate Cassian and get you out of here. Is Cassian here now?”

“No, he’s gone to the front,” said Celeste. “Why do you call yourself empress? And how could Lucien have sent you when he’s being held prisoner?”

“He’s not being held prisoner. Here, you’ll want proof.” She fished through her pockets and found the letter he’d written her. “He and I were married not long ago.”

Celeste read the letter and wrinkled her brow in confusion. “How can this be? Where is he?”

“He’s leading the rebel army.”

Her eyes widened. “How did he get there? Did he escape?”

“Yes. I helped him escape.”

Celeste looked more confused than ever, but handed the letter back. “That’s his hand; I’d know it anywhere. But I don’t understand how he got away. Also, according to this letter, he didn’t send you here. He wanted you evacuated to Mosar.”

“I interpreted his words somewhat creatively.”

Celeste peered at her. “How does he even know you? I’ve never seen you before.”

“You have, but you don’t remember. I can’t tell you the whole story right now,” said Vitala. “Lucien is alive, but you’re right: his army is losing. We must end this war before his troops are overrun, and the only way to do it is to assassinate Cassian. Will you help us?”

“I would,” said Celeste. “But you can’t kill Cassian. He’s a war mage. If it were possible, I’d have done it already.”

Ista broke in. “Celeste is right. It’s not possible to kill Cassian, not with only two of us. That’s why Celeste has to die instead. She’s the one who makes his claim to the throne legitimate. Without her, he is nothing. If Celeste cares about her country, even she must agree with me.”

Celeste gaped at her.

“We came here to kill Cassian!” cried Vitala. “I would never have agreed to come here and murder Lucien’s sister.”

Ista smiled grimly. “Plans change. What’s more important to you: the life of one girl or the future of your entire country?”

Vitala shook her head, refusing to view the conundrum as a math problem. “Killing Celeste won’t save Lucien, and it won’t save Riorca. Cassian is too well entrenched as a leader to be thrown out just because Celeste has been killed.”

“You don’t know that,” said Ista. “Besides, what choice do we have? We can’t kill Cassian. It takes three trained warriors at least to challenge a war mage. We have two.”

Celeste swallowed. “I’ll help you.”

“You are not a trained warrior,” snapped Ista. “You’re a little girl.”

“The reason you need three people is you need him distracted,” said Celeste. “I can’t fight, but I can distract him.”

“How?” said Vitala.

Celeste shrugged. “I could make him angry at me.”

“No good,” said Ista. “You might distract him initially, but once he realizes he’s being attacked, he’ll ignore you and focus on us. Then we’ll die and he can punish you at his leisure.”

Celeste’s cheeks colored.

“We’re here to kill Cassian, not the princess,” said Vitala. “You know as well as I do that if you kill Celeste, the deal between Lucien and the Circle falls apart and we have nothing at all—no peace, nothing.” She turned to Celeste. “When will Cassian be back?”

“Probably when the battle is over.”

“And when the battle is over, will his officers return too?”

“Most of them.”

“We need him alone,” said Vitala. “Is there a way to get just Cassian and not the officers?”

Celeste was silent for a while, thinking. “Well . . . I could fake a suicide attempt or illness. But if he came back at all, he’d probably bring a Healer with him.”

“We’d rather not have the Healer,” said Vitala. “We need him alone. Let’s come back to this problem later. What about the guards out front? I take it they’re nonmagical, if they’re susceptible to your magic?”

“Yes,” said Celeste.

Vitala nodded. “Can you use your magic to keep them out of the fight? I’d rather not kill them, as it makes our presence here too obvious, but I don’t want them adding to our difficulties when we fight Cassian.”

“I can neutralize them, yes.”

“Could you make them fight on our side?” asked Ista.

“Probably,” said Celeste. “But they’d be confused and wouldn’t fight well.”

Ista grunted. “Never mind. They’d be a hindrance. Look, if you could control these guards all along, why didn’t you just leave? Why stay here and help the enemy wage war against your brother?”

Celeste bristled. “I was
helping
my brother. If I left, Cassian would have killed him!”

“An empty threat,” snorted Ista. “He’s been trying to kill Lucien all along. That’s what the war is about.”

“No.” Celeste violently shook her head. “The war is about the Riorcan rebels. Cassian was holding Lucien prisoner. He would have killed him if I tried to run away.” She looked at Vitala. “But you helped him escape, and now he’s with the rebels?”

“I helped him escape during the initial coup. He was never Cassian’s prisoner. The rebels aren’t rebels at all; they are Lucien’s supporters.” One of the final Caturanga pieces clicked into place. Now she knew why Remus and the others hadn’t killed Lucien right away. Their orders were to deliver him to Cassian, who would secretly hold him prisoner and use him as leverage over the imperial princess. When Lucien escaped capture, Cassian had been forced to improvise.

“But I
saw
him,” insisted Celeste. “In a prison cell.”

“Not up close, I’ll bet,” said Ista.

Celeste looked uncertain. “Not up close, but it was Lucien. I’m sure.”

Ista rolled her eyes. “You saw a fake. Cassian tricked you. Foolish chit, you fell for the oldest trick in the book!”

“Leave her alone,” snapped Vitala. “She’s only a child.”

“A sapskull of a child, who played right into his hands.”

Celeste looked stricken.

“Never mind,” said Vitala, taking Celeste’s hand and squeezing it. “He tricked the entire country, not just you. Be easy. Lucien is free, at least for now, and if we can assassinate Cassian, he will stay that way.”

Celeste swallowed. “I can get Cassian to come back alone.”

“How?” asked Vitala.

“I’ll send him a message. ‘I know about Lucien.’ That should bring him back in a hurry.”

“Won’t he bring backup?” asked Ista.

“Why would he? He’s not afraid of me. My magic can’t touch him, and he’s twice my size. He’ll just threaten me, beat me perhaps, and tell me I’m stupid.”

“Send your message,” said Vitala.

•   •   •

From her hiding spot, Vitala heard hoofbeats gallop to the tent entrance, followed by a dusty thump as someone dismounted. The footsteps came closer and became less muffled, suggesting that whoever it was had entered the tent, unchallenged by the guards. It occurred to Vitala that she didn’t actually know what Cassian looked like.

“Celeste, what’s this about your brother?” The voice was deep, suggesting a man of some size. “Have you been listening to the camp rumors?”