Shadow’s Lure (9 page)

“You look—”

“You look—” Anastasia said.

They melted into each other’s arms with laughter. Behind Josey, someone cleared his throat, and she let go.

Anastasia made a graceful curtsy to Hubert. “Duke Vassili.”

He returned with a low bow. “Lady Farthington.”

Josey looked from one to the other.
What’s gotten into
—
Oh
!

She raised her eyebrows, and Anastasia’s smile deepened.

“Lord Chancellor,” Josey said. “I believe the Lady Anastasia is here unescorted. Would you do her the honor of a dance?”

A crimson stain spread across Hubert’s face. “Ah, Majesty. I should … I mean, I would if Your Majesty … That is to say—”

“Oh, it’s just a dance.” Josey grabbed his hand and placed it under Anastasia’s arm. “There. Off you go.”

A warm feeling glowed in Josey’s chest as she watched them walk onto the dance floor. Anastasia had been devastated by Markus’s death, so much so that Josey hadn’t had the heart to reveal all the cruelties she’d suffered at his hands. Now it appeared that ’Stasia was over the past.

While the couple danced, Josey felt she was being watched. Looking through the crowd, her gaze stopped on a man staring at her from across the ballroom. Her first impression was that he was quite handsome. Almost
too
handsome. Rings of inky black hair. Tanned skin. Dark eyes with long lashes. He smiled, and Josey couldn’t help smiling back. She wanted to know his name. She looked for Anastasia, who would probably know him on sight, social butterfly that she was, but she was still dancing with Hubert.

While Josey greeted people, looking everywhere
except
the direction of the handsome man across the room, a dry voice spoke behind her.

“Your Highness.”

Josey turned around to be confronted by Lady Philomena in a hideous, high-necked gray dress. The lady bobbed an inch or two, but her head never bowed. Her eyes were like small glass beads painted with a patina of disdain.

Josey waited for her to say something. Then, as the moment stretched into an uncomfortable silence, she felt the touch of other eyes upon them.
Pretentious bitch
.
She’s making a scene
,
just staring at me
.

Finally, when Josey couldn’t take it any longer, Lady Philomena spoke.

“That is an interesting gown,” she said. “It brings to mind the dress I bought for my maid last Yuletide.”

Josey gathered two handfuls of her skirt into her fists to keep from punching the lady in her aristocratic nose. She tried to think of a scathing reply, but Philomena glided away before anything came to her. Josey looked around to see who might have overheard, but everyone in the area was involved in their own conversations. Which meant, of course, that they all had heard.
Hang that woman
!

Moisture stung the corners of her eyes, but Josey held up her head as if nothing had happened. People did not meet her gaze as freely as before. Or perhaps that was her imagination. She fought the urge to look around for Anastasia, but she really needed her best friend.

Then a man sidled up to her. Lord Du’Quendel, dressed in a smart suit of black with silver trimming. A thick gold chain garnished with tourmalines was draped around his neck.

“Your Majesty,” he said. “Allow me to say how honored I am to become your new Master of Luminaries.”

“Uh. Yes, Lord Du’Quendel. The honor is mine.”

“And may I introduce a new addition to your court.”

The nobleman turned to reveal a man standing behind him. Josey swallowed as she saw a smile of brilliant teeth set in a bronzed face. Inky black ringlets of hair.
Oh heavens
!
It’s him
!

She tripped over her own feet as she tried to stop and turn at the same time. The man moved with effortless grace to catch her with a grip as firm as stone, but gentler than she expected. She couldn’t stop staring into his eyes.

“Pardon me, Majesty.” His voice was like pure silk.

She extricated herself. “Thank you, sir.”

Lord Du’Quendel cleared his throat. “This is my cousin, Lieutenant Dimas Walthom of Your Majesty’s Light Horse.”

Josey had a hard time catching her breath. The room had become overly warm in the past few moments. “Are you enjoying the ball, Lieutenant?”

He leaned closer. “To be honest, Your Majesty, I am not much for this sort of thing. But here, in your presence, I cannot bear the thought of leaving.”

Josey’s feet didn’t want to move. Then an image insinuated itself into her thoughts, of her and Caim walking in the gardens a few weeks ago, surrounded by leafless trees. She blinked as the soldier said something.

“I’m sorry. I was somewhere else for a moment.”

His smile was easy. Practiced. “Wherever it was, I am glad you returned to me.”

Josey glanced away. Whatever she had felt a moment ago, it was gone now. She wished Anastasia would find her. Then Hubert was beside her, nodding to the two lords as he offered his arm. She took it with relief.

“We’re ready, Majesty,” he said.

“Thank you, Your Grace.” She turned back to the other men. “Lord Du’Quendel. Lieutenant Walthom, it was a pleasure to meet you.”

The lieutenant bent his head, but his eyes never left her. “The pleasure was mine. Perhaps we shall speak another time.”

“Another time,” she said as Hubert led her away.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “Your timing is impeccable—”

The bottom dropped out of Josey’s stomach as she realized where they were going. The musicians put down their instruments and departed the stage. It was time for her introduction. She’d had a few remarks prepared, but now she couldn’t remember a single word to save her life. Swallowing, she tried not to show the dread oozing up as Hubert escorted her through the crowd.

He climbed the stage first and helped her up. As Josey turned to the assembly, her stomach twisted to the point where she thought she might be ill. A servant appeared with a silver platter, and Hubert handed her a gold chalice. The people in the crowd held crystal glasses filled with wine.

Hubert raised his glass. “Lords and ladies of Nimea, good gentles, I present to you Empress Josephine.”

Josey forced herself to smile as she lifted her cup to the crowd. Looking out over their faces, seeing them watching her, she couldn’t think of anything to say. She considered taking a sip of wine to stall for time, but thought it would appear rude. These were her people. They wanted to hear from her.

“Good people,” she began.

A shout from the other end of the room made a few heads turn. Hubert craned his neck to see.

Josey tried to go on with her speech. “We thank you, one and all, for attending—”

A loud crash startled her. Cold wine from her cup spilled down her gown. Hubert jumped down from the stage, leaving Josey alone. On the floor, everyone faced away toward the main doors. Wiping at her bodice with her hands, and only making the mess worse, Josey couldn’t see the source of the commotion. Then a shout rang out.

“Death to the usurper whore!”

A man ran through the crowd straight toward the stage. Josey froze. People backed away, and she didn’t blame them when she caught sight of the man. He had the look of a madman, with great bulging eyes that focused on her like a coursing hound on a hare. He was dressed in some type of uniform. It took her a moment to realize it was the livery of a palace servant.

Josey backed away, fearing the man was about to leap upon the stage to assault her, but he stopped at the foot of the platform.

There, raising his left fist into the air, he shouted aloud, “Long live the Church of the True Faith! And death to the usurp—”

His words were muffled under the press of several large guardsmen. Hubert reappeared. He blanched when he saw her.

“Majesty, are you …?”

Josey looked down at the stain spreading across her bosom. “It’s just wine.”

“Thank goodness. Perhaps we should retire in light of this.”

The crowd buzzed as the agitator was dragged away. Few people were paying her any attention, and those who did wore unreadable expressions. Josey couldn’t tell if they were relieved to see the man go, or sorry.

“One moment, Hubert.”

Josey held up her cup as she raised her voice. “Some of you don’t know much about me. Most of you, in fact. But I want to remedy that in the coming days.” She cleared her throat, not sure where to go from there. Then she recalled something her foster father had once said to her. “Nimea was once a nation of culture and gentility, a nation who welcomed her neighbors and grew prosperous through mutual benefit. Those days can return. They
shall
return. To Nimea! Long may She stand.”

A couple of glasses went up. Scattered responses arose, and gained strength as more and more people took up the call. After a moment, the entire assembly repeated the toast.

Hubert watched with wide eyes. Then he turned to her and bowed. “Majesty.”

Taking his arm, Josey allowed herself to be led down from the stage. Guards surrounded them as they walked out. Behind them, music began to play over the thunder of applause.

Anastasia found them in the corridor. She rushed through the hedge of soldiers and hugged Josey, heedless of the wine stain. “Thank the Light! I saw everything. Are you all right?”

“I’m all right. Just a little shaken up.”

Josey looked to Hubert over Anastasia’s shoulder. She expected him to say something, but he appeared to find the floor tiles of great interest.

“It’s a travesty,” Anastasia went on. “The Imperial Guard should have put better precautions in place.”

“Everything is fine, ’Stasia. It was just someone seeking attention.”

“But the things he said!”

Josey put on a smile. “It’s nothing. Will you stay at the palace tonight?”

“I would, Josey. I mean ‘Your Majesty.’ But Father will be expecting me. He hasn’t been well.”

“I understand.” Josey gave her another hug. “Come see me tomorrow, will you?”

“Of course.”

Heaviness descended over Josey as she watched her friend depart. Hubert was watching, too, but his expression was more sublime.

“Well?” she asked.

“Majesty?”

“What did the two of you talk about?”

He ran a finger across the bridge of his nose. “Ah, nothing of import. She talked a bit about the decorations and the music. She liked the music most, I believe.”

Josey shook her head. “Decorations and music? You’re impossible, Hubert. Do you know that?”

“So I’ve been told.”

“I’m exhausted. Is there anything else I need to do tonight?”

“No, Majesty.”

“Then I bid you good night, Lord Chancellor.”

Still shaking her head, Josey walked away. The climb to her apartments seemed interminable. Her bodyguards took up positions outside as she entered. A shadowed chamber greeted her. The curtains had been drawn, but the hearth was unlit. Faint light flickered across the wide expanse of the foyer.

Calling for Amelia, her evening chambermaid, Josey crossed the cold floor. She reached a round table where a single candle dripped wax into a silver reservoir. Where was everyone? Perhaps her maids had not anticipated she would return from the ball so early.

As Josey approached the doorway to her bedchamber, a warm current of air brushed her face. Smells of dust and old leather tantalized her nose for a moment. She started to call out again, but a sliver of apprehension gave her pause. Why was it so quiet? Amelia wasn’t the type to fall asleep on her duties. Josey took another step, but stopped when a soft sound reached her ears, a metallic click from behind her.

Fists balled against her sides, Josey turned around, but the darkness beyond the candle’s feeble glow was unfathomable. She was tempted to call for her guards, but what if it was the maid returning from some errand, or her mind playing tricks? A yelp raced up her throat as a hand closed on her arm, but the scream sputtered and died when a familiar face emerged into the light.

“Fenrik!” Josey shivered as the pent-up fear drained out of her. “You scared me half to death.”

With a stiff nod, the manservant walked her to the inner doorway. Her nightgown had been laid out on the bed, and there was a fire in the fireplace.

“Fenrik,” she said. “Would you ask Amelia to—?”

Then she saw the blood, a rivulet of deep scarlet, trickle out from beneath her bed. Josey watched it run across the hardwood floor to the edge of the Hestrian rug and sink into the plush fibers. She gasped as a bony forearm smashed across her throat. She tried to scream, but nothing came out. She scratched at the arm with her free hand. Strips of skin, feverishly hot to the touch, came loose under her nails; the muscle and sinew underneath were like stone. Josey struggled, but couldn’t break free.

As her lungs burned, she gave up clawing at the gnarled arm and plunged her hand into the folds of her skirts. She searched frantically until her fingers found a smooth handle. She tugged the knife free from the sheath hidden under her petticoats. Too desperate to care where she aimed, Josey plunged the knife over her shoulder. The first thrust met only air, but the next collided with something solid. Fenrik shuddered behind her as she yanked on the handle. When it came free, an acrid stench like rotting meat clogged her nostrils. She thrust again, and the arm around her neck let go. Shoved hard from behind, she was propelled across the room. She turned with her back to the wall.