'You might have mentioned the fireplace.'
'And deprive you of a little fun? You know, you're getting boring in your old age. I might have to go looking for a younger guy, someone with a sense of adventure.'
'I could be so lucky.' Caim rolled over onto his stomach and resumed his crawl.
'What?'
'Nothing, dear.'
The shaft extended a dozen paces farther before it sloped downward at a sharp angle. Faint light filtered through a gap at the bottom of the drop-off. Caim took a few moments to figure out how to best tackle this obstacle. He tried to twist around to put his feet forward, but the shaft was too narrow. He finally decided to drop headfirst. With luck, he wouldn't come down too hard.
As he was bracing himself for the descent, Caim was surrounded by a sudden chill in the air. It cut through his thin clothing and bit deeper, down into his bones. For a moment, he felt as if his heart were going to stop. Then, it was gone.
With a shiver, he said, 'I don't like this, Kit. Keep an eye out, eh?'
She didn't reply.
'Kit?'
He looked around as much as the shaft allowed, but there was no sign of her. She could be scouting ahead without being told, although that sounded too good to be true. Wonderful goddamn time to wander off. But he didn't have time to ponder her sudden absence. He had to keep moving. Josey needed him.
Caim wedged his hands against opposite walls and let go.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
aim bit down on his tongue as the bottom of the chute rushed up faster than he anticipated. He shoved both hands hard against the walls. The blackened stone gouged his palms, but he kept up the pressure until he hit the bottom. Somehow he managed to land without bashing his skull open. He started to relax when clanks from above announced the falling bundles. They landed beside him with a loud crash.
Caim cursed and disengaged himself from the tether. He touched the tip of his tongue to his lips and winced. At least it's still attached.
He was in the fireplace of a large chamber. The slight illumination he had detected before came from an open doorway on the other side leading to a corridor that glowed with soft candlelight. The plain coverlets draped over the plush, oversized bed, along with the lack of personal effects, led him to believe this was a guest room, presently unused. But why was the door open? It was rather late for a dusting by the chambermaid.
Suspicious, Caim gathered up the bundles and padded across the pale sea green rug. Outside in the hallway, colorful arrays lined the walls in both directions. Candles flickered in brass holders, the wax dripping into reservoirs.
His soft-soled boots made no sound as he stalked down the corridor. He chose the right-hand branch, followed it to a T-section, and turned left until he came to another intersection. Caim was considering his next choice when a faint sound reached his ears. Voices. Judging by the reverberation, the speakers were in a large room. Like the Grand Hall.
Caim stole toward the noise. Every time he passed a candle, he reached up to snuff its wick. The passage behind him filled with darkness.
The corridor opened into a wide gallery. A carved marble balustrade overlooked the massive chamber below. Sacred Brothers were stationed at regular intervals around the balcony, four in all.
Caim left the bundles in the dark of the hallway and drew his knives. Two Brothers died without realizing their lives were in danger. He allowed the third to utter a muffled croak, which drew the last sentry into the shadows. Only when the gallery was clear did Caim take a moment to peer over the railing. His throat constricted as he spotted Josey, still alive-thank the gods-standing at the foot of a broad dais in a white gown. She didn't appear to have suffered any harm. In fact, she looked better than when he had left her at the cabin. A weight he hadn't fully realized he was carrying lifted from his chest. He hadn't failed her yet.
A large crowd filled the chamber below, surrounded by a platoon of Sacred Brothers. Despite their bedraggled appearance, the captives seemed to be aristocrats, many of them in their senior years. Expressions of fear and indignation played across their pinched faces.
Josey wasn't the only one Caim recognized. Ral, in a fancy black suit, sat in a gaudy throne atop the dais. One at a time, the captives were brought before him and made to kneel.
While Caim watched, the Brothers escorted an elderly lord in a night jacket to the steps of the dais. When they released him, the nobleman stood up as tall as his stooped back allowed.
'I will bow to no usurper!' he shouted in a powerful voice that belied his age. 'I would rather die.'
Ral made a shooing gesture with one hand. 'And I shall gladly grant your wish, my lord.'
The old lord sputtered and coughed as the Brothers dragged him from the hall.
Mystified, Caim went to retrieve the bundles. When he grasped the sword's worn hilt, a voice whispered in his head. He knew it well. He'd heard it in his dreams a thousand times. The voice of his father's ghost.
'Justice… '
Calm's hand shook. He wanted to throw away the blade, but a powerful force held him back. He shook his head, as much to deny the unease churning inside him as to clear it, and slung the sword onto his back. He carried the second bundle to the balcony, cut the strings binding its oil skin covering, and unlimbered his other gift from Hubert: the curved bronzewood shaft of a bow to replace the one he'd lost in the fire.
Caim strung the weapon with quick, sure motions. As he stood up, he placed an arrow across the rest and drew the string to full tension. The confusing maelstrom of emotions roiling in his chest-for Josey, for his father, for Kit's disappearance-they all vanished as he sighted on the throne. He was back in his element. This was business, pure and uncomplicated.
Caim took in a deep breath, and let it out slow and steady. In the space between one breath and the next, he fired.
The bowstring thrummed against his forearm as the arrow flew. He followed its path across the hall. A perfect shot. In his mind's eye, Ral slumped dead on the throne, his eyes turned misty with the fog of death. The image was so real he almost believed it had already happened, until the torchlight surrounding the dais flickered and the arrow dipped to the side, not much, just a hand's breadth, but enough to miss its mark. Instead of taking Ral through the throat, it sliced a furrow across the sleeve of his jacket.
The hairs on the back of Calm's neck tingled as he remembered another night, in Ostergoth's castle, and another perfect shot ruined at the last moment. Sorcery. His hands tightened around the stave of the bow.
Levictus.
Everyone in the hall looked up. Josey's eyes blossomed wide. The lordlings lurched to their feet and retreated from the dais. Their mutterings swirled up to Caim. Some of the Brothers drew weapons, but none moved to protect their liege. As for Ral, he hardly moved except to grimace and press his left hand against his chest.
Caim snatched another arrow from the bundle at his feet. Sweat drenched his shirt. Tremors chased each other through his stomach like a pack of angry dogs. But his hands were steady.
'Let her go, Ral!' he shouted. 'Or the next one goes through your heart.'
The assassin's dry chuckle ascended to the gallery. 'We've been expecting you, Caim, but you're a bit late. Release my betrothed? No, I don't believe I will. The city is mine, and these good nobles were just swearing their loyalty to me. It would go better if you laid down your weapons and surrendered. Perhaps I'll grant you an imperial pardon.'
'I don't think so. There are five thousand angry citizens outside the gates. Your pet soldiers won't be able to hold them off forever.'
Ral stood with his hands at his sides, seemingly at rest, but Caim knew how fast the man could move. He kept the arrow centered on Ral's chest.
'Not forever. Just until reinforcements arrive from the outer garrisons. Then your little rebellion will be crushed in time for my coronation and subsequent wedding to this fine lady.'
