The Mercenaries of the Stolen Moon Read online

  "Yes, Majesty." Myra jotted himself a note, then stood and gathered the papers at the top right corner of his desk. "These need to be reviewed and signed right now, and if they aren't, I'll add private dinners with Treya Mencee to your evening schedules for the foreseeable future. When you're done with those, the festival schedule needs to be reviewed and signed off on."

  "As you command," Sarrica said with a sigh, taking the papers like he was being handed a severed head. "Call for—oh, you already did. Thank you, Myra." He strode off to the sitting area and started helping himself to tea and food, dumping the papers on a side table to be ignored for a few more minutes.

  Allen glanced at Myra and shared a brief look of fond amusement before crossing the room to join Sarrica, pouring a cup of tea then deftly taking the papers in hand and setting himself and Sarrica to work.

  Smiling, Myra returned to his desk. Of all the things he'd expected to come of Sarrica's second marriage, it was not to form an easy, quiet friendship with the High Consort. Myra had always savored the quiet couple of hours he had to himself in the office before the day officially began. When Allen had first started arriving to get work done in the peace and quiet as well, Myra had been leery and resentful, even if he'd generally liked Allen. But Allen's presence had only added perks and treasured conversation about books, poetry, and other interests Myra rarely got to discuss with anyone else.

  The pitfall of being Head Secretary was that he was exposed to things that would normally be well beyond his sight or means, and it left him with few friends who shared those interests—and a great many people who took him for a posturing snob.

  But for all he felt estranged from most of the rest of the staff, and even fellow secretaries in the other offices, Myra had Sarrica and Charlaine, and now Jac and Allen as well. Sarrica alone made the price he'd paid to become a Harken citizen worth it, but it was nice to have a small group of real friends—family, even, though that word had always carried a negative connotation for him. One of the things he loved best about Harken was that they were not rigid in their definitions of words like family. Look at the imperial family: Sarrica, who had considered Lesto and Rene brothers long before they legally became his in-laws. Allen, who'd come all the way from the southern end of the continent. Sarrica's children with Nyle, Lady Genna and the children she would bear…

  When it wasn't infuriating, it was hilarious how much court life actually resembled the Islanders they sneered at—though the sneering was steadily lessening as closed minds aged and open minds grew, and the presence of Shemal and Jader drew more and more Islanders to Harkenesten.

  Harken could sometimes be slow to change, but they were always willing to change, in the end.

  Myra glanced over at the group and smiled again. The office was lively and almost frantic in its energy with the arrival of the imperial monarchs, everyone bustling to carry out requests and errands, friends and appointments trickling in and out. Myra had to change the master schedule four more times and make changes to several others, but between doing that he managed to get through one of the Kin del Kar contracts, leaving just two more to have ready for Allen that evening.

  Jac wandered over as Allen and Sarrica vanished into the private office to continue a disagreement rapidly turning into an argument. "You look tired."

  "I must look like I'm at Death's Gate. You're the third person to mention it to me," Myra replied, but smiled as he lifted his eyes to meet Jac's. The same mean gossips who snidely called Myra 'High Secretary' loved also to chatter at length about the 'silly little girl' who had been named Allen's bodyguard.

  But fool them if they thought Jac was incapable because she was small and pretty. People should better remember that Lesto was on the lithe side, and Jader was made entirely of sticks.

  Jac might be small, but she'd survived more than one grievous ordeal—including the one that had forged the bond between her and Allen. There was also the fact she was one of the best marksmen in the palace, but gossips didn't bother with details like that. More fun to mock her appearance and slight stature than acknowledge that nobody simply joined the Three-headed Dragons. They weren't what was called an entry-level mercenary group. Those who applied to join had to undertake a rigorous, even brutal, skills test and go through interviews with the captain and first and second lieutenants. The Dragons didn't have the most difficult entry requirements—that dubious honor was shared by Jagged Edge and Penance Gate—but they were close.

  Myra wouldn't normally know so much about the various and sundry mercenary groups of Harken, but it was hard to work for Sarrica and not know them, simply because he was more involved in the military than the high monarchs typically were. Sarrica's father certainly hadn't cared about anything but reports of victory.

  Jac was also beautiful, sweet, and charming. He liked best she was almost always smiling and rarely let anything bother her. Loved the raunchy sense of humor she occasionally let show. That she'd clearly had a hard life but hadn't let it consume her or turn her hard and bitter.

  But there was a decade between them, so he preferred not to think about Jac and her smiles too much. It was for the best Myra never had enough free time to his days to ask her to tea because he shouldn't, but he just might anyway. He certainly didn't mind when she took a few minutes here and there to chat with him. So few did. Secretaries were for giving work to and screaming at when he refused to let people near Sarrica like they wanted.

  Jac flushed. "Sorry. You're like Allen in appearing unflappable. It's rare to see either of you show anything by accident."

  Myra tried not to be pleased at being compared to Allen and failed miserably. "Nothing sleep won't fix. The days leading up to the Festival of Harmony always make life especially difficult around here." He smiled, and Jac returned it. "Will you be enjoying the festival, Sergeant? Or working?"

  "Working, but I've lived here for years. After a while, they stop being exciting." She shrugged. "It's more interesting working it, at least so far. That might change in another year or so." Her eyes glittered with mischief. "I may take off next year, when the new member of the imperial family must be shown off."

  Myra chuckled. "How is Lady Genna?" A couple of months after Allen and Jader had returned from Benta, Sarrica and Allen had contracted Lady Genna to serve as a dame for Allen's children. Though it hadn't yet been made public knowledge, she was a few weeks pregnant—with what would hopefully be the first of two children.

  "Doing well, according to the healers. She's enjoying how surprised and offended the court was that she was chosen as imperial dame over so many other possibilities. Not that I blame her. In her shoes I'd be doing everything in my power to remind them every minute that I'd been chosen, invited to a place they would never be." She grinned and winked, making Myra laugh. "The High Court is frothing, especially after the drama with Lord Kamir and the High Commander. Though when it comes to ridiculous, I'm not sure which of Their Majesties is worse about—"

  Jac stopped as the door to the private office swung open and stepped back slightly from the desk. She smiled at Allen, who looked pleased and faintly mussed. Sarrica looked pleased and more noticeably mussed. Neither spoke as they returned to their tea and paperwork.

  Myra rolled his eyes at Jac before she slipped away to resume her post and he went back to work.

  Sarrica and Allen departed again shortly thereafter, and Myra availed himself of some of the remaining repast on the table before he settled in to start work on the remaining contracts. Between the various secretaries, all languages were covered. Some languages were harder than others, the countries so closed off and strict regarding foreigners that silver tongues rarely bothered to learn them.

  Kin del Kar was one of those countries. Soltorin, Jithinir and Odon, known collectively as the Triumvirate in Harken, were three more. That Myra spoke all four of those was not common knowledge. He would prefer to be fluent in Harken languages like Allen, but the languages he did know had their uses.

  He'd just started
work on the second Kin del Kar contract, regarding a trade deal for their famous rums that would be the first time they'd traded such to Harken, when shouting came from the antechamber. The secretaries looked up from their desks nervously but didn't move. Myra set his pencil down, rose, and crossed the office to the door. He pulled it open just in time to see a man in ornate Treya Mencee dress punch Corrint, who went tumbling back behind the desk with a pained cry.

  Fathoms Deep guards surged forward from their stations along the wall and made swift work of the man—only to be pounced from behind by more Treyans.

  Myra bolted across the room and grabbed one of the Treya Mencee assailants by the arm, jerking him around and slamming a fist into his nose. As the man dropped, blood spilling everywhere, Myra turned to the rest of the disaster, but by that point Fathoms Deep finally had everything under control.

  "Sorry, Myra," one of them said. "Wasn't expecting such a ruckus from this lot."

  "I would save your apologies for His Grace when he finds out." Lesto might have retired from his position as High Commander, but he was still the sponsor and lord commander of Fathoms Deep.

  The guards heaved a collected sigh as they finished tying up the prisoners.

  Myra gestured to a clerk who looked like she had her wits about her. "Summon the High King." He motioned to another one. "Fetch a healer." He went around the desk to help poor Corrint, who was huddled on the floor trying to stop his bleeding nose with an already soaked handkerchief. Myra pulled out one of his own and showed Corrint how to hold his head to help staunch the bleeding. Gently helping him around the desk, he settled Corrint on a sofa before turning to the guards again. "What in the world was this about?"

  One of the remaining clerks stepped forward. "They were angry about a meeting being cancelled and His Majesty snubbing them. Never said exactly who they were, but they're right mad. We didn't think they were this upset, though. Corrint was trying to placate them, but…" She shrugged and spread her hands.

  "I see." Myra sighed. "I never thought I'd miss the delegates responsible for the hostile relations with Treya Mencee." After the whole fiasco with Lord Lesto being kidnapped and the additional kidnapping of Lord Shemal, not to mention a long list of murders and other assorted crimes, the delegates had been packed off home.

  Their replacements had not been an improvement.

  "What in the Pantheon's is going on here?" Sarrica roared, and everyone in the room flinched to see Lord Lesto at his side.

  Stepping forward, Myra explained all that had transpired, and went gladly when Sarrica dismissed him shortly thereafter before departing to deal with Treya Mencee himself after the guards had hauled them down to the cells. Myra sent a secretary for tea and began revising the master schedule yet again.

  One of the things that shocked new secretaries and clerks most was learning just how tightly controlled life was for the High King and Consort. Though in theory Sarrica and Allen could do as they pleased, when they pleased, the reality was that they had a thousand responsibilities and obligations and nowhere near enough time to see to them all. On any given day, there was some combination of meetings with foreign delegates, meetings with the council, balls and other affairs to attend, general court, executioner's court, public meals that must be attended, private meals, holidays, religious ceremonies, imperial ceremonies and more. On top of all that, there was also the never-ending paperwork: contracts, correspondence, trade agreements, military reports, private reports. Amidst all that, they had to find time for their personal lives. Pantheon forbid emergencies cropped up. Throw in a war and everything got twenty times harder.

  Some days, Myra couldn't remember how any of them had managed before Allen arrived.

  He wasn't even half done with his latest revisions when he received further notes from Sarrica and Allen that necessitated starting all over again, and by the time that was finally accomplished, it was time for dinner and he still had piles of work yet to conquer.

  So much for enjoying a meal with Charlaine.

  Myra dismissed his staff for the night and locked both doors before settling once more behind his desk to work on the Kin del Kar contracts.

  By the time he was finished, it was just in time to deliver them to the imperial wing himself, where a guard took them to give to Allen. That accomplished, Myra walked the short distance to the private hall where he and several other high-ranking staff lived, their roles too vital for them to live in the wings of the castle allotted for staff since they needed to be close to hand for emergencies—and because there was every chance they could be kidnapped or otherwise harmed for information.

  It hadn't happened often in twenty years, but even once was too much.

  One of the few perks of being Head Secretary was his room—a full four-room suite, more than was generally allotted unmarried, childless staff. There was a sitting room, bedroom, office, and a spare room he'd long ago converted to a private library. His books were a mix of texts he'd needed for work at one time or another, and stories he simply enjoyed reading. They were a mix of half a dozen languages: Harken, Soltorish, Jithinirth, Odon, Kinnish and Bentan.

  But as Myra stepped into his suite, all thoughts of choosing a book and relaxing in bed for an hour or so fled, his attention solely for the dinner laid out on his table and the man quietly reading a book in the sitting area.

  Charlaine closed the book and set it aside before standing. "There you are."

  "What's all this?" Myra asked, unbuttoning his long, stiff jacket and laying it aside before loosening the top buttons of his high-necked shirt.

  "You must be even more overworked than I thought if you no longer recognize dinner."

  Myra laughed as he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. He smiled warmly as Charlaine crossed the room to join him. Despite himself, he admired just how lovely Charlaine looked casually dressed and bathed in firelight. They'd always been friends, but sometimes Myra wished they could have also been lovers. Given their respective occupations, however, there'd been times when he hadn't seen Charlaine for months, and when Charlaine had finally appeared, Myra was either off somewhere with Sarrica or simply too busy to do more than have a quick coffee. So it was probably for the best they'd never tried lovers—even pretending Charlaine would have shared his interest.

  Myra was happy enough with their relationship as it was, whatever his occasional fanciful thoughts.

  Charlaine rested a hand gently against his cheek, so close Myra could smell his cinnamon and clove cologne. Since when did Charlaine wear cologne? "You look tired, and I've seen you look unruffled after getting punched by bratty nobbles after going twenty-three hours without sleep."

  "I was a good deal younger when that happened," Myra said with a laugh. "Mersen Field, that feels like a lifetime ago now. We'd been planning to celebrate surviving that wretched battle." It had been only six months after he'd saved Sarrica's life and first met Charlaine. Myra had technically been a civilian by that point, one of the three secretaries in Sarrica's pool that was assigned to manage communications between Sarrica and the mercenaries, primarily Fathoms Deep.

  The nobles in question hadn't been pleased that 'some upstart' was preventing them from seeing the then-crown prince. They'd insisted it wasn't Myra's place, though as the secretary on duty it very much was. They hadn't cared a whit that they were visiting only moments after a battle had concluded, that everyone around them was battered, bruised, and bloody. That people were still finding and counting the dead. Grieving. That Sarrica couldn't see them because the aftermath of battles was nearly as brutal as the battles themselves. No, they'd just wanted the imperial crown prince to say yes where the High King had said no.

  Worse, they'd shown up inebriated, as though on their way to crash a picnic instead of a brutal campaign against Benta that had just cost at least five hundred Harken citizens their lives.

  Myra had not been polite in refusing them an audience. They'd been even less polite in their reaction.

  It was Charlaine and S
arrica's guards who'd finally stopped them, and an enraged Lesto who'd had them hauled back to the palace in chains. Sarrica had not learned of the matter until hours later, but he'd reacted by fining all of them—one of the earliest instances of what would become his preferred and most dreaded form of punishing the nobles of the high court.

  Six months later, the rest of the secretarial pool had been dismissed, imprisoned, or killed, and Sarrica trusted no one but Myra until they returned to Harkenesten a few years later as Sarrica's father worsened. Sarrica had insisted that Myra choose all the new undersecretaries, which was a typical Sarrica way of telling him he'd been promoted to head secretary—the most powerful secretary in the empire. Most nobles, and even the working-class citizens, were not much impressed by secretaries. They flitted about offices shuffling papers, pouring coffee, and making appointments.

  After Sarrica and Allen, Myra probably knew more about Harken, and to some extent the rest of the world, than anyone else in the palace. He was often aware of problems weeks, even months, before they became public knowledge. He knew things people would quite literally kill to learn. He was one of only five people with a key to the imperial offices. Even Corrint didn't have a key; Myra was the only staff member who possessed one. The others belonged to Sarrica, Allen and Jader.

  "There are days I wish we were young again," Charlaine said. "But mostly I'm glad to have left that nonsense behind." He slowly withdrew his hand, but his good eye remained fixed on Myra like he was incapable of looking away.