by Jon Sprunk
She’d escaped the feeling that time, but it had returned. Ducking her head, Kit ran until she found someplace to hide. That’s when she came upon this strange formation of rocks. She didn’t know why they were here, but she was grateful for them.
Caim, please give me a sign. Show me how to get back to you.
There was no answer, nothing but the gray haze and the vast, approaching presence. The prickliness was stronger now, growing with every step she took, but she had no idea how far away it might be. And what would she find when she got there? A trap set up to ensnare Fae-folk caught in the Barrier? But what other choice did she have?
The mists parted, and Kit ducked as a long shape like the fluke of an enormous fish sliced through the murk over her head. She couldn’t control the tremors racing through her body as the presence crashed over her. It was gone a moment later, but the next time it might not be content to pass by. She pressed her chest against the hard stone.
A rumbling snarl cut through the howling winds. Kit sat up as a long, low shape emerged from the storm. She threw her arms around its broad neck and hugged it tight. The shadow beast indulged her for a pair of heartbeats before leaning away.
“I’m so glad to see you!” Kit wiped away the tears in her eyes. “Don’t go disappearing on me again. You hear?”
The creature blinked, and then it looked in the direction the monster had gone.
“I don’t know what to do. I’m afraid.” Kit looked over her shoulder toward the source of the tingling. “I think there’s someplace I need to go. It might be a way out, but I don’t know. What do you think?”
The shadow pet blinked at her. Kit looked into the mists. She had to make a decision before it was too late. You can do this. Caim wouldn’t let some overgrown fish stop him. She glanced back to the shadow dog-thing. When she nodded, it nodded back. Okay. That’s my cue .
She took a step toward the tingling, and the presence returned, approaching fast from behind. Kit froze beside the stone pillar as the mists billowed around her. The shadow beast yowled. Kit blinked. It almost sounded like the thing was trying to tell her something…
With another yowl aimed at her, Caim’s pet dashed in the other direction, straight at the impending monstrosity. Kit tried to call out, but the shadow beast disappeared into the gloom before she got the chance. A titanic bellow shook the ground. Kit slapped her hands to her ears and fell back against the pillar, but the presence lessened. It was leading the monster away! Go, Kit. Now’s your chance .
With a sob, she pushed off from the rock projection and ran into the mists, following the sensation.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
T he carriage lurched as one of its wheels struck a pothole in the road. Josey held onto her seat to keep from pitching into the laps of her companions. Hubert grimaced and shifted about for a more comfortable position.
“This may be a bad idea, my lady,” he told her for the tenth time since they’d left the palace.
Hubert sounded like he had caught a cold. The lantern lighting the carriage’s cabin made him look pale, which only heightened the effect. The adept, Hirsch, watched from the corner of the seat, but made no comment. Josey wasn’t sure what to think of him. At the council meeting she’d learned a great many things, among them that the adept liked to hear himself speak. But even after a lengthy explanation about the Other Side and how it impacted magical affairs here in their world, she could scarcely remember anything he’d said except for one salient detail. Her unknown assailant was very dangerous, virtually unstoppable by blade or venom, and completely devoid of human sentiments. Beyond that, Hirsch carried himself with an air of diffidence. Josey knew little of sorcery, but she had witnessed enough around Caim to be wary of it and those who walked its twilight paths.
“Your objection is noted,” Josey said. “But I refuse to be a prisoner in my own palace. Now, can we please talk about something else before I go mad? Have we heard any news from the north?”
Hubert’s eyes slid toward Hirsch and back to her. Josey motioned for him to continue.
“Nothing official,” Hubert said. “The envoys we sent to the border have not returned, but that is not surprising. This time of year the roads are nigh impassable.”
“But unofficially?” She knew better than to ask how he could have received information faster than the imperial courier system. The lord chancellor’s office had its ways.
“Excuse me.” Hubert took out a handkerchief and wiped his nose. “Unofficially, three dispatches have reached my office.”
Josey almost threw herself at him. “Three? What did they say?”
“If Your Majesty would prefer a private conference…”
She clutched her hands together on her lap to keep from throttling him. “Go on, Hubert! For Phebus’s sake.”
“Very well. They had nothing good to say. Little more than rumors, really, but two of the three mentioned a squabble among the nobility of Eregoth.” The way he said “nobility of Eregoth” with a slight inflection showed how little he thought of their aristocratic brethren to the north. It wasn’t an uncommon prejudice among the peers of Othir, as she had discovered of late.
“What sort of squabble?”
Hubert cleared his throat. “A bloody one, from the reports. More than a score of tribal chieftains were slain. Executed, if it can be believed.” His voice trailed off. “And there was mention of strange goings-on.”
“Strange how?”
Hubert’s gaze slipped over to Hirsch. “Sorcery.”
Josey struggled to keep her face calm, but her insides felt like they were being sucked into a dark hole in the center of her stomach. Executions and sorcery in the north, and Caim had walked right into it. Some part of her hoped he had sensed the danger and was now on his way back to her, but she knew it for a foolish wish. The man she loved would die before backing down from a challenge, and that possibility terrified her more than anything.
“What of the troops we sent?” She almost tacked “after Caim left” onto the end of the question, but caught herself.
“No word yet, but they may be delayed. The mud, you know.”
Josey didn’t want to hear about mud, but Hubert was only doing his job, and under very trying circumstances. Still, sometimes she felt like she had less control over her life than when she was just the daughter of an elderly earl. It was beyond frustrating. Her stomach rumbled. She should have eaten before they left, but as always her preparations for public display took longer than anticipated.
“And the western territories?” she asked, knowing she would regret it. I might as well receive all the bad news together.
“Also not good, Majesty.”
This time there was genuine concern in his voice. For nameless people on the edge of the realm, but not for Caim? Josey tamped out the thought as soon as it popped into her head. Every living soul within Nimea’s borders was her subject. She had to care for them all.
“Go on,” she said.
“We’ve received messages from various towns. Bandits have struck all across the region. Farms have been burned, livestock slaughtered or stolen. The provincial lords fear they’ll face a famine come spring if matters are not rectified before the planting season.”
Josey wanted to bury her face in her hands. “Where is all this coming from?”
“There is some speculation that a foreign power could be working behind the scenes. Financing the brigands, providing them with arms and safe havens. We have no proof of this, but…”
“Who would be-?”
She already knew the answer, or enough suspects to make a short list. Nimea was surrounded by countries that would benefit from her misfortune. Arnos had the motivation, but that nation would have to be running supplies by sea, a risky proposition in winter. And the merchant-lords of Illmyn were known to dabble in international politics when they saw an opportunity to tip the scales of trade in their favor. The ambassadors from both nations had been curiously absent from her court.
“
Find me some proof. Then I can act.”
Hubert nodded. “And there’s another problem.”
“What else?”
“A watch post in Low Town was attacked last night. Two watchmen were injured and some prisoners escaped.”
“Here in Othir?”
A furious seed of anger bloomed in Josey’s belly. Border problems were nothing new; she’d heard her foster father speak of them since she was a little girl. But an attack against her peacekeepers was unacceptable.
“I want all patrols doubled,” she said. “The same with the guards at all posts throughout the city.”
“For how long, Majesty?”
“For as long as it takes to get my city under control, Lord Chancellor.”
“That will be an expensive undertaking.”
She threw up her hands. “Has the realm suddenly become impoverished?”
“No, but-”
“I have every confidence in you.” A thought occurred to her. “If we’re short of money, go to the merchants. They’ll suffer the most if crime and injustice run rampant.”
“I suppose we can try.”
Throughout the exchange, Hirsch had volunteered nothing. It was a little unnerving. Josey started to say something to the adept, but a sound from outside caught her attention. Above the clack of the team’s hooves, a susurrus had arisen. She pushed aside the lace curtains, and a bracing gust of wind blew through her hair. Candles glowed in the windows facing the Processional. This was her favorite time of year. Soon there would be snow on the streets and rooftops, converting the entire city into a winter paradise.
Something flew past the window. Josey tumbled back into her seat as it thudded against the side of the cabin. At the same time, her brain registered the speeding object. A melon, thrown at the carriage. Someone had tried to hit her!
She peered out the window. A crowd of people lined the street beyond the pikes of her mounted bodyguards. Josey started to wave until she heard the chant coming from the mouths of her subjects.
“The empire is dead! Long live the Church!”
Josey froze, stricken by the words. Then she saw a picture scrawled on the side of the building above the crowd, of a woman wearing a crown, and beside her was drawn a downward facing hook like a claw. The demon’s horn, the mark of a blasphemer condemned by the True Church to eternal exile in this world and the next. Hubert took Josey by the arm and eased her back into the seat. She was numb. It was like a horrible nightmare.
Hubert closed the curtain. “I told you it was a bad idea to venture out tonight, Majesty, but you insisted.” He smiled when she glared at him. “The people are a rambunctious lot. They just require time to get to know you better.”
“They hate me.”
“Nonsense. They simply don’t understand the complexities of governing. In time, they will come to love you as their imperial matron.”
Josey wasn’t sure she liked the idea of being anyone’s matron, nor did she enjoy the professorial tone Hubert had adopted, but she got his point.
“It’s the Church, isn’t it? I’ve deposed them and now they’re turning the people against me.”
Hubert made a face like he was biting into something sour. “There have been reports of priests giving sermons against Your Majesty’s reign.”
“What are they saying?”
“The actual wording is not impor-”
She stared at him.
“Some have threatened the Prophet’s wrath upon those who support the…” He cleared his throat. “The ‘usurper-whore.’”
Josey sat back in her seat. She pinched the back of her hand to keep the sting in her eyes at bay. The carriage swayed as it slowed to a halt. Apprehension gripped Josey for a moment until the footmen jumped down from the roof and she realized they had reached their destination. Hubert stepped out first as the door opened, and he turned to offer her a hand.
As she climbed down from the carriage, Josey pushed aside her sadness and allowed a ribbon of excitement to flutter in her belly. She hadn’t been to the Kravoy Theater in years, but it was every bit as impressive as she remembered. Flambeaux flickered in the scores of arched windows piercing the massive circular wall. The Kravoy had been built during the height of the empire, when art and culture flourished. Hoping to foster such a revival during her reign, Josey had commissioned a season of performances.
A multitude of people awaited her. When Josey emerged holding her fur-lined cloak about her shoulders, they surged forward as far as her line of bodyguards would allow. Here, at least, the reception was mixed. For every catcall issued from the throng, a hearty “Hail to the empress!” resounded.
A loud grunt from behind her ruined the moment for Josey. She turned as Hirsch, standing on the top step of the ladder, craned his neck to survey the theater.
“This will not do,” the adept said over the crowd. “Not at all.”
The carriage rocked as the adept clambered down the steps. He looked around as if he couldn’t find the gate, which was right in front of them, festooned with bouquets of fresh flowers.
Josey swallowed the smile that wanted to play upon her lips. “You do not enjoy the theater, Master Hirsch?”
“You cannot enter this… place.” Hirsch scowled at the theater. “No, no. I forbid it!”
All jocularity dropped from Josey’s mood. Gasps erupted from the nearest citizens, and Hubert’s mouth fell open.
Josey frowned. “Master Hirsch, I do not like your-”
But he rode over her words with another grunt. “It’s too big. Impossible to defend. Why, it fairly begs anyone in the vicinity to attempt any manner of larceny. No, no. This is out of the question. We must leave at once.”
“ We are not leaving,” she said. “But you are. Captain Drathan!”
The leader of her bodyguards stepped up and made a sharp salute.
“Escort Master Hirsch back to the palace, Captain. And confine him to the guest wing.”
The officer gestured for a pair of his men to come forward as he turned to the adept.
Hirsch stared at Josey. “So be it. I wash my hands of this evening’s fiasco.”
With another grunt, he walked away. Josey watched them depart, the adept leading the soldiers away into the night. Was she making the right decision? She twisted the imperial signet around her finger, feeling its weight. She couldn’t back down now. Josey glanced around at the faces surrounding her. Her subjects. I must lead with strength, not weakness.
Josey turned to Hubert, who had watched the exchange with a frown. He clearly wanted to say something, but wisely did not. She hooked his elbow before he could change his mind, and they entered the theater arm in arm.
The atrium was a tribute to the imperial age of Nimea, with a massive colonnade supporting the ceiling five stories above their heads. Luxurious fresco murals of the city provided the backdrop for the scads of attendees who lined the walls as she passed. Josey waved and nodded to everyone as if this was the grandest moment of her life. In a way it was. Since taking the throne, she had seen more of the inside of her palace than of the city beyond its walls. She knew less of her people-their habits and preferences-than she cared to admit. Of all the things Caim had shown her in their time together, it was that the city, and the entire country, consisted of more than just nobles and prefects and exarches, that the lifeblood of her realm were the common men and women who toiled every day to provide for their families.
Caim. There he was again, infiltrating her thoughts even though he was a thousand leagues away. Did he ever think of her? Josey shoved aside the wistful feelings and concentrated on her presentation, her walk, her wave-all the things Hubert had drilled into her during their long preparation. She thought she was doing pretty well until she caught his glare out of the corner of her eye.
“Rarm dun,” he murmured under his breath. “Rarm dun!”
She frowned, and then noticed her arm swaying above her head. Arm down! She pulled her hand back down beside her face, waving from the wr
ist. Turn and wave to the other side. Now nod, but not too much. Like a pair of dancers, they crossed the atrium and went up a flight of carpeted stairs to the balcony level. An usher bowed low before leading them into the imperial box.
Josey settled into the center seat, which was fashioned into a miniature throne, but was more comfortable. Thank heaven. Hubert took her cloak and hung it on a hook while four bodyguards took up positions, two inside the box’s curtained entrance and two outside. While listening to the strains of the orchestra tuning up, Josey looked around. The imperial box was the highest seat in the house, directly before the stage. Lesser boxes fanned out to either side. Many of their occupants turned her way. Her gaze swept across the men and women in formal attire as Hubert, sitting at her right side, pointed out a few he thought she should know.
“There is Lord Rodney, the Viscount of Wessenax, with a young woman who is not his wife. And in the next box over is Percival Heinley. His family isn’t noble, but he’s one of the richest men in the kingdom. Inherited a string of silver mines from his father. Now there was a true bastard in every sense of the word, though it’s said he had a fine eye for horseflesh.”
While Hubert ran through the litany of names and ranks, Josey leaned over the balustrade. Numerous alcoves surrounded the floor beneath the box seats. Aisles ran from these recesses down to the main seating. Besides the alcoves, there were exits on both sides of the stage. She estimated there were four hundred people in the audience below. She ought to have felt safe. Instead, a bud of anxiety was lodged in her bosom.
A pair of familiar faces in a box across the theater caught her attention. Lord Du’Quendel and Lieutenant Walthom sat with a pack of other young men in military uniform. Before she could look away and pretend she hadn’t seen them, Walthom stood up and made a formal bow in her direction. Lord Du’Quendel hastily did likewise. She started to raise her hand out of habit. Oh heaven, Josey. Don’t encourage them!
She settled for a polite nod instead.
“Hubert, have those levies been raised to send west?”