CHAPTER SEVEN

osey stared up at the sheer white canopy draped over her bed and tried to get comfortable on the feather-down mattress, but sleep was the farthest thing from her mind. Her stomach twisted in knots. Despite cudgeling her brain for the past two days, she hadn't found the solution to her dilemma. At supper Father had told her that her ship was set to depart tomorrow morning with the rising tide. Tomorrow!

After Father had retired, she had called for the carriage and went to vespers-not to the basilica that, despite its gold-plated finery, she found cold and forbidding, but to her childhood parish off the Forum. Though small and unassuming with plain plaster walls and a simple altarpiece, the priory at St. Azari's exuded a comforting atmosphere, like having Father's arms around her as a child. Safe. Protected. However, not even the familiar hymns and solemn liturgy had been able to quell the angst raging inside her. Unable to find solace in prayer, she'd returned home as despondent as before.

Before bed she had written a letter to Anastasia, an earnest apology splashed with genuine tears. In it she explained how sorry she was to miss her dearest friend's wedding. With every word her heart moved farther away from her father's love, and by the end she could almost say she hated him. Despite her agony, Josey realized he was doing what he thought was right. As a dutiful daughter she ought to respect that. Instead, it made her want to fight him all the harder. She was not a child any longer. She could decide things for herself.

Finally, she could take the tumult inside her head no longer and got out of bed. She didn't pause to light a taper for fear she would lose her ire in the delay, but marched straight from her room in the dark. She hesitated for a moment in the hallway as she considered what to say. He had defeated all of her logical arguments for staying. How else could she sway him? For a moment the specter of apprehension almost overcame her. She could wait until morning, appeal to him when he was rested and most inclined to indulge her. No, I must do this now.

She tiptoed to his bedchamber. The door was partway open, and a faint light shined from within. He was awake, likely reading as was his habit at night. With a deep breath, Josey grasped the knob and pushed open the door. She began her argument right away, before her willpower could falter.

"Father, I want you to reconsider-"

The words died on her lips as the ghastly scene unraveled before her. The dull glow of the fireplace showed Father sitting at his worktable, his head thrown back. A deep, red wound gaped in his breast like an obscene second mouth. Over Father hovered a man clad in muted gray and black from head to toe. A gush of hot bile filled Josey's throat. She put a hand to her middle as her stomach threatened to void the remains of her supper. Terrified, she began to scream.

The man in black leapt.

She had never seen anyone move so swiftly. His movements were sure and quick, almost graceful. Before Josey could get the scream out of her chest, he had seized her with one arm and clapped a gloved hand over her mouth, bruising her lips.

Josey stood rigid with terror, the taste of leather in her mouth. The killer's hands were strong, too strong for her to break their hold, but when he dragged her toward the bed, a will to resist bubbled up inside her. She shook and flailed, kicked with her feet. The man in black lifted her like she was a child and thrust her down on the firm mattress. He let go for an instant and she clawed to get away, but a heavy weight pushed her flat onto her stomach. The sound of ripping cloth presaged her hands being yanked behind her back and bound in strips of torn blanket, and the same for her ankles. A wad of cloth was forced between her teeth and tied behind her head. She lay on the bed, chest heaving, straining to hear a sign, a clue of what the killer intended next. Suddenly, the weight was gone from her back. She waited for something dire to happen.

"Now we can go," the killer said.

Josey twisted her head around. Was he talking to her? She wasn't about to go anywhere with him! Yet the room was empty except for the two of them and her poor, departed father. The horrified expression on Father's face bludgeoned her from across the room. Every time she tried to comprehend what he had suffered, she shivered with fury.

A loud crash from downstairs shook Josey from her misery. Heavy boots pounded on the stairs. Someone was coming! Fenrik must have awakened and called for help. Elation surged through her. Now you'll face justice!

The assassin didn't wait to be caught. He darted to the window and climbed out. Josey struggled against her bonds. If she could get free, she could tell her rescuers which way the killer had gone. However, the bindings refused to cooperate. Every wriggle she made only seemed to twist them tighter.

The bedchamber door slammed open and four men in the uniforms of the Sacred Brotherhood burst into the room. They fanned out with naked blades in their hands and lanterns raised high to pierce the shadows. Josey shouted as best she could through the gag, but the soldiers paid her no mind as they searched the chamber. She tried to nod toward the window and could have sighed with relief as one guardsman went to the aperture, but he was satisfied after a cursory look and turned back to face the murder scene. She kicked and screamed.

One man came over to peer down at her. He held his light up to her face. "What's she doing here?"

A young guardsman with a chubby face said, "Maybe she heard a noise and came to check it out."

"She ain't supposed to be breathing anymore," the first said. "This is all screwed up."

"What's screwed up?" a voice asked from the doorway.

Josey was perplexed by this bizarre behavior, but calmed as Markus entered the room. He looked so gallant in his prefect's uniform that for an instant she felt the tiniest bit jealous he was betrothed to Anastasia, but the feeling passed as she focused on the here and now. She grunted through the gag and shook her bound hands.

The first man pointed at her with the point of his sword. "He didn't kill her. He just left her trussed up."

"So I see." Markus came over to the bed. "Where's the assassin?"

"He wasn't here," the guardsman with the lantern replied.

Markus smacked his hands together. "Damn! Epps and Lauk, go search the yard. Whistle if you see anything."

As the two soldiers dashed out, the lantern-holder said to Markus, "We could make this one look the same as the other."

Markus nodded to the first man. "Take care of it, but make it fast."

Josey tried to wriggle free once more, but the soldier straddled her hips and yanked back hard on her hair. She screamed as a blade's edge pressed against her exposed neck.

"No!

Josey shook with relief as the blade stopped. A large tear ran down the length of her nose.

"Not here," Markus said. "Take her back to her own room."

What were they doing? Josey tried to shout, but the air whooshed from her lungs as the guardsman hefted her onto his shoulder. The room spun; the tableau of her dead father flashed before her eyes. She sobbed as her captor headed toward the door.

Then, the room exploded into violence.

From Josey's vantage point it appeared that the shadows along the wall came alive and attacked the man standing by the window. He fell to his knees, his face as pale as a bedsheet. A ribbon of blood spilled from his open mouth. Markus drew his sword. A silvery blur flashed. Markus fell to the carpet, bleeding from a gaping cut across his throat. Josey's bearer dropped her without warning. She landed hard on her hip. A moment later, the man gasped before joining her on the floor with a ghastly wound where his nose had been.