Bayard va Still-Patter had not come in with him.
Katrin Ege, at the mercy of kuf or alcohol, was also a slave to her insecurities and appetites. She wore nothing. Her frame was more gaunt than when last he had seen her unclothed. There were bruises all over her. Had someone been beating her?
“What the hell?”
“Commander, you know your duty.” She slurred her words. She must have been drinking. And he smelled kuf behind the marvelous stench of the coffee. So maybe she had done both to get into her present state. Meaning she must have been at it for a while.
Katrin got down on hands and knees, rested her right cheek on her folded hands.
“Your Grace…” He wanted to refuse, but after a year he knew her, knew himself, and knew where he and she wanted to go too well to try. “You don’t look like you’ve been eating right. And you have bruises. Has somebody…”
“Forget that. I put the bruises there. Punishing my flesh for its wicked hungers. But my flesh defeated me. Come here. Fuck me.”
Hecht was appalled. Repelled. Disgusted. And yet aroused. There was nothing appetizing about this woman, presenting like a cat in heat. Yet…
No doubt she felt the same things he did, but betrayed by the evil within, she could not help being receptive.
“Your choices are the same as they were before, Commander.”
He told himself he had to have this job. He had to be Commander of the Righteous when the next crusade smashed into the Holy Lands.
It was nothing like being with Anna Mozilla, yet, in its crooked way, it was more exciting. An Empress!
He was master of a king, metaphorically, for those few minutes when he made the most powerful monarch in the west cry and beg.
Suffocating in self-loathing, Hecht did not want to return to the Castella. He did not want to face his family. He did not want to see Anna till he found some way to expiate his sin. Or some clever rationalization.
Katrin’s bruises crossed his mind. Her torment must be worse than his. What had she gone through before she surrendered to her lust?
“Sir?” Terens Ernest needed instructions.
“That was not a pleasant interview, Mr. Ernest. Let’s take a walk along the river and have a gander at the wonders of the Mother City.” This was Ernest’s first visit: hardly a pilgrim’s journey.
“Might that be risky?”
“Possibly. Stay on my left. Last time somebody tried to kill me here he was down there in the monuments. He used a longbow.”
Ernest had heard about it, not from his principal. He knew the story behind each assassination attempt, including some that had not been brought to Hecht’s attention.
Ernest asked, “What happened? Can you talk about it? Did you see the Empress? Her bodyguards say she’s gone completely nuts.”
“I did see her. There was a lot of ranting. She isn’t pleased with how I’ve treated our host city. I’m too gentle for her taste.” He stopped, stared back at Krois on its stone-clad island amid the Sacred Flood. Bronte Doneto was out there, scarcely a quarter mile away, completely nuts himself. And completely invulnerable.
Pinkus Ghort should arrive sometime tomorrow, despite the Grand Duke’s best efforts.
The worm kept twisting and turning.
Hecht noted signs of substantial explosions over there. Lila’s work?
The girl was going to get herself in trouble if she was not careful.
He enjoyed a smirk at his own foolishness.
Shouting broke out back that way, followed by the rattle of horseshoes on stone.
Brothe, round there, was all stone, including the faces of the channel of the Teragi. A conceit of the Old Brothens. Even the Sacred Flood had been under their control.
Hecht and his lifeguards faced the excitement. Several riders headed their way, pursued by men on foot. The horseman out front went into a gallop. Insanity on this kind of surface.
That lead rider was no man. That was Katrin Ege in her loose-fitting armor, headed for her Commander of the Righteous at the best speed her mount could make.
Hecht’s heart sank. This could mean ruin… What the hell? Had she lost it completely?
Ernest grabbed Hecht and dragged him toward potential safety among the monuments.
Too late. Far too late. Shrieking words that never made sense to anyone, Katrin was upon them. Her mount narrowly avoided Hecht and Ernest. Both dove away. Both ended up sprawled on the pavements, with bleeding palms.
Captain Ephrian whipped past, face a mask of despair. He meant to snatch Katrin’s reins as she tried to turn to charge in the opposite direction.
The footing was not appropriate for a horse wearing iron shoes.
Ephrian collided with Katrin. The horseman behind Ephrian collided with them both.
Combined momentums pushed Katrin and Ephrian over the brink of the embankment. Screaming, man, woman, and horses all went scrabbling, spinning, and tumbling down the stone facing, into the river.
Hecht was seconds behind. Just the length of time it took to shed a mail shirt and weapons. Terens Ernest was seconds behind him.
Hecht did not think about his actions till later, though the cool water was an encouragement to reflection. He saw Ephrian floundering, a poor swimmer but safely separated from his mount. Hecht went after Katrin, who had gone under while still trying to separate herself from her animal. He got her loose. Her horse drifted on downriver, shrieking at first but soon getting it together and striking out toward the lower northern bank.
Terens Ernest tried helping with Katrin. He was a strong swimmer.
Captain Ephrian made it to the embankment but could find no decent handhold so he tried to stay near the stone while the weak current carried him somewhere more felicitous.
Ephrian would be overlooked despite all the would-be rescuers gathering above.
Hecht was not as strong a swimmer as he believed. Nor was Terens Ernest. They reached the embankment only to face the same problem as Captain Ephrian. There were few congenial handholds.
People up top yelled about hanging on because ropes were on the way.
Ernest lost his weak hold and followed Ephrian downstream. Hecht could not help without abandoning the Empress.
Eyes tearing, he drove bloody fingers into a crack between blocks while keeping Katrin’s face above water with his other hand.
He lost consciousness.
Piper Hecht, Commander of the Righteous, wakened in an unfamiliar bed. A headache and upset stomach told him he had been sedated for some time. His left hand ached. The fingers were bandaged. The crust on his eyelids kept him from opening those. He tried to rise.
“He’s starting to wake up!” That voice belonged to Vali. It brought several people quickly and others within minutes. Head throbbing, Hecht made noises that were senseless even to him.
A hand went behind his head, lifted. Sweet, cold water filled his mouth. A damp cloth daubed at his eyelids. Anna said, “Relax, Piper. You cheated Him again.”
A heavy hand pushed on his chest, forced him back down.
He did will himself to relax. Relaxing had to be good. He would not be in these circumstances if something dire had not happened.
Lamps got lighted. His surroundings became less obscure.
He was surrounded by family. Pella. The girls. Anna. Heris and both old men. What were they doing here?
He remembered. He wanted to ask questions but knew the sensible course was to conserve energy. They would tell him what he needed to know.
The smell of fresh coffee hit hard, like a kick in the shin, wakening memories.
Anna and Pella lifted him and propped him with pillows. Heris put a small cup into his right hand. “You gave us a scare, little brother.”
“Yeah?”
“You wouldn’t let the woman go.”
Anna said, “She drowned. Before you pulled her free. You and her horse were the only survivors.”