Emperor of Thorns (The Broken Empire, Book 3)

‘The cathedral has been under construction for twenty years and more,’ I said. ‘My entire life.’


‘But soon it will be finished, and people will expect me to come to bless it before the first mass.’ She shifted her bulk on the stool. ‘I heard this news on my tour of Scorron, and came here to speak with you. You must know why.’

‘You feel safer here,’ I said.

‘I am the Vicar of Christ, I walk in safety anywhere in Christendom!’ Anger in her tone now, but more bluster than true indignation.

‘Walk?’

She let that pass, cold eyes on me. ‘I will hear your confession, Jorg. And offer forgiveness to the penitent.’

‘I will confess to you?’ I rolled my head, vertebrae popping in my neck. ‘Me to you?’

Her guardsman took half a step closer. I wondered what other roles he held. Executioner? Assassin? Perhaps he trained with the white-skinned dream-smith who visited the Haunt on Vatican business.

‘You sent an assassin after my wife and unborn child.’ In some inner darkness cold winds stirred and the ember of an old rage glowed once more.

‘We walk in a vale of tears, Jorg, the only matter of consequence is how we place our steps.’

‘What does that mean?’ Was I supposed to nod wisely? To assume her wisdom surpassed the need for meaning?

‘Your father’s funeral will be held soon, no doubt. To have the Pope herself usher him into paradise at the ceremony would do your standing at Congression untold good. Not to mention the small matter of papal sanction on the inheritance.’

‘He’s truly dead?’ I saw his face, without emotion gazing over his court. He would look no different, laid in the tomb. No less human.

‘You didn’t know?’ She raised a heavy brow.

‘I knew.’ I saw him at the battlement on the highest tower, sunset lighting him in crimson and shadow, hair streaming in the wind. I saw him with Mother, laughing, too far away to hear.

‘Four days. That’s how long Ancrath’s defences held without him. The Dead King’s creatures are on the march now.’ She watched me for some reaction. ‘Hard upon your heels.’

‘And how will you stop them, Holiness?’ The dead wouldn’t seek out and lay siege to castles, they wouldn’t claim lands, levy taxes. The Dead King wouldn’t rule, only ruin.

‘We will pray.’ She shifted her bulk. ‘These are the end of days, my son. All we can do is pray.’

‘Your son?’ I tilted my head, seeing the pale-eyed killer beside me without looking. Road-eyes that’s called. Seeing without looking. I drew the deepest breath and that hidden ember grew white-hot.

Tobias moved his right foot, just a fraction. He knew. Pius would depend only on the best. She thought her guards a mere formality. Like so many before her, despite the evidence writ plain in the trail of bodies behind me, she thought to bind me with nothing more than convention. Tobias, though, he knew my heart, shared my instinct.

‘You’re not my mother, old woman.’

Fat people are hard to kill with your bare hands. They carry their own padded armour. I tried to throttle Fat Burlow a time or two, even Rike found that a challenge. Tobias would let his polearm fall in the moment he moved to act, a prop, nothing more, another piece of papal foolishness, convention. He would go for his knife, hidden somewhere. And I for mine, no time for swords. And for all of Brother Grumlow’s teachings, I would be in a chair with my back to him, he would be standing, and I’d die before the fat bitch got her squeal out, before I so much as scratched her.

‘Play nice, boy.’ She didn’t stir to anger. You don’t win the cardinals over with roaring. The thickest skin, patience, time, inexorable pressure, these will move even the most weighty backside into the papal throne if the owner is sufficiently shrewd.

I blinked. ‘Did they not tell you about me? Was Murillo not enough of a hint?’ Quick hands, that’s what a knife fight is all about. But quick hands are wasted if you’re hunting your weapon while the other man’s fingers are wrapped around his. Don’t waste your speed at the start of the first move. All that does is advertise that it is a move. ‘You sent an assassin to kill—’

‘A king rules by the will of his people.’ Just a hint of irritation now. ‘The people look to Roma for their eternal salvation. You’re old enough to know where your interests lie. And those of your son. The cathedral—’