That surprised me. “You don’t want me to catch the killer?”
“Of course I do.” He shook his head. “If there is a killer. But the possibility must be acknowledged that, if Chora was murdered, the killer has already fled the city. Let the dead bury the dead, as they say. It’s far more important to find the one who holds the gift of kings and place them on the throne. We’re at war, whether the populace in general is aware of it or not.” The Archbishop tapped his lips with one finger. “But I’m afraid I’m going to require a bit more from you, Lord Dura.”
Without moving, I braced myself. “And what would that be?”
He nodded his head. “No matter what you find, the queen’s death must officially remain an accident.”
On my left, Bolt grunted. “Not much has changed in Cynestol.”
Instead of taking offense, the Archbishop merely nodded. “Nor will it, while I remain in power.”
“You’re asking me to lie,” I said.
“Far from it,” the Archbishop replied. “I’m asking you not to speak. Cynestol is a city of over three hundred thousand souls, most of whom are simple people who rely on the church and the crown to preserve order. If word should spread that Queen Chora was murdered, many more people will die in the panic.”
“You already know she was murdered,” I said. “She was a dancer. What are the chances someone who expressed their physical gift that way would fall down a set of stairs?”
He nodded. “That’s better. I’m not proficient in the mathematicum, but I would say the chances are almost none. To the point, however, do I have your word, Lord Dura?”
I didn’t like it, but I didn’t have much choice. “Yes. I need to see her body.”
“Out of the question. To give you or anyone else not a part of the royal household access to Queen Chora’s body is as much as admitting she was murdered.”
“Then how am I supposed to find her killer, Archbishop?”
He smiled. “I’m going to give you access to court, Lord Dura.” He waved at all of us assembled around him. “You and all your friends. If there is a killer stupid enough to remain in the city, then he or she is probably there.”
The Archbishop rose and walked with shuffling steps back to his desk, where he took parchment and ink and wrote two notes. “The first letter is to Queen Chora’s chamberlain, instructing him to provide rooms and servants in the palace for your stay. You cannot view the body, but this will allow you to inspect the scene of her death. The second one is to the queen’s seneschal. He’ll introduce you at court.” He nodded to Gael and Rory. “All of you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, the queen’s death has placed the temporal burdens of running the city onto the shoulders of the church, and there are thousands of details to tend to.”
After we’d departed the Archbishop’s chambers and were out of earshot of his secretary, Bolt held out his hand. “Let me see the notes.”
He read through both of them, his face twisting in disgust. “I thought as much. I’ve always suspected Vyne of a mean streak.”
“What did he do?” Gael asked.
“He’s introduced me to the chamberlain and the seneschal as Tueri Consto. I never did like that name.”
Chapter 14
Bishop Serius met us at the door to Cardinal Jactans’s office to escort us out of the cathedral. He didn’t speak, but every few steps I could see him looking at Bolt out of the corner of his eyes.
“You don’t remember me, do you, Errant Consto?” he finally said as we came to the entrance leading out to the stables.
“Aer have mercy,” Bolt growled. “It’s bad enough that you and the Archbishop have saddled me with my name again, but now you’re going to put my title in front of it as well? Did it never occur to any of you that I might have a job to do here?”
Flustered, Serius elected to ignore the question. “I was there the day the assassins came for Queen Chora.”
“Everyone was there,” Bolt said. “King Sylvest had just married her, and she was being coronated.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I mean, yes, but I was the Archbishop’s page,” Serius continued. “I saw you and the other Errants protect the queen.” He shook his head, his amazement still fresh after forty years. “We knew you were all gifted, but I’ve never seen such a display.” He turned to face the rest of us. “A hundred arrows . . .”
“Probably no more than a score and a half,” Bolt muttered.
“. . . came for the queen,” Serius said as though Bolt hadn’t spoken. “But the Errants pulled swords and shields and created a shell of protection over her. That’s when the assassins, thirty of them . . .”
“More like ten,” Bolt corrected.
“. . . themselves gifted, came leaping out of the crowd. The Errants—only four in number—set a hedge around Queen Chora to meet the attack, their blades appearing and disappearing as if by magic.”
“That part’s true enough”—Bolt shrugged—“but so did the blades of the attackers.”
“The blows came too quick to follow,” Serius said, his arms and eyes wide, “and blood flew everywhere, but at the last only three attackers and Errant Consto remained.”
“Nonsense,” Bolt said. “It was two. Those men had gifts that were very nearly as pure as ours. Three against one would have reduced me to chopped mutton.”
“Placing himself between the attackers and the queen,” Serius said, “the last Errant challenged them, his voice raining disdain.”
“Aer have mercy,” Bolt said rounding on our escort. “Serius, if you were there, you know I did no such thing. I was trying to save a frightened girl without getting cut to ribbons myself. I put myself in front of the queen because it forced the assassins to come at me one at a time.” He put his hand against his left side. “Even so it was a close thing. I didn’t have time or
