'Ah, yes. The conspirator's daughter and her faithful knight in shining armor.'
Hubert reached for the cup on the table, and Caim caught the young man's wrist in a hard grip. 'That's enough.'
Hubert's reddened eyes stabbed at Caim. Then his features crumbled into a ruin of misery. 'Why did they have to butcher him like that? I know he could be a hard man, even cruel sometimes, but they had no right..
Caim released Hubert. He sympathized, but his insides were ice. 'The people responsible are the same ones I'm after. They took Josey and now they're holed up in the palace with a battalion of tinmen.'
Hubert wiped his face with a coat sleeve. 'What are you going to do?'
'Storm the palace and get her back.'
'Really?' Kit blurted. 'That's your plan?'
Caim clamped his jaws together to keep from yelling for her to keep quiet. 'What about you?' he asked Hubert.
'I've been rousing the people. We already control most of Low Town. We could use your help, but it sounds like you've got enough on your plate.'
'We could work together.'
Hubert looked more like his old self now. He sat up straighter in the chair and even managed a backhanded brush down each of his coat sleeves.
'How?'
'You might control Low Town, but the Brotherhood still holds everything above the Processional. You'll never take High Town with a rabble of shopkeeps and stevedores, so don't even try Go straight to Celestial Hill.'
'What will that accomplish?'
'We'll cut off the head of the beast. With Ral and his lieutenants out of the way, there'll be no one to coordinate their soldiers. Once we control the palace, the city will fall to us by default.'
'That's a big risk. My father died taking a chance like that.'
Caim drew his knives and set them on the table. The bodyguards shifted, but kept their distance.
'You're not your father, Hubert. Prove it tonight. Help me save Josey and put down this menace for good. She's the heir to the old emperor. We found the documents to prove it. She's royalty'
'Royalty, eh? Well, she certainly acted the part. But why should my people risk their lives just to trade one tyrant for another?'
'Because she's not her father either. She's what this country needs to knit itself back together. You always talk about a return to the old ways. This is your chance to prove it. This could either be Nimea's last night as a unified realm, or the beginning of a better life for us all.'
Hubert eyed the blades, and then nodded. 'I'm in. What do you want me to do?'
Caim smiled across the table. 'I've got a plan.'
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
ain pelted Caim as he crouched in the half-finished bell tower of the new cathedral. The wind howled in his ears. Rain pounded on the stone roof. No stars shined this night, and no moon, only a screen of tumultuous storm clouds stretched across the city.
A good night for killing.
High Town spread below him in a carpet of gray and black. Celestial Hill rose against the sky like a great wave. Lightning flashed, and the bleached shoals of white rooftops appeared before the night washed back over the city. Flames flickered along the Celestial's broad avenues, where a thousand plebeians struggled against the city militias. True to his word, young Vassili had assembled an army: milliners and bakers, porters and servants armed with all manner of weapons, from torches and lengths of raw timber to pikes stolen from slain tinmen.
Their goal was the Luccian Palace, sprawled atop Celestial like a crowning jewel, surrounded by concentric walls with watchtowers and massive barbicans. Hubert's spies reported Ral had withdrawn all of his pet soldiers inside in anticipation of a siege. Exactly what Caim wanted him to do.
'They're almost in position,' Kit said. 'Hubert says he doesn't expect much resistance.'
The rain was freezing cold, but Caim paid it no mind. 'They'll fight back. They don't have any choice.'
'It's really burning out of control.'
Caim turned his head. Billows of ugly black smoke shrouded the boroughs of Low Town. Fire had claimed entire blocks, devouring homes, storefronts, and public buildings in its wrath. The rain was the only thing keeping the blazes contained, but many would die before morning. More would die if his plan didn't succeed.
Hubert's people had finally reached the palace gates. The young nobleman was a tiny figure striding at their head, his sword flashing in the torchlight. His assault got a reaction. Like a kicked anthill, masses of soldiers rushed to defend the walls. Arrows filled the air and men spilled their lives into the overflowing gutters.
Caim descended from the tower. He had seen enough. Hubert was buying him the window of opportunity he needed. Kit floated beside him as he dropped to the cathedral's marshy grounds and started up the winding boulevards to Celestial Hill. Within minutes they reached the outer wall of the palace at a spot well away from the fighting. Caim had already scouted his entry point. The stone of this section of wall was riddled with cracks and creeping vegetation that created convenient handholds. He took his time and made sure each hold was firm before trusting his weight to it. At the top, he crawled over the smooth apex and dropped down the other side.
Caim paused at the foot of the wall. A manicured lawn extended toward his next obstacle, the forty-foot interior wall of the palace. Beautiful gardens filled the space between, adorned with delicate flower trees and swollen streams. The sweet fragrances of lilac and oleander lingered in the damp air. Caim passed through the luxurious grounds without a second glance.
Kit spotted the first sentry under the branches of a redbud tree. Caim squatted behind a hedge of flowery bushes and watched. The soldier was looking toward the palace gatehouse, possibly waiting for his relief. Every few moments he blew into his hands and rubbed them together, his spear propped against the tree trunk.
While he watched, Caim thought about Kas, lying dead in his cabin, blood seeping from gouges in his torso. The old man hadn't asked for trouble, but it had come to his door nonetheless, garbed in the Church's flimsy excuse for the law. Caim imagined Josey as she was stripped naked and dragged away, cursing him for leaving her alone. An image of a corpse-strewn courtyard formed in his mind.
Moments dripped by like the falling rain, and all the while Calm's anger burned hotter, a smoldering coal in the pit of his stomach fueled by recrimination. He had been fooling himself. He'd only ever been good at one thing his entire life. It was time he went back to it and forgot about being the hero.
With images of Josey gnawing at his mind, he got up and started toward the tree. He kept low and worked his way around behind the sentry. He could pass by, unseen, but tonight wasn't a time for taking chances.
As he moved into position, Caim found not a knife in his hands, but the leather cord from Josey's necklace, wrapped around his palms with a foot of length stretched between. He clenched the key amulet in his fist as he stole up behind the sentry. His heart beat harder. He had never strangled anyone before; some stray dogs, years ago when he had been living on the streets and it had been kill or starve to death, but never a man. He supposed it was all the same.
Then, the moment was upon him. Caim slipped the cord around the guard's neck and pulled tight. His arms were nearly wrenched from their sockets as the man lurched forward. The guard kicked and grunted like a wild animal. Caim slammed a knee into his back and hung on. If not for the key, which Caim gripped like a garrote handle, the cord would have been ripped from him. As it was, the loops of leather sawed into his left hand until he started to fear he might lose the fingers.
The sentry stumbled to the wet grass and Caim kept up his hold, and it was a lucky thing because his victim fought for a good long time. Minutes passed before the guard was still. Caim stood up, a little shaky. His hands and wrists ached like he'd been wrestling a bear. As he unwound the cord from his stiff fingers, a flicker of lightning lit up the gardens and he got a glimpse of his victim's face. It was a sight he could have done without. The man's features had turned an ugly shade of purple. His tongue lolled from his mouth like a swollen red worm, his eyes open wide. Worse, he was a kid, maybe seventeen at most.
Calm's gaze fell to the crimson surcoat covering the youth's armor. Not a kid. A soldier. An enemy. Older than
