such hazardous tools lying about where anyone could snatch them up.'
Vassili frowned. This was a different Ral than the one he was accustomed to dealing with. He went behind his desk and sat down. He considered calling for his guards, but held off.
'What are you getting at?'
'You've been colluding with dangerous people, Your Luminance. All those rumors about war in the north must be driving you mad.'
'I don't-'
'Don't waste your breath.' Ral reached into his jacket and dropped a scroll on the desk.
Vassili stiffened as he saw the wax seal on the parchment. How could this be? All his most secret documents were kept under lock and key. Then, he knew.
Levictus.
Vassili brushed a hand down the front of his robe as he composed himself. 'Yes, I have had dealings with certain entities in Eregoth. What of it? We are surrounded by foreign powers that work toward our annihilation, from the pagans of Arnos to the godless heathens of the western realms. The prelate understood the use of clandestine means to further the Church's mission. The use of assassination as a political lever, for example.'
Ral didn't take the bait. 'Dealing with the Shadow is sacrilege, and treason to boot.'
'Don't prattle to me about sacrilege and treason! I have spent my life in service to the Church. After Immaculate passed, I should have been elected to the high office. Me. Not that dotard, Benevolence. Your failure may have altered the timing of my plans, but nonetheless I will be the next prelate.'
Ral frowned as if perplexed as he examined the palms of his hands. 'I'm afraid there's been a change of plans. You see, it's not Caim who's been killing your peers on the Council.'
Vassili grasped the desk. 'I'll have you whipped through the streets for your inso-'
His words dribbled to a halt as he gazed down at the knife's shiny handle protruding from his chest. It was a curious sensation, more pressure than pain, radiating out from his breastbone. A thin line of warmth trickled under his robe, down his belly and into his smallclothes.
Another figure appeared before his desk. Levictus in his black robe. Nothingness reflected in the opaque depths of the sorcerer's eyes.
Vassili wanted to reach for his sacred medallion, to cow the man in his tracks, but his hands refused to obey. His body was too heavy; he couldn't move. He looked to Ral, who had risen to stand beside Levictus.
'You don't know,' he whispered, barely able to summon enough breath to speak. The wound began to throb. 'You think you've won, but you don't…'
The room spun, and then he was lying on the floor staring up at the ceiling. Little shadows crawled across the coffered surface, so many of them, like a hive of formless black termites burrowing through the palace. Something tugged at his sleeve. Papers rustled in the dark. Ral was going through his desk. Clever boy, he found the secret compartment under the lowest drawer that held the secrets he had killed to protect. Now they were laid bare like his body would soon be, dressed in a white funeral shroud and placed in his stone tomb. He hoped his son would honor his wishes and give him a mahogany coffin. He'd always loved the luster of that dark wood.
The sorcerer leaned over him. An object came down beside Vassili's head-a pale wooden box. It resembled an offering box. When he was a boy his father had allowed him to place their family's alms into the box. The young parish priest had had such fervent, penetrating eyes, always watching him. The pain was fading. It wasn't so bad, dying. He would close his eyes and drift into a deep, endless slumber.
Strong hands rocked him. Metal clattered in the distance. Vassili frowned at this disturbance of his peace. He was a distinguished principal of the Church. He should be accorded all due dignity and respect, not pawed over like a fish at market.
Levictus bent lower. Words fell into his ear, soft as goose down. 'Benevolence spilled his last secret as he died, old man. I know who ordered the arrest of my family.'
A crumpled piece of parchment was placed on his chest. The indentation of the Vassili family seal stared at him from the bottom of the document like an evil eye. The archpriest strained to speak, but only a dry wheeze issued from his lips. A final surge of indignation constricted his chest, and then evaporated, leaving him empty and weak.
Footsteps drifted away across the cold tiles. Ral departing. Levictus crooned softly as he reached out to the archpriest. Was this a last caress, an act of compassion for a dying man? No, something approached from beyond the misty edges of his sight. A knife, its blade as black as the new moon, colder than the depths of the midnight sea, descended toward him.
Closer… closer… closer…
Vassili's final kiss came not from the lips of his mistress but from the bitter bite of Shadow-tainted steel. He screamed, but there was no one to hear.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
aim swayed to the rocking pace of his stolen horse. They were on Ithe road, if the term could be applied to the rutted pathway wending between hedges of wild golden-brown wheat through the wilderness of rural Nimea. A colossal stone aqueduct ran parallel to the road, its arches clogged with ivy vines and detritus. A century ago it had carried water to Othir from the purple hills staggering away in the distance. Now, it was a monument to a tribe of humble origins that had gone on to conquer most of the world. But even empires died eventually.
Josey rode beside him on a piebald nag; the animal's mild temperament matched its rider. Since they'd left Othir, Josey had lapsed into a quiet reticence. Caim was content to leave her to her solitude. After their escape through the underground tunnel leading from Pieter's tomb, they'd emerged in the foulburg of ramshackle homes along the western banks of the Memnir River. Caim liberated a pair of steeds and gear from a tavern stable, and they set off into the night. There was only one place in the world where Josey would be safe until he settled their problems, only one person he trusted to protect her.
They rode west past sleepy villages and isolated homesteads. As the miles wore on, the farms and vineyards fell behind and they entered into a vast tract of wilderness. Still, Caim kept one eye over his shoulder. Even though they hadn't seen a living soul in hours, he couldn't shake the feeling they were being pursued. Invisible phantoms prickled his imagination, and not all of them originated from the events in Othir; with each passing mile he slipped deeper and deeper into his past.
A yawn broke the morning silence as Josey stirred and stretched. Caim watched her without embarrassment. The last few days had taken their toll; she was thinner than when they'd met; her face had lost some of its color. Still, there was a core of iron in her that could not be denied.
She caught him staring. 'What are you looking at?'
'Maybe we should talk about it.'
'Talk about what?' But a blot of color crept into her cheeks.
'About what happened in your father's house when you kissed-'
'I was overwrought,' she blurted, 'and you had one foot in the grave. It was just a moment of weakness.'
'Weakness, huh?'
She fixed her gaze on the road. 'It won't happen again.'
'That's good to know.'
He shifted in the saddle. He wasn't used to riding anymore. His thighs would be sore tonight. Up ahead, trees limned in shades of bronze and gold emerged from the flatness of the plains. Far in the distance, rounded hills pushed back the horizon, and beyond them towered the shoulders of lofty gray peaks.
They passed an old marker beside the road. Half hidden by weeds, there was no telling what it said, but Caim didn't need to read it. A cardinal perched atop the stone marker watched them as they passed. Caim tried to remember the last time he'd seen a bird besides the filthy pigeons that infested Othir.
'So where are we?' Josey asked.
'Dunmarrow.'
Josey stood up in her stirrups for a better look around. 'I've never been so far outside the city walls. Do people actually live out here?'
