Guardian's Secret: Hearts and Thrones

Guardian’s Secret

A Hearts and Thrones Novella

Amy Raby

Copyright © 2015 by Amy Raby.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

Guardian’s Secret/ Amy Raby. -- 1st ed.

ISBN 978-1-940987-08-8

Also by Amy Raby

The Hearts and Thrones Series

Assassin’s Gambit

Spy’s Honor

Prince’s Fire

Archer’s Sin

Healer’s Touch

Guardian’s Secret

The Coalition of Mages Series

The Fire Seer

The Fire Seer and Her Quradum

Chapter 1

Drusus stood in the alley with his arms folded, keeping watch over a run-down tavern that had no sign and no official name. Patrons called it the Green and Yellow for the colors of the faded paint on its wooden frame. It was a gathering place for morseys—men who slept with men, and women who slept with women—and as such, it was wholly disreputable.

Morseys also used to gather at the Flipped Coin on the south side of the city. But three days ago, someone had burned the Flipped Coin to the ground.

Drusus had learned about the fire in the Riat Courant the morning after it happened. The article had been scanty on details. Curious, he’d saddled his horse, ridden to the south side, and questioned the citizens and guards. No, nobody knew who’d started the fire. No, the Riat City Guard didn’t seem to be investigating.

A suspicious fact emerged through his inquiries. Some of the men and women who’d escaped the burning building unscathed had spontaneously caught fire in the middle of the street. That suggested the involvement of a fire mage.

As a retired, childless bachelor, Drusus had no family to speak of and owed no obligations to anybody. Even if he’d still been in the Legaciatti, the emperor’s elite personal guard, the burning of the Flipped Coin would not have fallen within his jurisdiction; it was a matter for the city guards.

But Drusus had worked in close proximity with the Riat City Guard for twenty years. A more worthless assortment of bullies and sycophants he’d never known. No doubt they’d declined to investigate the burning because they hated morseys, but no matter how one felt about the victims, one should not allow a rogue fire mage to run amok in the city.

It was reasonable to assume that the fire mage’s next target would be the Green and Yellow. Hence Drusus’s lurking presence in the alleyway, with a sword on one hip and a pistol on the other. His twenty years as an imperial bodyguard had given him little experience with city crime, but a great deal of experience at watchful waiting and spotting trouble before it developed. Those were the abilities he’d have to rely on to spot the fire mage. And if he did spot the mage, he’d need his war magic to take him down.

A man turned from the street toward the entrance to the Green and Yellow. Drusus watched him go inside, wondering what really went on in a morsey hangout. Were men bent over the tables in there, their syrtoses pulled up to their waists as their partners rammed them from behind? Three gods, he shouldn’t think about such things. It distracted him from his purpose, and there was another man coming up the alley.

Drusus eased into the shadows. Could this be the fire mage sneaking up on the place? The man wore a light coat buttoned all the way up his neck, though the weather was mild, and his hat was pulled low, hiding part of his face.

In case there was trouble, Drusus sized him up. The stranger was tall and broad, like Drusus himself, but physical strength wouldn’t be much of a threat against Drusus’s powerful war magic. If he was indeed the fire mage, he might try to set Drusus’s clothes on fire. This would fail, because Drusus’s own magic granted him immunity to such an attack, but then the stranger might set fire to the walls of the alley, and Drusus could be trapped. His best option, if it came to a fight, would be to draw the man into the open and attack him there. He could find the riftstone around the mage’s neck and fling it away to disable his magic.

The stranger walked the entire length of the alley, passing by Drusus unawares.

Drusus watched to see if he’d cross the street and head into the tavern. Instead, the stranger stopped short of the mouth of the alley and ducked behind some barrels for concealment as he stared, from a distance, at the tavern door.

What was the stranger looking for? Drusus had worked with fire mages and knew the range of their magic. If this man was, indeed, a fire mage, he could easily light the tavern from this distance.

Drusus wasn’t going to take chances. His war magic surged, and he launched himself at the stranger, his muscles singing with magically enhanced energy and speed. He grabbed the stranger and clamped a hand over his mouth, stifling the scream before it could climb up his throat. Then Drusus was ripping open the man’s coat at the neck, looking for the riftstone. It wasn’t there. Could he have hidden it somewhere else on his person? Drusus’s hand roamed frantically, searching the man’s coat pockets. The stranger’s hat fell off, revealing a shock of yellow hair.

The hair gave him pause—Kjallans like Drusus were always dark-haired. Yellow-haired Sardossians and Riorcans were disadvantaged minorities who rarely had enough education to learn magic. Drusus peered at his victim’s face. Caz?

He released his victim. Caz was harmless. He was no fire mage, nor any mage at all, just a poor Sardossian refugee who lived in the tunnels beneath the harbor district. Drusus had met him a couple of times when he’d been a Legaciattus. Caz was a personable, affable sort of man who worked at the harbor loading ships. Drusus had been surprised when he’d learned Caz was a morsey, since he’d had an image in his head of morseys being small and effeminate, and Caz was nothing like that.

Caz stumbled, gasping, against the alley wall.

Sorry, said Drusus. I thought you were somebody else. He glanced around, feeling exposed. His attack had brought him to the edge of the alley next to the street, where he and Caz could be seen by passersby. He wanted to retreat back into the darkness, but after his mistaken assault, he owed Caz an explanation.

Caz glanced up. Drusus? he grated hoarsely.

Yes.

Three gods, said Caz. I thought—never mind what I thought. Where’s Marius? Did I get too close to him?

He’s not here. I don’t work for Marius anymore.

Did you two have a fight?

No, I retired.

Caz gave Drusus an appraising look that caused a prickle to run down Drusus’s spine. You don’t look old to me.

I’m not old. Drusus wasn’t interested in explaining to Caz the terms of his contract with the Legaciatti. He fished Caz’s hat off the floor of the alley, dusted it off, and handed it to him. He reached forward with fingers that shook from the fading surge of magic and adrenaline to rebutton the man’s coat and realized he’d ripped the buttons off entirely.

Never mind. Caz held his coat closed. But next time, give a man a closer look before you jump him in an alley.

Drusus’s smoldering sense of guilt flared into anger. He wouldn’t have made a mistake if Caz hadn’t been sneaking around and acting suspicious. Why come up the alley at all? Walk up the main street next time, unless you’re looking for trouble.

I don’t have to look for trouble, said Caz. Trouble finds me.

Drusus frowned. Caz was both a Sardossian and a morsey, which gave the nastier elements of society ample motivation to harass him on the street. All the more reason he should stay away from a place like this, especially when a fire mage was determined to murder people like him. You shouldn’t be here at all.

Caz scowled. It’s none of your business where I go.

Drusus grabbed Caz by the front of the coat again. You want to burn to death, is that it?

Of course I don’t want to burn to death.

Did you hear what happened at the Flipped Coin just a few days ago?

Yes, said Caz.

It occurred to Drusus that Caz had probably been friends with some of those men who’d burned to death. Maybe even slept with them. He didn’t want to think about that. Glancing around, he saw they’d attracted a bit of an audience of passersby on the street. Nobody was standing very close, and nobody looked interested in intervening, but this was more attention than he wanted. Still, he had to convince Caz to stop coming here and putting himself at risk. Whoever did that may strike again, and the Green and Yellow is a likely target.

Caz looked puzzled. You’re here to catch the man who burned the Flipped Coin?

Drusus released him. Yes.

I thought you said you were retired.

I’m doing this on my own time, said Drusus.

Caz raised a brow.

Get out of here and don’t come back, Drusus added. This place is too dangerous.

Caz retreated a few steps, out of the alley and into the street. I don’t take orders from retired Legaciatti—or anybody else.

Drusus followed him. Then you’re a fool.

What do you care what happens to people like me? said Caz. The city guard doesn’t care. Are you a morsey yourself?

No.

Maybe you are and you don’t know it. He grinned. All this tough talk is turning me on. Care for a lark?

Fuck off. People were watching, and he was embarrassed.

Caz grinned. All right. But you might as well know—I’d polish your helmet any day.

Drusus’s cheeks heated. He whipped his head around to see how many people had overheard that. Say anything like that again, he hissed, and I’ll break your jaw.

Caz answered in a loud voice, Not in the alley, sorry. But if you’d like to go into the tavern and get a room...

Drusus stepped toward him with a clenched fist.

But Caz didn’t stick around for the punch. Instead, he hurried across the street and disappeared into the tavern.

Drusus retreated into the alley. To his great shame, he had a cockstand. Maybe it was just because he’d grabbed Caz and touched him. Or maybe it was the things Caz had said.

I’d polish your helmet any day.

Drusus leaned against the wall, controlling his breathing as he’d been taught in the Legaciatti, and returned to his watch. Caz was out of his reach, inside the tavern, and Drusus tried hard not to think about what the man might be doing in there.

Chapter 2

Drusus was still thinking about his encounter with Caz on his walk home that night. None of the three moons were out, so he used the pole-mounted glows that lined the streets to find his way. The Green and Yellow had closed a couple hours after midnight, the fire mage having made no appearance, which was good since Drusus had been distracted anyway by his encounter with Caz.

I’d polish your helmet any day.

He’d kept the secret of his morsey past for over twenty years. He’d kept it from emperors and empresses, imperial princes and cousins, and from his fellow Legaciatti, with whom he’d lived in close contact. No one had suspected a thing. And then Caz, an illiterate Sardossian dockworker who’d spent maybe half an hour in close company with Drusus over the course of their mutual acquaintance, saw through him instantly.

Or had he? It was clear that Caz had been playing to the bystanders, attracting witnesses to the scene so that Drusus would hesitate to make any serious kind of attack. Caz managed to thrive in a town that was entirely hostile to his people, so of course he would possess an assortment of tactics for dealing with street harassment. But Caz had begun playing to the bystanders only after Drusus had threatened to hit him. When Caz had first propositioned him, he hadn’t been speaking for the benefit of strangers. He’d been speaking to Drusus himself.

Morseys were named for Morcellus, an emperor from generations ago who was known to have a male lover, though he’d also produced several heirs with his wife. Drusus looked for information about him in every library he visited, including the imperial library, which ought to have volumes on the man, but he never found more than a paragraph or two. It was as if the historians wanted to forget Morcellus, though his name was forever preserved in the slang of