started to raise her hand out of habit. Oh heaven, Josey. Don’t encourage them!
She settled for a polite nod instead.
“Hubert, have those levies been raised to send west?”
“They are being assembled as we speak, Majesty.”
“Put Lord Du’Quendel in charge of the expedition.”
“Du’Quendel? I don’t believe he has any military experience.”
“Humor me. The generals can run the show, but I want Lord Du’Quendel on his way the first thing tomorrow morning. And send Lieutenant Walthom’s unit as well.”
“As you command.” Hubert pointed to the box on their left. “I see Duke Mormaer has decided to attend this evening.”
Glad for the distraction, Josey followed his gesture to the next box, where the Duke of Wistros was sitting down with an elderly matron.
“Let me guess,” she said. “That’s not his wife, either.”
“No. I haven’t any idea who she is. I’m certain his mother is passed. Possibly an aunt or some other relative. Odd, though. Mormaer isn’t a regular attendee of the theater. In fact, to my knowledge Mormaer hasn’t attended a production in years, but he turns up here tonight.”
Josey resumed her study of the seats below. Armed soldiers walked among the patrons. “Perhaps he holds the same contrary opinion of my attendance as you and hopes to see me pelted with rotten fruit.”
Hubert turned to her, his brow pinched together. “You’re up to something.”
Josey gave him a bland look. “What do you mean? I’m simply enjoying this, my first night out of that drafty stone shack you call a palace. In peace, if it pleases you, my lord.”
“You’ve set a trap!” He leaned so close his nose bumped into her ear. “You’re using yourself as bait to draw out the assassin, and Mormaer is in on it.”
“Keep your voice down.”
Josey grimaced as she glanced over her shoulder at her guards. This was the moment she’d been dreading. Hubert’s face was a stiff mask, but she could see the anger bubbling underneath. More than that, there was true resentment. She didn’t blame him. That had been the hardest part of the plan for her to accept. But Mormaer had sworn her to secrecy; it was the only way he would assist her. Now, with Hubert sitting beside her, wounded, she wished she had insisted on the need to include him.
“It was Mormaer’s idea. He came up with a plan to catch my attacker. The fewer people who knew…”
“Fewer meaning not your lord chancellor. Who else knows?”
“Only those who must. We don’t know anything about the assassin. He could be masquerading as anyone.”
“Am I a suspect, too?”
Josey met him frown for frown. “If you were, you would be sitting in a very cold cell right now, and not here beside me. I trust you, Hubert, even with my life. If this fails, you are my last line of protection.”
“Majesty, I cannot protect you if I am not informed-”
A voice called from the hallway behind them. Josey rose as the curtain dividing the back of the box was pulled aside. Lady Philomena stood in the doorway. She wore a long indigo gown that personified her. Plain, but expensive.
The lady made a small curtsy, so small that Josey almost missed it. Josey bent her head to precisely the same degree.
Hubert made a bow. “I was not aware Your Ladyship enjoyed the theater.”
“I do not.” She looked to Josey. “I enjoy nothing which distracts me from the grandeurs of the Prophet. But I have come at the prelate’s behest, to relate His Holiness’s relief that the empress survived the cowardly attempt on her life and our sincere wish that this event will bring Her Highness to a closer relationship with the Church, which is the true source of authority.”
Josey forced herself to smile. “My lady is too kind. Please convey my thanks to the Holy Father, and ask him to pray for the soul of our servant, who was killed in the attack.”
“Yes,” the lady said. “Your manservant, was he not? So fortunate for him to be able to give his life for his mistress, the noblest end for a man of such odious birth.”
Josey stared, unable to believe her ears. To hear Fenrik degraded so… like he had been a pet or a piece of furniture. Her hands, gripped in her skirts, began to shake. Before she could say what came to mind, Hubert jumped in.
“I believe the performance is about to begin. Perhaps Your Ladyship would grace us with your presence afterward.”
Lady Philomena raised a delicate eyebrow. “Not this evening, Your Grace. I must be off to vespers.” Then to Josey, she made another minute curtsy. “Highness.”
Josey said nothing, not trusting herself to remain civil, as the lady departed. Once the curtains dropped back in place, she spat out a string of invectives that made Hubert stare.
“That rotten bitch,” Josey said as she went back to her seat, feeling a little better. “I’d like to tell her where she can put her wishes.”
“Yes, she’s a conniving snake.” Hubert took a deep breath. “But she is also a powerful force in the Thurim. And she speaks with the prelate’s voice. That makes her doubly venomous.”
The house lights went down. The curtain rose, and polite applause sprung from the audience as a woman in a frilly yellow gown and a hat bedecked with long feathers strode to the center of the stage.
“Tonight for your pleasure,” she said in a strong voice that carried through the theater, “and to honor our patroness, Empress Josephine”-there was a round of enthusiastic applause from the floor-“we shall perform The Caliph’s Jewel.”
As the players took their places upon the stage, Josey settled back in her seat and tried to look calm, but her insides were twisted up in knots. She was taking an awful risk. But it’s worth it if the plan works.
And it would. Through her discussion with Duke Mormaer, she had tried to think about it from the assassin’s point of view. Interestingly, her time spent with Caim had come in handy. Although no expert on the art of killing, she had a certain perspective, and Mormaer’s scheme made sense. She even thought Caim, wherever he was, might approve of their logic. She tried to find comfort in that thought, but it had been easier when they were back in the palace just talking about it. Actually sitting here, on full display like a target at a carnival game, was quite a different matter.
Josey was just beginning to relax when voices rose in the corridor outside her box. Someone sounded angry, but whether it was one of her bodyguards or another she could not tell. She started to glance over her shoulder. A sound like rustling paper crashed in her ears as something brushed her cheek. Josey froze, her entire body clenched with fear. No no no! I don’t want to -
Small wings fluttered and disappeared over the roof of the box. Josey inhaled a shuddering breath. It was just a pigeon. Caim would laugh his head off if he’d seen that.
She leaned over to share the joke with Hubert, and froze at the look on his face. Mouth open, he was turned around in his chair looking to the back of the box. Josey turned her head. What she saw robbed the heat from her blood. One of her guardsmen had reached over, but instead of fingers, glistening black tentacles extended from his hand to cover the other guard’s face and throat. While she and Hubert watched, the stricken guard collapsed to the floor. The killer looked in their direction.
Hubert stood up, grabbing for his sword, but a vicious swipe from a fistful of writhing tentacles hurled him over the railing. Hubert!
A cry for help lodged in Josey’s throat as she slipped off the seat of her chair. She reached into her skirts for her knife, but her legs were tangled up in layers of petticoats. She couldn’t breathe. It was all happening too fast.
The imposter’s appearance shifted as he advanced. His eyes receded into their sockets, his skin bubbled and darkened like charring meat, and the grotesque tendril-hands morphed into hooked talons. Josey kicked her chair into the assassin’s path, and the creature shattered it with a casual slap. Its rubbery lips stretched upward into an obscene grin. Josey dug through the material twisted around her legs. Someone help us!
A woman screamed. Relief washed through Josey as the cry was taken up by others. She imagined the people below, standing up in shock and pointing at the imperial box. The assassin stopped and released a ferocious
