Jon Sprunk - Shadow’s Lure

“This is lunacy!” one of the younger hierarchs barked. “A pair of old shirts, no matter where they were found, does not constitute evidence against the Holy-”

Josey nodded to Hubert. Two guardsmen seized the archpriest and hauled him from the chamber. Voices erupted from the Thurim. Josey allowed them a few moments to digest her words. The prelate said nothing. His eyes, though, glowered at her with pure venom.

“Holiness,” she said. “Do you deny the Church has encouraged demonstrations against the crown throughout the city since the day of my coronation?”

“There is no proof of that,” Innocence replied. “I, myself, have issued proclamations condemning such-”

“The uniforms, the demonstrations, and the assassin. They are all connected to the same plot to overthrow this government and seize power. A plot traced back to the Church. To your office.”

The prelate swallowed and glanced at the soldiers surrounding him. “That is absurd. You don’t have the proof. The faithful-”

“Archpriest Gaspar has made a full confession.”

Ozmond extended a roll of parchment. One of the remaining archpriests took it and handed it over to the prelate. Innocence glanced at its contents.

“A confession made under considerable duress, no doubt. Worthless.”

But there was something new in his gaze. Was it fear?

Josey stood up. “If there are any further demonstrations, or should my ministers unearth additional plots against the throne, I will dismantle the True Church piece by piece.”

The prelate’s chin trembled. “By the Prophet, you shall live to regret your audacity, child.”

“That may be.”

She inclined her head, and the prelate started to leave. But she gestured before they reached the doors, and her guardsmen stopped their exit.

“ Majesty,” she said. “You will address this throne properly for all the court to hear, Your Eminence.”

The prelate turned, his face hardened into a stony mask. He cleared his throat. “As you wish. Majesty.”

Josey held out her hand. The imperial seal flashed in the sunlight as she and the prelate stared at each other for several long heartbeats. Finally, Innocence shambled over to climb the dais and touched his lips to the ring.

“Well done,” she whispered. “Now get out of my sight.”

As the delegation hurried from the hall, Josey swallowed several times to clear the taste of bile from her mouth. She glanced over at the Thurim to see how Lady Philomena was taking the prelate’s public humiliation, but her seat was vacant. I should have had her flogged.

Settling back in the throne as the tension eased from her body, Josey presented a composed face to the court. The ministers watched her with what she hoped were benign expressions. Well, they haven’t denounced me yet. So there’s hope that I won’t be the shortest-reigning monarch in Nimea’s history.

A side door opened, and Captain Drathan stepped through. He looked in her direction and made a shallow nod before leaving. Relieved, Josey jumped up, almost forgetting to dismiss the court as she hurried down the steps. She was out the door before anyone could say a word.

A candlemark later, Josey came down a secluded staircase in the west wing of the palace. She was hugged in a suit of comfortable green leathers and heeled riding boots. Her hair was pinned up under the hood of her cloak. Despite the pangs in her stomach, half nausea and half excitement, she was excited. I’m actually doing it!

Hirsch waited by the postern door. The adept leaned as he stood, favoring his left leg, but he had made a remarkable recovery. He met her eyes with a frank gaze.

“That was well done, lass. Not many people could take the Holy Father to task like that. There’s a lioness in that heart of yours.”

Josey allowed herself a little sigh. “I wish I felt like there was, but what I really feel is…”

“Uncertainty,” he offered.

“Yes.”

Hirsch coughed into his hand. “Someone once said that leading a nation is like walking through a dark wood on a moonless night; you never know what’s coming.”

“That’s how I’ve felt ever since I put on the crown. Who said that?”

“Your father.”

Josey’s breath caught in her throat. “Thank you.”

Offering the adept her arm, she pushed open the door. The outside air was laden with the crisp smell of winter. After weeks of rain and sleet, the stones of the courtyard were covered with a blanket of fresh snow. It had begun falling sometime after midnight, and judging by the fluffy clouds overhead, it was going to continue for some time. The flakes fell upon the shoulders of her palace bodyguards as they stood in sharp formation. She’d asked for volunteers, and every man who could ride had insisted upon coming, even the wounded in their bandages; she didn’t turn away anyone who could sit on a horse. Behind her bodyguards stood four columns, a full company of hobelar infantry with their mounts. The golden griffin fluttered on their chests, but they seemed too few for the task she had in mind.

“They aren’t enough,” Hubert said, coming over to her.

Josey pressed her lips together, barely managing to stifle a pointed retort. The man was entirely too good at reading her thoughts. Anastasia accompanied the lord chancellor, the two of them standing rather close. A few paces away, Duke Mormaer talked with Captain Drathan. Mormaer hardly seemed the same man who had stormed into her throne room. Where he had been rigid and prickly, he was now almost genteel. Or perhaps I just understand him better now.

“We will acquire more,” Josey said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “On our journey north.”

Hubert nodded, but the frown remained on his thin lips. “I must restate my opinion that this decision is unwise.”

Duke Mormaer grunted. “Give it a rest, Vassili. She’s doing what needs to be done. What the Empress of Nimea must do in times like these.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Josey turned to Hubert. “All is ready?”

“Yes, Majesty.”

“Good. Has the Watch been reestablished?”

“Numbers are low, but some of the deserters are starting to slink back into the ranks.”

“Don’t be too harsh with them. We’ve all been through a rough time.”

Hubert tapped the ground with the tip of his cane. “There is a spot of good news. We have received missives from some of the nobles involved in unlawful raids against their neighbors. One and all state their undying fealty to the crown. Furthermore, Lords Devring and Karstan are coming to Othir to prove this in person.” He leaned closer. “And I have managed to convince enough of your ministers that we might send an envoy to Akeshia to introduce a truce and begin discussions on a trade agreement. Money still poses a problem, but I believe it can be done.”

Josey suppressed a smile, wondering how the man could keep track of it all and still find time to court a lady. “Anything else, Your Grace?”

“Well, rampant banditry still plagues the western border, and a diplomatic mission has arrived from the kingdom of Arnos. I presume they wish to discuss the status of Mecantia.”

“I trust you to handle the matters, Lord Regent.”

“Majesty, I don’t-”

Josey pulled a scroll from under her cloak and passed it to him. “I’m leaving you in charge. You are hereby named the imperial regent of Othir in my absence.”

He handled the order gingerly. “I’m not-”

“There’s been no word from the northern border, and none of our envoys have returned. That can only mean one thing.”

“War,” Mormaer said.

Josey nodded. “There is a foreign army on our soil, Lord Chancellor, and I intend to send it back to where it came from. Master Hirsch”-she glanced at the adept, who was watching the discussion quietly-“will accompany us.”