CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
orning brought a fresh glow to the city. Breezes laden with the sea's cleansing tang blew across the cemetery grounds and banished the lingering stenches of smoke and death. Low strains from a six-piece orchestra filled the grassy strips between long rows of tombs while people gathered around the freshly dug plot.
An imposing marble gravestone stood in the midst of the assembly, the beveled edges of the words engraved upon it glinting in the pale sunlight. Caim Du'Vartha
Dear Friend and Loyal Subject. It is Not the Night We Fear, But the Gathering Shadows Beyond Our Ken.
From his vantage in a thicket of aged brushwood Caim read those words, their letters seared into his brain like harbingers from the next world. Although the faux funeral had been his idea, Josey had come up with the epitaph. He wasn't keen on the 'loyal subject' part.
It was an odd thing to observe his own funeral. He supposed this was how ghosts, recently evicted from their corporeal bodies, must feel as they watched their friends and loved ones gather to pay final tribute. In all, he found it rather dreary
Then again, the world had taken on a different shade since the events on the palace roof. The trees, the grass underfoot, even the people attending his memorial-none of them seemed completely real. A new presence flitted in and out of his awareness, always on the periphery. Every so often he would catch a glimpse of a shadow-low to the ground, moving swiftly-and then it would be gone. It was as if he had stepped through a doorway into another world, one deeper and more profound than the one he had known all his life, and there was no going back.
Kit hadn't changed, of course. Or rather, she had returned to the same waif she had always been, ever youthful and bubbling with effervescence. Whatever transformation happened to her that night, it had reversed back by the time he regained consciousness. She refused to discuss the beastly presence, refused even to admit she'd seen it, which shouldn't have surprised him. Same old Kit.
But everything else was different, much of it oddly so. For a known assassin to enter the palace was unnerving enough. To awaken in the imperial bedchamber, attended by dozens of physicians and nurses and servants, had almost been too much for him. But then Josey had appeared and everything seemed right again. Even now the sight of her, dolled up in full regalia as she officiated over the ceremony, made his pulse race. She looked every bit an empress. Her hair had been dyed back to something close to its natural color. A gown of crushed velvet in somber purple lined with snow leopard fur accented her complexion and set off the jewels dripping from her neck, ears, and wrists. She was every man's fantasy: young, beautiful, kind-hearted, yet tough enough to stand on her own. And as far beyond your reach as the moon and stars.
A graceful young woman stood beside Josey. Anastasia, a friend from some important family. Fetching enough for a blonde, but she was outshone by the empress. A stooped, elderly man in a plain gray suit perched at Josey's elbow. Earl Frenig's manservant had been squirreled away in the palace dungeons after his master's murder. Besides being a bit undernourished, the old codger was little worse for wear.
Hubert stood in the front row amid several palace ministers. Head bowed, his left arm in a sling, the new Duke Vassili was a hero. In Low Town they were calling him 'Lord of the Gutters.' Not the most charming title, but he had taken to it like a kitten to cream. Just days after taking over his father's affairs, Hubert had spearheaded an effort to revive the Thurim. Their first item of business was a salvo of bold reforms aimed at relieving the plight of Othir's poorest citizens, including a plan to rebuild the parts of the city destroyed in the fire. Together, Hubert and Josey were going to accomplish magnificent things.
Another initiative coming out of the palace was the disbanding of the Sacred Brotherhood and the stripping of lands from wealthy priests. In the aftermath of the People's Revolt, as it was being called, the remaining hierarchs of the True Church had convened to elect a new prelate, one favorably disposed toward the restored imperium. Fresh proclamations of friendship and mutual assistance flowed from Castle DiVecci daily. To all appearances, it was the beginning of a new era in Nimea. For the first time in a long time, the future on the horizon looked brighter than the fading glories of the past.
Kit leaned on Calm's shoulder while he watched the proceedings.
'Isn't this all a bit much?' she asked. 'I mean, it's not like most of these people actually gave two figs about you when you were alive.'
'Yes. Well, people have to have their pretenses.' Caim snapped off a twig from a tree branch and dropped it to the ground. A leather pack sat at his feet, beside a pair of wrapped bundles the length of his arm. Some victuals and a couple bottles liberated from the palace wine cellars, his bow, and his father's sword. Along with the clothes on his back and his knives, they were everything he owned in the world. The thought was oddly liberating.
'You think anyone will fall for this?' Kit asked.
'Why not? After the murders and the riots, everyone just wants to get back to some semblance of normalcy. If the burial of one poor thug is enough to satisfy them, isn't that a small price to pay?'
As the last notes of the dirge died away, the guests began to file away from the gravesite. Hubert offered his good arm to Josey, but she declined with a shake of her head. Caim couldn't suppress a chuckle, appreciating this new side to the girl he had risked his life to protect. Her performance was flawless as well-wishers offered their condolences. By now the story was known throughout the city, how a lowborn man had saved the longlost princess from traitors in the True Church and made the ultimate sacrifice in her service. If whispers arose of how attached the young empress had become to her rescuer during their escapades, none could reproach her. Indeed, they served to make her more accessible to her new subjects. After all, weren't such romantic notions the stuff of bard's songs?
With a gesture for her attendants to remain behind, Josey wandered among the headstones, head bent in quiet contemplation. As if by chance, she entered the grove and stopped a few paces away from him.
He took her in and attempted to penetrate the layers of pomp and regalia to find the young woman he had come to know. It wasn't easy. She had already become the symbol of her office, the mother of a nation.
Then, her mouth contorted into a frown. The Josey he knew was back.
'You shouldn't be out of bed so soon. The doctors said it would be weeks before you'd be well enough to move about.'
Caim pressed a hand against his stomach. A dull ache pulled at his muscles there, but something stronger pulled at his spirit. 'I'm just here to say good-bye.'
Her bottom lip disappeared into her mouth. 'You don't have to leave. Hubert has an idea to change your identity. We could put you into some better clothes, change your hair, and not even your grandmother would recognize you.'
'That would be curious, as I've never met either of my grandmothers.'
Josey twisted her fingers, heedless of the fortune in sapphires festooning them. Her gaze had dropped to his chest, as if she couldn't bring herself to look him in the eye anymore.
'I would be dead, if not for you.'
'As I remember it, you were the one who saved me.'
She shook her head. 'When I was hanging in the dark, I couldn't see anything. My hands were numb. My heart was numb. I started to give up. Then I remembered the way you fought, how you never gave up-no matter the odds. That gave me the strength to pull myself up.'
She looked up with a new light shining in her eyes, a glorious flame of pride. 'Whatever comes now, I know I can face it. You did more than save my life, Caim. What I'm saying is you could have a family here. You and I… we could be… '
He shook his head. She started to reach out, and he caught her hand in a gentle grasp. Her nails had been cleaned of gutter filth and polished with a bright indigo lacquer. Her perfume filled his head, weakening his resistance.
'I can't stay. I've made a lot of enemies in this town. Anyway, it wouldn't be proper for an empress to be seen in the company of assassins, even if they're wearing silks and pomades.'
He took her chin in his other hand. She moved closer until the hem of her wide skirt brushed his boots. Their lips came together in a kiss. The sweetness of her taste lingered in his mouth for a long time after he pulled away.
