bunk, and lay down, not to sleep but to think. She felt lost and confused. There wasn’t anyone she could trust within the Ash Guild for advice, but there was one woman outside the guild who would die to protect her secrets. Dawn was still a few hours away, so perhaps she had time.
Veliana left her bed, changed into a darker outfight, and donned her gray cloak. She used a different door than the one Deathmask guarded, and then took to the rooftops. Once in relative freedom, she removed the cloak signifying her allegiance to the Ash Guild and then set out to meet Zusa at the Gemcroft mansion.
7
I t was past midnight when Arthur Hadfield arrived at the gates of the Gemcroft mansion, escorted by nine of his soldiers. One of the guards immediately recognized him and opened the gate.
“Our lady sleeps,” said the guard, “but we would not turn away such an esteemed visitor in the cold of night. I pray no ill news brings you here at such an hour?”
“Pray all you want,” Arthur said. “But it won’t change the news I bring.”
Inside the main foyer they stopped and forfeited their weapons, even Arthur’s. He gave the guard a stern look as he handed over his beautiful longsword, a family heirloom of five generations.
“A lash for every scratch,” he said. “Unless you think Alyssa will not listen to me.”
“Understood, sir,” said the guard. “Please, wait here. Our lady will be down shortly; we have already sent a servant to wake her.”
“Warm some food for my men,” Arthur said. “And find me something stiff to drink. I’d rather not meet Alyssa looking pale as a corpse fresh from the grave.”
“Right away.”
Several servants rushed from one room to the next, haggard-eyed and clothes unkempt. Most of the guards looked a little better, but they were probably used to the odd hours and constant threat of thieves sneaking in at night. Most of them likely slept during the day. An elderly lady appeared and ushered the soldiers to follow her.
“Coming?” one asked Arthur.
He shook his head.
“I’ll wait here. All I need is a drink. Enjoy yourselves, and don’t forget,” he glanced at the servant, “to find yourselves lodging for the night. We won’t go traipsing for an inn at this hour.”
It seemed the servant got the message, and even if she didn’t, he knew his men would hammer the point home. Standing in the foyer, he removed his bearskin coat and set it aside. A large fireplace burned at the intersection before him, so he stood beside it and let its heat sink into his skin. When a servant arrived with a glass, he took it and gave it a taste.
“Thank you,” he said, doing his best to hold in a denigrating remark. The lady had brought him a recent vintage of wine, no doubt the cheapest bottle in the mansion other than what was reserved for the hired help. Probably thought they were keeping Alyssa’s interests in mind since she had not asked it for him, but they should have known better. He swallowed the rest of it anyway. It might taste like piss, but at least it’d still warm his bones.
He watched the fire burn as he waited, his thoughts racing through the recent events. Alyssa needed to marry soon, and with Mark Tullen dead, Arthur had removed all serious competition. Only two wrinkles remained. One was Alyssa’s child, heir to the Gemcroft wealth, as well as a potential danger should he describe the ambush accurately enough to blame him. The other was that strange man who had attacked them. He dressed like a thief, yet none of his colors marked him with any guild. Plus there was that symbol carved in blood beside the fire. The Watcher. Arthur didn’t visit Veldaren often, but it seemed things had gotten far stranger in his absence. Not for the first time he felt thankful he lived in the north, where men had to survive by the plow, the sword, or the pick, and not by the deftness of their hand.
“Lord Hadfield,” Alyssa said, pulling him from his thoughts. He turned to her and smiled as she approached through the doorway. Her hair was immaculate, her cheeks warmed with rouge. The dark circles under her eyes were hidden with powder. Now he knew why she’d taken so long to come down. At least her clothing was appropriate for the late hour, a crimson robe tied with a yellow sash. She wrapped her arms in his and gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek.
“Forgive me for ruining your sleep,” he said. “It’s a cruelty, waking someone at this hour, but I feared it’d be crueler risking someone other than myself bringing the news.”
“Enough,” Alyssa said, stepping back and holding her arms against her chest as if she were cold. “Please, whatever it is, tell me, or my mind will assume the worst.”
Arthur frowned and looked away for a moment, just long enough for her to interpret it as doubt.
“You could assume nothing worse than the truth,” he said at last. “I’m sorry, Alyssa. Your son is dead.”
She’d been expecting it, he could tell, but it didn’t matter. She took a step back as if he’d slapped her. Her mouth dropped open, and her hands quivered as she pressed them to her lips.
“No,” she whispered. Tears swelled in her eyes, then fell, smearing the powder. “No, no, please, you’re wrong, you have to be wrong…”
He shook his head. This was by far the easiest part. None of it was a lie.
“Mark Tullen came and took Nathaniel from Tyneham, where I’d brought him for tutoring. They joined one of my caravans traveling to the city. I thought they’d be safe, but someone ambushed them several days ago, no doubt hoping for the gold.”
“Mark?” Alyssa asked as she tried in vain to compose herself. “Was he…?”
Arthur wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close.
“There were no survivors,” he whispered. “They piled the bodies together and burned them.”
She fell against him and sobbed. A bit of rouge rubbed onto his vest, and he wondered whether it would come off. As her cries escalated, he tightened his grip, holding her against him. He gently rocked her side to side, his cheek resting on the top of her head. He felt unprepared for her grief, and he mentally delayed his plans of marriage. She’d need time to get over this, at least three months. Perhaps if he could bring her closure, he could progress things sooner, but how?
She asked a question, but it muffled against his chest.
“What, my love?” he asked, tilting her face with her chin. It was the first time he’d call her that, and he knew it would carry far more impact now given the circumstances.
“Who?” she asked. She sniffed and pulled free of his grip. “I want to know who.”
“I told you, someone wishing for our gold. Ruffians, most likely, come from only the gods know where.”
Alyssa shook her head. It seemed as if her skin were darkening to red, her whole body suddenly given over to rage. When she spoke again, her voice was held together by such fierce concentration he worried she had pierced his lies.
“That’s not good enough,” she said. “There has to be something, some clue, some mistake they made. They can’t make off with that much gold without others noticing. No one is that perfect, that calculated. If you know something, tell me!”
Arthur felt his opening, and it took all his willpower to keep from smiling.
“There was a…symbol,” he said, as if hesitant. “I didn’t wish to bother you with it, not when you should be grieving.”
“I have the rest of my life to grieve,” she said, wiping her makeup with her hands. “What was the symbol?”
“It was an open eye, drawn in blood. Below it was written a name, a strange name. The Watcher. I believe he is tied to the local thief guilds in some manner.”
The way she startled, he knew he’d hit his mark.
“How dare he?” she said. “He kills my son, and my…and Mark, and then dares leave his name? I’ll see him flayed before me, that heartless bastard.”
“Allow me to help in the search,” Arthur offered.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “This is my loss, and my fault. I sent Mark for him when I should have left him in safety.”
