Page 154 of Conspirators' Kingdom

“One of many.”

“Guess I got lucky.”

Taisiya nodded. “Very. But then, so did I.”

Chapter 58

NeverbeforehadTaisiyawitnessed such an overwrought spectacle made of a funeral. Her family, and much of Lethe, kept their death rituals largely restrained, almost painfully so unless the person in question was royalty. Paid mourners might weep, but most were expected to remain solemn and dry-eyed. Not since her first few days in Maat, getting accustomed to all of the unfamiliar sights, scents and manners, had Taisiya been so jarred by the customs of her new home.

Mournful, cacophonous music preceded enormous, empty stone coffins chiselled and painted in the likenesses of each of the deceased. Commoners and nobles alike stood at a barely respectful distance, weeping and howling with grief, their clothes and appearances carelessly dishevelled. Taisiya had a front-row seat to the theatrics, walking as she was beside her own coffin, disguised as a professional mourner. Thankfully, Mereruka had woven an illusion over Taisiya, the feel of it like a too-thick, itchy blanket. To all who gazed upon her in this macabre parade, the image of a weeping woman pounding on her breasts, hair coated with dirt, her clothes torn, would meet their eyes. Mereruka and Bas were similarly covered, while Vasilisa hid in their shadows, deadly iron at the ready. She tried not to give too much attention to the coffin and the woman it depicted. It gave her chills, and a sense of ill-omen, to gaze upon it.

As the procession wound through the throngs of public mourners, Taisiya glanced up at their intended destination—Khety’s palace. It was there that Khety would make a show of his grief for the eyes of the most important hatya and nomarchs within Maat. Had this been a true funeral, Khety would then lead the procession of the coffins across the Hapi and back to the same stone circle to offer up the bodies and attendant grave goods to the embrace of the forgotten gods.

It would never get that far. Khety would fall while he wept false tears over their immortalized stone visages. Vasilisa was to make the first strike, stabbing iron spikes into Khety’s bird-like calves from the safety of the man’s shadow. Once the king had been weakened, Mereruka and Taisiya would reveal themselves, make their accusations against Khety and deal the final blow. Serfka and Radjedef, similarly disguised, would see to their own business—one spiriting Betrest away, and the other putting a blade into the heart of whichever lackey Khety had installed in his position. Qar, Bas and Vasilisa’s jobs were to protect Taisiya and Mereruka from any of Khety’s supporters too zealous to understand that their patron’s time was up.

Taisiya felt, rather than saw, Mereruka’s fingers entwine with hers. She squeezed back.

This was their final gambit for the throne. She had to trust that they were suitably prepared. Qar and his soldiers would be present, ready to hold the bulk of the guards at bay if they betrayed Radjedef en masse. Nofret had given each of them rare and coveted teleportation charms she’d spent the better part of a day creating. The moment they were crushed or broken, the bearer would be whisked away. If they had to retreat, they could.

As they marched up the many steps to the palace, Taisiya tried to calm her racing heart. Instead of her usual dresses, she wore a simple, short tunic and the scaled armour of the fae. Enchanted leather braces protected her forearms and calves, her feet were shod in sturdy leather shoes, and her hair was braided and secured. Beneath it all, she wore another of her necklaces, this one more like golden armour than the delicate beaded creations she was used to, though just as effective in its protective purpose. If they survived, she would have to convince her husband to tattoo her thoroughly.

Despite the glacial pace of the procession, the receiving hall of the palace loomed large before them. Mereruka guided her along with him, a finger of his hooked with one of her own. Sick anticipation roiled her gut as the coffins were arrayed before Khety.

The first problem occurred as the retainers of the deceased attempted to enter the cavernous hall. Fae guards in all their glittering mail armour barred the door to Qar.

“No shapeshifters.”

“That is my prince’s sarcophagus there. You would bar me from attending his funeral?” Qar’s voice was low but full of outrage.

“No. Shapeshifters,” the guard replied, his sneer goading.

There was no way for the overseer of the soldiers to enter. They couldn’t afford a grand deviation from the plan, nor could they lose the protection of Mereruka’s soldiers. Qar took one of his men aside.

“Be sure to pay my respects to Prince Mereruka in my place. I won’t be far.”

The soldier nodded and was allowed entry by the guards at the door.

Qar stormed off, mourners fleeing in his wake. Taisiya’s anxiety reached new heights. One valuable ally had been removed from their side of the playing board. Mereruka tugged her along. Arrayed near the coffins, their illusions continued to wail and scratch at their faces. As the last coffin was placed before the king, the howls of the professional mourners turned to low-pitched moans.

“I’m getting into position,” Vasilisa whispered from the shadow at Taisiya’s ear.

Khety stepped forward, his long white hair and clothes artfully dishevelled yet still glittering with jewels and gold, his crown still perched on his brow. Taisiya could almost appreciate the skill that went into the artifice. Gold eyeliner followed the line of crocodile tears down his orange skin, his icy blue eyes all the brighter for it. He knelt by the heads of the coffins and pressed his lips to the brows of each. When he spoke, his mournful, emotion-choked voice could be heard throughout the entire hall.

“My beloved family, lost to Maat in a single night. There has never been such a tragedy in all our realm’s long history. I shall send my brothers and sisters into the arms of the forgotten gods, and build great monuments to honour their lives. But I shall also seek vengeance!” The bite of malice in that last word caught the assembly by surprise. Rapt, even the mourners fell silent. “For it was no accident, their deaths. It was murder! Our enemies in the witchlands to the north have conspired against Maat, using shapeshifters in their thrall to attack us.”

Gasps and frenzied whispers raced through the funeral crowd.

“He’s mad,” Mereruka hissed.

“Meri?”

“Of all of Maat’s nobles, only my household employs a large number of shapeshifters. He’s trying to destroy anyone who ever supported me,” Mereruka explained in a whisper. “Bas, break your charm. There is more danger to you in this crowd than you’ll be able to handle.”

“But—”

“No. Go and warn Qar and Nofret. Their lives might already be at risk.”

“No. Something smells strange here. I’m not the only shapeshifter in this crowd,” Bas replied.

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