Her racing heart stopped. Her stomach clenched.
“After what?” she asked.
“After killing Alyssa Gemcroft.”
Zusa flung herself at him, grabbing his neck so she might slam him against the wall.
“Why?” she screamed. “What have we done to deserve this?”
“I am not the one you should be angry with,” Daverik said, clutching at her wrists. “I didn’t set this in motion. We gave Alyssa a chance to turn to Karak, but she refused, and do you know why? Because of you. Because of everything you told her about our god. Her death is on your hands, Katherine, not mine.”
“My name is Zusa!” she screamed, kicking him in the stomach. The man doubled over, coughing. Coughing, and laughing.
“There is no time,” he told her. “The Widow is just a puppet, a minor player in all this. Alyssa is already dead. But I’ll tell you where to find Laerek. You can go, take your vengeance, and then at last we can be together.”
Zusa’s grip tightened, and she almost strangled the life from her former lover.
“Don’t be a fool,” he said in a raspy voice, fighting to breathe through her grasp. “Kill the one responsible, then come with me. We’ll leave this all behind. You’ll never feel pain again, not like this. Don’t go back. You don’t want to see it.”
“No,” she said, letting him go. “You’re a child, Daverik, just a child. You’ve never understood me, and you never will.”
With every last bit of strength she ran toward the Connington mansion, daggers at the ready, long cloak billowing.
Daverik watched her go, and his heart ached worse than his sore neck. He loved her, so much he loved her, but time and trials had changed her, warped her into something he only vaguely recognized.
“Such a shame,” he whispered.
He heard Ezra land behind him, quiet as a cat landing on padded feet.
“She still will not accept you, will she?” she asked.
Daverik shook his head. “Zusa is too far gone, and whatever love she has for me is not enough to bring her back.”
He looked over his shoulder, saw Ezra drawing her daggers. Daverik once more thought of the softness of Zusa’s skin, the way his lips had brushed her neck, and then cast aside the sinful memories so he might give his faceless her order.
“She’ll interfere if she can,” he said. “Kill her, and if the Widow fails, then kill Alyssa as well.”
Ezra stepped closer, rubbing her wrapped face against his shoulder while peering up at him.
“You risked much for an old love,” she said. “Deborah barely lives, and there are others in the temple not so lucky.”
“The dead go to Karak, their souls claimed and protected,” Daverik snapped. “Zusa is greater than any of them, yet she will burn, only burn. I had to try.”
Ezra smirked as she stepped away to give chase. “Tell me,” she said. “Would you have risked for my soul as you have for hers?”
He could not answer, and he felt his neck flush with the shame.
“I thought not,” Ezra said. “Dangerous games, Daverik. You play such dangerous games…”
She ran, to murder the only woman Daverik had ever loved. The act was just, of course, a necessary fate for a woman who had blasphemed against Karak for so long. But he would find no comfort in it, no solace.
“Forgive me,” he told the night. “Perhaps, after an eternity, I might one day hold your body against mine. But I’ve given you enough chances. I wash my hands of this. Your fault, not mine, dear Katherine…”
CHAPTER
30
Stephen Connington stepped into the tiny room, holding a candle to give himself light. As he’d hoped, she was already waiting for him there.
“Mother,” he said, seeing her sitting against the wall, surrounded by little toys carved out of wood.
“I’m here, child,” Melody said.
Stephen went to her, curling up in her arms as he closed his eyes. He was getting too big for it, he knew, but he did so anyway. With his eyes closed, he was once more lost in darkness, lost in a past he’d thought he’d escaped. Sadly, it seemed he never would.
“Do you think Father loved me?” he asked.
“You know he did.”
He thought of the years of darkness between months of light, of the beatings and the hunger, followed by Leon’s lips on his neck.
“Do I?” Stephen asked.
He’d been a bastard of Leon’s, birthed by a lowly servant girl who had aroused his father’s rare sexual lust. Melody was not his mother, not by blood, no matter how much he might wish it were true. There’d been times Leon had treated him well, had laughed and told him stories as they walked through the mansion. Other times, though… other times…
“He told you he loved you, didn’t he?” Melody asked, stirring him from his thoughts.
His father’s voice echoed in his head, distorted over time so he couldn’t be sure if the love he heard in it existed or not.
You know they would kill you, Stephen. They don’t think you’re good enough to be one of them, to take over everything I’ve built. They want someone pulled from a prissy noble lady’s cunt instead. But you’re my daughter, you hear me? You never forget it. My blood. So don’t you worry when I put you down there. It’s for your safety, Stephen. Your safety.
No matter the love he felt from his father, those long months spent in the cell had worn on him, bathing him in darkness as he grew up isolated and alone. But then, when he was almost six, an angel had been delivered to him. It was his mother, the true mother who owned his heart. Melody had been placed in the cell adjacent to his. The first he’d ever known of her was the songs she sang to pass the time. In that deep darkness, that voice had carried him, given him comfort so he could sleep without crying.
“Alyssa’s supposed to be next,” Stephen said. “Laerek insists on it, but only after you tell me it’s too late for her.”
“I know,” Melody said, gently stroking his hair. Not his real hair, but the long wig he’d put on prior to entering. He still remembered the night he’d taken it, hidden in shadows while watching the whores pass. Oh, some didn’t ask for money, might have even claimed they were proper women, noble ladies or faithful wives. But that’s not what they were. His father had made that clear.
All women are whores, Stephen, even you. It’s in their blood, and it’s stronger than anything else in this world. That’s why you shouldn’t feel bad. It’s not your fault. You just can’t help it, always looking at me like you do. But you’re my daughter, my precious little daughter. Now come here and sit on my lap.
Stephen had sliced the woman’s beautiful brown hair off at the scalp, all while the venom of the brown widow spider kept her paralyzed. She’d been unable to move, but he’d seen the screams in her eyes when he finally pulled the last of it free. It was her beauty, he knew. She hated to lose her beauty, to see someone stronger, someone more deserving, take it away.
“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Stephen asked. “You were so mad last time I threatened her.”
Melody’s careful stroking of his head paused, and he felt his muscles tense. He hated when she did that, one of those subtle things that gave away her worry.
“She is indeed my daughter,” Melody said, her bony fingers tightening around his shoulders, making him feel like a disobedient child. “But some things are more powerful than blood, Stephen. Faith. That’s what matters. Our beloved god must be saved, he must be served, and Alyssa has refused. It’s not her fault, though. My child she once was, but now she’s Maynard’s daughter. After he sold me to your father, there was no way for me to pray with her, to raise her as she should be raised. Now her head is filled with the same doubt and sin her father always had.”
Stephen felt fury burn bright in his chest. Of course it was Maynard Gemcroft’s fault. Leon had made that quite clear. Stephen had come to his father multiple times during his rare moments of freedom to leave his cell and roam the mansion. Whenever he asked
for Melody to be released, he was given the same answer.
If Maynard finds out, he’ll kill me. She’s supposed to be dead, Stephen. You know what dead means, right? It means not walking around talking to my servants, being seen by guests, eating food cooked by women with more mouths than sense. I love her dearly, but down there she has to stay if you want her to survive.
For five long years he’d asked, until the Bloody Kensgold came. He’d been in his cell, not allowed to join the festivities, when the thieves had come and set the mansion ablaze. The smoke had been thick as the building burned above them. The heat had swelled, and Stephen had huddled by the floor, sobbing in terror. Melody had kept him calm, singing through the noise and chaos, her voice echoing across the stone to give him comfort. Anytime he woke in the night, heart gripped with horror, he still recalled those songs. Deep underground, they’d survived while the rest of the mansion collapsed.
It’d taken two days, but at last they’d been dug free. Stephen still remembered staggering out into the light, stinking of filth, his body drained and dying for a drink of water. He’d reached for his father, only to have Leon take a step back, his nose crinkling in disgust. That was when Stephen realized just how ugly he was, how wretched the body he inhabited. When his mother had been pulled out, it was she he’d held, she he’d pulled close against his body.
“I was never his son,” Stephen whispered. “He called me daughter, and every time it was a lie.”
“Hush now,” Melody said, putting a hand against his cheek and forcing him to look up at her. “You can’t help how you were born, so don’t blame yourself. Your father was a troubled man, but he loved you. He loved us. Never doubt that.”
He nodded, then tugged at her shirt. “May I?” he asked.
“If you must.”
She unbuttoned her blouse, then pulled free a breast. Stephen latched onto it with his lips, rubbed across the nipple with his tongue, and then began to suck. No milk came out, but he was long past needing that physical nourishment. It was the attention he needed, the soothing sensation of being cradled by his mother. He suckled for a while, felt his nerves gradually ease. He was anxious about killing Alyssa, he knew. It was that bodyguard of hers, that heathen woman Zusa. Laerek had assured him she was imprisoned at the temple, but he knew enough of Zusa to worry. When he killed Alyssa, he’d have to make it quick, not enjoy it like the others.
But Laerek had made him another promise, one that still got his blood racing when he thought of it.
“Laerek said he’ll have Thren ready for me soon,” he said, releasing Melody’s nipple and then pressing his face against her breast. “He was given orders to leave him alive, just so I can kill him. I can’t wait, Mother, I can’t…”
She stroked his face, and he heard her chuckle as if he’d said something amusing.
“You shouldn’t let him trouble you so,” she said.
Stephen shook his head. “How can you say that? You loved Father, too, didn’t you?”
“Of course.” Said with hesitation, and it worried him further.
“And he killed him, Mother! Thren killed him!”
Stephen had just taken power a little over a year ago, his right as firstborn son finally acknowledged despite his having been discovered within Leon’s cells. The longtime adviser Potts had vouched for his blood relationship, despite clearly preferring he not take over the family enterprise. Upon receiving his power, the first thing he’d done was march down into the cells and free Melody, his beloved mother. For a year they’d let her recover, keeping her hidden from any who might desire to harm her while she regained her strength. During that time she’d written many letters, and one of those letters had brought the young Laerek to his home.
“Do you know who killed your father?” the priest had asked.
Stephen had not been told, so he’d been left to rumors. “I assume it was the Watcher,” he’d replied. “Is that not what the whispers say?”
Laerek had shaken his head, and given him such a condescending smirk. “A man in gray, wielding matching blades, came into your father’s home, slew his guards, and then executed him without mercy. He’d brought a companion with him, who died, unable to escape. Ask your house guards. Ask Potts. It took time, but they found men able to identify him. His name was Senke, a longtime member of the Spider Guild. The Watcher didn’t kill your father, Stephen. Thren Felhorn did.”
Stephen had had nothing to say to that. He’d given no thought to Leon’s murder, only to maintaining his power. Melody had stayed at his side, teaching him the ways of high society, guiding him through the pitfalls that might have ensnared him. But upon learning this, upon receiving the name of the man who’d killed his father, Stephen had grown focused, felt his mind narrowing in like a razor’s edge. Thren had to die. The man had killed his father. Thren, and everyone loyal to him, had to die.
Yet now it seemed Melody held so little interest in Thren’s death.
“Why do you not hate him as much as I?” he asked her. His face in her cleavage, he inhaled deeply, the smell of her sweat and sex so familiar to him. “You told me Laerek was right, that Thren was guilty. You sent me after them, praised me when I killed his Spiders…”
Melody gently pushed him back, and before he could protest, she fully clothed herself. “You aren’t mature enough to understand the truth,” she said, a stern edge overcoming her voice.
“I rule the Connington family now. I am no child, now tell me why!”
She gave him a look he’d always hated, one that made his insides squirm and his hands twist behind his back.
“I sent you after Thren because you’re sick,” she told him. “You were killing women, innocent women. I know you, baby, I know you can’t help it… but I could shape it. I could point your weaknesses toward something good, something pure. Thren and his Spider Guild deserved to die, needed to die. The end of days will be upon us if we do not prepare Veldaren for the prophet’s arrival. My child, my sweet child, I only wanted to protect you. I only wanted you to do Karak’s will, and to stop hiding in here amid your darkness and your toys.”
Tears grew in his eyes, and he fought to keep his voice under control.
“Please don’t be mad at me,” he said. “I will. I promise I will. I’ll kill her just like Laerek told me to.”
Melody took his chin in her fingers, tilted him close, and kissed his forehead several times. “Make it quick,” she said. “No torture. No cruelty. Can you do that for me? I love her still, but she cannot rule the Gemcroft household anymore. Her lack of faith endangers us all, as well as poor Nathaniel’s soul. I love you, Stephen. Now go do what must be done.”
Behind her was a closet, and carefully he stood and pulled it open. Inside was a crossbow loaded with a single arrow, its tip coated with poison. All prepared and ready for him with his mother’s loving hands. He took it, smiled at her.
“I’ll make you happy,” he said. “I owe you so much. I’m not sure I can ever repay you.”
Now holding the candle, Melody lifted it to her face so the light shone across her smile. “You’re my beloved child,” she said. “The one Karak gave to me when Maynard stole Alyssa away from me because of his stubborn pride. You have nothing to repay me for.”
Stephen reached for the door, and as he pulled it open, Melody called his name.
“Stephen,” she said. “Remember, nothing must happen to Nathaniel. Karak has blessed him for a reason. Once he is free of Alyssa’s influence, his gift will blossom like a flower, and we must do whatever we can to nourish it. He is no threat to my ascension.”
Crossbow shaking in his sweaty hand, Stephen nodded to his mother. “I will be good,” he said. “I promise I will.”
He left, shut the door behind him, and then hurried down the hall to where Alyssa slept.
Victor leaned against the back wall behind his tavern, arms crossed, body covered with shining armor. His fingers drummed the hilt of his sword, but he forced himself to remain calm and leave it she
athed. Gathered together, in both the tavern and two nearby streets, were the bulk of his forces. They were all equally impatient, but Victor had no choice, much as it left a foul taste in his mouth. In his pocket was a note written by the enigmatic man, its message simple yet perplexing.
Victor, it read. I will come shortly after sunset, alone and unarmed. We must talk, and we must act. I know the Bloodcrafts tried to kill you, and I know who brought the Bloodcrafts here. If you want revenge, now will be your chance. It’s time you sprinkled Ash upon your head instead of trying so damn hard to scatter it upon the wind.
At first Victor had wanted to throw it on the fire. He’d come home after the Bloodcrafts’ attempt on his life, his feet and hands still tingling from the poison the Widow had used against him. It’d been early morning, the Watcher having kept guard over him for most of the night before he deemed it safe for them to leave. Upon arriving at his tavern, he’d found Sef pitching a fit, half his men scouring the city for him. And then to top it all off, when Victor went to his room he found the note tucked neatly under his pillow.
Better a note than a knife, Victor had thought, deciding not to burn the note. For once he felt like a stranger to the city, the stranger he truly was. Deathmask knew something about the people who’d attacked him, and whatever it was, he wanted to know it himself. And so he’d slept much of the day, eaten a small meal upon awakening, and then readied his men for the meeting.
“He’s not going to show,” Sef muttered, pacing back and forth before Victor. “He just wants us here so he can go kill and rob someone there!”
He punctuated the word with a vague gesture to the rest of the city. Victor shook his head.
“The man plays games,” he said, “but my gut says this time he’s ready to stop playing. Whatever he wants, we listen. And he’ll show, Sef. I assure you of that.”
True to his word, Deathmask arrived twenty minutes after sunset. He walked alone, his face unclouded by ash or cloth. His smile was wide, and it unnerved Victor further.
“I’m here, and my men ready,” Victor said. “What is of such great importance? Or do you plan on kidnapping me a second time?”
A Dance of Shadows Page 32
