Jon Sprunk - Shadow's master

“No one's asking you to stay if you don't want to.”

Kit drifted closer. “You said you loved me. And that means you have to tell me things.”

“Then maybe I was wrong.” His tongue clove to the roof of his mouth after he said those words, heavy as an iron clapper.

Kit stared at him. What would come next? Tears? Angry recriminations? Why did I say that? I'll take it ba-

Without a word, she vanished from sight.

“Kit? Kit, I didn't mean that. Come back!” He looked around, but her glow was gone, leaving him once again in dark. Now I've gone and buggered it up good. But what did she expect? Roses and serenades? She knows me better than that.

Kit and Josey, the two people he cared most about in the world, and he'd wronged them both. But just like with his comrades below, he couldn't push them away for good. And as for Josey, he'd been running from her for too long. He could settle it, if he had the courage.

It didn't start off as a conscious thought, more of a hunch. Or a fantasy. He pictured himself back in Othir with Josey as he had last seen her, dolled up in a gown and jewels that cost more than all the money he'd ever made, her hair piled on top of her head like a silky tower. She was gorgeous. Perfect. There was a connection between them. Perhaps it was because of what they'd gone through together, the trials by blood and fire, but if she called, he knew he would go. It was as simple, and as complex, as that.

The pain started in his chest, a sharp tearing like he had swallowed a mouthful of broken glass. His skin felt like it was being torn from his bones with red-hot pincers. He stepped back, almost tumbling off the hilltop, as a loud snap rent the air. A hole appeared before him. The portal wavered in the darkness, and then an image formed inside, of a long marble corridor lit by flambeaux in bronze cressets.

It was the palace at Othir.

He had run down that same corridor-it seemed like a lifetime ago-chasing after Josey. Now it was only a step away. Did he dare?

With a shiver, he took a hobbled step. And then another. The skin of the portal was ice-cold as he pushed through.

Caim staggered against the wall, waiting for the blinding pain in his skull to abate. He stood in the stone corridor he'd seen through the portal. He was back in Othir.

It didn't seem possible, to travel such a long way in one step.

Caim doubled over and spewed his dinner onto the floor. The racking heaves didn't stop until his stomach was long past empty. When he stood up, however, his head had cleared. He glanced both ways down the corridor to get his bearings. No soldiers in sight, for once. Maybe my luck is changing.

Caim started off toward the northeast wing, avoiding the pools of light cast by the ensconced torches on the walls. The shadows welcomed him, and he slid into their cool embrace.

He climbed three flights of stairs, twice avoiding guard patrols. The hallways on the top floor were wider and more opulent, with golden accents and fine pieces of artwork adorning the walls. Walking through them filled him with a host of memories, many of them quite pleasant, but it also wrapped his guts in knots.

He stopped at the doors to the imperial suite, almost wishing an army of soldiers would arrive just so he would have an excuse to leave. What am I going to say to her? Time to find out.

Taking a deep breath, he turned the handle and peered inside. The interior was unlit. He entered. A quick search revealed that the interconnected chambers were empty. In the bedchamber, Caim stood over Josey's big feather bed, recalling the time spent with her. He wanted to reach out and touch the bedspread just to make sure it was real, but his hands remained by his sides.

Not sure whether to be relieved or concerned, Caim left the suite and padded down the corridor. There was someone else he needed to see. Yellow light spilled from under the doorway. Caim put his ear to the wooden panel, but heard nothing. He lifted the latch.

Several hanging oil lamps illuminated the room beyond and lent the large chamber a musky scent. The floor was polished parquet wood with a tasteful burgundy rug in the center. Caim's target sat in a leather-bound chair behind a huge mahogany desk piled with stacks of papers and scrolls. He looked older, probably due to the deep circles under his eyes. There was some new gray in his hair and scattered in the short goatee he sported. His pen stopped scratching as he looked up. “Who-? Caim? Is that you?”

Caim stepped into the light. “Hello, Hubert. It looks like you've done well for yourself.”

Hubert chuckled as he stood up, rubbing his lower back. “Actually, I'm the lord regent now. Some climb from the Duke of the Gutters, huh? When did you get back to Othir?”

“Tonight.”

“You're looking…well. Have a seat and tell me about your travels. Would you like a drink?”

Caim went over to a picture on the wall opposite the desk. Josey looked regal sitting on a purple divan, gloved hands folded on her lap. He studied her features, captured so well on the canvas. Their time together seemed like so long ago. “Where is she?”

“She's gone, Caim. She went north to investigate some problems we've been having on the border, but I suspect she really went to find you. You've not seen or heard from her?”

“No. But I've been…moving around. Did she intend to go as far as Eregoth?”

Hubert shuffled through a pile of papers. “Her last letter was sent from a village just south of the Wyrkan River.”

The interior door opened, and a young woman appeared, a candle in her hand. Her long, blonde hair fell over the front of her long nightdress. “Who is it, Bert?”

“It's all right, Ana.” Hubert went over to her. “Just catching up with an old friend. Go back to sleep.”

But the woman peered around him. “Won't you introduce us?”

Hubert made a strained smile. “Of course. Caim, this is my fiancee, Anastasia Farthington. Ana, this is Caim.”

“The Caim? I've heard a great deal about you, sir. I wish I could say all of it was good.”

“I wouldn't believe it if you had.”

“You're here for Josey,” Anastasia said. “But you're too late.”

“Yes,” Hubert said. “I was just telling him-”

“She's lovesick over you,” Anastasia continued. “Do you know she cried for days after you left? Do you know about the attempts on her life?”

A rush of red-hot rage filled Caim at the thought of someone trying to hurt Josey. “Who was behind it?”

Hubert rubbed his hands together. “A foreign sorcerer and a few locals. They've been taken care of, Caim. Really, it sounds worse than it-”

“Were they working alone?” Caim pressed.

“Well, that seems to be-”

“You're not sure,” Caim said in a lowered voice. He had to stop his hands from reaching for his knives. “And now Josey is off in the north where she could be targeted again, and without even the protection of the palace. Dammit, Hubert. You were supposed to look after her. Not let her go off on some crusade.”

“Josey is the empress of Nimea,” Anastasia said. “She can take care of herself.”

Hubert put a hand on the lady's shoulder. “It's true, Caim. The empress isn't the same girl you took from her foster father's home.”

Hands balled into fists, Caim turned and took a step toward the door. He stopped before he reached the exit. “You'd better hope so, Lord Regent. Because if she comes to harm, I'll hold you responsible.”

Caim created a portal in the hallway. The effort was almost more than he could manage, the pain incredible. As footsteps echoed in the room behind him, he stepped through and let the portal close before they could catch up.