Shadow's Son Part 16

On the top floor, Josey pa.s.sed by the first two doors without a glance. One was a maid's room. The second led into a cozy bedchamber with feminine decor. By the large bed with its frilly lace canopy and pastel colors, Caim guessed it had been her room.

Josey stopped at the entrance to her father's bedchamber. Caim remembered standing in this very spot, prepared to take the old man's life. The memory bothered him. Despite his hard words earlier, he couldn't deny some reservations over the direction his life had taken. In reexamining his choices, one fact was unmistakable. Yes, he had been a victim of violence, but every decision he'd made since that dire day had been his own. He had chosen this life for himself. No amount of rationalization could change that.

Josey lifted the latch and pushed open the door. Caim stood beside her as she surveyed the room. The bodies were gone, but otherwise it looked exactly as it had three nights ago. Dark stains marred the carpet. Caim replayed the battle in his mind, matching each blemish to its maker, until his gaze came to the table and the small dots under the padded chair. Josey took a step in that direction and stopped. Burning shame rose in the back of Calm's throat. There, but for some strange chance, was the spot where he would have killed her father. He would have done the deed and left without a care for how it might affect this woman standing beside him.

He took her arm with a gentle touch. "We have to get going."

She lifted her fingertips to her lips and blew a kiss at the empty chair. With a firm nod, she turned with him to leave.

Calm's eyes darted back and forth as they descended the stairs, but his adrenaline was fading in the absence of a credible threat. On the ground floor, he let Josey lead him through a series of rooms into a side wing of the house. From the dusty smell, this part of the mansion saw little use. Paintings decorated the walls of a long hallway, portraits mostly, of old men and women dressed in the fas.h.i.+ons of previous generations.

Josey stopped at the end of the hall, at the opening of a narrow niche. It was empty, its paneled walls bare, although pale rectangles showed where pictures had hung in the past.

"This is it," she said. "The door was hidden in one of these walls. I could never find it again afterward."

Caim moved past her and searched the small s.p.a.ce. He knocked on each wall. They were insulated, probably with cork. The floor felt solid enough. He was bending down to check the bottom panels when cracks in the strip of rosewood wainscoting caught his eye. He tapped the odd section with a finger. Nothing happened. Then he twisted it, and a piece of the molding pivoted away to reveal a small hole in the bare wood underneath.

A keyhole.

He smiled at Josey and moved aside. She approached with the golden talisman in hand. The key's smooth shaft slid into the hole without difficulty. Turning it produced a faint click, and a portion of the wall sprang open. He eased it open with the point of a knife. Stone steps wended down into the darkness beyond, flanked by walls of heavy blocks. Odors of earth and mold rose from the depths.

"Wait here," he said, and jogged back down the hallway to a sitting room.

He fetched a table lamp and returned to Josey. She stood at the top of the steps with her arms wrapped around her body, staring down into the dark.

He came up beside her. "Ready?"

"I guess so. Caim?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you.,, He inclined his head. "Let's go."

Caim went first, with the lamp in his left hand, a knife in the right. The steps were steep and irregular in their s.p.a.cing, almost as if they had formed naturally. Trails of niter ran down the walls like melted wax. Josey stayed close to his back. He wanted to whisper for her to give him more s.p.a.ce, but held his tongue. This place held a lot of memories for her, most of them scary and confusing. Anyhow, he didn't expect any trouble. The hidden door didn't look as if it had been used in years.

The steps entered into a large, round chamber. The ceiling was double-vaulted and formed with rows of square stones. Down from the center hung a cast-iron chandelier. A vivid fresco illuminated the smooth walls. In the painting, twelve figures in hooded blue robes stood under a starry night sky. Each clutched a yellow dagger in the left hand and held forth the right, dripping blood from the palm, as they gazed upon a dead man sprawled under a burning tree. It was all very strange, and probably symbolic, but he couldn't make hide nor hair of it.

"All the years you lived in this house." His words reverberated back to him from the walls. "You never suspected this place was down here?"

"No, I told you. There was only the dream."

Shelves and cas.e.m.e.nts stood against the walls. They held books and racks of scrolls, strange ornaments and miscellanea. It was like walking through an old person's memories, everything placed in no particular order.

"Looks real enough to me."

While Josey wandered around the chamber, Caim went to the center, where a design had been painted on the stone flagstones. It was a yellow lion with an eagle's head and wings on a field of navy blue. A griffon, symbol of the old imperium. So it was true. Caim wondered what else Parmian could have told them about the meetings if he'd applied more pressure. Perhaps nothing. The man had sounded sincere in his desire to leave his father's schemes behind. Whatever secrets the earl had possessed in life had likely died with him.

"Caim!"

He hurried over to Josey's side. She stood before a display stand. A row of ceramic plaques lined the top shelf. Josey's gaze was fixed on the center picture, which was a rather good likeness of her late father, Earl Frenig.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine." Her voice sounded odd, as if she were speaking to him from far away.

He studied the plaques closer. Twelve sober faces stared back, two of them women. "So these are the members of your father's society. Not a lot of people to challenge the might of the True Church."

"Twelve members." Josey ran her fingertips over the face of the shelf. "Same as the number of theocrats on the Elector Council. Father liked balance. He was a little odd that way. Making everything tidy, he called it."

"I wonder what came of them. Are they still alive? Or has the Church ?" He remembered her father's fate too late.

"Silenced them?" she finished for him.

"I didn't mean to-"

She placed a hand on his forearm. "It's okay. I'm fine."

A large tome rested on a beveled table beneath the portraits. Its heavy cover was bound in smooth leather, possibly sheepskin, dyed a deep sapphire blue. Tarnished silver studs s.h.i.+ned in the lamplight. Caim opened the book. The yellowed pages were covered in a concise scrawl of black ink. The characters were Nimean, but he couldn't understand a word of it.

"This looks like a code."

Josey broke her gaze away from the picture. "You don't read Old Nimean?"

"No. What does it say?"

"It's a journal. It looks like my father's hand. The t.i.tle says 'Revolution Day."' She ran a finger across the page. "'In the eleven hundred and twenty-sixth year of the empire, a coalition of ministers and n.o.bles from the outlying provinces gathered in secret. Dissatisfied with the influence held by the imperial court, and further motivated by liens against their properties and t.i.tles, these individuals plotted to depose the emperor. Key legionary commanders were involved by a variety of means, including bribery, blackmail, and at least one known murder of a state official. This inaugural meeting was held at the Basilica of St. Andros in the free city of Mecantia."'

She glanced at him. "The presiding minister was Praetor Terentius Va.s.sili, count of Leimond."

"Archpriest Va.s.sili?" Va.s.sili?"

"Before his ascension to the Elector Council, it seems, and before Mecantia was annexed by primal decree. It goes on to say that the coup succeeded. The coalition armies defeated the imperial garrison and seized control of Othir."

Caim set the lantern on the table. "I thought it was the Church that led the uprising against the emperor."

"That's what we were taught," Josey said. "Since then, the prelate has held temporal power over Nimea in addition to his spiritual authority."

"For the good of the people, no doubt."

She frowned as she bent over the text. "Listen to this. After the usurpation, elements of the Sacred Brotherhood took the palace. The coalition leaders were tried by an ecclesiastic court and executed. Thereafter, select churchmen were put in important positions in a government imposed by the Council and supported by the Brotherhood. Any who voiced dissent were imprisoned, or killed outright, and their lands forfeited. There's a list of n.o.bles who switched allegiance to the new regime and were allowed to retain their t.i.tles."

She read off the roll of names. The muscles in Calm's jaws bulged at the mention of a familiar name: Reinard, duke of Ostergoth.

He cursed behind clenched teeth. Mathias had vetted every detail of the Ostergoth mission because of the high-profile nature of the target. He had convinced Caim everything was in the clear, but it was too convenient to be coincidence. They had been played like fools.

Mat, what did we get ourselves into?

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 pus.h.i.+ng 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.

"Va.s.sili set them up," he said. "He convinced those n.o.bles 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 rus.h.i.+ng 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 ident.i.ty. 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 doc.u.ments, 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."

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

-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 b.a.l.l.s 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 s.h.i.+fted 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, b.i.t.c.h. 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."