long, somber features and aquiline nose. The loose folds of his nightgown showed where his chest had been hacked open. Hacked was the operative word. The cuts looked like they had been made with a meat cleaver.
He bent down closer. Some blood was pooled in the old man's lap, but not nearly enough for such a traumatic injury. And the carpet beneath the seat was dry except for a few coin-sized dots of blood. The victim's eyes were open wide, the muscles in his face tensed. Both hands hung straight down at his sides. No signs of rope burns, but rings glittered on both hands, one gold band set with a large beryl. Caim frowned. A Gutter-bred thug wouldn't have missed those pieces, which would bring a good price at any fence in the city. There were no other signs of distress, so either the old man had been taken unawares, or he had let his killer do the bloody work without a struggle.
Or he had been dead before he was cut open.
Caim searched for other means of death. A quick inspection ruled out strangulation, poison, and blunt force. He knew of a few poisons that left their victims paralyzed, but they were expensive and difficult to procure. In any case, why use poison when you intended to carve up your victim afterward? The only reason was to send a message. But to whom?
"Caim?" Kit said.
He walked around to peer over the victim's shoulder. The angle was poor. The killer must have worked from the front, or he had an accomplice. Possible scenarios played through Calm's head as he came back around to the front. He squatted beside the corpse and reached out with a gloved finger. The flesh around the wound was discolored, turned almost tar black, and the hole was deeper than he first thought. The victim's breastbone had been shattered by the impact. Forget about a meat cleaver. The killer must have used something heavier. Like what? An axe? It seemed to Caim as if he had seen something like this before, but he couldn't remember where. He slid his fingers deeper into the wound, ignoring Kit's ewww of disgust, and made another discovery.
The old man's heart was gone.
Kit twirled a piece of silver hair in her fingers. "Okay. The job is done. Let's just get out of here before someone finds us with this old relic."
"No one's going to-"
The door opened. Caim had a knife out before he was fully turned. He checked his movement as a girl entered. No child, but a lady in the first bloom of womanhood. Her delicate frame was wrapped in a high-necked nightgown; its diaphanous panels glowed bright in the wan light of the bedchamber. Wavy midnight hair curled about her ivory shoulders to frame aristocratic features. Her eyes, twin gimlets of emerald, pierced the darkness like jewels of green fire.
"Father, I want you to reconsider-" She froze as she saw Caim.
Then, her gaze fell to the old man in the chair. She lifted a hand to her abdomen as she swallowed a sob and opened her lips.
Caim leapt.
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