A Dance of Cloaks

11

T hey walked south for over an hour before Theo Kull’s encampment came into view.

“A warm fire, thick blankets, and thank the gods, horses,” said Yoren.

“Charming,” Alyssa said as he held her hand. She felt his grip tighten, and she wasn’t at all surprised when it slid up to latch onto her wrist.

“Behave yourself,” he told her. “I might suffer your barbed tongue in front of my father, but I’ll make you pay tenfold when we retire for the evening.”

Safely out of sight from the city’s walls and the prying eyes within, Theo’s camp stretched out for several hundred yards. Wagons formed its outer perimeter, some covered, some not. Several fires blazed within the circle. One side were twenty smaller tents, shelters for the mercenaries. On the other was a single large pavilion of a faded green color.

At their approach a couple of mercenaries drew their swords and beckoned them closer.

“Your name?” one of them asked.

“Yoren Kull,” he answered. “Take me to my father.”

The mercenary spat.

“Follow me.”

He led them through the camp. Alyssa took in what she could. From the way the men lazed about, it didn’t appear that they’d be marching anywhere soon. Most of the armed men were busy eating, telling stories, or gambling with wooden dice. A couple sneered at her, and given the status of her clothing and hair, she didn’t blame them. She hated them for it, but she didn’t blame them.

Theo sat in an ornate chair in the center of the pavilion. He didn’t stand when they entered through the flap. Alyssa had met him only once, in what felt like a lifetime ago. He was a big man, with big hands and an even bigger beard. He had a hungry smile. He seemed a man who coveted everything he saw with his beady brown eyes. He gestured to two chairs at the table before him. A snap of his fingers, and two servants hurried over cups, plates, and dinnerware. A third servant filled the cups with wine while a fourth plopped servings of meat and bread atop the plates.

“Welcome back, my son,” Theo said. “And I see you’ve brought your lover back from the abyss. She looks it, too!”

He guffawed. Yoren laughed along. Alyssa only stared.

“Come now, I only jest in good nature,” Theo said. “I would never be amused at seeing a woman in such a state. Would you like some of my girls to bathe and dress you before joining us? Nothing would trouble me more than an uncomfortable look crossing your face.”

“She’s only uncomfortable with me in the bedchambers,” Yoren said as he took his seat at the right hand of his father. “Though I fear I inherited that wonderful fault from you.”

Theo burst once more into laughter. Alyssa felt her heart cool. He might have a silver tongue, but Theo was a piggish brute. He wouldn’t have batted an eyelid seeing what his son had done to her the night before. In fact, he might have joined in.

Alyssa shuddered, and it did not go unnoticed.

“Forgive my son,” Theo said. “He offends when he means only humor. Let’s see, Mary? Mary! There you are girl. Clean her up, will you? I remember her a lovely one, so let’s make her match my memory.”

Mary was an older woman with gray hair tied behind her head in a bun. She had been the one directing the other servants that had laid out the food and dinnerware.

“Come with me,” Mary said, grabbing Alyssa’s hand. Her voice was firm but comforting. The look in her eye was guarded sympathy.

Next to the pavilion was a smaller tent for the servants. They slept on blankets on the ground, fifty of them crammed together in a tent meant for twenty. Beside the servants’ tent was a giant wooden tub. After a word from Mary, several younger girls rushed off carrying buckets to fetch hot water from the fires.

“It’ll be cold for a bit,” Mary said as she began stripping off Alyssa’s clothes. “Once we get some heat, maybe a few hot coals, you’ll be better.”

Alyssa glanced inside the tub. The water was hazy, but she’d bathed in worse when staying with her foster families. She let Mary strip her naked, glad that the two tents offered protection from the mercenaries that wandered about the rest of the camp.

“We’ll get these washed while you bathe,” Mary said. “Though heaven knows you deserve better. I’ll see what we have stashed in the…”

She stopped as Yoren’s dagger tumbled out of the clothes bundled in her hands. Her eyes met Alyssa’s.

“A dangerous toy for the bedchambers,” Mary said, knowing exactly what it was for.

“Not when you want the bedchambers quiet,” Alyssa replied.

Mary guided the naked Alyssa into the bath. True to her word, it was cold. When the first of the servants arrived with a bucket of boiling water, Mary took the bucket from her and poured it in herself. As the steam bubbled upward, the older woman leaned closer so that none might hear her.

“You kill him, the monsters here will ravage you,” Mary said. “Keep it hidden. Keep it safe. Wait until you’re truly alone.”

Then she was gone in search of nicer clothing. More buckets of hot water poured into the tub, banishing the rest of its chill. Allowing herself a moment of luxury, Alyssa washed her hair and let the servant girls scrub her skin red.

Mary returned five minutes later holding a blue dress of fine material.

“It belonged to Theo’s younger sister,” Mary explained. “I’ve already asked him, so don’t worry.”

They pulled her out of the bath, toweled her off, and then flung the dress over her head. The laces across the back seemed old-fashioned and over-elaborate, but Mary navigated them with ease.

“Suck your breath in more,” Mary ordered. Alyssa obeyed. The laces slid tighter. Alyssa’s chest heaved upward, looking twice its original size. When she looked down at her own body, the cleavage seemed obscene.

“Bear through,” Mary said, recognizing the look. “A man thinks with his nether regions. The sight of you will stir him, and as long as man’s stirred, he’s stupid.”

The girls dabbed her with perfume, combed her hair, and draped a multitude of necklaces across her neck and chest. When finished, she glanced into an offered looking glass, hardly recognizing the woman in the reflection. She knew that the Gemcroft name allowed her the luxuries she wore, but never once had she felt compulsion to decorate herself so outlandishly.

Mary dismissed the rest of the servant girls.

“For your sake, behave,” she told Alyssa. “You’ll gain yourself nothing but bruises if you resist ineffectually. A hundred rapes are nothing compared to a single stab of a knife.”

Alyssa nodded, realizing the comment cut both ways. Not only must she endure the rapes for her to kill him, she’d have to endure them well enough not to get herself killed. She shook her head, wondering how her future had turned so grim.

It had begun when she started listening to the lies Yoren had whispered in her ear as they cuddled in her bed. Her heart hardened. She had earned this, then. She had believed his silver tongue and turned against her father. For that, she was thrown out and chained to Yoren’s true nature.

The skirt she wore had several layers along the legs. Mary separated them, making sure that Alyssa watched. The innermost was thin, white, and silky. Along the inner thigh was a single pocket. Mary slid the dagger inside.

“Never let him find it,” Mary said.

Alyssa nodded.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Come,” said Mary, extending her hand. “You have a meal to attend.”

This time Theo did rise to a stand at her entrance. A stupid grin spread across Yoren’s face. Alyssa knew that at one time she had thought it charming, and that only enhanced her convictions that she had been an idiotic girl.

“You look stunning,” Theo said. “Isn’t that right, son?”

“Breathtaking,” said Yoren.

Without being asked, Alyssa took a seat beside Yoren. She could tell he was pleased by the obedient wife act. That was good, it’d keep him from raging at her at night, but more important was that this way she couldn’t be dismissed from their planning. She knew they still eyed the wealth of her namesake. The more she knew, the better her chance of minimizing the damage.

“We were actually just discussing returning your rightful namesake,” Theo said, sipping wine from a gaudy gold cup. “It seems we were foolish to trust those Karak bitches to do anything right.”

“My father was ready,” Alyssa said, hoping it might incite a bit of anger, and therefore information.

“He usually is,” Theo said, his words dripping with bitterness. “I remember sending my men to grab what was rightfully mine, but even all those miles away from Riverrun he was still prepared. It wasn’t just the gold, Alyssa, it was deeds, titles, and information. Everything east of the Queln River should be mine. Those lands deserve a true lord! Lord Gandrem has no rightful claim. Let him have the plains. He belongs with the grazing chattel.”

Alyssa stifled a smirk. If she’d meant to incite anger, she’d done exceedingly well. She’d never heard of the Kulls attempt on her father’s safehouses in Riverrun. If she had, she’d have seen Yoren’s courting in a whole new light.

“My lord, a visitor requests an audience,” said a guard as he poked his head in through the flap.

“What’s his name?” asked Theo.

“Her,” the guard said, looking a little flustered. “And she says she has no name.”

Theo let out a humorless chuckle.

“Send her in.”

Alyssa felt a bit of hope as one of the faceless women entered. She was fully clad in her black and purple wrappings, her face a mask of white cloth. By her build, she didn’t appear to be Eliora. She wasn’t sure which of the other two, though.

“I am Zusa,” the woman said, clearing that right up. “I have come to listen.”

“Listen?” asked Theo. “To what?”

“She means she needs orders,” Yoren said. He watched as shadows seemed to curl off her firm body and fade away like smoke. He shifted uncomfortably, not feeling confident or safe even though he was in the center of his own camp.

“Yes, well, we’d have those ready for you if we weren’t always being interrupted by bothersome women,” Theo said. “First Alyssa, now you. Well, since we’re all here, let us get down to business. Maynard’s got to go. Before he does, we need to find a way to reinstate Alyssa as the lawful heir to the Gemcroft estate.”

“Wills covered with blood are rarely followed,” Zusa said.

“I know that,” Theo said. “I’m a Kull, not an idiot.”

Alyssa thought they were one and the same and had to feign coughing to hide her laughter.

“There is another way,” Yoren said. “The rest of the Trifect won’t dare let one of its members appear weak for very long. If we kill Maynard and then march en force to the mansion, the others will make sure the matter is settled quickly and quietly. Who’ll give a fuck if he wrote her out of his will? She’s his own daughter, the last of his flesh and blood. There’s a thousand ways they could discredit his death wishes.”

“A good plan, though almost insulting in its simplicity,” said Theo. “I have only a hundred swords here in my name. When could we possibly storm the estate successfully? We number only a fifth of his house guards. Who knows how many mercenaries he also has on retainer?”

“When the head is gone, the body can only thrash for so long,” said Zusa.

“We have a philosopher,” Yoren said dryly.

“Is that an offer?” Theo asked. Zusa shrugged.

“We promised to do so once. We can do so again.”

“You also failed once,” said Theo. “Can you do that again?”

The shadows flared around her body. Alyssa wished she could back away from the two men. The faceless were dangerous, and to insult their professional pride and ability seemed beyond rash.

“We will not fail,” Zusa said. “Tell me when you will strike and I will tell my sisters.”

Theo scratched his chin.

“There’s only one time I can think of that we can catch the old goat unaware.”

“When?” asked Alyssa, unable to stop herself.

Theo’s grin belonged on a bear more than a human.

“The Kensgold,” he said.

A aron was getting good at choking down his curiosity. Any time he went somewhere with his father, he was never told where they were going or for what purpose. This particular task he followed his father on was already different. They moved in daylight instead of at night.

“What if we’re recognized,” Aaron asked as they neared the more populous parts of the city. More and more merchants lined up across the sides of the street.

“We’re just one of many,” Thren said. “Don’t give anyone reason to suspect otherwise.”

Thren wore the plain gray cloak of the Spider Guild. Because of Aaron’s age, it would seem odd for him to be ranked anything higher above a cutpurse, so instead of a cloak he had a thin band of gray cloth tied around his left arm. Thren had cut Aaron’s hair short just in case some of the guard’s might remember what he looked like. The bounty on his son had lasted only a single night, and not at all according to the castle records. Still, being reckless was not something Thren was known for. He kept his hood low, and had charcoal smeared across his face.

Thren had hammered Aaron over the importance of not acting scared or in a hurry. They merely went on their way, not rushing, not dawdling. They were on a job, and very few would be stupid enough to interfere.

“I’ve never met our target,” Thren said, talking casually as if about the weather. “Watch for a tall man with red hair and beard and white robes. He’ll be attracting a crowd if my information is correct.”

Aaron watched, not convinced he’d be much use considering he was shorter than his father, his view blocked by the rest of the midday traffic. He had to try, though. Even if hopeless, he had to throw his entire concentration behind the task.

Then he saw Kayla staring at him from afar. She blew him a kiss. He looked away and hoped his blush would go unnoticed. Kayla was trailing after them, though why he didn’t know. Was it just protection? Usually he kept Senke and Will with him if he was worried about his safety. What then?

“There,” Thren said, nodding ever so slightly to the east. Aaron followed his eyes. A crowd had gathered near a gap in the various merchant stalls. A few were jeering from the outer limits, but most were listening with rapt attention. Those closest to the center clapped and cheered, too random to be staged.

In the center of the crowd was their target, a middle-aged man with deep red hair and a beard of the same color. His robes were white, and clean despite the color. He seemed handsome enough. Whatever speech he was giving appeared intense, yet he smiled while giving it.

“What’s his name?” Aaron asked when he realized his father had stopped to listen.

“Delius Eschaton,” Thren said. “Now be silent.”

Aaron listened to Delius as he preached, at first from simple curiosity, then more and more because of the speaker’s sheer oratory skill.

“Night and day we bemoan the fate dealt to us,” Delius shouted. “How many of you fear walking the streets at night? How many of you bite your tongues for fear of earning poison in your wine or death inside your bread?”

Delius pointed to a small girl behind him. She appeared no older than nine, and she blushed at the sudden attention.

“I fear for my daughter. I fear she might not have the life she deserves. How many of you have daughters and sons that have entangled themselves in the thief guilds’ lies? How many trade decency and conscience for a dab of food and a glut of blood? Do you mourn for them, mothers? Do you pray for them, fathers? Do you know what those prayers accomplish?”

Someone had placed a small pail before him, and all throughout his preaching men and women tossed in small copper coins in appreciation. Delius abruptly kicked the pail, scattering the coins throughout the crowd. Only a handful scooped for the coins. The rest stood enraptured. They all expected an explosion of sound and rage, but instead Delius’s voice fell to a stage-whisper.

“Nothing, for we do nothing. We are afraid.”

A murmur slipped through the crowd. Delius let it spread as he turned and accepted an offered drink from his daughter. He handed it back, wiped his lips, and then turned to the crowd. His boisterousness suddenly returned.

“Afraid? Of course we’re afraid. Who wants to die? You might think me mad, but I do like this meager existence we call living. But the only reason the guilds and the Trifect bathe our streets in blood is because we let them. We turn blind eyes to underhanded dealings. We keep still tongues about guards we know take bribes. We fill our own pockets with sinful gold and bloodied silver, but hard coin is an ill pillow. Can you sleep at night? Do you hear Ashhur’s voice whispering for something better, something more?

“We deny righteousness in fear of our own safety, and in doing so forfeit the future of our children. We let them live in a dead tomorrow because we fear bleeding for it today. Ashhur has called you! He longs to forgive you! Will you accept it? Will you help remove the darkness from our city and let in the blessed light?”

As men and women surged forward, crying out for healing and prayers, Thren shook his head.

“He is too dangerous to live,” he said, glancing down at his son. “This city needs to be warned what this high-minded drivel will earn them.”

He tilted his head and scratched at the side of his nose. Kayla saw from afar and closed the distance between them. Instead of talking, though, she moved right past without saying a word. She bullied through the gathered throng to make her way to the front. Thren knelt down so Aaron could hear him through the rising volume of prayers and shouts.

“Kayla will handle Delius,” he said. “Kill his girl. Return to the safehouse when you escape.”

Thren slipped deeper into the crowd, nearing the front while staying on the opposite side of Kayla. Delius was kneeling near the center, his hands on the sides of an elderly woman. Both were crying. The scene felt strange and alien to Aaron. He had never been to any religious ceremony before, let alone a spontaneous congregation broken out in streets. The fervor of the people’s prayers was shocking.

He saw the girl standing behind her father. A hard knot grew in his stomach. Fingering the dagger Thren had given him, he eased his way around the back. The crowd was thinnest there, arranged single file with their backs to a wall. Aaron crossed his arms and watched the proceedings. He could see Kayla slowly working her way toward where Delius prayed with the others. Thren remained where he was, one row back on the opposite side.

Not sure what signal he should wait for, Aaron decided to be patient. The professional part of his mind knew the easiest time to kill Delius’s daughter would be in the chaos after Thren and Kayla struck. The Haern part of him only looked at the young girl in horror. She was so young and pretty, with red hair as fiery as her father’s. Whenever she smiled, huge dimples grew on her cheeks.

Aaron remembered Kayla returning to his room, the earrings in her hand. Rejected, and why? Because his father wanted him kept pure of women. Staring at the girl, he had an inkling as to why.

“Father,” he heard Kayla shout. “Father, please, pray with me!”

She was directly next to Delius. The man smiled at her and took her hands. He knelt beside her, and Kayla bent her head as if in prayer. They were huddled together, seeming somehow intimate and private although a massive crowd was gathered around them. Delius’s body shuddered. His head snapped back. Kayla was already running through the crowd before anyone realized what had happened. Delius collapsed on his side, the hilt of a dagger sticking out of his chest.

Shocked screams of two nearby women alerted the rest. The whole crowd fumed. Men turned this way and that, shouting for the guilty party, asking who had seen what. It was chaos, and if a few souls had seen what Kayla had done, they were not heard above the rest of the din.

Thren chose that moment to leap to the front, standing on a small stool that Delius had sat upon at times when he preached. He was already a tall man, and the stool made sure that the guildmaster towered over the rest. He put his fingers to his mouth and whistled sharply. More gasps filtered through the crowd as people realized who he was.

Aaron did not watch him. He was still staring at the girl and the horrified expression on her face. Twin paths of tears ran down her cheeks. When her lower lip quivered, he felt the cold stone in his gut turn into a blade.

“This fate,” Thren shouted, gesturing to the dead body, “belongs to any who dare turn against the rightful rulers of this city. Keep your righteousness out of our shadows. It has no place there.”

And then he turned and jumped. His hands caught the top of the wall and flipped him over, deeper into the trade districts of Veldaren.

The crowd exploded. Furious shouts coupled with heartbroken wails. Some gave chase. Aaron stood shocked, his hand clutching his dagger so hard his knuckles ached. Then the girl turned and ran. He almost didn’t notice. When he did, he shouted to her.

“Wait!”

He couldn’t believe how stupid it was to shout that. Trying to push his emotions down, he chased after. He didn’t know where she headed, or for what purpose. Perhaps she knew she was in danger. Perhaps she only wanted to get away from the massive crowd of strangers and get back to what might remain of her family.

She turned down a small alley in between two bakeries. The air smelled of yeast and flour. The girl ducked behind a large refuse container and didn’t reappear. Aaron realized she didn’t know she was being chased. She just wanted to be alone.

His dagger still sheathed, Aaron stepped around the corner of the bin and saw Delius’s daughter.

She sat with her back to the wall, her head buried in her knees, arms wrapped around her legs. Tears wet her dress and face. Her eyes were closed. Aaron could hardly believe what he saw. She was praying.

“Please, Ashhur,” he heard her say. “Please, please, oh god, please…”

He drew the dagger, never making a sound. His hand trembled as he held it. She would by no means be his first kill. All his victims flashed before his eyes, from assassins to guards to his own brother. All had been armed. All had lived a violent life. This girl had done nothing. Nothing. Gods damn it all, how could he kill her while she was praying? Praying!

Her eyes had still not opened. He had a chance. He had a choice. Kayla’s words flashed through his head.

…you must keep Haern hidden and safe. Keep him alive. Can you do that for me?

If he killed the girl, he’d be killing the part of him that he called Haern. The part that could love Kayla. The part that wasn’t wholly enmeshed with his father.

Aaron sheathed the dagger and stepped back out of sight. He leaned against the wall on the opposite side of the refuse bin. A soft sigh escaped his lips, unheard through her sobs. His eyes lifted to the sky, and there he saw Kayla watching him from the rooftops.

His heart leapt in his chest. His legs turned to water. How long had she watched? Had she even known his task in the bloody affair?

As if in answer, she blew him a kiss and then leapt away.

“Please, Ashhur, please give him back,” he heard the girl beg. “Ashhur, please, I can’t, I can’t…”

He ran, unable to listen to any more.