Shadow’s Lure (26 page)

The droplet gathered speed. It would make a glorious splash on the grimy stones. The sword thrummed in his hand. He lifted its blade.

Stop! I’m not going to
—

A blinding burst of light flared in the alley. Caim staggered back against the assault to his vision. Someone gasped—he thought it might be Liana. A violent sound wrenched at his skull, iron hammers beating on brass kettles. The lights dimmed to the intensity of three small suns, and then the three coalesced into a single star held up by a meaty hand.

Hagan held a lantern over his head. “Keegan, get up.”

Liana threw herself into the old man’s arms. “Papa! Uncle Corgan …”

Caim leaned against a brick wall. It was hard to breathe. He blinked against the harsh light. Blood throbbed in his temple. A shudder ran through him as he realized what had almost happened, what he’d almost done. What was happening to him? Caim stood up straight. He didn’t know what had come over him, but he felt like himself again. He turned to face them.

“Stay where you are,” Hagan said.

Caim noticed the seax in the old man’s other hand, and suddenly the situation felt a good deal less hospitable. He found his other knife and put his weapons away without bothering to clean them.

“He saved us,” Liana said, still clinging to her father. “Keegan and I would have died if not for him.”

Hagan looked to Keegan, who nodded wearily. “All right. Keegan, you go first. I expect your friends have set up a meeting spot?”

With a quick glance at Caim, Keegan headed down the alley. Liana looked like she wanted to stay, but Hagan shooed her on ahead. As he stood there, Caim felt the power of the weapon strapped to his back. He was beyond exhausted, like the life had been drained from him. His forearm ached worse than before.

Hagan held up his lantern as he turned to leave. “Come on, son. Before my children walk into another muddle.”

Caim gazed down at the slaughter he had wrought. With the shadows gone, he breathed easier. The bodies could have been a jumble of blood-splattered dolls. But they weren’t.

He picked up a spare sword from one of the corpses and trotted after the others, following the pale lining of Liana’s cloak through the twisting streets.

J
osey shivered as she stood before the sitting room’s massive stone hearth. No matter how close she got to the flames, she couldn’t get warm. She was drained down to her toes, but sleep was the last thing on her mind. Hubert and Hirsch were still out in the night, tracking the assassin. Josey instructed the officer on duty to keep her informed if they sent news. That had been almost two candlemarks ago, and still no word.

Her eyes wandered down to the wadded square of parchment in her hand. She started to crush the parchment between her fingers.
He made his choice. We both have to live with that
. She could toss it into the fire and forget about him. Or could she? She looked into the flames, wishing they would tell her where he was.

The door opened, and Josey slid the parchment into her pocket. Her other hand felt for the stiletto hidden under her gown. She pulled it away when Amelia entered. A bitter smell filled the room as her maid placed a silver tea service on a sideboard. She brought over a steaming cup.

“Here, Majesty. This will warm you up.”

Josey took it with a grateful nod and turned back to the fireplace. She’d left the theater in the company of Duke Mormaer and his guards only to find that the carriage house had been set on fire. Though he might have, Mormaer didn’t abandon her there. Instead, he formed his guards into a square with her in the center and started marching through the crowd of shouting, torch-waving protestors. Stones and small pieces of wood pattered off the guards’ armor, but that was the worst of the violence they’d seen on the long journey back to the palace. The imperial residence had never looked so good. When they reached the gates, Josey tried to thank the duke, but he brushed off her gratitude, telling her in a cool voice, “What you are trying to do in the east is ill advised.”

She knew at once what he meant. Somehow, word had gotten to him about her plan to end the war with Akeshia. It didn’t make her feel any better that one of the most powerful lords in the empire considered it a bad idea. Then again, he hadn’t said he would oppose it.

The tea was a bit on the strong side and didn’t sit well with her nervous stomach. She must have made a face, because Amelia raised her eyebrows.

“Too hot, my lady?”

Josey shook her head, but set the cup back in its saucer.

Amelia stood beside her. “They’ll be fine, Majesty. Don’t worry.”

“I know. I just wish we would hear something soon.”

They both turned as the door opened. Josey let out a deep sigh of relief as Hubert walked in. He looked a mess. His face was slick with sweat, his face and clothes smudged with mud. He went over to the table and poured himself a cup.

Josey couldn’t wait. “What happened?”

Hubert belted back the tea in a single gulp. Wincing, he poured another cup.

“We tracked it all through Low Town. Merchant Ward. Tinkers Avenue. Even through the Gutters. But we lost the trail down by the river near Horman Point.”

“Where is—?” she started to ask, but then spotted the short figure in the doorway. “Master Hirsch.”

The adept entered with a slight limp. Like Hubert, he was spattered with mud and other, less identifiable, substances. Now that Hubert said something, Josey could make out the smells of the river on them.

“Do you believe the assassin’s wounds were fatal?” Josey asked.

Hirsch shook his head as he accepted a cup from Hubert. “The thing was moving too damned fast to be dying.” He took a sip and made a face.

“We have,” Hubert said, “something more immediate to worry about, Majesty. We’ve lost control over several key parts of the city.”

Josey opened her mouth, and then shut it. His words didn’t register for a moment. “What are you talking about? We encountered unruly crowds on our way back to the palace, but nothing the watch won’t be able to contain.”

“It’s worse than that. All the watch stations south of the Processional have been torched. We don’t know how many dead, but the numbers may be substantial. Reports of missing gentry are growing as riots have broken out in several neighborhoods. Fires are spreading in many of the lower wards. Not the docks yet, but it won’t be long if we can’t stop it.”

Josey imagined the scene outside the quiet palace grounds. The riots that had shaken the city just months ago when she and Caim fought to win her throne had destroyed nearly a third of the city. She’d toured Low Town and seen the aftermath for herself firsthand, and been moved to tears by the plight of her most vulnerable subjects. To imagine that those same people roamed the streets of Othir tonight, taking up arms against her, was like a hammer blow to the heart. She grasped for a solution.

“I could address the people,” she said. “Explain the situation and ask them to return to their homes until the crisis is over.”

Hirsch stirred a finger in his cup. “Wouldn’t work. Those crowds would tear you and your guards apart as soon as listen to you.”

Hubert frowned at the adept. “I’m forced to agree, Majesty. It’s too dangerous for you to go out in public.”

She swallowed, not wanting to believe what she was hearing. But she had seen it herself, in the eyes of the crowd. They hated her.

“How long would it take to summon the nearest garrisons?”

Hubert set down his cup. “That would be Parvia and Wistros, but most of the levies from those lands have already been dispatched to the west. We can send riders to recall them. In the meantime, I suggest that we secure the city gates and the docks. With the granaries still under construction, we need the daily shipments of grain to continue or face the possibility of widespread famine.”

Josey nodded, still numbed by the news. “Yes, as you say, Hubert. I put this matter in your hands.”

Hubert bowed and left the room. Amelia hovered at Josey’s shoulder. The events of the evening—the carriage ride, the attack, the flight back to the palace—came crashing back to her, and her legs trembled as if about to give out.

“Master Hirsch,” she said. “Thank you for your courage this night. Ask for anything, and if it is within my power, I will grant it.”

The adept hitched his thumbs in his belt. “Well, lass, I’m not one for collecting payment until a job is done. That creature is out there somewhere, but I’ll get it.”

“I trust you will. If you’ll excuse me, I shall retire for this evening.”

“Aye.”

Josey peered over her shoulder as she and Amelia walked to the door. The adept stood before the fireplace with a silver flask in his hand. His eyes were almost closed, and his lips moved as if he were praying. Josey couldn’t make out the words, but something about his expression unsettled her. Could she really trust him? Or anyone, for that matter? The chimerical killer could be anywhere. What if it was leading her away to her death right now?

With a shiver that had nothing to do with the chill of the hallway, Josey let Amelia pull her from the room.

Stepping out of the interrogation chamber, Sybelle peeled the layers of half-melted skin off her fingers. A rush of cool air rustled her hair as the guards closed the door, shutting out the moans of the prisoners inside.

The session with her other prisoners, though enjoyable on a personal level, hadn’t produced the results she desired. She had pried loose the location of several rebel safe houses within the city.
Safe houses
. What a droll phrase. No place was safe from her reach, not within this city, not in all of Eregoth. After sending troops to roust these locations, she set to prying loose the information she needed most of all. Where was the scion? But the rest of her time was wasted. She wiped off her bottom lip and sucked the coppery liquid from her finger.
Well, not entirely wasted
.

The enchantment she had used to break Caedman Du’Ormik’s will was irresistible, but it left holes in the memories of its victims, so she had turned to other avenues to fill in the blanks. Yet the captives Soloroth brought in were shockingly ignorant about the long-range plans of their leaders. She didn’t know why she had expected more of these half-clothed barbarians.

The clack of boot heels echoed down the corridor as a young man in sleek leathers approached. When he presented her with a cylindrical tube, Sybelle expected news from her commanders about the raids.

Instead, the messenger said, “From His Highness.” His tone was deferential, but his eyes roamed her body before they settled on her face. “I am instructed to wait for a reply, Your Ladyship.”

With a look she knew would send the boy’s pulse racing, Sybelle broke open the tube. A thin scroll of parchment slid out into her hand. Its message was brief and to the point. Erric had found out she’d ordered raids inside the city without his consent. He wanted her to return to the palace. The last words burned in her mind.

At once
.

She crumpled the note into a ball and froze it into ice with a thought. She turned back to the messenger as the note shattered on the floor.

“Tell His Majesty I will return when I am finished here.”

The man departed on swift steps. Sybelle ran the tip of her tongue across her teeth. What was keeping Soloroth? She had expected his report not long after she sent him out with the duke’s soldiers.

As if in response to her thoughts, a gargantuan shadow rose against the wall at the end of the corridor. The jangle of metal filled the stairwell as the black peak of a massive helmet appeared. Conflicting emotions quivered inside her breast at the sight of him. Soloroth was the flesh of her flesh, blood of her blood, but something
else
lurked within his steel-clad chest. While he served her dutifully, Sybelle didn’t fully trust her son. Someday, he would seek to supplant her, and on that day she would have to kill him. Until then she kept him on a tight leash. But watching him approach now, she had to wonder how secure was the collar she’d fastened around his soul. Dried blood coated Soloroth’s metal gauntlets, his breastplate, even the armored plates protecting his legs. It looked as if he had bathed in it.

“What news?” she demanded before he’d even stopped three paces before her.