Surrender to the Will of the Night - By Glen Cook Page 0,137

Hecht’s force became more of an Imperial bodyguard, in every mind but his own. Most people seemed comfortable with the notion. It promised an alternative to chaos.

* * *

Hecht was with his staff when word came two afternoons later. The Empress had been delivered of a male child. The news stunned Hecht, his staff, and, he was sure, all Alten Weinberg.

“How did they manage?” Titus demanded, cynicism kicking in. “Did they ring in an orphan?”

Clej Sedlakova said, “No way. Even the suspicion would poison the succession. There would’ve been a platoon of unimpeachable witnesses.”

A vigorous discussion began, driven by worry about future employment. It lasted only minutes. A second message arrived.

Katrin’s son had been born dead. She had carried a dead baby all this time. It had developed only to about the sixth month.

“Is that possible?” Hecht asked. “Can a woman carry a dead fetus for half a year?” He had no idea how all that worked.

Nor did any of his staff, though Buhle Smolens opined, “She could if there was sorcery involved.”

Sorcery, or the suspicion thereof, soon animated rumor. Some wicked power had stilled the future Emperor in the womb. He would have been greater than his grandfather had he lived. Further wickedness had been worked by spelling the Empress so the death would go undiscovered for months. The finger-pointing began.

The potential villain had a hundred identities. Hecht was on the list, but well down it. At its head, despite Brothe’s romance with the Empress, was the Patriarch. The logic indicting Serenity was convoluted.

If it was not the Patriarch, then surely it must be the Collegium.

Hecht wondered if Katrin had, indeed, been touched by the Night. He seemed alone in his curiosity, though.

* * *

The Princess Apparent managed a meeting with just one witness present. The woman was not formally presented but Hecht knew she was the notorious Lady Delta va Kelgerberg. Such a profligate was unlikely to broadcast the indiscretions of her friend.

That birthed an excitement so intense it distracted him almost completely.

Helspeth was painfully aware, too, but fought through. “How is your health? Is your wound still a problem?”

“I’m better. Some. I can’t go riding. I can’t indulge in work that requires physical effort.”

Helspeth glared. The va Kelgerberg woman flashed a knowing smirk. “Why do you ask?” An out for the Princess.

“I want an honor guard. Yourself leading. For the funeral.”

“Funeral?”

“For Katrin’s baby.”

“There’s a baby?” He blurted it, surprised.

“Of course. Haven’t you been paying attention?”

“I thought …”

Helspeth leaned in to whisper, “There is an infant. Katrin has been holding it and crying for two days. We’ll take it away soon. Even in this weather it will putrefy. It will lie in state tonight. Tomorrow we’ll inter it with my father and brother. The lighting will be bad. Katrin won’t look so awful with the shadows around her. I hope she’ll have her hysteria controlled. Come dawn we’ll close the casket. You and your men will guard it and Katrin during the night, then take the casket down to the crypt. Katrin’s favorite churchmen will handle the rites and prayers. Then Katrin can get back to ruling the Empire.”

“I see. Of course. I’ll play my part.” Never being sure what was real and what was playacting.

All the appurtenances of a state funeral—for a stillborn child. But without them the Empress might be lost.

Hecht had a hundred questions. He dared ask none. The va Kelgerberg woman might have no part in the plot. If there was a plot.

Helspeth saw his confusion. “Someday. As pillow talk.” Boldness on which she almost strangled.

* * *

The Commander of the Righteous stationed himself at the end of the tiny gold casket. He wondered where it had come from on short notice. Titus, beautifully turned out, stood at the other end and gently urged people to keep moving.

It would not do to have the little corpse examined too closely.

So Hecht felt.

He thought it looked nothing like the Empress. It was as dusky as King Jaime. He thought it looked nearer full term than six months, too. Though in the available light it was hard to tell, and he was no expert.

Katrin occupied a light throne behind and overlooking the casket. No reason had been given. It was not customary. But she was Empress. She could do what she wanted. She had cried a lot. Then she had fallen asleep.

She slept well, except for one brief crying jag and a short absence to relieve herself. She did not reclaim her place among the living till