words.'
Caim ground his teeth together until he thought he might shatter a tooth. Nothing about tonight made sense, especially his reaction to this strange girl. He didn't like snags in his routine. With Kit staring at him, he felt something give.
'I couldn't leave her there. All right? I can't explain it. I just felt, I don't know, like it was wrong. The whole thing stinks. Anyway, she might know something about what happened up there.'
'And I'm sure she'll be eager to tell you everything, what with you looking all guilty standing over her father's corpse.'
'He was already dead when I got there.'
She wiped an imaginary tear from her eye. 'I'm sure she'll believe that. So what really happened up there?'
Caim glanced back at the manor falling into the background of the cityscape. The sensation of being watched itched between his shoulder blades. More imagination. No one could track him in the dark. 'I don't know, but I intend to find out. Now go scout a path home, the long way around. I don't want any tails.'
'So you're really taking her home with us?' She exhaled a loud huff. 'Sometimes, love, you're dumber than you look.'
Caim batted a hand at her ethereal backside. 'Scoot.'
'I hear and obey.'
She darted away on the wind, leaving Caim alone with his thoughts and the girl. He studied her while he walked. She was young, maybe eighteen or nineteen, with a proud aquiline nose. Her mouth had fallen open, which made her appear even more innocent and fragile. Caim shook his head. What was he doing? He didn't pretend to know. But it was too late for subtlety. He increased his pace to a quick jog and wished he could leave this night behind.
The moon hid behind a curtain of clouds. That, and the lateness of the hour, allowed him to leave High Town unseen. Once across the Processional and back on the streets of Low Town, he felt better. He paused at the corner of Clesia and Julian streets, caught at the intersection of two thoughts. He could still dump the girl somewhere and forget this entire night. There was an abandoned house on Clesia used by drunks to sleep off their rotgut dreams. Certainly, that would make Kit happy. But something gnawed at Calm's insides. Someone had tried to set him up. The Brotherhood's arrival had been too well timed. Had they taken him, no magistrate in the city would believe he found the man already dead, nor care. His story would have ended with a speedy trial and a brisk walk to the gallows. It all stank like last week's garbage.
Caim turned onto Julian Street. An hour later found him at the door to his apartment. Once inside, he laid the girl on the cot in his bedroom. After checking to make sure the window shutter was latched, he went out to the kitchen. He grabbed a half-filled jar of wine from the cupboard and drowned his thirst with a long swallow.
Kit perched on the edge of the table, her pretty legs crossed. Her dress had changed to a fierce shade of indigo. The color accentuated her pale skin and brought out the purple in her eyes.
'You know what I'm going to say,' she said.
He set down the wine jar. 'You've said it half a dozen times already. Let it go, Kit. It's too late to change what happened.'
'Then let's leave town. Tonight. That High Town bitch is only going to bring you more headaches. Steal a horse and ride. We could be in Michaia in a fortnight.'
'There's a price on my head in Michaia.'
She jumped up and wrapped her arms around his neck. Her touch tickled his chest. 'Go east, then, to Arnos. We could see the City of Jewels or hide in some tiny village by the coast, lounge by the ocean in luxury.'
'I'm not leaving. I won't be chased away.'
'Why not? We could make a fresh start. Othir is a stinking sewer. You could be a powerful man somewhere else, with servants and a big house.'
'That old man had a big house and servants. What did it gain him? He's dead this morning, just the same as any drunk knifed in the Gutters.'
'Exactly. Life is short, so enjoy it while you can.'
Caim walked over to a wooden shelf beside the coldbox and took down a small stone vial sealed in brown wax. He peeled it open and measured a spoonful of mealy yellow powder into an earthenware cup, then poured some wine into the cup and swirled it around.
'I'm just saying you could do better,' Kit said as she followed him to the bedroom.
The girl was still sleeping soundly, but buffets to the head were difficult to judge. She could awake any minute, or not for hours. He dribbled the cup's contents into her mouth and got most of it to go down. He stood over her for a minute, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest. Her full lips glistened from the wine. He untied her bonds and arranged her limbs more comfortably.
He left the room, closing the bedroom door behind him as he went back out to the kitchen.
Kit trailed behind him. 'Caim, your mother wouldn't-'
He held up the cup, one finger pointed at her nose. 'Don't, Kit. Just let it go.'
'You know she wouldn't want to see you like this.'
'Give it a rest! This is my life. Either help me or leave me be.'
She puffed out her cheeks and bit her bottom lip, but she didn't go. 'Fine. What do you want me to do?'
He grabbed his cloak. 'Watch over the girl. She should sleep till daybreak, but just in case. She might be important.'
'I'm not a nursemaid! Where are you going?'
He opened the door and peered down the hallway. 'To get some answers.'
'What if she wakes up?'
'You'll think of something.'
He closed the door and padded down the hall, leaving two of his problems behind. It was past midnight and he had a host of questions with no answers. But he had an idea where to start looking.
The Luccian Palace perched atop Celestial Hill like a harpy poised to swoop down on the city. Built during the old empire, and added to extensively in the decades since, the palace was as much a symbol of Othir's prominence as the True Church itself. Though the prelate abided at Castle DiVecci, most of the Church's administrative and bureaucratic activities were performed here.
The wing where Ral was met by a young manservant was decorated in an antique style oozing with old money and power. Gold leaf dripped from every conceivable surface. Huge silk tapestries covered the high walls. The atrium's ceiling was painted with scenes from scripture displaying the majesty of the Church Fathers. There was hardly any evidence of their fabled mercy. One painting showed the current prelate, Benevolence II, with a golden orb in one hand and a bloody sword in the other, an impressive pile of dead sinners at his feet.
Ral reached down to clutch the hilt of his sword while he paced across the black marble tiles, but his hand came away empty; the guards had confiscated his weapons, the ones they could find. He hadn't volunteered the few they missed.
Waning rays of moonlight streamed through the tall windows lining the hallway. Oil-soaked flambeaux crackled in wrought-iron cressets on the walls. Two bodyguards in white surcoats over black mail stood at attention, poleaxes held rigid in their hands, on either side of an oaken door.
Ral wanted to laugh. They believe their guards and these stone walls make them invincible. But violence could reach anyone, at any time. That was a lesson he had taught to more than one aristocrat.
He ignored the costly objects d'art surrounding him, the jeweled diadems in their crystal display cases, even the rack of ancient weapons that might have interested him another time. He was not looking forward to this meeting. He had considered not coming at all. He was tired from his journey, which, although it had been successful, had taxed him more harshly than he anticipated. He would have much preferred a hot bath and a fine meal followed promptly by several hours of undisturbed sleep, but he wasn't likely to see any of that anytime soon.
The summons had been waiting for him at home when he arrived, the archpriest's soldiers insisting in excruciatingly frank terms that he accompany them at once, regardless of the hour. So instead of procuring that hot bath and sweet slumber, he had ridden through the early morning streets of Othir and answered the call he
