Shadowdance 05 - A Dance of Ghosts (48 page)

“If I do this, you best pray to the gods you succeed,” she said. “I want Nathaniel to stand atop the graves of the guilds. That’s all that matters now, and if you can help me achieve it, I will reward you with everything I have. But if you fail…”

“If I fail, then you may let Zusa herself remove my head and present it to you on a silver platter. Is that acceptable?”

Alyssa fought down a grimace.

“It is,” she said.

“Then there is no sense in wasting time,” he said, and his footsteps headed toward the door. “I’ll send for her while I inform Terrance. You may tell her while I am gone. Make her understand, Alyssa. My request is not so great, not so peculiar. There will be dozens outside our home walls wishing to have me killed. I’d rather know for certain there are none within the walls of our home as well.”

The door shut, he was gone, and that was that. No happiness. No celebration, discussion over plans, who would move where, what would happen to the Kane family holdings. Not even a kiss on the cheek, just moving from one business to another.

Her father would have been proud.

The minutes crawled on as Alyssa sat back down on her bed, feeling more nervous than she had in years. She ran words through her mind a hundred times, trying to find something, anything that sounded right. It never did.

The door opened, far quieter than when Victor had come, and then a wrapped hand touched her own.

“You called for me?” Zusa asked.

Alyssa’s teeth clenched. She had to say something, anything. Nothing would be right, nothing would work nor convey her frustration and sorrow, so she just said it as plainly as she could.

“I’m marrying Victor,” she said.

Zusa’s hand on hers tensed, the woman’s sudden apprehension immediately apparent.

“Are you sure that is wise?” she asked.

“Wise?” Alyssa laughed. “The wise path is for me to lie down and die, letting Muzien conquer our city, all while praying Nathaniel somehow endures the following chaos. No, it’s not wise, but it is what must be done. Another war against the underworld is coming, and I cannot fight it on my own, and neither can Nathaniel. Someone must wield the sword for me, and Victor can be that man.”

“I could do it,” Zusa said. Her grip on her hand tightened, so much it nearly hurt. “I can lead your mercenaries. I can protect your home. You don’t need Victor. You don’t need to throw your lot in with that madman.”

“You?” Alyssa said, and the words were like fire in her throat. “You have no name. No home. No heritage. You’re just one of the monsters in the shadows, Zusa. No mercenaries I hire will show you loyalty. No nobles will accept your power. Victor gives this legitimacy. If he adopts Nathaniel as his own, it gives him a chance of inheriting the Gemcroft fortune without a thousand vultures circling. Nathaniel will come from the Kane family line, a true lordly heritage. No longer a bastard. No longer the shameful seed of the destroyed house of Kull.”

“He is
your son
. What legitimacy does he need beyond that?”

“You know better,” Alyssa said, and she felt her heart hardening. “Don’t pretend you don’t see it, that you don’t hear it. Nathaniel’s my wounded child, the child of a woman most think lost her mind years ago. They don’t respect me, and they don’t respect him. We’re not what this damn world wants. But someone like Victor…”

Zusa rose from the bed, and Alyssa could only imagine her standing before her, fingers curled into fists. Were there tears in her eyes? There were none in her voice … not yet, at least.

“Victor won’t give you what you want,” she said. “This risk you take…”

“Answer me this, Zusa, and answer it truthfully,” Alyssa interrupted. “Do you feel Victor is a danger to my son if we were to marry? Do you think he is a danger to my own life?”

A long pause.

“No,” Zusa said. “I think he favors Nathaniel and would treat him as his own son. As for you … betraying you would be beneath him. I think he views himself as more honorable than that.”

“Then what else matters, Zusa? Nathaniel will have a father, and more importantly, he’ll have a future. Veldaren’s gone to shit, and if we’re to endure, we need the help of someone like Victor.”

“You never needed anyone before. You once flooded the streets with fire and steel, and you were unafraid.”

Alyssa remembered those two nights, remembered the pain she’d felt.

“I was turning Veldaren into my own personal funeral pyre,” she said. “That wasn’t strength. That was recklessness. I can’t afford to be so reckless now. Muzien would have my head the moment he sensed betrayal. But if we’re patient, if we plan, if we coordinate with Antonil and Victor and my own forces…”

Zusa’s hands wrapped around hers. They were soft, and she felt the distinct touch of her unique wrappings about them.

“Please, Alyssa, I beg you,” said Zusa. “Don’t do this. Don’t put yourself at his mercy.”

“There’s more,” Alyssa said, trying to ignore the ache in her friend’s words. “If we marry, you must promise to respect and obey Victor as you would myself. That is his only demand.”

“Like a servant,” Zusa said, and there were finally tears in her voice.

Alyssa hated herself, hated every word she spoke, but what choice did she have?

“Yes. Like a servant.”

She’d have given everything to see Zusa’s face at that moment, to witness her reaction, to see if the wounds she felt she caused were as deep as she feared.

“As you wish, milady.”

Silence stretched out, ended by the slamming of her door. At its sound, Alyssa broke, tears running down her face, a sob escaping through her clenched teeth. It shouldn’t have been so hard. It was a simple request, damn it! Zusa was more than a servant, more than a friend, but could she remain so once Alyssa married? Once she slept in Victor’s bed, once the holdings of their families merged and Victor took on the Gemcroft name, what then would Zusa be to her? All Zusa had to do was listen, and trust her … but deep in her heart, she knew it unfair to demand that of her friend all while refusing to give her the same trust.

Minutes crawled, and she slowly wiped her face clean. She’d known marrying Victor would be difficult, but she’d never guessed the difficulties would start so soon. As she regained her composure, she heard the door open, and Alyssa turned away, a meager defense against her own indecency.

“Yes?” she asked with a quavering voice.

“It’s only me,” Victor said. He said it so softly, so gingerly, it made a mockery of the stern, proud man he’d been only moments ago. “Did Zusa take it well?”

She almost told him the betrothal was over. She almost screamed for him to leave her home, leave her life, to go marching back to his wheat fields and leave Veldaren to burn and die without his help. Things could return to how they had been, just Alyssa and her son, cowering in their home while the Darkhand claimed street after street, always watching, always waiting to see if any would betray his dominance. But just as she would not surrender to Muzien’s fear, she refused to surrender to her guilt.

“No,” she said, elaborating no further. Victor sat beside her and put a hand on her shoulder, and she nearly laughed at his touch. Here was her future husband, and she felt not the slightest attraction, not the tiniest excitement at having his hand upon her. Only dread and a sickness to her stomach. He tried pulling her close, but she resisted, and thankfully, he did not seem offended.

“I’m sorry,” Victor told her. “Perhaps if I talked to her, we might reach an understanding…”

“Give it time first,” she said. “Just give us both time.”

His hand squeezed, and she allowed him to pull her against his side, allowed him to offer his meager comfort.

“The pain will pass,” he told her. “And if she is the friend you believe her to be, she will come around. Remember, there are risk and pain to every grand accomplishment, and I assure you, yours will be grand indeed.”

“What accomplishments?” she asked. “Burning down a city to avenge the death of a son who still lived? Losing my sight to a confused, sickly boy? Or being overthrown by my own mother? Which accomplishment of mine will be written into the chronicles of time?”

“Forget your past,” he told her. “The future is all that matters. Here in this city, we have an opportunity to rise above our failures, rise so high we will salvage something from this horrid mess. I have dreams for you, Alyssa, dreams you have denied yourself for far too long. With me at your side, you may become what you were always meant to be.”

At first, she thought he meant the crushing of the thief guilds, but it felt wrong. He spoke of something else. Something … grander.

“What dreams?” she asked. “What is it you would have me become?”

She felt his breath against her neck, his lips nearing her ear.

“I would make you a queen,” he whispered. “Your little son would become a prince and, one day, a king. Tell me, is that not a legacy worth fighting for?”

What he spoke was treason, and ridiculous to even think possible, but something about the way he said it, the way he
believed
it, made her response catch in her throat. Her son … king?

“How?” she dared asked.

“In time,” he told her, and he took her hand in his. It was larger than Zusa’s, rougher, and she found herself missing the other woman’s touch. “But imagine how much better the city would be if you sat on the throne. If someone strong like you, or like me, could look upon the corruption and despair and denounce every last shred of it all. What city could we create? What nation? Think of the legacy we could leave for your son to inherit.”

It wasn’t a game, and it wasn’t a dream. Victor meant it, and he carried such conviction, there must be a way.

“Queen,” she whispered, imagining a crown on her head.

“Queen Alyssa,” Victor repeated. “And Prince Nathaniel.”

King Victor Gemcroft
went unspoken, but the name lingered in the air, and she knew it was in Victor’s eyes, on his lips, and buried deep in his heart. It was madness. It was insane.

But if it wasn’t?

This time, when Victor pulled her close, she settled into him, feigning happiness at his touch, her mind trying to wrap around what it might mean to rule a kingdom. She thought of the armies she might command, the wrongs she could make right. She imagined the pride in her chest as her son ascended to a golden throne while all the lords and nobles who had mocked him behind his back were forced to bend their knees and bow their heads.

Prince Nathaniel Gemcroft …

Such a beautiful name.

A
s you wish, milady.

Zusa walked down the quiet street, seeing nothing.

As you wish …

The sun had just begun to set, and in her wrappings, she knew she was a strange sight, yet she could not muster the strength to care. She wasn’t even sure how long she’d wandered, aimless, crisscrossing streets, seen by dozens as over an hour crawled by, if not two. But it didn’t matter. None of it did. With the sun setting, she was only reminded that come nightfall, she had no home to return to, no waiting bed, no family. Dimly, she thought to go to the Eschaton Mercenaries, but it felt too much like begging, and she had more pride than that. At least, she liked to think she did, but as she passed down yet another nameless street, still lost in her sour mood, she wondered just how much pride she actually had left.

It helped none to see so many tiles bearing the mark of the Sun. Each one reminded her of how Alyssa had surrendered to their demands. Each one reminded her of how she would trust Victor to keep her safe from them, trust him more than she trusted her. All those years she’d protected her, stayed at her side, loved her … did they mean nothing now? Or perhaps she’d only deluded herself. Could she truly consider herself so important to Alyssa’s life if her opinion could be cast aside so easily?

Stop it,
she told herself.
Stop moping. Stop wallowing. Think on the task at hand!

Doing her best to ignore anything but the present day, she knew her immediate need was to find a place to sleep. She had more than enough coin to rent a room in an inn, for several months, even, but the idea left a bad taste in her mouth. A last resort, perhaps, if not her only resort. Still, as she walked, she thought of the only other home she’d known. It was a strange nostalgia coming over her, but to the south of Veldaren she ran, finally feeling a purpose to her footsteps. Yes, there’d been one other home for her, and odd as it seemed, there were still many good memories attached to it.

The home was a simple one, and though large, it lacked any decorations. There were no windows, a single door, the roof flat and the sides a dull brown. It was built right up against the southern wall, not far from the squalor and rows of homeless tents and shanties that occupied much of the wall’s length. Zusa walked up to the door, touched the handle. Doing so flooded her with memories, and she paused, trying to decide why she was even there.

She’d been an orphan, given over to the priesthood of Karak when she was but a babe. Growing up in its dark walls, the temple had been her home, at least until her affair with Daverik. Then they’d exiled her from the temple, deeming her unworthy of remaining within the holy ground. Before her was the home she’d been exiled to, along with her other faceless sisters. It was there they’d slept, eaten, and trained, overseen by the eldest of them, a woman named Eliora. Taking a deep breath, Zusa pulled open the door and stepped inside.

It was so familiar, that grand room with the fireplace and shelves full of books outlining the strictest tenets of Karak. The same round rug remained before the fireplace, and as Zusa stepped inside, she thought of the many winters she’d lain upon that rug, watching logs burn as the fire’s warmth seeped into her skin. The fireplace still showed signs of use, and she wondered if Daverik’s recent rebirth of the faceless had used the place as they always had before. They were all dead now, killed by either her hand or the strange Ghost who had interfered at the last moment to save her.

Zusa walked to the shelves, found a well-worn leather-bound book she’d read many times,
The Lion’s Walk.
Flipping it open, she put her fingers on the faded brown pages, felt the crinkled paper as she read the first line aloud.