A Dance of Shadows

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 sheathed. 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?”

Deathmask bowed low in greeting. “Forgive me if I inconvenienced you,” he said. When he pulled up from his bow, there was a sparkle in his red eye. “And I have no intention of taking you against your will. No, I hope that this time you’ll come with me willingly, and with all your soldiers too.”

“What are you talking about? Speak plainly.”

Deathmask looked to be in no hurry, and he calmly paced before Victor, tapping his lips with a finger.

“I’m sure you know much of Veldaren’s guilds, but what about elsewhere? Say… Mordeina?”

Victor shook his head. “I must profess ignorance in this.”

“And other things as well,” Deathmask said, grin growing. “But then let me remove your ignorance. There is a guild in Mordeina known as the Suns. Over the past few years they’ve spread their influence, first into Ker, then Omn, and now they’ve set their eye on Neldar. They’re coming here, into Veldaren, so they might strike at the heart of this nation before branching out like a disease.”

Victor frowned, not liking what he was hearing. “Are you afraid of losing some profit, thief?” he asked.

“Don’t be naïve. Veldaren is already spiraling out of control, and the Suns will destroy things completely. They won’t rest until every guild, mine included, is wiped out.”

“So far I don’t see much reason to hate them.”

A bit of amusement left Deathmask’s eyes.

“Enough, Victor. You know as well as I that the guilds here are weak. The midnight executions had stopped… well, before you came back, anyway. All the poisoning and assassinations have calmed. The Trifect pay us their sum, we sell drugs and women and take paltry sums of protection money. It’s a balance, a nice one really, like the one Thren should have kept fourteen years ago instead of letting his greed cause the thief war in the first place. Point is, what we have is acceptable. These guilds here, they’re guilds you know, guilds you can manipulate and control. But not the Suns. This is not some distant threat, nor someone that will bow to the Trifect or pay heed to the Watcher. They’ve come to conquer… and they’re already within our walls.”

Information he’d received the day before suddenly clicked, and Victor felt a pit grow in his stomach.

“The cheap crimleaf,” he said. “I’ve heard of the bottoming out of prices. The new dealer… that’s them, isn’t it?”

“They’ve started with crimleaf,” Deathmask said. “But they’ll soon bring other leaves and powders far worse. Have your men not found the bodies all across the southern district? War’s begun, so far silent but for their hiring of the Bloodcrafts. Each day the Sun Guild’s numbers grow, and not just from the west. Members of Veldaren’s guilds can sense the coming tide, and they’re abandoning their old allegiances for the new. When every single street in this city bears the mark of the Sun, what hope do you think you have to accomplish your goal? You’ll face a united force, one you can’t strike at, for its money and wealth come not from here, but from far to the west. They’ll attack anyone they wish, and make no treaties until they accomplish their goal of domination. They’re your twin, Victor, only instead of freeing Veldaren they’d have it enslaved. And your stubborn pride may very well let them win.”

Victor shifted, leaning more of his weight against the wall. He tried to think, to understand what it meant. Slowly he was bleeding the guilds dry of both members and coin. He might succeed, too, but only a fool would think someone else wouldn’t try to fill the void. If the Suns were as dangerous as Deathmask claimed…

He looked up at the thief. “What is it you desire of me?” he asked.

Deathmask pulled a cloth from his pocket and tied it across his face. “Help me,” he said, his other hand pulling out a handful of ash. “Swallow your pride, and send your soldiers flooding into the Suns’ newly acquired territory. We’ll crush them here, now, before they gain more than a foothold. I know where they’re hiding, and I can lead your men right to them.”

With a wave of a hand, the ash scattered about Deathmask’s face, then hovered there, hiding his features.

“The city is mine,” he said. “But I am a kinder lord than the Suns will ever be, and unlike them, I possess a sense of humor. Do not doubt your decision, not in this.”

Victor closed his eyes, thought of the carnage he’d seen the day prior while being protected by the Eschaton. The Bloodcrafts were the worst of everything, men and women with strength that made his own armored soldiers look like children by comparison. The amount of dead he could pin on those mercenaries alone was significant. And if the Sun Guild was willing to bring in such reckless murderers…

“You’re sure the Sun Guild hired the Bloodcrafts?” he asked.

“I’m sure of it,” said Deathmask. “If not for them, I’d have already crushed their initial push into the city.”

Victor shook his head. Veldaren was already in dire shape, but the Sun Guild’s arrival only threatened to ruin everything he’d begun. Crushing the current guilds, only to allow them to be replaced… what sense did that make?

With a sigh he looked to Deathmask, watched the ash swirl around his face. Deathmask was one of the monsters, men who wielded power far greater than they deserved. But Victor now faced many such men, and as the guilds grew desperate, whom else would they turn to? Perhaps, to succeed, he needed his own stable of monsters…

“I’ll help you,” he said. “But know that I will watch you closely, and do this only for the good of the city.”

“The good of the city.” Deathmask chuckled. “How quaint.”

He whistled, and the rest of his guild appeared from farther up the street, approaching in their similar colors.

Monsters, thought Victor as they gathered. You said you’d protect me from the monsters, Watcher. But what if I turn the monsters on each other, and let them slay themselves?

“Ready your men,” Deathmask said. “It’s time for a slaughter.”

Victor left without a word, trying to not think about the company he kept, or about the bloodshed to commence. The peace at the end was all that mattered, he told himself. The final victory. The safe streets and unviolated homes.

“Milord?” asked Sef at his return to the tavern’s rear alley.

“Prepare our men to move out,” he said.

“Milord, something troubles you, I can tell. What…”

“I said prepare them to move out!”

Sef took a step back, then bowed low. “Forgive me,” he said.

Victor sighed, put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “No,” he said. “You’ve done much for me, and now I must ask for more. Prepare them all. A new threat has entered our city, and we must crush it while we still have the chance.”

Sef tensed as the Ash Guild came around the corner of the tavern, weapons drawn and shimmering with magic. Victor shook his head and motioned for his soldiers to stand down.

“I do this with a heavy heart,” he said, pointing to Deathmask. “But it must be done. Follow this man’s lead. Once more into the underworld we go.”

Beneath the ash and cloth, Deathmask’s smile grew.