Vassili swept the mass of architectural plans from his desk with a blasphemous oath. Outside the door, footsteps that had been approaching the door wisely turned away.

Robbed of the chance to vent his anger, he dropped into his thronelike chair behind the desk. Scents of sandalwood and ambergris wafting from the hearth did nothing to soothe his ire. He had been at the site of the new cathedral, basking in the realization of his genius wrought in marble, when the news of Benevolence's death reached him. His first thought had been to curse the heavens for their poor timing. Later, he shook with rage as he read the first reports out of DiVecci. The prelate had been murdered. The deed had Levictus's name written all over it.

Vassili mashed his hands together while he paced. Did the man think he was a fool? What with the rogue assassin on the loose killing electors, men he had counted upon in his bid for the prelacy, it was too soon to precipitate the final phase of their plan. This could ruin everything!

He paused with his hand over an Illmynish porcelain figurine. Perhaps things were not as bad as they appeared. The deaths on the Council were a setback, but no one else had enough votes to swing the election. That meant he was still in a position of strength. If he moved swiftly and with purpose, his plan could still succeed. But first he needed to rein in that bastard Levictus. The second thing he'd done upon returning to the palace had been to summon the sorcerer. It was time to remind the man which of them was the servant and which the master.

The lamp over his desk fluttered as if in a stiff breeze. The windows were closed.

Vassili turned, and stepped back reflexively as the slim figure appeared behind him.

"God's blood, man. What are you doing here?"

While he took a moment to catch his breath, the assassin took a seat by the fireplace. The archpriest's fingers curled into fists, but he forced a calm tone into his voice. Ral still had his sword with the ostentatious silver handle belted at his waist. The security lapse only increased his ire.

"Have you found them yet?" Vassili asked. "I need that girl, and the man-what's his name?"

Ral produced a knife and twirled it between his fingers. "Oh, we're still searching for them. No good having such hazardous tools lying about where anyone could snatch them up."

Vassili frowned. This was a different Ral than the one he was accustomed to dealing with. He went behind his desk and sat down. He considered calling for his guards, but held off.

"What are you getting at?"

"You've been colluding with dangerous people, Your Luminance. All those rumors about war in the north must be driving you mad."

"I don't-"

"Don't waste your breath." Ral reached into his jacket and dropped a scroll on the desk.

Vassili stiffened as he saw the wax seal on the parchment. How could this be? All his most secret documents were kept under lock and key. Then, he knew.

Levictus.

Vassili brushed a hand down the front of his robe as he composed himself. "Yes, I have had dealings with certain entities in Eregoth. What of it? We are surrounded by foreign powers that work toward our annihilation, from the pagans of Arnos to the godless heathens of the western realms. The prelate understood the use of clandestine means to further the Church's mission. The use of assassination as a political lever, for example."

Ral didn't take the bait. "Dealing with the Shadow is sacrilege, and treason to boot."

"Don't prattle to me about sacrilege and treason! I have spent my life in service to the Church. After Immaculate passed, I should have been elected to the high office. Me. Not that dotard, Benevolence. Your failure may have altered the timing of my plans, but nonetheless I will be the next prelate."

Ral frowned as if perplexed as he examined the palms of his hands. "I'm afraid there's been a change of plans. You see, it's not Caim who's been killing your peers on the Council."

Vassili grasped the desk. "I'll have you whipped through the streets for your inso-"

His words dribbled to a halt as he gazed down at the knife's shiny handle protruding from his chest. It was a curious sensation, more pressure than pain, radiating out from his breastbone. A thin line of warmth trickled under his robe, down his belly and into his smallclothes.

Another figure appeared before his desk. Levictus in his black robe. Nothingness reflected in the opaque depths of the sorcerer's eyes.

Vassili wanted to reach for his sacred medallion, to cow the man in his tracks, but his hands refused to obey. His body was too heavy; he couldn't move. He looked to Ral, who had risen to stand beside Levictus.

"You don't know," he whispered, barely able to summon enough breath to speak. The wound began to throb. "You think you've won, but you don't…"

The room spun, and then he was lying on the floor staring up at the ceiling. Little shadows crawled across the coffered surface, so many of them, like a hive of formless black termites burrowing through the palace. Something tugged at his sleeve. Papers rustled in the dark. Ral was going through his desk. Clever boy, he found the secret compartment under the lowest drawer that held the secrets he had killed to protect. Now they were laid bare like his body would soon be, dressed in a white funeral shroud and placed in his stone tomb. He hoped his son would honor his wishes and give him a mahogany coffin. He'd always loved the luster of that dark wood.

The sorcerer leaned over him. An object came down beside Vassili's head-a pale wooden box. It resembled an offering box. When he was a boy his father had allowed him to place their family's alms into the box. The young parish priest had had such fervent, penetrating eyes, always watching him. The pain was fading. It wasn't so bad, dying. He would close his eyes and drift into a deep, endless slumber.

Strong hands rocked him. Metal clattered in the distance. Vassili frowned at this disturbance of his peace. He was a distinguished principal of the Church. He should be accorded all due dignity and respect, not pawed over like a fish at market.

Levictus bent lower. Words fell into his ear, soft as goose down. "Benevolence spilled his last secret as he died, old man. I know who ordered the arrest of my family."

A crumpled piece of parchment was placed on his chest. The indentation of the Vassili family seal stared at him from the bottom of the document like an evil eye. The archpriest strained to speak, but only a dry wheeze issued from his lips. A final surge of indignation constricted his chest, and then evaporated, leaving him empty and weak.

Footsteps drifted away across the cold tiles. Ral departing. Levictus crooned softly as he reached out to the archpriest. Was this a last caress, an act of compassion for a dying man? No, something approached from beyond the misty edges of his sight. A knife, its blade as black as the new moon, colder than the depths of the midnight sea, descended toward him.

Closer… closer… closer…

Vassili's final kiss came not from the lips of his mistress but from the bitter bite of Shadow-tainted steel. He screamed, but there was no one to hear.