I glance at Vel, who pauses the vid. “Restitution?”
“The prince employed Legate Arterius, which means he bears some responsibility for his actions. There is legal precedent for Flavius to require his country estate to be rebuilt, for the prince to pay the cost of new centurions.”
“But you didn’t do that.”
Vel grins at me, an actual grin, starting the footage again. “Watch and learn, Mishani.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“I had to put my house in order, Your Highness. There were families to be notified, regrets to be expressed.”
Prince Marcus reacts with tangible surprise that Flavius did the proper thing first, so the guy must’ve been a right bastard. “One never knows how another will react to adversity,” he says, shaking his head.
I understand the con, now. If Vel hadn’t fended off the attack at such high cost, Marcus would have been next. Because he asked for nothing, the prince feels like he owes him something. The repayment will come in favors, not in credits, but that serves our purpose far better.
“I wish I had never been tested,” Vel replies gravely.
The prince inclines his head. “As do I. But history is ever littered with tales of men whose reach exceeded their grasp.”
“I shouldn’t keep you further, Your Highness. Thank you for making time for me today.”
“It was my pleasure, Flavius.” His body language has changed over the course of the conversation. Irritation has yielded to gratitude and genuine regard. “I’ll be in touch regarding the banquet, invitation by courier forthwith.”
“Thank you.” In a subtle touch of flattery, he backs out of the room. It’s a nicety expected only in the presence of the emperor, so Prince Marcus rarely sees it, I bet.
Then the recording ends, bringing static to the screen. Vel cuts it off. “And now you’re up to speed.”
“You’re still talking like Flavius.”
“Does it bother you? I find it’s best to stay in character. Reduces the chances I’ll make a mistake later.”
“Not really. It’s just…odd. You’re a bit of an actor, aren’t you?”
He ducks his head, as if embarrassed. “Maybe a little.”
“You’re good at so many things. I just have grimspace.” Saying the word sends an ache curling through me.
“It’s a result of a long life span. You’ll pick up lots of skills as we rub along. You’ve already trained in combat, weapons, and gunnery.”
I pause, realizing he’s right. The days when I was only fit for jumping have passed. Now when I return to the star roads, it will be out of love, not necessity.
Tiana taps on the door. She still doesn’t know who I am, but she’s a kind person who deserves better than she’s gotten out of life so far.
“Do you want supper at the usual time?” she asks.
“Please.”
Tiana dips at the knees, then hurries away. Household chores don’t require backbreaking labor in the city as they do in the outlying villages, but I hate that she doesn’t have other options.
Once she’s gone, I ask, “Do you think Cato bothered her?”
“Not anymore,” he observes. “In other news, apparently everyone is talking about my reform. The other nobles are dying to meet you.”
“I can’t wait,” I mutter.
CHAPTER 38
“How do I look?” I ask, twirling.
“Like someone else,” Vel replies.
It’s an accurate answer. I didn’t expect flattery from Vel, who has no taste for human beauty. The day of the party has dawned at last, and I’m wearing a deep blue gown with sparkles affixed to it. I don’t know when I ever dressed up this much. The old Jax partied a lot, but she didn’t circulate among high society. I was a staple of the midnight bounce for misbehavior in various bars across the galaxy. This is outside my experience. Fortunately, my stint as a diplomat taught me some refinement. I should pass as Vel’s arm candy.
“Good enough. Ready?”
He offers his escort out to the waiting aircar. This one isn’t available for public hire, and it’s larger than most, with a ca-pacious backseat and a driver. He’s a servant under Tiana’s dominion, but they don’t know about our masquerade. I have mixed feelings about that; I want to tell every La’hengrin I meet about the cure and how they can join the resistance, but some of them might be indoctrinated loyal drones; they could expose us to our enemies. It’s a tough call. But then, there’s never any guarantee about who you can trust.
I slide into the back, careful to arrange myself like a lady. Vel hands me his handheld. “Study these four men. I need you to charm them.”
This isn’t the first time I’ve read dossiers, but I can use a refresher on Prince Marcus, his nephew Gaius, Drusus…the Imperator of the Guard, and Sextus Varro, the governor himself. Tonight, I’ll be rubbing elbows with the brightest lights on Nicu Quintus. Assholes. As the aircar pulls away, I skim what Vel knows about my targets. This mission will be tricky, as I need to captivate them without making them think I intend to cheat on Legate Flavius, my lord and master.
“Any advice?”
“Start with Gaius. He should be the most accessible.”
Still reading, I nod. “It looks like he landed a courtesy position in the governor’s office, thanks to his uncle. Nepotism is the best.”
“Isn’t it, though? I’ll keep an eye on you, but I’ll try not to get in your way.”
I can’t get used to how different he sounds, how thoroughly he’s analyzed Flavius’s speech patterns and adopted them as his own. I don’t mention it, however, because the aircar isn’t certified surveillance-free. This conversation, the legate’s enemies would ascribe to the political scheming natural to Nicuan nobility.
“Noted.”
For the rest of the trip, I refresh my memory on what each man is interested in and how I can use that knowledge. I’ve never played the femme fatale before, never had the sort of beauty that made it feasible. This should be…interesting. The driver hovers beside the balcony on the second story designated for VIP arrivals. A waiting servant in black formalwear swings the gate open to secure against the side of the car.
When the ramp clicks into place, I step out, skirt in hand. With a deliberate mental reminder, I take delicate steps, skirt raised a bare centimeter above my sparkly, ridiculous shoes. Vel alights behind me, one hand on the small of my bare back, and it’s easy to forget that his skin isn’t real—that there are claws beneath the surface. He gives no sign of hesitation; he specializes in slipping into someone else’s life.
I skim the gathering beyond the wide archway. This level of the governor’s mansion has been designed like a garden—with no expense spared to keep the illusion in place. Out-of-season flowers have been nurtured in glasshouses, beneath costly vita-bulbs. The red blooms sit in ornate vases, cut for this occasion, perfuming the air with a sickly sweetness. All around me, everyone is well fed and richly dressed. One woman wears enough jewels to build everyone new cottages with solar panels in the first village we visited. Then I swallow my anger because Mishani would be impressed, awestruck even. She’s a humble La’hengrin mistress, elevated by the legate’s desire. I widen my eyes, skimming the colorful gowns and the men in suits that speak of their rank.
“There’s Gaius,” I murmur. “Introduce me?”
Vel wraps an arm around me. “We must pay our respects to the prince first, my sweet.”
It’s a gentle correction, but my cheeks flame, just as Mishani’s would. Disappointing him means the difference between a pampered life and abject poverty. If he sells her shinai-bond, all this comfort and security goes away. The girl I’m pretending to be would never forget it, so I need to seem anxious, eager to please. Nicuan men seem to like a whiff of desperation wafting about their women.
“Yes, of course,” I say softly.
The crowd parts for Vel as I can’t imagine it ever did for the real legate. Perhaps it’s as a result of his new standing. Farther in, I spot the prince chatting with three beautiful women, all of whom are taller than he is. Not that he appears to mind. Prince Marcus lifts a hand when he sees Vel, beckoning him over.
“Ah, here is our guest of honor. Flavius, have you met—” Marcus supplies the women’s names, but I don’t bother to memorize them.
“A pleasure.” Vel bows over each hand in turn, with distance in his manner.
The prince favors me with a warm, slightly disturbing smile. “And this must be your lovely Mishani. There is talk, you know, Flavius.”
“Is there, Your Highness?” He affects surprise.
“The rumor is making the rounds that you intend to give this girl your name.” Though the prince’s tone is playful, his manner is guarded.
“Stories always proliferate,” Vel says dismissively. “Take a knee, little one.”
On cue, I offer an obeisance similar to the one I learned for the Grand Administrator on Ithiss-Tor, adapted for the different state occasion, of course. By the prince’s expression, he approves. When I straighten, he’s beaming.
“Oh, she is lovely. No wonder you can’t bear to let her out of your sight.”
“That’s an exaggeration, I fear.”
“But I’ve heard she shares your quarters,” the prince says archly.
Heard from whom? With some effort, I keep my face blank. Mishani wouldn’t respond unless addressed directly though I hate being talked about as if I’m a piece of furniture. This is what Loras dealt with all those turns. No wonder he’s so angry.
Cato, I decide. The centurion wasn’t loyal to his legate; power games go on at all levels of Nicuan society. He did some damage before he died, but we can control the fallout.
“A man likes certain comforts close at hand,” Vel answers lightly.
The prince nods. “So true. And it’s less expensive than renting a house for her. If you had a wife, it wouldn’t work, but I admire your ingenuity, Flavius. I wish I still had such autonomy.” His avid gaze lingers on my smooth skin.
I fight the urge to cover up.
“Yes, marital alliances do curtail a man’s freedom, but from what I hear, you profited handsomely from your union.”
Prince Marcus brightens, doubtless reflecting on the number of credits in his bank account, brought by the wife who doesn’t seem to be present. “This is true.”
“If you don’t mind, Your Highness, we’ll pay our respects elsewhere and stop monopolizing your attention.”
That sounds like heavy flattery for me, but the prince only nods: Yes, of course, everyone in the room is waiting for five minutes with me.
What a jackass.
Vel leans in to whisper, “Well done.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Exactly. The prince’s wife is a harridan, never stops nagging. They moved into separate houses after six months.”
“Why don’t they terminate the union?”
