A Dance of Shadows

CHAPTER 33

Alyssa tossed and turned, but she could not sleep. Zusa had still not returned, and with the sun long ago set she felt her hope dwindling. With every creak of a board she sat up in bed, looking to see if Zusa was opening the door or climbing down from the ceiling. Always nothing. She’d give so much to have the faceless woman climb into her bed, to wrap her arms around Alyssa and tell her everything was well, everything was safe. Despite her wealth, Alyssa could not buy the one thing she so desperately needed.

Still feeling anxious, she at last gave up on sleep and slipped out of bed. She threw a robe over her thin nightgown and stepped out into the hallways. It was dark despite the many candles. Something gnawed at her tired mind, but she couldn’t place what it was. Even more impatient, she hurried to Nathaniel’s room. If she was stuck awake, at least it’d be with her son. Seeing him asleep, and at peace, was often what it took to reassure her troubled mind that all was well. She’d done it plenty when he was a newborn, and though it felt weak to do so now that he was older, she didn’t care. Reaching his door, she again felt that gnawing fear, an awareness that she was missing something both troubling and obvious.

Opening the door to her son’s room, she stepped inside, and was surprised to find that he was still awake.

“Mom?”

His head tilted higher, and he clearly looked relieved. Two candles burned in a candelabra hooked to the opposite wall, filling the room with yellow light.

“Is something wrong?” she asked, sitting down beside his bed. He sat up, which revealed the stump of his arm. It was scabbed over, with several spots bleeding from his picking at it. Nathaniel seemed oblivious, just scratching repeatedly with his hand as he shuddered and looked away. Alyssa felt the worry in her gut strengthen.

“I don’t want to sleep,” he said.

“You know you need to. I can see how tired you are.”

“It’s not that,” he said. “I… I don’t want to dream. I keep seeing him, and I don’t want to anymore.”

“Him?” Alyssa frowned. “What do you mean?”

He looked feverish, yet when she touched his face, he was bathed in a cold sweat.

“Every time I dream, I see him laughing,” he said. “Veldaren’s burning, and he laughs.”

Alyssa kissed his forehead, then gently pushed him onto his back. Tucking him in, she tried to hide her own fears. Nathaniel had had night terrors before, particularly after he’d lost his arm, and it took a year for them to go away. Yet this seemed different. He’d never really been aware of what frightened him back then, why he’d awaken screaming.

“How long have you had these dreams?” she asked, trying to sound more tired than worried.

“Ever since Grandmother showed me the chrysarium.”

Alyssa forced herself not to frown. Chrysarium? What in Karak’s name was a chrysarium? It sounded like something a wizard might conjure up. That her mother had exposed him to it without checking with her first immediately made her angry.

“Honey, what did Grandmother show you?”

He shrank into the bed, scratched harder at the stump of his arm.

“She made me promise not to tell.”

“You can tell me. You know that. You can always tell me everything.”

She reached down and grabbed his hand to stop the picking.

“Tell me,” she said, letting a little of her earnestness come through.

“I saw visions,” he said. “Grandmother said they were from Karak, and it meant I was special. But I don’t want them, they’re horrible, and they won’t let me sleep!”

Alyssa swallowed, and a hundred things she might scream at Melody ran through her mind.

“Listen to me, Nathan,” she said. “They’re just visions. They can’t hurt you, and they don’t mean anything. I want you to lie here and relax. You don’t have to sleep if you don’t want to. I’m going to talk to Melody and find out what happened. If she did something, maybe she can fix this.”

“But she’ll be asleep.”

A dry smile stretched across Alyssa’s lips.

“Then I’ll wake her.”

She kissed his cheek, then stood. When she reached his door, she stopped, for she heard shuffling on the other side. For some reason her heart froze, and she remained perfectly still as the sound slowly faded away. Door open a crack, she peered through and saw a young woman with dark brown hair heading down the hall. Alyssa frowned. She didn’t look like a servant, nor was she dressed like one, yet Alyssa could not place her despite their time in the mansion.

“Nathan,” she whispered, turning back to her son. “When I step out, I want you to lock the door, all right? No questions, and don’t open it for anyone but me, you understand?”

With that she entered the hall, and then waited until she heard the rattle of his lock. Satisfied, she hurried in the opposite direction from the unknown woman, coming upon Stephen’s room, the door slightly ajar. Was the woman a prostitute, perhaps? Not that she cared to judge Stephen’s actions, but it seemed odd the guards would not escort her…

And then it hit her, the obvious fear that had gnawed at the back of her mind. The guards. There should have been guards stationed all around the home, at her door, Nathaniel’s, and especially Stephen’s. But there were none. A chill spread through her veins. Why were there no guards?

Her instincts were to run to her son, but his door was locked, and she’d checked it the first night he’d stayed in there alone. It’d take a solid beating by grown men to break the bolt. Swallowing the instinct down, she instead slipped into Stephen’s room. Always before it had been locked and guarded. She’d assumed this was because of well-founded fear of assassins. Now, though…

Inside she found a room similar to her own, well furnished and with an enormous bed in the center, its lavender curtains pulled back. Moonlight streamed in through three windows, faintly illuminating the room in a soft blue. The bed itself was empty. In the far corner she saw a door, also open. Yellow light shone from within, flickering from an unseen candle. Curious, she walked toward the door, glad her feet were bare. On the thick carpet, she made hardly a sound with her passing. Stopping just before the entrance, she drew a deep breath, and prayed it was nothing, all a strange misunderstanding. There’d be nothing within but clothes, finery, maybe some old armor…

Alyssa stepped inside.

Three candles in a golden candelabra rested atop a small stool. On either side of her, covering the walls of what appeared to be an extraordinarily large closet, were portraits of Leon Connington, painted in various styles and with varying skill. She recognized them well, for they’d decorated the walls upon her visits before Leon had been killed by the Watcher. She remembered Zusa remarking upon their absence, and the implied dislike the son might have for the father. But there in that room she knew it was the reverse, a clandestine reverence for the man whose eyes glowered down from all corners.

Every instinct of warning fired off in her mind. The mansion was no longer safe for her. Turning to leave, she stopped, for on the ground, nearly hidden from the light of the candles, was a jar. The mere sight of it twisted her stomach, despite her being unable to identify the contents within. With shaking hands she knelt down, grabbed it, and lifted it up to the candlelight. It was made of thick, clear glass. Swirling within a syrupy liquid of some kind were over a dozen naked eyeballs.

It took all her control to hold back her scream. The jar fell from her hands and landed with a dull thud on the carpet. Alyssa left it there and rushed for the door. They had to flee. Even the wild streets at night would feel safer than the enclosed walls of the Connington mansion. Before exiting she had the presence of mind to stop and check the hall. From the crack in the door she saw the approach of the same unknown woman… except now she wasn’t quite so unknown. Alyssa recognized those eyes, the softness of the nose and chin…

It can’t be him, she thought, but knew it was. She ducked behind the door. Was he coming back to his room? She had no blade, no weapon, and none appeared to be in his room. In her indecision she tensed, waiting for the door to press open. It did not. Holding her breath, Alyssa once more peered out through the door and saw that he’d continued. She could see the small crossbow in his hand, pressed against his side as he walked. Sticking her head out, she could just barely see her own door down the hall, and sure enough, Stephen slowly pushed it open and slid inside without making a sound.

The moment he vanished within, Alyssa ran, once more thankful for the bareness of her feet. When Stephen found her room empty there was only one place he’d think to go, and it was the one place she had to beat him to.

At the door to Nathaniel’s room, she stopped, knocked twice (the noise seeming unbearably loud), and then waited for a sound of movement.

“It’s me, your mother,” she said, not waiting for him to ask. “Unlock the door, now!”

He did, and she shoved it open hard enough to send him staggering backward. Stepping inside, she spun, shut it, and then pressed in the bolt. That done, she grabbed Nathaniel, held him against her, and wondered what in all of Dezrel she could possibly do now.

“Mom?” he asked when she said nothing, only held him.

“Shush,” she said, blowing out the candles to plunge the room into darkness. “Don’t make a noise.”

He nodded.

The two backed away, slowly, as if a monster lurked on the other side of the door. One did, except it wasn’t a creature of legend or fireside tales. This one was real, its venom deadly, its appetite sick and deranged.

The doorknob turned. Alyssa’s breath caught in her throat, and she put a hand over Nathaniel’s mouth. The door pressed inward, just a fraction, before the bolt caught it. There was a pause, and then the knob returned to its resting position. Two knocks followed.

“Nathan?” she heard Stephen ask from the other side. His voice was gentle, as if he were embarrassed to impose. “Nathaniel, it’s me, Stephen. Are you awake? I need to tell you something about your mother.”

She clutched her son tighter.

“Nathaniel?” More knocks, heavier. His voice took on a firmer edge. “Nathaniel, I said open the door. This is important.”

Alyssa’s mind raced. There was the window, but it was fairly high, and only Nathaniel could fit through it. She held little doubt that after her death, Nathan’s would follow. Guards crawled along the outside. Could her son escape, especially without her help? She didn’t think so. She commanded a presence, an implied threat of house-against-house warfare. Nathaniel was a small boy with a severed arm, born of a disgraced father. His disappearance would bother no one.

But would Stephen hurt Nathaniel if he wasn’t certain about her own fate? It was a horrible gamble, but she saw no other way.

“Listen,” she whispered into her son’s ear, desperately praying that Stephen would not hear through the door. “My life depends on you. Get in bed, and pretend you’ve had a nightmare. No matter what, I am not here, you understand me? I’m not here.”

He nodded. She kissed his forehead as Stephen banged on the door.

“Nathaniel! Open the door this instant!”

Though her son was small, his bed was still plenty big, and Alyssa crawled underneath and backed as far as she could against the wall. Despite every logical part of her telling her this was her best hope to survive, she still felt a horrible guilt smothering her, crushing her chest. If Stephen did something to Nathaniel while she hid under his bed like a damn child…

No time. Taking in a breath, she held it as Nathaniel undid the bolt. The door opened, and she heard footsteps as Stephen entered.

“I’m sorry,” she heard her son say. “I was scared, I had… why are you dressed like that?”

A pause before the answer. “I, um, it’s just a game, Nathaniel. A game adults play. Is your mother in here?”

“I was hoping you were her,” Nathaniel said. “I keep dreaming of him, of that horrible man…”

A good lie, thought Alyssa, especially off the cuff. Should they get out of this alive, she knew she’d have to watch him more carefully.

Stephen stepped farther into the room. She could see his feet from where she hid, and for some reason it horrified her to see a shaven leg in a high-heeled shoe. Was it just a disguise, or something more? Did she truly know so little of the man whose house she’d been living in? And what was the reason for his hatred of her household, and of the Spider Guild?

“I thought I heard whispering,” Stephen said. “Was that you?”

“I… was praying.”

“Praying? To who, Nathan?”

He seemed to have no answer. Stephen continued farther into the room, out of her sight. The closet door opened, shut. Still she waited. The lighting was incredibly poor, just what little moonlight came in through the curtained window. Perhaps in the darkness, he would not see…

Stephen knelt before the bed. Her whole world froze. He was looking right at her. Everything about him was solid black, just a feminine shape peering underneath the bed. Alyssa didn’t move, didn’t breathe, didn’t even dare think. She felt like a rabbit cornered by a wolf. And then, after a few agonizing seconds, he stood.

“Just checking for monsters,” he said to her son. Slowly she let out a breath as tears ran down her face.

“Is it safe?” Nathaniel asked as Stephen headed for the door.

“No monsters,” Stephen said. “Go back to bed. Oh, and Nathan… if you’re to pray, pray to Karak. He’s the true god of this world. You’re old enough to be accountable for such things now.”

“Yes, milord.”

Another pause, and then the door shut. Alyssa clutched the carpet with her fingers, trying to push away her lingering terror. Her son sat on the bed, his feet dangling off. Rolling out, she got to her knees and wrapped her arms about him. She was still embracing him when the door reopened, and Stephen stepped inside, a terrible smile on his painted face. Alyssa froze, too stunned to act. Something so simple, so stupid, had cost her terribly.

Nathaniel hadn’t relocked the door.

“Hello, Alyssa,” Stephen said, lifting the crossbow.

Zusa flew through the streets, legs pumping and head bobbing with her gasps. Too much, she thought, she was pushing herself too much. She’d undergone hunger and torture, her right hand mostly numb as it clutched her dagger, yet she dared not waste a precious second resting, or recapturing her breath. A hundred images flashed through her mind, and every one of them was too painful to dwell on for long. She saw Alyssa lying on her bed, or the floor, or out in the garden of the estate, her eyes open but empty, silver coins staring up at the stars.

Through it all, Daverik’s words echoed in her head. The Widow had a meeting, but only after.

After killing Alyssa Gemcroft.

She ran, and prayed to any god other than Karak to let her beloved Alyssa be safe, and Nathaniel as well. She’d promised him she’d always be there in the shadows to protect him. What if it wasn’t just Alyssa she found with eyes of silver, and a tongue of gold…

Zusa stumbled, her concentration broken by such nightmarish daydreaming. The empty streets spun before her, and she landed on her shoulder hard enough to elicit a cry of pain. Lying there, tears swelling, she saw a shape flying through the air behind her, solid darkness but for the faint gray of the cloak trailing after.

No pause, no hesitation. Zusa rolled to her right, her cloak wrapping about her upper body. Ezra landed, her knee and dagger striking where Zusa should have been. Zusa kicked at Ezra’s legs, but the woman leaped over, diving toward her with both daggers leading. Zusa’s arms trapped by her thick cloak, she pushed the fabric outward. Ezra’s daggers punched through it, but the handguards snagged when Zusa twisted and shoved to the side. Again she kicked, this time connecting with Ezra’s midsection. The faceless woman fell back so she might regain her balance. Zusa staggered to her feet, let her ragged cloak unfurl about her.

“Did Daverik decide it was time for me to die?” Zusa asked.

“He still loves you,” Ezra said, crouching down as she circled, looking like a strange animal ready for the pounce. Even her eyes were wide and wild behind the thin white cloth upon her face. “But even he knows that the loyalty of our faith must come before those we love.”

“Some faith,” Zusa said, grinning to hide her exhaustion and worry. “Is that what they told you when they stripped you naked and forced you into the faceless? Loyalty before love?”

Ezra thrust, but pulled back when Zusa moved to block. Another thrust, this one equally prepared for. Ezra was testing for an opening, gauging Zusa’s reaction speed. Zusa felt her nerves fraying. She didn’t have time for this.

“You don’t deserve his love,” Ezra said.

“You’re wrong,” Zusa said. “He doesn’t deserve mine.”

She took the offensive, and was surprised when Ezra did not move to block. Instead she remained still, even when the daggers closed in on her neck. But Zusa did not cut flesh. Instead her daggers moved right through, as if hitting a mirage. From behind her she heard laughter, and spun to find Ezra there, twirling her daggers in mockery.

“I have Karak’s blessing,” she said. “Behold his gift.”

As Zusa watched, Ezra’s form grew still, then blinked away, just an afterimage. It was like staring too long at the sun, seeing something burned into the eye that wasn’t actually there. Zusa tensed for an attack, but could only guess where it would come from.

“I prayed,” Ezra said, off to her left. Zusa spun, but again there was just an afterimage that quickly vanished. When Ezra spoke again, she was on the right. “All night I prayed for the strength to defeat you. And now I have it.”

The image of her shifted, and suddenly she was mere inches away, leering at Zusa.

“I can move faster than the eye,” she told Zusa, laughing. “What hope have you now?”

Zusa swung at her, and their daggers connected. For a moment it was a familiar dance, a giving and taking of position that Zusa knew she could easily win. But when she tried to finish her opponent, to thrust through an opening to pierce Ezra’s heart, Ezra’s form turned blurry, and then she was ten feet away down the street.

“Damn it,” Zusa whispered. She didn’t have time for this, but she had to remain calm, had to think. Slowly Ezra approached, reeking of confidence.

“Will you always run?” Zusa asked her. “Stand and fight, and stop using Karak’s gift as an excuse to hide your cowardice.”

Ezra shook her head, still walking toward her. Every slow footstep ate away another second, any one perhaps the difference between life and death for Alyssa. And Ezra knew it, too. Zusa could see it in the mocking glint in the woman’s eyes, in the exaggerated swish of her thin hips.

Zusa flung herself forward, a rash attack that Ezra would expect from her. With her skill, it might have been enough to overwhelm Ezra, but Zusa had something else in mind. At the last moment, just before their daggers clashed, she dove to the side, making a run toward the mansion. Ezra spun, and Zusa trusted her to react on instinct, to believe Zusa frantically running toward her loved ones.

A mere two steps toward the mansion, Zusa flipped her left dagger so the blade faced downward in her fist, then dug her heels in so she might fling herself backward. It was a blind stab, a gamble, as her dagger thrust through her own cloak. Ezra collided with her, caught unaware of the sudden change in her direction. The blade of the dagger punched through cloth, flesh, then belly. Ezra gasped, her upper body collapsing against Zusa, her head on her shoulder. Zusa twisted, keeping the position awkward and their bodies entangled so Ezra could not thrust.

“Zusa…” gasped Ezra as her body shivered.

“You should have listened,” Zusa said, pulling her dagger free. “You could have found freedom. You could have prevented this.”

When she pushed away, the other woman had nothing to lean against, and no strength of her own to stand. Zusa ran on, leaving Ezra to die alone, slumped over in the dirt and darkness.