Born Of Darkness (Book 7) Read Free Page A

salute at Zamara. He eyed Rhiana with a frank sexual interest and then his eyes widened as they came to rest on Kormak and the blade hanging over his shoulder.
    Servants ushered them into the carriage. Once inside Frater Jonas relaxed. “It’s good to be home,” he said.
    “You missed your little creature comforts aboard ship, did you?” Zamara asked.
    Jonas smiled. “I fear that, proud citizen of Siderea though I am, I am a landlubber at heart.”
    “There’s nothing wrong with that,” said Kormak.
    “Spoken like a true son of mountain-girt Aquilea,” said Zamara.
    “I like mountains,” said Kormak. “They never try to drown me.”
    The carriage splashed through puddles left behind by last night’s storm. It moved past buildings whose plasterwork was dark with rain-damp. Horses’ hooves clopped as their escort moved into position and hustled the crowd out of the way. The people had a nervous starved look. They eyed the carriage with a mixture of envy and resentment that made Kormak think that all might not be well in the city of Trefal.
    ***
    The carriage carried them up the side of Palace Rock. The road ran through street after street of fine houses. The view of the harbour stretched out below them as they gained height.
    They swerved around a convoy of wagons under escort by soldiers in the livery of the Imperial House. Huge treasure chests filled the carts. Porters carried smaller containers on their brawny backs. The spoils from the treasure fleet were still making their way up to the palace.
    Then the houses were gone, leaving only bare black rock as they performed the last leg of their journey to the Palace gates. These stood tall as the masts of a sailing ship. A carved sea dragon rose on either side. Between them they held a massive five pointed elder sign inlaid with sungold.
    With the escort the carriage passed through unchallenged. They emerged into a large courtyard flanked by handsome buildings. The Palace was more like a small city on top of the cliff rather than a single structure. Servants rushed to greet the passengers as they clambered down.
    Messengers came and went. Grandees in court costume drifted by in their peacock finery. They wore cloaks of the finest silk, dyed red and purple. Ruffed collars framed their faces and covered their necks. Jewelled codpieces covered their groins. Long swords curved at the tip hung scabbarded on jewelled belts. Most of the men had neatly clipped beards. Most of the ladies wore revealing elaborately patterned gowns.
    In separate groups other nobles stood, just as superbly tailored but this time garbed all in black with white ruffs. The women in this group wore black gowns that covered their breasts and wimples that hid their hair. The two groups glared at each other with barely concealed loathing.
    Servants and messengers threaded through the nobles. They wore tabards showing the Star and Dragon. Kormak judged that the elaborateness of their garb showed the rank of the servant. Frater Jonas took in the scene at a glance and nodded to members of each of the groups.
    “I have not missed the intrigues of our courtly factions,” he murmured so low that Kormak was the only one who heard it.
    A servant in a more elaborate uniform than the others came forward. “His Imperial Majesty is at afternoon prayer in the Sanctum of the Angel. You may wait upon him there.”
    He did not speak like a servant. He spoke with all the authority of his royal master. Jonas gave him a small bow and said, “Thank you, Hans. I will await His Majesty’s pleasure.”
    He gave a small gesture for them to follow and led them across the courtyard. The stares of the nobility followed them.
    ***
    They passed through two open-brass-bound oaken doors that looked thick enough to resist a siege engine. The cool, dark interior of the Cathedral smelled of incense and floor wax rather than storm-cleansed sea air.
    The ceiling of the Sanctum arched twenty times the height of a man. Small