CHAPTER FORTY

“Is everything all right, Josey?” Anastasia called from outside the door.

Inside the water closet, Josey braced herself for another painful upheaval. The morning had begun rather tamely as she arose and sat at the table in her chambers, where Anastasia joined her for breakfast. But when she started to eat, something about the consistency of the eggs on her breakfast dish had—

She shuddered as a mouthful of bile slipped from her lips and down the noisome hole. The close air inside the stall made her feel worse. Dabbing her mouth with a cloth, Josey pushed open the door.

Anastasia stood outside with Amelia and Margaret, all three of them wearing looks of concern. Of course, ’Stasia had told her maids about her condition. Now they fluttered about her like mother hens, clucking and giving her all manner of unsolicited advice. I suppose it’s better than having them in mortal fear that I’ve been poisoned every morning.

Indeed, they took the news well enough, neither giving her a sour eye nor shirking from their duties in the slightest. Which well they might, being among the few who know that their empress is carrying the bastard child of a self-exiled assassin. That’s if it’s Caim’s child at all. Of course it is! Don’t even think about—

“You don’t look well, my lady,” Margaret said. “You should try to eat something.”

Amelia nodded as she arranged Josey’s hair. “At least a piece of toasted bread. And a posset to settle your nerves.”

Josey folded her hands over her belly. Just the thought of spiced wine mixed with curdled milk made her queasy. “Please don’t talk about food.”

Her maids looked to Anastasia, who shook her head with an insanely darling pout.

“Josey, you must—”

Just as Amelia started explaining that she must eat to keep up her strength, a loud voice called from the doorway.

“Majesty!”

Josey swallowed the sour taste in her mouth as Hubert rushed into her bedchamber. What is it the man does not understand about personal privacy?

But she was willing to forgive him, as the cane he leaned upon reminded her of the sacrifice he had been willing to make on her behalf. The events in the catacombs had been a nightmare, one she would be glad to forget. But Hirsch had gotten them out alive—another debt she owed the adept. Sadly, not everyone had emerged from those tunnels alive. Two more of her guardsmen were dead. A bad affair all around.

After the bodies were retrieved, she’d ordered the tunnels sealed. The soldiers were laid to rest with full honors beside the tombs of other national heroes; Merts and Volek were buried in unmarked graves outside the city.

“Shouldn’t you be abed, Lord Chancellor?”

Anastasia gave Hubert a sideways glance. “Yes, I believe Her Majesty is correct.”

Josey watched the exchange with a smile. She had worried about how Anastasia would recover from her father’s death, but this morning her best friend seemed to be past the worst of it—with a little assistance from the lord chancellor. She wished the best for them both.

Hubert glanced at Josey, and then to the open water closet. Margaret nudged the door shut with her foot.

“The delegation has arrived,” he said.

Josey sighed. And it started off as such a lovely day.

“I still have my doubts, Majesty,” Hubert said. “I wish you would reconsider.”

“We’ve already had this discussion. More than once. This is my decision. If you will not—”

He bowed as low as his injuries would allow. “Of course I will. I’ll see to it personally.”

Struggling not to beat him over the head with the nearest object, Josey shooed him away. Then she allowed herself to be stripped, sponged, powdered, corseted, and draped in a shapeless sack that her seamstress claimed was the height of fashion in Brevenna. Only when her hair was arranged, her face made up, and her entire body misted with citrus perfume did her maids allow her to leave the boudoir. Anastasia watched the whole affair with an amused smile.

“I’ll see you later,” Josey said to her friend.

Anastasia performed a deep curtsy. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Josey stepped into the corridor with mincing steps. She was beginning to feel a little better. Don’t think about your stomach. Think about what you’re going to do. Hubert has everything arranged. All I have to do is play my part and everything will go fine. So why do I feel so wretched?

She knew why, but knowing didn’t make her feel any better. She was on the cusp of a decision. To act or not, and either choice presented its own dangers. Why couldn’t being an empress be all about wearing nice clothes and knighting handsome heroes?

With her bodyguards in tow, she descended the broad staircase to the ground floor. The Grand Hall was lit with hundreds of white candles, lending the chamber a ghostly ambience that made the time feel more like evening than midmorning. Hubert and Lord Parmian stood beside the dais. Ozmond greeted her with a firm nod. He wore a new chain signifying his elevation to the rank of viscount.

Most of the Thurim’s members had taken their seats. Every head turned as Josey entered. Concentrating on not tripping over the hem of her gown, she crossed the floor. She glanced up, and then looked again when she noticed blots of fresh color on the ceiling. Where the Church’s propaganda had once glared down, now traditional scenes of Nimean history were beginning to emerge. Although the restoration work had just begun, she could make out the faces of emperors and empresses in their fine regalia. The largest figure, occupying a central position, was a face she knew.

Smiling, Josey climbed the steps of the dais and turned to the hall. She took a deep breath and let it out. With a nod to Hubert, she sat down. The guardsmen flanking the main entrance opened the tall doors. A dozen men stood in the atrium. Eight were soldiers in the uniform of the Nimean army. The first units from the nearest garrison towns had arrived late last night. By morning they had secured High Town and begun the task of reinstalling the rule of law in Low Town. The soldiers surrounded four men in clerical raiment. The man at their forefront wore a dour expression.

Not the honor guard you were expecting when next you returned to the palace, Prelate?

Josey kept her expression neutral as the soldiers escorted the Church leaders into the hall. Instead of his former raiment, Innocence wore only a white cassock belted with a sash of crimson silk. As the delegation halted, the prelate looked up at the ceiling, and his expression hardened.

Lady Philomena stood up from her seat among the Thurim as the hierarchs were led before the throne. “This is preposterous! How dare the court summon Our Holy Father in such a disgraceful fash—?”

“Be silent,” Josey said.

The lady stared, her mouth agape. She sat down with an unladylike grunt. Josey’s eyes never left the members of the delegation.

“Lord Chancellor, the next person who speaks without our consent is to be taken outside and flogged.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

At Hubert’s signal, the soldiers turned inward to face the clerics. Josey waited to see if any of them would be fool enough to test her. But none did. Too bad. It would have made for a fitting example to the others.

“I have summoned Your Holiness to this court,” she said, “to hear defense against the charges laid against yourself and your ministers.”

One of the hierarchs, a venerable priest in white vestments, shuffled forward to speak, but the prelate stopped him with a clearing of his throat.

Prelate Innocence worked his mouth around before muttering, “Have I permission to speak?”

“You do.”

“Then we demand to know the whereabouts of Archpriest Gaspar. The unwarranted seizure of his person is cause for—”

“You will answer the charges put before Your Holiness.”

“The True Church recognizes no authority invested in this court.” The creases of his brow wriggled back and forth as he spoke, animating the upper portion of his face. “Furthermore, the seizing of our person is an act of defiance against the Prophet Himself. It is you who shall be judged, and not I.”

Hubert stepped forward and dropped a bundle at the prelate’s feet.

Josey pointed. “Whether you acknowledge our authority or not, you will answer for this.”

At a gesture from his master, the old priest bent down to pick up the bundle. He opened it to reveal two torn and bloodstained tabards in crimson, each bearing the golden circle of the Sacred Brotherhood.

“Those surcoats, Your Eminence,” Josey said, “were found in the possession of two agents who were, we believe, aiding the assassin seeking to end our life. Agents of your Church, Eminence.”

“This is lunacy!” one of the younger hierarchs barked. “A pair of old shirts, no matter where they were found, does not constitute evidence against the Holy—”

Josey nodded to Hubert. Two guardsmen seized the archpriest and hauled him from the chamber. Voices erupted from the Thurim. Josey allowed them a few moments to digest her words. The prelate said nothing. His eyes, though, glowered at her with pure venom.

“Holiness,” she said. “Do you deny the Church has encouraged demonstrations against the crown throughout the city since the day of my coronation?”

“There is no proof of that,” Innocence replied. “I, myself, have issued proclamations condemning such—”

“The uniforms, the demonstrations, and the assassin. They are all connected to the same plot to overthrow this government and seize power. A plot traced back to the Church. To your office.”

The prelate swallowed and glanced at the soldiers surrounding him. “That is absurd. You don’t have the proof. The faithful—”

“Archpriest Gaspar has made a full confession.”

Ozmond extended a roll of parchment. One of the remaining archpriests took it and handed it over to the prelate. Innocence glanced at its contents.

“A confession made under considerable duress, no doubt. Worthless.”

But there was something new in his gaze. Was it fear?

Josey stood up. “If there are any further demonstrations, or should my ministers unearth additional plots against the throne, I will dismantle the True Church piece by piece.”

The prelate’s chin trembled. “By the Prophet, you shall live to regret your audacity, child.”

“That may be.”

She inclined her head, and the prelate started to leave. But she gestured before they reached the doors, and her guardsmen stopped their exit.

“Majesty,” she said. “You will address this throne properly for all the court to hear, Your Eminence.”

The prelate turned, his face hardened into a stony mask. He cleared his throat. “As you wish. Majesty.”

Josey held out her hand. The imperial seal flashed in the sunlight as she and the prelate stared at each other for several long heartbeats. Finally, Innocence shambled over to climb the dais and touched his lips to the ring.

“Well done,” she whispered. “Now get out of my sight.”

As the delegation hurried from the hall, Josey swallowed several times to clear the taste of bile from her mouth. She glanced over at the Thurim to see how Lady Philomena was taking the prelate’s public humiliation, but her seat was vacant. I should have had her flogged.

Settling back in the throne as the tension eased from her body, Josey presented a composed face to the court. The ministers watched her with what she hoped were benign expressions. Well, they haven’t denounced me yet. So there’s hope that I won’t be the shortest-reigning monarch in Nimea’s history.

A side door opened, and Captain Drathan stepped through. He looked in her direction and made a shallow nod before leaving. Relieved, Josey jumped up, almost forgetting to dismiss the court as she hurried down the steps. She was out the door before anyone could say a word.

A candlemark later, Josey came down a secluded staircase in the west wing of the palace. She was hugged in a suit of comfortable green leathers and heeled riding boots. Her hair was pinned up under the hood of her cloak. Despite the pangs in her stomach, half nausea and half excitement, she was excited. I’m actually doing it!

Hirsch waited by the postern door. The adept leaned as he stood, favoring his left leg, but he had made a remarkable recovery. He met her eyes with a frank gaze.

“That was well done, lass. Not many people could take the Holy Father to task like that. There’s a lioness in that heart of yours.”

Josey allowed herself a little sigh. “I wish I felt like there was, but what I really feel is …”

“Uncertainty,” he offered.

“Yes.”

Hirsch coughed into his hand. “Someone once said that leading a nation is like walking through a dark wood on a moonless night; you never know what’s coming.”

“That’s how I’ve felt ever since I put on the crown. Who said that?”

“Your father.”

Josey’s breath caught in her throat. “Thank you.”

Offering the adept her arm, she pushed open the door. The outside air was laden with the crisp smell of winter. After weeks of rain and sleet, the stones of the courtyard were covered with a blanket of fresh snow. It had begun falling sometime after midnight, and judging by the fluffy clouds overhead, it was going to continue for some time. The flakes fell upon the shoulders of her palace bodyguards as they stood in sharp formation. She’d asked for volunteers, and every man who could ride had insisted upon coming, even the wounded in their bandages; she didn’t turn away anyone who could sit on a horse. Behind her bodyguards stood four columns, a full company of hobelar infantry with their mounts. The golden griffin fluttered on their chests, but they seemed too few for the task she had in mind.

“They aren’t enough,” Hubert said, coming over to her.

Josey pressed her lips together, barely managing to stifle a pointed retort. The man was entirely too good at reading her thoughts. Anastasia accompanied the lord chancellor, the two of them standing rather close. A few paces away, Duke Mormaer talked with Captain Drathan. Mormaer hardly seemed the same man who had stormed into her throne room. Where he had been rigid and prickly, he was now almost genteel. Or perhaps I just understand him better now.

“We will acquire more,” Josey said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “On our journey north.”

Hubert nodded, but the frown remained on his thin lips. “I must restate my opinion that this decision is unwise.”

Duke Mormaer grunted. “Give it a rest, Vassili. She’s doing what needs to be done. What the Empress of Nimea must do in times like these.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Josey turned to Hubert. “All is ready?”

“Yes, Majesty.”

“Good. Has the Watch been reestablished?”

“Numbers are low, but some of the deserters are starting to slink back into the ranks.”

“Don’t be too harsh with them. We’ve all been through a rough time.”

Hubert tapped the ground with the tip of his cane. “There is a spot of good news. We have received missives from some of the nobles involved in unlawful raids against their neighbors. One and all state their undying fealty to the crown. Furthermore, Lords Devring and Karstan are coming to Othir to prove this in person.” He leaned closer. “And I have managed to convince enough of your ministers that we might send an envoy to Akeshia to introduce a truce and begin discussions on a trade agreement. Money still poses a problem, but I believe it can be done.”

Josey suppressed a smile, wondering how the man could keep track of it all and still find time to court a lady. “Anything else, Your Grace?”

“Well, rampant banditry still plagues the western border, and a diplomatic mission has arrived from the kingdom of Arnos. I presume they wish to discuss the status of Mecantia.”

“I trust you to handle the matters, Lord Regent.”

“Majesty, I don’t—”

Josey pulled a scroll from under her cloak and passed it to him. “I’m leaving you in charge. You are hereby named the imperial regent of Othir in my absence.”

He handled the order gingerly. “I’m not—”

“There’s been no word from the northern border, and none of our envoys have returned. That can only mean one thing.”

“War,” Mormaer said.

Josey nodded. “There is a foreign army on our soil, Lord Chancellor, and I intend to send it back to where it came from. Master Hirsch”—she glanced at the adept, who was watching the discussion quietly—“will accompany us.”

Hubert finally gave a hesitant nod.

Anastasia walked to take her hand. “Josey, I’m going to be worried every day until you return. Promise you’ll be careful.”

Josey kissed her cheek. “I promise, ’Stasia. And try to keep Hubert out of trouble, will you?”

Anastasia blushed, and Josey had to laugh, but there was a note of sadness in it. She might never see these people—her friends—again. But somehow, instead of making her fearful of the future, it urged her to go forth with courage.

“Hubert, keep an eye on Lady Philomena and the prelate. They will not forget the slights we served them this day.”

As the lord chancellor bowed, a groom brought Lightning over. Josey didn’t wait for the stepping stand, but climbed into the stallion’s tall saddle on her own. As she settled into the stirrups, a cheer went up from the troops in the courtyard. It was echoed by the sentries on the palace walls. Josey’s face was hot in the chilly air as she took her place at the head of the formation alongside Captain Drathan and the army commander.

Hubert came over to stand beside her. “Take every care, Your Majesty. Your country needs you.”

Her heart swelled to the point of breaking, Josey pointed to the open gates and shouted, “Forward!”

Caim traced the outline of Josey’s pendant under his shirt as he stood on the crest of a flat ridge. The midmorning sky was clear and blue, but the brittle air carried the scent of snow. Stern hilltops crowded the western horizon. To the north rose the beginnings of the great forest, dark and forbidding even in the daylight. The tugging in his head was clear as crystal; he could have pointed to its source far beyond the northern mountains, but his thoughts ran in the other direction, to Josey and the vast distance between them.

Below the ridge, wild brush and weeds choked what had once been the grounds of his family estate. Low mounds crested the snow where buildings had once stood, including the house where he was born. He’d left the city in the early morning, slinking out with the rest of the bad memories, while the townspeople snored away the effects of the drunken celebrations from the night before. Some part of him had considered staying, just to see what they would make of their newfound liberation. But it was better he left before they remembered what he was.

Assassin. Sellsword. Killer.

As always, victory came with a price. Caim recalled the names of the fallen in his head: Liana, Hagan, Caedman, Killian, Oak, Vaner, and more. Too many. Ramon’s tale was being told throughout Liovard, how he’d met his end holding off a legion of foreign mercenaries while his men set fire to the city barracks and the homes of ducal sympathizers. Already his name had joined Caedman’s in the pantheon of martyrs to what was being hailed as a new era of freedom in Eregoth. But Caim remembered another man, long ago, who had also died following the banner of his nation’s freedom. His gaze touched a spot at the center of the estate’s courtyard. The black sword was finally back where it belonged. He didn’t want it. Its vengeance exacted too high a price.

A finch soared across the fields to settle on a green sapling rising through the snow and greeted him with a bright chirp.

“You’ll catch your death out here.”

Caim dropped his hand from his chest as Kit materialized beside him. The scandalous cut of her dress at the bodice and thigh was in a garish contrast to its somber purple hue. Her silver hair wafted against the breeze.

“Who would notice?” he asked.

“You’re in a glum mood this morning.”

“I haven’t slept in three days.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Nor bathed, evidently.”

Caim looked to the north, to the leaden gray sky above the ocean of trees.

Kit floated around until she was looking into his eyes. “How are you feeling?”

“I’ll live.”

The rage was gone from him, buried with the sword. Or so he hoped. All in all, a fair trade. But something was different. He could feel it inside him, like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

The shadow beast.

It was a part of him now. Kit said it always had been, but he just didn’t know it. Caim wasn’t sure what that meant. The dreams of his mother still lingered in his mind. She had sacrificed herself for him. That much he knew. As for the rest, there was only one way to find out.

“So you’re still intent on going north?” she asked. “And I suppose trying to talk you out of it would be a waste of breath.”

“Something like that. You coming with?”

She gave him an ethereal peck on the cheek. “What are we waiting for?”

But he saw the other question in her gaze, the one she’d asked as they held each other in the witch’s lair while the tiny electric pulse of her heart tickled his chest. “What about Josey?”

He still didn’t have an answer, but he was saved by the clop of hoofbeats.

“You’re a damned hard man to track down, Caim.”

Dismounting from a fine gelding, Keegan walked over to him. The youth was wearing the same bloodstained clothes he’d worn the night before. Aemon, Dray, and Malig rode behind him on similarly upscale steeds. Aemon’s leg was wrapped in bandages, but the brothers had both survived the night of chaos, which was amazing. If Caim were the pious sort, he might have called it a miracle. But he was content to chalk it up to dumb luck. Where would any of us be without it?

“Maybe I didn’t want to be found,” he replied.

Kit snorted.

Keegan looked at the others. “We don’t want you to leave, Caim. In fact, we’d like you to stay as—”

“No, thanks.”

Keegan’s grimace pulled at the black smudges under his eyes. The eyes of an older man. “You don’t know what I was going to say.”

“Sure I do. But I’m not the man for the job. Did you burn everything in her temple?”

“We tore the whole rotten place down,” Dray answered. “And I personally pissed on the ashes.”

Keegan flashed the ghost of a smile. “We did like you said, but there’s trouble in the city. Some of the celebrations have gone out of control. People are burning down buildings, fighting, and drinking themselves stupid.”

“You’ll figure it out.”

“But you’re nobility,” Keegan said. “That’s something none of the rest of us can claim. Eregoth needs—”

“This country needs a new beginning.” Caim looked down over the ruined estate. “Not another reminder of the past. Let the people work off their anger in debauchery for a day or two. When they’re done, they’ll be looking for a leader. A man like you.”

Keegan studied the snow between his feet. “But how can I lead a nation, Caim? I’m not even a thane. I don’t know …”

Caim felt for the boy. He was stepping into a new world he’d never dreamed of before these past couple days. Caim placed a hand on Keegan’s shoulder over the knots of blue ink.

“Remember the ones who have fallen to make it possible. Let their memories guide you. Being a leader isn’t about giving commands and making men kneel. It’s about winning their hearts. You’ve got your father’s strength, Keegan, and your sister’s heart. That’s a good start.”

Keegan bit his bottom lip and nodded. He took a long dagger from under his cloak and held it out, hilt-first.

“I want you to have this.”

A knot inside Caim’s chest loosened. He had seen the weapon before, from the other end.

“That’s your father’s knife. I can’t take that, Keegan.”

The youth pushed it at him. “He would want you to have it. It’s good Eregothic steel, not like that flimsy slag they make down south.”

Caim took the seax knife. The hilt felt good in his palm, and it had a nice weight, but the blade was half a finger broader than his suete knife. That would take some getting used to.

“You won’t reconsider?” Keegan asked.

“Not a chance. Go on before I get arrested for cuffing the new duke, or whatever they’re going to name you.” Caim lifted his chin toward the others, still on their horses. “And take these old war dogs with you.”

Keegan laughed. “I wish I could, but they’re not here for me.”

The men watched him like they wanted a piece of him in the worst way.

“What did I do this time?”

But Keegan was walking away. As the boy mounted up, Caim cupped his hands around his mouth and called out. Keegan looked back.

“You can trust the Empress of Nimea! She’s got a good heart, too.”

Keegan made a final salute as he started down the trail back to Liovard. The brothers and Malig waited until he was gone, then they urged their steeds forward. Caim waited in a neutral stance, hands resting by his sides.

Malig leaned over as they stopped a few paces away and spat into the snow. “We figure you’re headed out of here. Out of Eregoth, at least.”

Caim looked from one face to the next. “I might be.”

Aemon broke into a broad smile. “We want to come with you.”

“Fucking right,” Dray said. “It’s going to be damned boring around here, now that Eviskine and his witch are gone.”

Caim started to shake his head, but when he searched for reasons why not, he came up empty.

“All right.” He walked between their horses. “Let’s get moving.”

“Where we going, boss?” Aemon asked.

Caim looked past the men, to the dark forest bordering his father’s lands and the mysteries beyond. His mother was alive, somewhere out there.

“North,” he said.

With a shared smile, the outlaws clicked to their horses and trotted up the trail ahead of him.

Caim looked over his shoulder. “Are you coming?”

Kit reappeared beside him with a lopsided grin. “Trying to get rid of me?”

“All the time. But you keep coming back.”

She patted his cheek. “That should be a lesson for you.”

“All right, then. Lead the way.”

With a laugh that drove away the clouds in his heart, Kit sped off toward the woods like a shooting star. Caim spared one last glance for the snow-covered ruins and the spot in the center of the overgrown yard that the daylight seemed to avoid.

Then he swung his satchel over his shoulder and set off after her.