hold at a time until he reached the center window. There, he clung onto the narrow ledge and listened. No sounds issued from inside. He boosted himself higher to peek over the sill. The room on the other side of the rose-colored pane was spacious and well appointed. Light shined from a tiny lamp above the bed. A large four-poster bed of varnished oak rested in the near corner to his right, a tall wardrobe against the opposite wall, one of its doors partway open. Upon a sideboard next to the wardrobe sat a row of wooden boxes. Boots, capes, shirts, and other articles of clothing were strewn across the floor and draped over furniture.
Caim counted thirty heartbeats, until his hands and toes began to cramp. Nothing moved inside.
He yanked open the shutter and pulled. A jolt of pain seared his side as he heaved himself over the ledge. He fell forward, onto a thick piled carpet. In the scramble to sit upright, his elbow collided with a wooden stand. The hollow scrape of sliding metal triggered his reflexes. He caught a heavy object wrapped in silk before it hit the floor. As he let out a long breath, he regarded the item in his hands, a brass icon of St. Jules, patron of the chaste and good-hearted, wrapped in a lady's undergarment.
Caim set the statuette back on the stand and stood up. There were two exits: an archway to another room to his left and a narrow door on the other side of the bed, which was probably a closet. Except for the wooden boxes lined up on the sideboard, there was nothing unusual. He was about to check the boxes when footsteps approached from the archway. Caim flattened against the wall and drew his suete knives.
Ral stepped into the room. Steel glittered between the fingers of his left hand. The arm was whipping back to throw when Caim stepped into the light.
Ral lowered his arm. 'Caim. I wondered when you might turn up.'
Caim adopted a relaxed pose, but his muscles were as tight as iron cables under his clothes. He held his knives by his sides to keep his hands from trembling. He needed answers, not more deaths.
'Why is that, Ral? Didn't you expect your pet tinmen to finish the job?'
Ral walked over to the sideboard and set down the stiletto to pour himself a drink from a tall decanter. 'Not really. Brandy? It's imported.'
Caim didn't reply, but he watched every move.
Ral shrugged and lifted the crystal tumbler to his lips. 'It wasn't personal. You didn't need to get involved. You should have left the girl to my men.'
'You're the one who got me involved. You set me up with that job from the start. Thought you'd bag a nobleman and pin it on me.'
'No harm in a little gamesmanship between friends, eh? I thought you'd make your escape and leave town, hopefully for good. Either way, I get what I want and you're out of the picture.'
'Who's behind the murder of Josey's father? Who are you working for?'
Ral put a hand on the sideboard. 'Josey is it, eh? I'm disappointed, Caim. I always figured you for a smart guy. I'm done with serving others. I've taken matters into my own hands.'
'And you killed Mathias because he knew too much.'
'Actually, that wasn't me, although I'll admit I didn't shed any tears. But it makes no difference. There's no one to stop me now.'
'There's me.'
'Don't be an imbecile, Caim. Think of this as an opportunity. Yes, I wanted you out of the way, but now I see a better way. We can work together. We can both be free to live how we want with no one to tell us otherwise.'
Caim had trouble keeping his knives from leaping into Ral's chest as anger flared in his belly. 'You think you can buy me off?'
'Think of the team we would make.'
'I'd rather think of you lying in your own blood.'
Ral set down his glass and faced Caim. 'That's not going to happen. Even if you could kill me, you're still a wanted man sought by the entire nation. You've been implicated in the murders of several government officials, including a retired exarch and half the Elector Council.'
'All lies-'
Ral flashed a humorless smile. 'Articles of a personal nature were found at the scenes, all of them leading back to you.'
Caim suspected the fire that burned down his apartment building had been no accident, and now he knew. 'You stole those things from my place before you torched it.'
'You're out of control, Caim. A blood thirsty animal. The Sacred Brotherhood has orders to kill you on sight.'
'Then maybe I'll just kill you. One more murder attached to my name wouldn't make any more difference.'
'I just want the girl.'
'You'll never set eyes on her. I'll make sure of that.'
Ral laughed. It was an ugly sound. 'Caim, did you really think she'd be safe in that little cabin in the woods?'
Josey laughed as Kas filled her cup with another round of his homemade wine. Crickets chirped outside the window while they ate and drank and talked. Kas kept a modest home, but he was an enthusiastic host. They dined on wild pig with squash and tomatoes from his garden.
'Enough!' she said as the cup threatened to overflow.
Kas chuckled. He had a friendly laugh, warm and deep. It made her think of her father. Poor father. She brushed melancholy aside before it could spoil her mood. She focused on Kas's hands. Large and strong despite the passage of years, they were covered with thick ropy veins. A tracery of white scars climbed the thick, hairy planks of his arms. When he smiled, his jaw slid sideways as if it were about to fall off his face. Their eyes met and Josey glanced down at the tabletop.
'I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to stare.'
He ran a hand down his cheek, under his bushy chin, and up the other side. 'No offense taken. It's been a long time since this ugly mug felt the eyes of a pretty lady.'
Josey looked around for something to change the subject, and her gaze wandered to the fireplace. 'Why do you have a stick hanging on your wall?'
Kas turned to look at the weapon mounted over the hearth. Dust covered its shaft and metal head. 'Ah. That, darling, is an old friend of mine.'
'A friend?'
'Aye. I was first spear of the emperor's Fourth Legion. That old pike and I tramped across more earth than I care to remember. She got me through the Border Wars and back from the Long March.'
'My father-' Josey's voice caught in her throat for a moment. She pressed onward. 'He told me about the crusade into the Northern Wastes. He said hardly anyone came back.'
Kas carved another slice of ham for himself. 'That's so. Only one company in ten returned to Nimea. That was my last campaign. After watching so many friends die, I just wanted a little plot of land for myself and as much peace as any man deserves. Even an old warhorse like me.'
Josey lifted the cup to her lips. 'So tell me about Caim.'
'I was under the impression you knew him better than I, young miss.'
'I-?' She understood the connotation and managed to blush. 'No, sir. Caim and I are only companions by happenstance. We're just friends.'
'Well, what would you like to know?'
She leaned her elbows on the table. 'Was he always… the way he is now?'
'You mean the dark clothes and hard eyes?'
'Exactly!'
'No, not always. He was a pleasant lad when he was smaller, before his father was killed right in front of him and his mother taken away to parts unknown.'
His words sobered Josey faster than a shot of his bitter cha and reminded her that she wasn't the only one who had lost her parents. She couldn't imagine what it had been like for a small boy, alone, suddenly thrust into the world.
