do for this. I want Nathaniel’s killer brought to me. I want him to die by my hand. Can you do this? Can you find him?”
Zusa stood and then bowed low.
“The dark of the streets have always been my home,” she said. “Nothing can hide from me. I will find him, I swear it.”
Alyssa accepted her offered hand and stood. She kissed Zusa’s fingers, then bowed herself.
“Thank you. Send Bertram to my room after a few minutes. Wake him if he isn’t already.”
Alyssa hurried to her room, wishing to wash her face of the garish rouge and powder she’d put on for Arthur. Once there, she dipped a cloth into a basin of cold water, left there from when she first went to bed. Off came her painted face. She was still washing when she heard the door knock.
“Come in,” she said.
Bertram entered, and he looked about half as bad as she felt. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, and his face was covered with uneven gray stubble.
“My dear child,” he said, taking her into his arms. She set the cloth down and leaned against him. She felt so tired, so lost.
“It’s like a terrible dream,” she said softly. “One I can’t seem to wake from. What did I do to deserve this, Bertram?”
“Nothing,” he said. “No woman should endure this, but endure you must. The Gemcroft legacy must survive, no matter the hardships. And we shall, Alyssa, we shall. Whatever help you need, I am here for you.”
“Thank you,” she said. “It would help me greatly if you would prepare the…the services.”
He nodded. “He will have a fine funeral, one worthy of his bloodline.”
She bit back a bitter comment. While her son was alive he’d seemed unpleased with Nathaniel’s bloodline. Now he was dead, and his threat of succession was ended, he seemed ready to forget all that. No, she scolded herself. She was overreacting. Bertram had never said a harsh word about Nathaniel, at least not undeserved.
“There is something else,” she said, dipping her cloth in the basin and wiping underneath her eyes. “Call in every loan we have. Whatever stored grain, minerals, property, I want it all sold. We need gold, lots of it. Find every mercenary that needs work, no matter how expensive. Hire them, outfit them if need be.”
“You wish to declare war against the guilds?” asked Betram, who allowed a tiny bit of doubt creep into his voice.
“We’re already at war, or have you forgotten? Come the night of Nathaniel’s funeral, I want the streets to run red with the blood of thieves. I don’t care what cloak they wear; I want them dead.”
“You’ll only reignite their anger, and ruin whatever progress we’ve made in the last…”
“I don’t care! We’ve suffered and played the coward. No more peace. No more hope. Red, Bertram. I want the streets of this city red.”
Bertram muttered and waved his hands, as if he could not decide what to say. Despite her grim mood, she took pleasure in his distress.
“But what will the king think when we flood his streets with chaos?”
“The king is a coward. He won’t dare refuse me, and neither will you.”
“So be it,” he said. “We’ll have the funeral three days from now. Come that night, you will have your folly. You run the risk of bankrupting a century of wealth, Alyssa. Is your vengeance truly worth so much?”
“That and more,” she said. “Go. You have work to do.”
He bowed and left, looking far from pleased. Both matters settled, her revenge in motion, she finished washing and collapsed onto her bed. She tried, but sleep remained a distant hope and nothing more. After half an hour, she heard another knock on her door, just one, but it was firm. She ignored it. Thirty seconds later she heard it again.
“Come in,” she said, removing her arm from over her eyes so she could see.
In stepped Arthur, and he paused at the door.
“I don’t mean to intrude,” he started, but she shook her head. He crossed the room and climbed into the bed beside her. His clothes were on, and for that she was thankful. His arms wrapped around her, and in their comfort, she broke down once more. He was something steady, dependable, amid the chaos overwhelming her. He said nothing as she cried, only gently stroked her hair and held her against him. His body was warm, and it felt pleasant. After awhile, he spoke.
“If there is anything you need, I am here. It doesn’t matter the hour, nor the reason. I want you to know that.”
She clutched his hand in hers and squeezed. Her whole body ached, and her temples throbbed. Her tears still ran down her face, but they were silent. She closed her eyes, pressing her face against his chest and focusing on the sound of his breathing. As long as she thought about that, only that, maybe she could fall asleep. Maybe she could forget the whole damned night, and come the morning, the nightmare would be over. Maybe, just maybe…
She slept.
8
I n searching for the Watcher, there was one person Zusa knew would be best to meet with first. Behind the fenced estate was a small empty building, Zusa’s home. She intended to gather a few things for her task, but when she stepped into her combination bedroom and training room, she was instead surprised to find Veliana already waiting for her.
“You?” she said.
“I know I’m a day early,” Veliana said. She’d taken off her cloak, and wore only skin-tight clothing of blacks and grays. “I’ve come not just for training, but for advice.”
Zusa removed her own cloak and set it atop her bed. Other than the bed, the room was completely empty. The floor was padded, but still firm, a gift from Alyssa celebrating her first year of living with and protecting her. Veliana’s boots lay beside the door, and she padded barefoot to the center of the room.
“Tell me while we spar,” Zusa said. “I still feel sleep’s allure, so I need the awakening.”
They both drew a pair of daggers. No training weaponry for them; Zusa had insisted on real blades. She trusted her skill to make sure she caused no serious injury, as well as to prevent Veliana from doing the same. Over the past five years, Veliana had closed much of the gap, so now if either scored a hit, they counted it a well-earned rarity.
“Have you heard of a sorcerer named Deathmask, or perhaps Death’s Mask?” she asked as she stretched. Zusa shook her head. Veliana didn’t seem surprised. “Thought I’d ask anyway. He appeared about a week ago, a dangerous man. He has plans to kill Garrick, though how I don’t know. I think he has a chance.”
“Will you kill him?”
Veliana feinted, then slashed low, fully expecting Zusa to block. Their daggers connected, and as the steel rang out, they thrust and parried, resuming a skilled dance they had perfected over the years, a perfect give and take of cuts and dodges, parries and thrusts. They talked as they fought, albeit a little out of breath.
“I’m not sure if I still can, nor if I want to. Garrick has turned against me, thinks he can survive without me. He may be right, though he was a lying coward when I first thrust him into his role.”
Zusa upped the pace, forcing Veliana on the defensive as she spun and slashed.
“Men change over time, as do women.”
“But not like this. It’s too sudden. I feel like I’m missing something obvious.”
“Perhaps you are, and that is why you miss it. What is it you wish from me?”
Veliana leapt away, but instead of gaining a moment’s breather, Zusa rushed in, her daggers leading. After she parried both, Veliana struck Zusa in the chest with an elbow and then pushed her back.
“I must make a choice, but I don’t know which is the right one. You know me best, Zusa. What should I do?”
Zusa pulled back from her attack and rubbed her chest. Veliana was terribly distracted to have thrown so much strength into the elbow.
