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.”
