Free Spy's Honor by Amy Raby

knowledgeable. Janto disagreed with her often, even grew angry at times, but on some fundamental level he believed in her. Augustan’s criticism—and for that matter, even his praise!—made Rhianne feel small. No betrothal gift, no matter how one-of-a-kind or special, was going to make up for that.

7
    W ith Augustan and his entourage in residence, and a betrothal ceremony in the works, the palace was stirred up in the manner of a trodden-on anthill. Janto would not waste this opportunity. With the staff preoccupied, it was time to invade the palace and brave the magical wards that were the bane of a spy’s existence. Sirali had said that the Kjallans didn’t place them in the hallways, only across doorways and probably only in sensitive areas. He prayed she was right.
    Just inside the slave entrance was an enormous, bustling hall. Janto twisted sideways to avoid a wheeled cart piled high with laundry, then dodged a pair of burly slaves carrying sacks of flour, his shoes slipping on the polished floor. Though this was only the service wing of the palace, it was striking in its beauty. Vaulted ceilings rose to lofty heights. From them, semicircular light glows hung in alternating colors of orange, blue, and white. Each glow was as large as a man. Silk hangings, bright with color, cascaded down the marble walls.
    Fine place,
he commented to Sashi, who clung to his shoulder.
    Ugly,
said the ferret.
    I know you’ve no appreciation for stone, but do you not at least like the artwork?
    Sashi studied one of the hangings as they walked by, a depiction of the mighty Soldier with his pike.
It resembles a man, but he is flat and unmoving. He smells of dust and lye.
    Janto smiled to himself.
Never mind
.
    He passed from the first hallway into a larger one flanked by black marble columns. The bas-relief ceiling depicted scenes from Kjallan mythology. He began to sweat beneath the woolen overcloak he’d pilfered from a supply shed. The hallway was warm, but he had yet to see a heat-glow. Where were the Kjallans hiding them?
    He counted six hallways on his left, following the mental map Sirali had roughed out for him, and turned into the seventh. Here, alcoves set into the walls displayed artwork: paintings of warships and landscapes and battle scenes. War leaders sculpted in marble or bronze sat proudly atop their prancing steeds with swords upraised. Janto paused before the first nonmilitaristic sculpture he came to, that of a woman holding an infant.
    In the alcove next to it, a stone statue of a mythical sea dragon sat on an obsidian table. The lines and style of the work were familiar, and he could swear he recognized the artist: a Mosari woman named Fioni. How had her work turned up here? Was it stolen? There was virtually no trade between Kjall and Mosar.
    The gallery wasn’t as crowded as the service wing. Most of the people he maneuvered around weren’t slaves or servants, but Kjallans in syrtoses or military uniforms. He located the final hallway, which was narrow and devoid of decoration. At the end of it, a stairway descended a few steps toward a heavy iron door guarded by two Legaciatti. There would be no going through that without someone opening it for him.
    Janto settled invisibly on the stairs.
Looks like we wait.
    We do a lot of that,
said Sashi, untroubled.
    The door to the prison might be warded, but he doubted it, since prisoners had to come in and out through that door. There were two types of wards he had to concern himself with: enemy wards and invisibility wards. Enemy wards were the most commonly used, because once placed, they lasted several days. They had to be attuned to a particular person, however, and that person had to be physically present when the ward was laid.
    Invisibility wards were used sparingly if at all because shroud mages like Janto were rare and invisibility wards barely lasted an hour before having to be laid again. Such wards kept Warders so busy that they