Read Online The Mystic Rose by Stephen R. Lawhead - Free Book Online

the kingdom to come, the Mystic Rose.”
    Thea shrugged.
    â€œObviously, it is a name employed to conceal the true nature of the treasure.”
    â€œAnd this letter tells where to find it?”
    â€œIt does—I think.” She pointed to the portion of the document written in a different language. “I cannot read the rest, but I think it must tell where the treasure is to be found.”
    The younger woman regarded her sister suspiciously. “Why did we go to the palace tonight? And do not say it wasto steal this letter, because you did not even know it was there.”
    Cait stood and began folding the letter carefully.
    â€œYou are going to have to tell me sooner or later,” Thea pointed out. “You might as well tell me now.”
    â€œWe must hide this where no one can find it.”
    â€œCait,” said Alethea, adopting a disagreeable whine, “tell me—why did we go to the palace?”
    Cait sat down again. Placing the parchment square on her knees, she held it in both hands as if she was afraid it might unfold itself and fly away. “Listen carefully. I will say this but once. We went there to confront Father’s murderer and hold him to justice.” She gazed steadily at Alethea and added, “I was going to kill him.”
    Alethea gaped in amazement at her sister’s audacity. “The knife…It is true—you were going to stab him…” Her voice trailed off as the full impact of her sister’s ruthlessness broke upon her. “Oh, Cait—”
    â€œRenaud de Bracineaux murdered our father,” she continued. “Papa named him before he died. The magistrate refused to accept the word of a woman; he refused to do anything—so I had to do it myself.”
    â€œOh, Cait,” Thea whispered, her voice made small by the magnitude of her sister’s cold-blooded confession. “God help us.”
    Caitríona gazed down at the document she held in her lap. “I think,” she said, “he already has.”

FIVE
    â€œI S THAT THE one?” demanded Renaud de Bracineaux, squinting at the rank of hire chairs across the square.
    â€œIt is, my lord commander,” answered the porter of Blachernae Palace. “He comes to the palace sometimes.”
    â€œBring him here.” The commander sat on his horse in the middle of the street, sweating in the bright sunlight. His head hurt from last night’s wine, and he felt bilious from too much rich food. Baron Félix d’Anjou, he thought—and not for the first time—was a profligate toad and his usefulness was swiftly coming to an end.
    Also, the sooner he had his hand on the thieving bitch who had stolen his letter, the better he would feel.
    He had not discovered the theft until this morning when he rose and went to wash himself. Passing the table, he had noticed the square of parchment was missing. He had summoned Gislebert at once. “The letter,” he said pointing to the table. “What happened to it?”
    â€œI thought you put it away.”
    â€œIf I had put it away, would I be asking you what happened to it? Think, man!”
    â€œThat serving girl last night—” Gislebert began.
    â€œOh, very good, sergeant,” roared the commander, pushing Gislebert toward the door. “Instead of standing like a lump of ripe cheese, go and find her.”
    Gislebert had scurried off and returned a short while laterwith word that although no one knew the servant in question, the porter had seen two women arrive in a hired chair. “He says the chair came from Tzimisces Square—not far from here,” the sergeant reported. “He has seen it before.”
    â€œHave horses readied,” barked de Bracineaux. “We are going to get that letter back.”
    â€œWhat of the porter?” asked Gislebert. “He is waiting outside.”
    â€œBring him with us.”
    Now he sat sweltering in the saddle,