Shadow's Son (30 page)

She bobbed her head before collapsing against him. "You better," she
murmured into his chest.

Kas cleared his throat. Caim gently pushed Josey away. He gave her
his most sincere smile and a wink, and then he headed for the door. Kas
stood in his way. Caim tensed, but the old man simply stepped aside.

"Hope you find what you're looking for, boy."

Caim kept his head down as he stepped over the threshold.

"Caim!"

He turned in time to catch Josey. She clutched him hard for a
moment, and then pushed a small object into his hand. It was cool against
his palm.

"Take this," she said, and stepped back.

He looked down into his hand. A golden key nestled there amid a
jumble of leather string. Her necklace. With a nod, he wrapped the cord
around his wrist as he went out to his horse.

Back in the saddle, he took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the
scents of pine and maple, good earth and sweet smoke. Then he rode away
and left behind the two people he cared about the most.

thir's gates were barred when
Caim returned, their wardens replaced by soldiers in the hunter green livery of the Nimean army.

So he entered by the underground tunnel. After snuffing the lantern
inside Pieter's mausoleum, he stood for a moment with his hand on the
crypt's bronze door. If he failed, it was only a matter of time before they
got to Josey. The girl was lovely, smart, charming, but she was also
haughty and headstrong. She wouldn't be content to wait with Kas for
long. And where had Kit gotten off to?

Taking her own sweet time getting over being mad at me just when I need her
the most.

Caim shook his head as he slipped through the cemetery gate, and
wondered how he had acquired so many responsibilities.

A wild wind whipped through his hair as he navigated the cemetery.
With Mathias dead, there was only one person who knew he'd be at the
earl's mansion that night.

The streets bordering the boneyard were quiet, but only a block away
the clamor of fighting resounded. Though muted by the fog from the river,
it sounded like a full-scale war. He turned onto Acacia Avenue and found
the way blocked by a pair of overturned wagons. Beyond the barrier, soldiers clashed with angry citizens. Bodies clogged the street. The ululation
of rage long denied, now suddenly unleashed, filled the humid air.

An explosion lit up the night as a firebomb landed amid a cluster of
soldiers. Orange flames engulfed them. Their screams made an inchoate
chorus to the cheers of their attackers. The citizens pressed harder, eager
to get at the men who had previously protected their homes and property.
Sparks swirled in the air and were caught by the wind until the bombers
were forced to scramble to avoid getting singed by their own handiwork.

Caim stayed in the shadows and bypassed the brawl. After several
minutes of skulking, he arrived in the merchants' district. The fighting
hadn't reached this part of the city yet, but it was only a matter of time;
the fires of Low Town would spread quickly.

On Silk Street, the Golden Wheel stood between a
chirash
den and a
brothel to form a triumvirate of earthly pleasures. The confirmation
linking Ral to the plot behind the earl's assassination stared Caim in the
face: a squad of Sacred Brothers slouched on the stoop of the front
entrance like they were paying rent on the place.

Caim avoided the street's tall lampposts as he slipped around to the
back. A narrow wooden gate gave entrance to an alley behind the gaming
house. Dim light reflected in the windows overhead. Three located on the
top floor were secured with stout shutters. Those would be Ral's rooms.

Caim started his ascent with slow movements, conscious of the wound
in his side as he pulled himself up. The amulet dangling from his wrist
was an unfamiliar hindrance, but he didn't remove it. He focused on the
task one hold at a time until he reached the center window. There, he
clung onto the narrow ledge and listened. No sounds issued from inside.
He boosted himself higher to peek over the sill. The room on the other
side of the rose-colored pane was spacious and well appointed. Light
shined from a tiny lamp above the bed. A large four-poster bed of varnished oak rested in the near corner to his right, a tall wardrobe against
the opposite wall, one of its doors partway open. Upon a sideboard next
to the wardrobe sat a row of wooden boxes. Boots, capes, shirts, and other
articles of clothing were strewn across the floor and draped over furniture.

Caim counted thirty heartbeats, until his hands and toes began to
cramp. Nothing moved inside.

He yanked open the shutter and pulled. A jolt of pain seared his side
as he heaved himself over the ledge. He fell forward, onto a thick piled
carpet. In the scramble to sit upright, his elbow collided with a wooden
stand. The hollow scrape of sliding metal triggered his reflexes. He
caught a heavy object wrapped in silk before it hit the floor. As he let out
a long breath, he regarded the item in his hands, a brass icon of St. Jules,
patron of the chaste and good-hearted, wrapped in a lady's undergarment.

Caim set the statuette back on the stand and stood up. There were
two exits: an archway to another room to his left and a narrow door on the other side of the bed, which was probably a closet. Except for the wooden
boxes lined up on the sideboard, there was nothing unusual. He was about
to check the boxes when footsteps approached from the archway. Caim
flattened against the wall and drew his suete knives.

Ral stepped into the room. Steel glittered between the fingers of his
left hand. The arm was whipping back to throw when Caim stepped into
the light.

Ral lowered his arm. "Caim. I wondered when you might turn up."

Caim adopted a relaxed pose, but his muscles were as tight as iron
cables under his clothes. He held his knives by his sides to keep his hands
from trembling. He needed answers, not more deaths.

"Why is that, Ral? Didn't you expect your pet tinmen to finish the job?"

Ral walked over to the sideboard and set down the stiletto to pour
himself a drink from a tall decanter. "Not really. Brandy? It's imported."

Caim didn't reply, but he watched every move.

Ral shrugged and lifted the crystal tumbler to his lips. "It wasn't
personal. You didn't need to get involved. You should have left the girl
to my men."

"You're the one who got me involved. You set me up with that job
from the start. Thought you'd bag a nobleman and pin it on me."

"No harm in a little gamesmanship between friends, eh? I thought
you'd make your escape and leave town, hopefully for good. Either way, I
get what I want and you're out of the picture."

"Who's behind the murder of Josey's father? Who are you working for?"

Ral put a hand on the sideboard. "Josey is it, eh? I'm disappointed,
Caim. I always figured you for a smart guy. I'm done with serving others.
I've taken matters into my own hands."

"And you killed Mathias because he knew too much."

"Actually, that wasn't me, although I'll admit I didn't shed any tears.
But it makes no difference. There's no one to stop me now."

"There's me."

"Don't be an imbecile, Caim. Think of this as an opportunity. Yes, I
wanted you out of the way, but now I see a better way. We can work together.
We can both be free to live how we want with no one to tell us otherwise."

Caim had trouble keeping his knives from leaping into Ral's chest as
anger flared in his belly. "You think you can buy me off?"

"Think of the team we would make."

"I'd rather think of you lying in your own blood."

Ral set down his glass and faced
Caim. "That's not going to happen.
Even if you could kill me, you're still a wanted man sought by the entire
nation. You've been implicated in the murders of several government officials, including a retired exarch and half the Elector Council."

"All lies-"

Ral flashed a humorless smile. "Articles of a personal nature were
found at the scenes, all of them leading back to you."

Caim suspected the fire that burned down his apartment building had
been no accident, and now he knew. "You stole those things from my
place before you torched it."

"You're out of control, Caim. A blood thirsty animal. The Sacred
Brotherhood has orders to kill you on sight."

"Then maybe I'll just kill you. One more murder attached to my
name wouldn't make any more difference."

"I just want the girl."

"You'll never set eyes on her. I'll make sure of that."

Ral laughed. It was an ugly sound. "Caim, did you really think she'd
be safe in that little cabin in the woods?"

Josey laughed as Kas filled her cup with another round of his homemade
wine. Crickets chirped outside the window while they ate and drank and
talked. Kas kept a modest home, but he was an enthusiastic host. They
dined on wild pig with squash and tomatoes from his garden.

"Enough!" she said as the cup threatened to overflow.

Kas chuckled. He had a friendly laugh, warm and deep. It made her
think of her father. Poor father. She brushed melancholy aside before it
could spoil her mood. She focused on Kas's hands. Large and strong
despite the passage of years, they were covered with thick ropy veins. A
tracery of white scars climbed the thick, hairy planks of his arms. When
he smiled, his jaw slid sideways as if it were about to fall off his face. Their
eyes met and Josey glanced down at the tabletop.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to stare."

He ran a hand down his cheek, under his bushy chin, and up the other
side. "No offense taken. It's been a long time since this ugly mug felt the
eyes of a pretty lady."

Josey looked around for something to change the subject, and her
gaze wandered to the fireplace. "Why do you have a stick hanging on your
wall?"

Kas turned to look at the weapon mounted over the hearth. Dust covered its shaft and metal head. "Ah. That, darling, is an old friend of mine."

"A friend?"

"Aye. I was first spear of the emperor's Fourth Legion. That old pike
and I tramped across more earth than I care to remember. She got me
through the Border Wars and back from the Long March."

"My father-" Josey's voice caught in her throat for a moment. She
pressed onward. "He told me about the crusade into the Northern Wastes.
He said hardly anyone came back."

Kas carved another slice of ham for himself. "That's so. Only one company in ten returned to Nimea. That was my last campaign. After
watching so many friends die, I just wanted a little plot of land for myself
and as much peace as any man deserves. Even an old warhorse like me."

Josey lifted the cup to her lips. "So tell me about
Caim."

"I was under the impression you knew him better than I, young
miss."

"I-?" She understood the connotation and managed to blush. "No,
sir. Caim and I are only companions by happenstance. We're just friends."

"Well, what would you like to know?"

She leaned her elbows on the table. "Was he always ... the way he is
now?"

"You mean the dark clothes and hard eyes?"

"Exactly!"

"No, not always. He was a pleasant lad when he was smaller, before
his father was killed right in front of him and his mother taken away to
parts unknown."

His words sobered Josey faster than a shot of his bitter cha and
reminded her that she wasn't the only one who had lost her parents. She
couldn't imagine what it had been like for a small boy, alone, suddenly
thrust into the world.

"It must have been hard for him."

Kas nodded over his plate. "Aye. It broke his little heart, and perhaps
his mind, too. He didn't hardly speak at all after I took him out of the city
and brought him down here. I thought I could raise him up proper, take
care of him, but there was always something different about Caim after
the attack."