The Laurentine Spy by Emily Gee

happened at the Oceanides?”
    “A disaster for Corhona.” Two said, jubilant. “The squadron lost eight ships!”
    “And all the men aboard,” One said quietly.
    Saliel glanced at him. Did he also regret the loss of life? Did he feel some culpability? “How?” she asked. “What happened?”
    The Guardian nodded at One.
    “Laurent was waiting,” One said. “The would-be pirates were heavily outnumbered. Five ships were destroyed in battle. The remaining three were asked to surrender. Their crews refused, preferring to scuttle their ships.” He spoke without inflection, stating the facts. “Laurent was able to board at least one before it sank. They found sufficient evidence to implicate the Empire.”
    “The Oceanidans have decided to join the Protectorate,” the Guardian said smugly.
    Two gave a whoop that echoed in the chamber.
    Saliel nodded. Her emotions were mixed: relief Corhona hadn’t acquired the Oceanides, regret the islands had lost their independence. She looked down at her hands. Perhaps I value independence too highly, having none myself.
    “The Admiral is dead.”
    “What?” She raised her head.
    “He accepted responsibility for the disaster and took his life. In the debating chamber. Before the Prince and his military advisors.” One’s voice was flat.
    The Guardian shrugged. “Death before dishonor.”
    Saliel looked down at her hands again. Another widow.
    “This is a great day for Laurent,” the Guardian said. “You may feel proud of yourselves.”
    Proud? There was nothing to be proud of in what they did: lying, pretending. Saliel closed her eyes. I want to go home.
     
     
    “W E’LL MEET IN two nights’ time,” the Guardian said at last, standing. “Take care that your true feelings on this matter aren’t apparent to others.”
    Athan stood. “Guardian, I must speak with you privately.”
    “Very well.”
    Three rose to her feet. She didn’t stand as Two did, triumphant.
    Athan looked at her more closely. “Are you all right?”
    “It’s been a difficult day.” Her voice was low, weary. “There are many new widows in court.”
    Athan nodded. He could think of nothing to say.
    Three turned away. He watched as she and the Guardian walked across the chamber.
    “Until next time,” Two said.
    “Yes,” Athan said, scarcely noticing as Two left.
    The Guardian opened the door to the storage room. Athan found that he had to look away. He couldn’t watch as Three vanished from sight. She shouldn’t be here. This is no life for a young woman.
    He sat down again and stared at his gloved hands. It seemed to him that he was responsible for the deaths, that he had blood on his hands. The guilt that he felt disturbed him. Is this how Three feels? Satisfaction and guilt intertwined?
    “Well?” the Guardian asked, as he came back across the chamber.
    Athan raised his head. “About my betrothal.”
    The Guardian sat. “What about it?”
    “I’ve done as you asked,” Athan said. “Lady Petra dislikes me heartily.”
    “Good.”
    “And we are still betrothed.”
    “Don’t worry,” the Guardian said.
    “It’s been five weeks. Her mourning period will soon be over.”
    “Don’t worry.”
    Athan exhaled through his nose, a sharp hiss of air. “How can I not worry?”
    “You have my word. The wedding won’t take place.”
    Athan stared at the hooded figure.
    “Trust me,” the Guardian said.
    “Very well.” Athan pushed to his feet. “But know this—” the vehemence in his voice surprised him, “—if you fail to halt the betrothal, I’ll leave the Citadel. Laurent be damned!”
    The threat hung in the chill air of the chamber.
    The Guardian stood. “There will be no betrothal. You have my word.”
    Athan gave a sharp nod and turned away. Then he halted. “About Three.”
    “What about her?”
    He turned back to face the Guardian. “She shouldn’t be here.”
    “She volunteered,” the Guardian said mildly.
    “She shouldn’t be here. This is no