Honor Bound by Joey Hill (speld decodable readers .txt) 📕

“Are you angry?” Her voice was low and even, her face expressionless.

“No.” And he wasn’t. “I think I know how your mind works.” He shot her a predatory grin. “You’ll keep, sweetheart. Shall I tell you exactly what I’m going to do to you tonight? What you’re going to do to me?”

Amae’s mouth fell open, but the tension left her shoulders. She shook her head. “No need. I can im—”

Casting him a filthy look, she hopped out of bed. His equilibrium restored, Rhio gave her delicious bottom a lingering pat and left her to dress. A litany of Shar curses followed him out of the room.

In the Queen’s antechamber, Amae sat next to the giant Guard Rhio had introduced as Corporal Kano. The Captain hadn’t given her a choice. If he couldn’t be with her, she must be accompanied by Kano or Sergeant Yachi.

Kano appeared to be a sunny soul, but he was a man of few words, watching placidly enough when Amae sprang up to pace back and forth. “What’s taking so long?” Rhio had been closeted with Sikara more than half an hour.

Kano shrugged, his pleasantly ugly face expressionless.

The tall, carved doors clicked open. “Dancer.”

Rhio was wearing what she’d come to think of as his Captain’s face, giving nothing away. Silently, he ushered her into what was clearly a working office, if a large and luxuriously appointed one.

Her lips a hard line, Queen Sikara was gazing at the row of oil vials lined up on her vast desk of polished wood. Their contents glittered in the light pouring in through the arched windows. The one on the end swirled with the faintest trace of evil, iridescent purple.

Amae suppressed a shudder and stiffened her spine.

“Rhio says you knew nothing of this.”

“No, Great Lady. I would have died also.”

A sharp glance. “Dying for a cause is not unknown, even for a slave.”

Amae made a face. “But not with prettydeath.”

“Unlikely, I agree.” The Queen seated herself behind the desk, her stiff skirts rustling.

She drew a bundle of papers toward her and scanned the topmost. “Is Giral behind it?”

she asked, not looking up.

Amae couldn’t help glancing at Rhio. Hands clasped behind his back, he gave her a slight nod. “I don’t believe so.”

“Why not?”

“Too obvious. Besides, he owns many caravans. He has money riding on the peace.”

“You’re no fool, Dancer.” Shrewd blue eyes scanned her face. With one finger, the Queen flicked the paper in her hand. “Your assessment is the same as that of my head of spies. Who, then?”

Amae shrugged. “I think . . . Sethril.”

“Is there proof?”

Rhio’s deep voice said, “Majesty, you told me he is a known assassin. Also that he works for the Grand Pasha, who is opposed to the treaty talks.”

“Indeed, he does.” Thoughtfully, the Queen rubbed her distorted knuckles. Slowly, she smiled and Amae remembered her grandmother was rumored to have murdered two

rivals on her way to the throne. “The Trinitarian system of justice requires torture before the execution. I think Giral should take care of his own traitor, don’t you? I look forward to informing him of this, ah, plot.”

She stretched her hand toward a bellpull. Clearly, the audience was over.

Her heart hammering, Amae took a step forward. “Great Lady—I mean, Your Majesty, you won’t give me back, will you? To Giral?”

Sikara looked amused. She shot a glance at Rhio, standing impassively by the door. “Not until the delegation leaves. Captain Rhiomard is responsible for you in the interim.”

Amae blew out a relieved breath. She opened her mouth to ask the other question at the forefront of her mind, caught Rhio’s eye and shut it again. Giral? By the Ancestors, whatabout Giral? It took every ounce of willpower she possessed to murmur the appropriate farewells and courtesies.

As Rhio ushered Amae out, the Queen called, “Oh, Captain?”

He turned. “Yes, Majesty?”

“About that other matter. I will approve the paperwork, though I still think you’re mad.

Are you sure?”

“Yes, Majesty. Yachi is more than ready.”

“Very well.” She waved him away. “Go, go. I’ll take care of the Ambassador-Pasha.”

Amae followed Rhio out into the Palace colonnade, her blood seething with frustration.

“Rhio,” she hissed, grabbing his arm and setting her feet. “Rhio!”

He towed her into the shade of a touchme bush. “What?”

“What’s going to happen to Giral?”

He glanced around, lowered his voice. “Nothing beyond an embarrassing diplomatic incident, I imagine.”

“He’s a monster! He murdered my people, Rhio! Everyone I knew, everyone I loved, right down to the smallest child!” The fronds of the touchme bush curled away, its silvery blossoms chiming in distress.

Rhio frowned down at her, his eyes like flint. “We can’t talk here. Come on.”

The moment the door of his quarters closed behind her, she turned on him, her fingers buried like claws in his shirt. “I’ll never have a better chance. He’ll be concentrating on Sethril. He’s far away from home and I—I have you.” Pink stained her cheeks. “You have to see it.”

“I agree. Amae . . .” He brushed the hair out of her eyes, stroked a palm the length of her braid. “In the long run, vengeance is more poisonous than prettydeath, a stain on the soul.

Think again.”

Her lips lifted in a snarl. “I have sworn.”

“I have an idea. Tell me, what will Giral do when he realizes how Sethril set him up?”

“Do?” She barked out a laugh. “That’s easy. He’ll challenge him to a duel. Sethril’s an assassin, but he works in the dark; he’s no swordsman. Giral will play with him, cut him to pieces one bloody slice at a time, and he’ll laugh while he does it. But he won’t kill him because then he can have Sethril tortured for as long as the diablomen can make it last. He’ll enjoy that even more.”

She shivered, her stomach roiling with remembered dread.

“Suppose . . .” Rhio hesitated, his palm warm and firm in the small of her back. “Suppose I gave Sethril back his prettydeath blade. Would that even out the odds?”

Amae stared, all the hair rising