“Thank goodness. Perhaps we should retire in light of this.”
The crowd buzzed as the agitator was dragged away. Few people were paying her any attention, and those who did wore unreadable expressions. Josey couldn’t tell if they were relieved to see the man go, or sorry.
“One moment, Hubert.”
Josey held up her cup as she raised her voice. “Some of you don’t know much about me. Most of you, in fact. But I want to remedy that in the coming days.” She cleared her throat, not sure where to go from there. Then she recalled something her foster father had once said to her. “Nimea was once a nation of culture and gentility, a nation who welcomed her neighbors and grew prosperous through mutual benefit. Those days can return. They shall return. To Nimea! Long may She stand.”
A couple of glasses went up. Scattered responses arose, and gained strength as more and more people took up the call. After a moment, the entire assembly repeated the toast.
Hubert watched with wide eyes. Then he turned to her and bowed. “Majesty.”
Taking his arm, Josey allowed herself to be led down from the stage. Guards surrounded them as they walked out. Behind them, music began to play over the thunder of applause.
Anastasia found them in the corridor. She rushed through the hedge of soldiers and hugged Josey, heedless of the wine stain. “Thank the Light! I saw everything. Are you all right?”
“I’m all right. Just a little shaken up.”
Josey looked to Hubert over Anastasia’s shoulder. She expected him to say something, but he appeared to find the floor tiles of great interest.
“It’s a travesty,” Anastasia went on. “The Imperial Guard should have put better precautions in place.”
“Everything is fine, ’Stasia. It was just someone seeking attention.”
“But the things he said!”
Josey put on a smile. “It’s nothing. Will you stay at the palace tonight?”
“I would, Josey. I mean ‘Your Majesty.’ But Father will be expecting me. He hasn’t been well.”
“I understand.” Josey gave her another hug. “Come see me tomorrow, will you?”
“Of course.”
Heaviness descended over Josey as she watched her friend depart. Hubert was watching, too, but his expression was more sublime.
“Well?” she asked.
“Majesty?”
“What did the two of you talk about?”
He ran a finger across the bridge of his nose. “Ah, nothing of import. She talked a bit about the decorations and the music. She liked the music most, I believe.”
Josey shook her head. “Decorations and music? You’re impossible, Hubert. Do you know that?”
“So I’ve been told.”
“I’m exhausted. Is there anything else I need to do tonight?”
“No, Majesty.”
“Then I bid you good night, Lord Chancellor.”
Still shaking her head, Josey walked away. The climb to her apartments seemed interminable. Her bodyguards took up positions outside as she entered. A shadowed chamber greeted her. The curtains had been drawn, but the hearth was unlit. Faint light flickered across the wide expanse of the foyer.
Calling for Amelia, her evening chambermaid, Josey crossed the cold floor. She reached a round table where a single candle dripped wax into a silver reservoir. Where was everyone? Perhaps her maids had not anticipated she would return from the ball so early.
As Josey approached the doorway to her bedchamber, a warm current of air brushed her face. Smells of dust and old leather tantalized her nose for a moment. She started to call out again, but a sliver of apprehension gave her pause. Why was it so quiet? Amelia wasn’t the type to fall asleep on her duties. Josey took another step, but stopped when a soft sound reached her ears, a metallic click from behind her.
Fists balled against her sides, Josey turned around, but the darkness beyond the candle’s feeble glow was unfathomable. She was tempted to call for her guards, but what if it was the maid returning from some errand, or her mind playing tricks? A yelp raced up her throat as a hand closed on her arm, but the scream sputtered and died when a familiar face emerged into the light.
“Fenrik!” Josey shivered as the pent-up fear drained out of her. “You scared me half to death.”
With a stiff nod, the manservant walked her to the inner doorway. Her nightgown had been laid out on the bed, and there was a fire in the fireplace.
“Fenrik,” she said. “Would you ask Amelia to-?”
Then she saw the blood, a rivulet of deep scarlet, trickle out from beneath her bed. Josey watched it run across the hardwood floor to the edge of the Hestrian rug and sink into the plush fibers. She gasped as a bony forearm smashed across her throat. She tried to scream, but nothing came out. She scratched at the arm with her free hand. Strips of skin, feverishly hot to the touch, came loose under her nails; the muscle and sinew underneath were like stone. Josey struggled, but couldn’t break free.
As her lungs burned, she gave up clawing at the gnarled arm and plunged her hand into the folds of her skirts. She searched frantically until her fingers found a smooth handle. She tugged the knife free from the sheath hidden under her petticoats. Too desperate to care where she aimed, Josey plunged the knife over her shoulder. The first thrust met only air, but the next collided with something solid. Fenrik shuddered behind her as she yanked on the handle. When it came free, an acrid stench like rotting meat clogged her nostrils. She thrust again, and the arm around her neck let go. Shoved hard from behind, she was propelled across the room. She turned with her back to the wall.
Fenrik hunched in the middle of the floor, silhouetted against the hearth’s glow. His left eye was sliced open where her knife had found its mark, but not a drop of blood spilled from the ruined socket.
“Stay back!” she shouted as he took a step toward her. “Help!”
He shuffled forward with small, quick steps. She cried out as he lunged. Her knife connected with his breastbone and slid along his ribs. Without so much as a gasp, Fenrik grabbed her by the neck with one hand and slammed her against the wall. The back of her head struck stone, and white spots filled her vision. A balled fist rose above her. She watched it out of the corner of a teary eye. She almost welcomed it. When it fell, the pain would end. But some part of her refused to surrender. Then Caim’s words tumbled through the drifting confines of her mind.
When you’re faced with danger, don’t wait for an opening. Strike hard and fast, because you won’t get a second chance.
Josey wrapped the fingers of both hands around the hilt of her knife. As the fist reached its apogee, tears filled her eyes. I’m sorry, Fenrik.
With a hard upward thrust, the knife’s point pierced through the bottom of Fenrik’s jaw and up through his mouth. Still, his grip on her throat did not slacken. Her eyes lost their focus as the room began to spin.
Then, the world tilted as Fenrik’s hand was jerked away. The knife clattered on the floor, but Josey only cared about the fresh air filling her lungs. Her sight cleared, and she saw Fenrik sprawled on the floor, her bodyguards hacking at him. With horrifying slowness, he crawled across the floor, even as the soldiers continued their brutal assault on his body, until he reached the wall.
Where is the blood? The thought battered her brain. He’s supposed to bleed when they cut him.
Light filled the bedroom, and Josey sobbed in relief at the sight of Captain Drathan, the leader of her Imperial Guard, arriving at the head of more soldiers.
“To the empress!”
But Fenrik had reached the wall. Like a spider, he scuttled up the stones to the window and thrust open the shutters. Captain Drathan lunged, but he was too late. Fenrik leapt.
Staring at the empty windowsill, Josey fell back against the wall. Her hands shook as she folded them across her chest. A bitter taste curdled on her tongue.
“Gone.” Captain Drathan turned toward her, his features constricted in a tight scowl. “Are you hurt, Majesty?”
Josey shook her head, but could not find her voice. She pointed to the bed. One of the guardsmen lifted the ruffled skirt. Josey’s neck felt like a block of wood as she turned her head. With a heave, the soldier pulled a long,
