Jon Sprunk - Shadow’s Lure

He climbed the stage first and helped her up. As Josey turned to the assembly, her stomach twisted to the point where she thought she might be ill. A servant appeared with a silver platter, and Hubert handed her a gold chalice. The people in the crowd held crystal glasses filled with wine.

Hubert raised his glass. “Lords and ladies of Nimea, good gentles, I present to you Empress Josephine.”

Josey forced herself to smile as she lifted her cup to the crowd. Looking out over their faces, seeing them watching her, she couldn’t think of anything to say. She considered taking a sip of wine to stall for time, but thought it would appear rude. These were her people. They wanted to hear from her.

“Good people,” she began.

A shout from the other end of the room made a few heads turn. Hubert craned his neck to see.

Josey tried to go on with her speech. “We thank you, one and all, for attending-”

A loud crash startled her. Cold wine from her cup spilled down her gown. Hubert jumped down from the stage, leaving Josey alone. On the floor, everyone faced away toward the main doors. Wiping at her bodice with her hands, and only making the mess worse, Josey couldn’t see the source of the commotion. Then a shout rang out.

“Death to the usurper whore!”

A man ran through the crowd straight toward the stage. Josey froze. People backed away, and she didn’t blame them when she caught sight of the man. He had the look of a madman, with great bulging eyes that focused on her like a coursing hound on a hare. He was dressed in some type of uniform. It took her a moment to realize it was the livery of a palace servant.

Josey backed away, fearing the man was about to leap upon the stage to assault her, but he stopped at the foot of the platform.

There, raising his left fist into the air, he shouted aloud, “Long live the Church of the True Faith! And death to the usurp-”

His words were muffled under the press of several large guardsmen. Hubert reappeared. He blanched when he saw her.

“Majesty, are you…?”

Josey looked down at the stain spreading across her bosom. “It’s just wine.”

“Thank goodness. Perhaps we should retire in light of this.”

The crowd buzzed as the agitator was dragged away. Few people were paying her any attention, and those who did wore unreadable expressions. Josey couldn’t tell if they were relieved to see the man go, or sorry.

“One moment, Hubert.”

Josey held up her cup as she raised her voice. “Some of you don’t know much about me. Most of you, in fact. But I want to remedy that in the coming days.” She cleared her throat, not sure where to go from there. Then she recalled something her foster father had once said to her. “Nimea was once a nation of culture and gentility, a nation who welcomed her neighbors and grew prosperous through mutual benefit. Those days can return. They shall return. To Nimea! Long may She stand.”

A couple of glasses went up. Scattered responses arose, and gained strength as more and more people took up the call. After a moment, the entire assembly repeated the toast.

Hubert watched with wide eyes. Then he turned to her and bowed. “Majesty.”

Taking his arm, Josey allowed herself to be led down from the stage. Guards surrounded them as they walked out. Behind them, music began to play over the thunder of applause.

Anastasia found them in the corridor. She rushed through the hedge of soldiers and hugged Josey, heedless of the wine stain. “Thank the Light! I saw everything. Are you all right?”

“I’m all right. Just a little shaken up.”

Josey looked to Hubert over Anastasia’s shoulder. She expected him to say something, but he appeared to find the floor tiles of great interest.

“It’s a travesty,” Anastasia went on. “The Imperial Guard should have put better precautions in place.”

“Everything is fine, ’Stasia. It was just someone seeking attention.”

“But the things he said!”

Josey put on a smile. “It’s nothing. Will you stay at the palace tonight?”

“I would, Josey. I mean ‘Your Majesty.’ But Father will be expecting me. He hasn’t been well.”

“I understand.” Josey gave her another hug. “Come see me tomorrow, will you?”

“Of course.”

Heaviness descended over Josey as she watched her friend depart. Hubert was watching, too, but his expression was more sublime.

“Well?” she asked.

“Majesty?”

“What did the two of you talk about?”

He ran a finger across the bridge of his nose. “Ah, nothing of import. She talked a bit about the decorations and the music. She liked the music most, I believe.”

Josey shook her head. “Decorations and music? You’re impossible, Hubert. Do you know that?”

“So I’ve been told.”

“I’m exhausted. Is there anything else I need to do tonight?”

“No, Majesty.”

“Then I bid you good night, Lord Chancellor.”

Still shaking her head, Josey walked away. The climb to her apartments seemed interminable. Her bodyguards took up positions outside as she entered. A shadowed chamber greeted her. The curtains had been drawn, but the hearth was unlit. Faint light flickered across the wide expanse of the foyer.

Calling for Amelia, her evening chambermaid, Josey crossed the cold floor. She reached a round table where a single candle dripped wax into a silver reservoir. Where was everyone? Perhaps her maids had not anticipated she would return from the ball so early.

As Josey approached the doorway to her bedchamber, a warm current of air brushed her face. Smells of dust and old leather tantalized her nose for a moment. She started to call out again, but a sliver of apprehension gave her pause. Why was it so quiet? Amelia wasn’t the type to fall asleep on her duties. Josey took another step, but stopped when a soft sound reached her ears, a metallic click from behind her.

Fists balled against her sides, Josey turned around, but the darkness beyond the candle’s feeble glow was unfathomable. She was tempted to call for her guards, but what if it was the maid returning from some errand, or her mind playing tricks? A yelp raced up her throat as a hand closed on her arm, but the scream sputtered and died when a familiar face emerged into the light.

“Fenrik!” Josey shivered as the pent-up fear drained out of her. “You scared me half to death.”

With a stiff nod, the manservant walked her to the inner doorway. Her nightgown had been laid out on the bed, and there was a fire in the fireplace.

“Fenrik,” she said. “Would you ask Amelia to-?”

Then she saw the blood, a rivulet of deep scarlet, trickle out from beneath her bed. Josey watched it run across the hardwood floor to the edge of the Hestrian rug and sink into the plush fibers. She gasped as a bony forearm smashed across her throat. She tried to scream, but nothing came out. She scratched at the arm with her free hand. Strips of skin, feverishly hot to the touch, came loose under her nails; the muscle and sinew underneath were like stone. Josey struggled, but couldn’t break free.

As her lungs burned, she gave up clawing at the gnarled arm and plunged her hand into the folds of her skirts. She searched frantically until her fingers found a smooth handle. She tugged the knife free from the sheath hidden under her petticoats. Too desperate to care where she aimed, Josey plunged the knife over her shoulder. The first thrust met only air, but the next collided with something solid. Fenrik shuddered behind her as she yanked on the handle. When it came free, an acrid stench like rotting meat clogged her nostrils. She thrust again, and the arm around her neck let go. Shoved hard from behind, she was propelled across the room. She turned with her back to the wall.