Shadow's Son (26 page)

A thought struck him. "What was the date of this Revolution Day?"

She flipped back to the beginning. "The fifteen of Maises, 1126."

Seventeen years ago. That would be the spring before his father's
estate was attacked. Another coincidence, or were the two events related?
As the Church consolidated its power, chaos would have run rampart
through the rest of the empire, alliances between neighbors forgotten in
the rush to address old grudges, small estates swallowed by more powerful landowners pushing to extend their borders without fear of imperial
intervention. Caim bit down on his tongue as a chilling touch tickled the
base of his spine. He was more invested in this struggle than he'd known.
His rage bubbled to the surface.

"Vassili set them up," he said. "He convinced those nobles to rebel,
and then sold them out when the deed was done. After they were gone,
the Church was poised to take over."

Josey straightened, her features pallid in the lamplight. "It's ghastly.
I remember hearing stories about those days. The emperor and empress
were convicted of heresy and burned for their crimes, along with their
children. There's a horrible painting of it in the Lyceum."

"Is there anything else?

"It says the extermination of the imperial line was not as complete as
the Church wanted everyone to believe. One child, the youngest, escaped
with the help of a loyalist faction. The emperor's daughter. .

"What?"

Josey's
lips
trembled.
Wetness
gathered
in
her
eyes
and
threatened
to
spill over.

"What is it?" he asked.

She shook her head as the first tear ran down her cheek, to be followed
by a choked sob. Caim clenched his jaws. He wanted to shake her. Instead,
he placed a hand on her arm.

"It's all right. Just tell me what's wrong."

With a halting voice, she read, "`The emperor's daughter, Josephine,
was removed from the city by Artur Frenig, earl of Highavon, who thereafter raised the child as his own daughter, to be kept until the date of her
majority.

Caim looked at her. He had felt there was something special about
her, something beyond her beauty and wit. Now it made sense. He marveled at the boldness of the man who had raised her as his own.

"Parmian was right," he said. "If this gets out, it will shake the
Church to its foundation."

"No," Josey said. Tears cracked her halting voice. "He's my father. He
is.

Caim reached out, but dropped his hand before he touched her. Why
would she want his comfort? She shocked him by rushing into his arms. He patted her on the back, unsure of what to do but keenly aware of the
firm body pressing against him.

"It makes sense," he said. "Frenig claimed you as his daughter to protect your identity. He remained loyal to the old empire, but when the politics became too hot he retired from public life and returned to Othir to
start this secret society. He was waiting."

"For what?" The question was squeezed between choking sobs.

"For you to become old enough to claim your birthright."

Josey looked up. Her eyes were red, but warm and glowing beneath
the pain. The smell of lavender soap swirled in his head. He bent down
over her until their faces were inches apart. Then, as if realizing where she
was, Josey extricated herself from his embrace and stepped back.

"So," she said, "you're saying you believe all this?"

"It all fits, Josey. Or should I call you `Your Highness' or `Your
Majesty?' I always forget."

"Stop that!" Her face turned vermilion.

He glanced around the chamber and took in the stacks of documents,
the pictures, the pike with a golden griffon headpiece leaning next to a
faded banner.

"There's no denying it. This is what Frenig died to protect. You are
the lost heir of the imperial family."

"That is interesting."

A raspy voice echoed through the chamber.
Caim spun around as
heavy footsteps descended the stairs. His knives came up in a defensive
posture.

"Yes. Very interesting indeed."

aim pushed Josey behind him as a squad of men came down the
steps. Swords and axes gleamed in their hands. Mail armor rustled beneath surcoats of the Sacred Brotherhood.

A familiar face appeared behind the soldiers. Markus had shed his
uniform for a coat of boiled leather armor. He strutted into the chamber,
holding his sword aloft like he was leading a holyday parade, but his men
meant business. They fanned out in a half-moon formation.

Caim sunk into an open stance. Six-to-one were long odds even for
him, especially when hampered by Josey and the wound in his side. He
took a step to put himself more firmly between her and the Brothers, but
she moved with him.

"We've been waiting for you to show up," Markus said. "I have to tell
you, Caim. It is Caim, isn't it? I'm not impressed. I mean, for such a dangerous killer, you're not terribly imaginative."

"Is that so? How's your throat feeling?"

The prefect's face darkened. He pointed his sword at Calm's chest.
"You'll be begging me for a quick end before this is through."

"Markus," Josey said. "This is madness. Did you have something to
do with my father's death?"

Markus chuckled from behind the wall of his men. "Something? I was
the one who engineered it, my dear Josephine. My only regret is that I
didn't cut his throat myself. I'll have to be satisfied with killing your paramour here."

Caim reached out with his arm to hold Josey back, fearful she might
rush into the waiting blades in her rage, but she stood her ground and
glared at Markus with tears running down her face.

"You're nothing but a coward," she said. "You're not worthy of Anas tasia, or any woman. You should be whipped through the streets and cast
out into the wilderness."

Markus's chuckle filled the chamber as his men edged farther into the
room. Caim balanced on the balls of his feet while he studied his adversaries. A sheen of sweat glistened on the brow of the Brother on his far
left. That was his first target. After that, the tall one with the bruised eye.
Caim shifted his weight by a fraction. They would rush him at any
moment. He'd only have a split second to react.

Josey pressed against Calm's back. "Let us go, Markus. You're not an
evil man."

"No, not like the man beside you," Markus replied. "But I've chosen
my side. You both have to die. Those are my orders."

"The electors are nothing but a band of traitors!"

The prefect laughed. "Oh, this is rich! You think I'm here under the
Council's orders? Josey, nothing could be further from the truth. I answer
to a higher calling now."

"Money, you mean."

"That's right, bitch. Not that you'd know anything about that, what
with your ball gowns and pretty baubles."

"Don't"-Caim turned his injured side away from the soldiers-"call
her that."

Markus smiled behind the point of his sword. "You seem a bit stiff,
friend. Not as nimble as you were on the pier, or upstairs for that matter.
So the bolt found its mark. It stings, eh?"

"Come a little closer and find out."

Markus clicked his tongue. Caim beat their rush by a fraction of a
heartbeat. He jumped just before the Brothers advanced. Pain ripped
through his side, but he shoved it to the back of his mind as he rolled on
his left shoulder and came up inside the guard of his first target. The
clammy soldier fell to the floor, bleeding from a gouge in his belly and a
slash across the face.

There was nothing fancy in Calm's technique. He shifted and lunged,
ducked and riposted. His left-hand knife cut a jagged furrow along the
tall Brother's arm while the right-hand blade beat aside a sword thrust
and drove its author back. The tall soldier whipped his sword up into a
guard position, but Caim sunk underneath and drove both points into the man's upper thigh where the artery pulsed. The Brother shouted and
dropped to the floor.

As Caim moved to engage the others, a vicious spasm pulsed in his
chest like his heart was trying to burst out of his rib cage. Steel flashed all
around him in the lamplight. He retreated under a slashing sword stroke
and slid away from a swipe at his head, but hampered by his wound he
couldn't move fast enough. A boot stomped on his knee and almost
spilled him to the floor. A sword gashed the sleeve of his shirt. In desperation, he launched a whirlwind of stop-thrusts to keep the Sacred Brothers
at bay.

A bulky missile soared over his shoulder, accompanied by a dainty
grunt. The oil lamp shattered on the floor behind the Brothers, and a wall
of burning oil erupted at their backs. By a stroke of good fortune, Markus
was stranded on the far side of the inferno.

Caim saw his chance. He darted in close, switching to the offensive.
The
suete
knives cut through gabardine and flesh. Blood spattered the flagstones. A Sacred Brother screamed as his sword fell to the floor, his hand
still attached to the hilt.

Caim was pressing the last two Brothers when another blade flashed
at him from the darkness. He pivoted as Markus, his boots wreathed in
flame, launched a barrage of furious attacks. Caim evaded the wild swings,
but the action forced him back a step. He made two swipes with his
knives to gain more maneuvering room, but the prefect's arrival had
tipped the scales. Caim couldn't defend both himself and Josey. He
retreated with a sinking feeling in his gut. He had lost the advantage. In
a moment they would regroup and overwhelm him.

He risked a glance over his shoulder at Josey, backed against the wall
with the ceremonial pike clutched across her chest. They were both going
to die in this stinking cellar. The flash of her warm green eyes inflamed
him. A tingle in his chest was the only warning before the chamber
plunged into absolute night.

Icy sweat broke out all over Calm's body as he fell back against the
stone wall. Even knowing what was happening didn't prevent the tendrils
of fear from sliding through his veins. The shadows had come.

But he hadn't called them.

There was no mistaking the screams that echoed through the chamber. He caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye,
just for an instant, but it was enough to melt his insides. Sleek and powerful, it prowled the darkness, and the fall of its massive paws made no
sound on the chamber floor. Calm's breath caught in his throat. He
couldn't move; his muscles had turned to jelly.

Josey's cry shook him from the stupor. He felt along the wall until he
found her, huddled against a bookcase. She shuddered at his touch and
tried to slap him away.

"It's me!" he hissed in her ear. "We have to get out of here."

She buried her face against his shoulder. Careful of his aching side, he
cradled her as tenderly as he could. His eyes were adjusting to the gloom.
The oil fire was burning down. Flashes of metal near the center of the
room showed him where the surviving Brothers were making their stand.
There was no sign of the shadow beast, but Caim could feel its presence
like a great, black wave rolling through a midnight sea. He only hoped
the creature would focus on the soldiers, leave him and Josey alone.

With an arm around her shoulders, Caim steered Josey along the
periphery of the chamber. He kept the knife in his free hand ready, but
the soldiers were focused on the greater threat. A gurgling squeal rose
beyond the range of human vocals.

Josey gasped as they approached the burning pool. The heat of the fire
was intense enough to warm him through tunic and cloak.

"Trust me." He picked her up. Her arms encircled his neck.

Caim carried her along a narrow path between the fire and the wall.
The heat climbed up his boots. They were almost through when a shape
appeared before them in the gloom to cut off their escape. For a moment,
Caim feared the shadow beast had turned on them. Then, Markus's face
emerged from the shadows. His sword rose into the smoky air.

Caim lowered his shoulder and charged ahead. He slammed into
Markus. The momentum of the blow sent Markus hurtling into the
greedy flames. Spurred by the prefect's screams, Caim raced up the stairs
as if the lords of hell were on his heels. But halfway up the uneven steps,
the pain in his side forced him to put Josey down. They crawled through
the secret door, and Caim slammed it shut behind them. The Brothers'
screams died away to ominous silence below.

As he staggered out of the niche, Josey pulled him close in a fierce embrace. Her soft lips mashed against his so hard he feared she might bruise
herself. In the midst of this passionate display, he collapsed in her arms.

Somehow she half carried him down the dusty hallway. The rest of the
mansion was empty, which was good, as he was in no condition to fight.
The sickness was worse than ever before. He ached over every inch of his
body. While he waited for the effects to leach out of his system, disturbing
thoughts caromed through his head. The truth about Josey's identity
hadn't struck him yet, not fully, but he could already feel his attitude
changing toward her. He stood a little straighter beside her, then scowled
when he noticed this and deliberately slouched.