CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Caim bit down on his tongue as the bottom of the chute rushed up faster than he anticipated. He shoved both hands hard against the walls. The blackened stone gouged his palms, but he kept up the pressure until he hit the bottom. Somehow he managed to land without bashing his skull open. He started to relax when clanks from above announced the falling bundles. They landed beside him with a loud crash.
Caim cursed and disengaged himself from the tether. He touched the tip of his tongue to his lips and winced. At least it’s still attached.
He was in the fireplace of a large chamber. The slight illumination he had detected before came from an open doorway on the other side leading to a corridor that glowed with soft candlelight. The plain coverlets draped over the plush, oversized bed, along with the lack of personal effects, led him to believe this was a guest room, presently unused. But why was the door open? It was rather late for a dusting by the chambermaid.
Suspicious, Caim gathered up the bundles and padded across the pale sea green rug. Outside in the hallway, colorful arrays lined the walls in both directions. Candles flickered in brass holders, the wax dripping into reservoirs.
His soft-soled boots made no sound as he stalked down the corridor. He chose the right-hand branch, followed it to a T-section, and turned left until he came to another intersection. Caim was considering his next choice when a faint sound reached his ears. Voices. Judging by the reverberation, the speakers were in a large room. Like the Grand Hall.
Caim stole toward the noise. Every time he passed a candle, he reached up to snuff its wick. The passage behind him filled with darkness.
The corridor opened into a wide gallery. A carved marble balustrade overlooked the massive chamber below. Sacred Brothers were stationed at regular intervals around the balcony, four in all.
Caim left the bundles in the dark of the hallway and drew his knives. Two Brothers died without realizing their lives were in danger. He allowed the third to utter a muffled croak, which drew the last sentry into the shadows. Only when the gallery was clear did Caim take a moment to peer over the railing. His throat constricted as he spotted Josey, still alive—thank the gods—standing at the foot of a broad dais in a white gown. She didn’t appear to have suffered any harm. In fact, she looked better than when he had left her at the cabin. A weight he hadn’t fully realized he was carrying lifted from his chest. He hadn’t failed her yet.
A large crowd filled the chamber below, surrounded by a platoon of Sacred Brothers. Despite their bedraggled appearance, the captives seemed to be aristocrats, many of them in their senior years. Expressions of fear and indignation played across their pinched faces.
Josey wasn’t the only one Caim recognized. Ral, in a fancy black suit, sat in a gaudy throne atop the dais. One at a time, the captives were brought before him and made to kneel.
While Caim watched, the Brothers escorted an elderly lord in a night jacket to the steps of the dais. When they released him, the nobleman stood up as tall as his stooped back allowed.
“I will bow to no usurper!” he shouted in a powerful voice that belied his age. “I would rather die.”
Ral made a shooing gesture with one hand. “And I shall gladly grant your wish, my lord.”
The old lord sputtered and coughed as the Brothers dragged him from the hall.
Mystified, Caim went to retrieve the bundles. When he grasped the sword’s worn hilt, a voice whispered in his head. He knew it well. He’d heard it in his dreams a thousand times. The voice of his father’s ghost.
“Justice…”
Caim’s hand shook. He wanted to throw away the blade, but a powerful force held him back. He shook his head, as much to deny the unease churning inside him as to clear it, and slung the sword onto his back. He carried the second bundle to the balcony, cut the strings binding its oilskin covering, and unlimbered his other gift from Hubert: the curved bronzewood shaft of a bow to replace the one he’d lost in the fire.
Caim strung the weapon with quick, sure motions. As he stood up, he placed an arrow across the rest and drew the string to full tension. The confusing maelstrom of emotions roiling in his chest—for Josey, for his father, for Kit’s disappearance—they all vanished as he sighted on the throne. He was back in his element. This was business, pure and uncomplicated.
Caim took in a deep breath, and let it out slow and steady. In the space between one breath and the next, he fired.
The bowstring thrummed against his forearm as the arrow flew. He followed its path across the hall. A perfect shot. In his mind’s eye, Ral slumped dead on the throne, his eyes turned misty with the fog of death. The image was so real he almost believed it had already happened, until the torchlight surrounding the dais flickered and the arrow dipped to the side, not much, just a hand’s breadth, but enough to miss its mark. Instead of taking Ral through the throat, it sliced a furrow across the sleeve of his jacket.
The hairs on the back of Caim’s neck tingled as he remembered another night, in Ostergoth’s castle, and another perfect shot ruined at the last moment. Sorcery. His hands tightened around the stave of the bow.
Levictus.
Everyone in the hall looked up. Josey’s eyes blossomed wide. The lordlings lurched to their feet and retreated from the dais. Their mutterings swirled up to Caim. Some of the Brothers drew weapons, but none moved to protect their liege. As for Ral, he hardly moved except to grimace and press his left hand against his chest.
Caim snatched another arrow from the bundle at his feet. Sweat drenched his shirt. Tremors chased each other through his stomach like a pack of angry dogs. But his hands were steady.
“Let her go, Ral!” he shouted. “Or the next one goes through your heart.”
The assassin’s dry chuckle ascended to the gallery. “We’ve been expecting you, Caim, but you’re a bit late. Release my betrothed? No, I don’t believe I will. The city is mine, and these good nobles were just swearing their loyalty to me. It would go better if you laid down your weapons and surrendered. Perhaps I’ll grant you an imperial pardon.”
“I don’t think so. There are five thousand angry citizens outside the gates. Your pet soldiers won’t be able to hold them off forever.”
Ral stood with his hands at his sides, seemingly at rest, but Caim knew how fast the man could move. He kept the arrow centered on Ral’s chest.
“Not forever. Just until reinforcements arrive from the outer garrisons. Then your little rebellion will be crushed in time for my coronation and subsequent wedding to this fine lady.”
Caim’s gaze flickered to Josey, and fingers of dread closed around his heart. In concentrating on Ral, he hadn’t noticed Markus’s arrival. Bandages peeked over the collar of the man’s uniform, which was now white instead of red. Waxy scars dimpled his face as he stood behind Josey, one arm around her waist and the other holding a dirk to her slender throat.
“You should have joined me,” Ral said. “You could have been my viceroy, a man of wealth and power, but you have proved too untrustworthy. I’m afraid you’ll have to die.”
He nodded to Markus. “Or perhaps you’d prefer to watch her bleed to death before your eyes first?”
Caim pulled the bowstring back another inch, making the bronzewood creak. “You won’t kill her. You need her too much.”
“Are you certain about that?”
Ral lifted a finger. Josey gasped as a line of blood trickled down her neck. Markus’s burn-scarred lips curved upward in a grin.
Caim cursed under his breath. His plan was falling apart. Rather than rescuing Josey, he had placed her in even greater danger. Retreat wasn’t an option. Come morning, Ral’s hold over the city might be impregnable. He could shoot, but Markus might kill Josey out of hand. They were at an impasse, and he was out of options. The string strained against his fingers.
The clack of boots on the marble flagstones stole everyone’s attention. All heads turned as a soldier in militia livery dashed into the audience hall. An angry clamor followed in his wake. Ral took the opportunity to descend a couple of steps. Caim’s aim didn’t waver.
“The outer gates have fallen!” the militiaman shouted.
Ral swore a vile oath. “What of the bailey?”
“We hold it yet, but it may not stand for long.”
Caim smiled. “Looks like your plot is unraveling around you, Ral. Maybe you should give up now and save everyone the trouble.”
As Ral opened his mouth to speak, a metallic twang pricked at Caim’s ears. He threw himself aside as the baluster before him shattered in a shower of marble shrapnel. Caim reaimed and let fly. The arrow sped like a diving falcon, but Ral ducked behind a powdered dowager. The missile passed over their shoulders to thud into the leg of the vacated throne.
Caim reached for another arrow, but Ral was already darting across the crowded hall. He threw down the bow and vaulted over the broken balustrade. His knives cleared their sheaths before he hit the floor. Heels stinging from the impact, he raced after his adversary.
“Caim!” Josey screamed as Ral and Markus hustled her through a side exit and slammed the door behind them. Three Brothers took up positions in front of the exit with weapons bared.
Caim smiled as a familiar feeling spread through him, a tingling that started in the tips of his fingers and vibrated up his arms until it coursed through his entire being. Sparks of light glimmered on weapon points and flashed from rings of mail, igniting his blood. An insistent pressure throbbed behind his breastbone as his powers awakened, but this time he welcomed it like a long-lost brother. It was time to put aside the veneer of civilization and revel in pure barbarity.
With a snarl, he launched himself at the soldiers.