“I know these are not peaceful times,” he said, “but we cannot allow fear to control our lives. That is a victory you know the thief guilds have longed for.”
“We’re approaching the fifth anniversary of the Bloody Kensgold,” Alyssa said, referring to a gathering of the Trifect, the three wealthiest families of merchants, nobles, and power brokers in all of Dezrel. On that night, Thren Felhorn had led an uprising of thief guilds against the Trifect, burning down one of their mansions and attempting to annihilate every last one of their leaders. He’d failed, and his guild had broken to a fraction of its former size. On that night, Alyssa had assumed control after the death of her father, victim to an arrow as they’d fought to protect their home.
“I know,” Bertram said. “Is that what distracts you so? Leon and James have both agreed to delay another Kensgold until this dangerous business is over with.”
“And when will that be?” she asked as another servant arrived with a silver cup of wine. “I hide here in my mansion, fearful of my food and scared of every shadow in my bedroom. We cannot defeat the guilds, Bertram. We’ve broken them, fractured many to pieces, but it’s like smashing a puddle with a club. They all come back together, under new names, new leaders.”
“The end is approaching,” Bertram said. “This is Thren’s war, and he champions it with every bit of his strength. But he is not so strong, not so young. His Spider Guild is far from the force it used to be. In time, the other guilds will see reason and turn against him. Until then, we have only one choice left before us, and that is to endure.”
Alyssa closed her eyes and inhaled the scent of the wine. For a moment she wondered if it was poisoned, but she fought the paranoia down. She would not sacrifice such a simple pleasure. She couldn’t give the rogues that much of a victory.
Still, when she drank, it was a small sip.
“You told me much the same after the Kensgold,” she said, setting down the cup. “As you have every year for the past five. The mercenaries have bled us dry. Our mines to the north no longer produce the yields they were renowned for. The king is too frightened to help us. How long until we eat in rags, without coin for servants and wood for fires?”
“We are on the defensive,” Bertram said, accepting his own cup of wine. “Such is our fate for being a large target. But the bloodshed has slowed, you know that as well as I. Be patient. Let us bleed them as they bleed us. The last thing we want is to inflame their passions while we still appear weak and leaderless.”
Alyssa felt anger flare in her chest, not only at the insult, but also its damning familiarity.
“Leaderless?” she asked. “I have protected the Gemcroft name for five years of shadow war, brokered trade agreements, organized mercenaries, bribed nobles, and done everything as well as my father ever did, yet we are leaderless? Why is that, Bertram?”
Bertram endured the rant without a shred of emotion on his face, and that only infuriated Alyssa further. Again she felt like a schoolchild before her teacher, and part of her wondered if that was exactly how her advisor thought of her.
“I say this only because the rest of Dezrel believes it,” he said when she was finished. “You have no husband, and the only heir to the Gemcroft name is a bastard of unknown heritage.”
“Don’t talk about Nathaniel that way,” she said, her voice turning cold. “Don’t you dare speak ill against my son.”
Bertram raised his hands and spread his palms.
“I meant no offense, milady. Nathaniel is a good child, smart, too. But a lady of your station should be partnered with someone equally influential. You’ve had many suitors; surely you’ve taken a liking to one of them?”
Alyssa took another sip of wine, her eyes glancing up at the shadowy corners of the dining hall.
“Leave me,” she said. “All of you. We’ll speak of this another time.”
Bertram stood, bowed, and followed the servants out.
“Come down, Zusa,” she told the ceiling. “You know you’re always welcome at my table. There is no need for you to skulk and hide.”
Clinging like a spider to the wall, Zusa smiled down at her. With deceptive ease, she let go, falling headfirst toward the carpet. A deft twist of her arms, a tuck of her knees, and she landed gracefully on her feet, her long cloak billowing behind her. Instead of any normal outfit, she wore long strips of cloth wrapped around her body, hiding every inch of skin. Except for above her neck, Alyssa was still pleased to see. Zusa had once belonged to a strict order of Karak, the dark god. Upon her willful exile, Zusa had cast aside the cloth from her face, revealing her stunning looks and her beautiful black hair, which she kept cropped short around her neck. Two daggers hung from her belt, wickedly sharp.
“Let me be the one in the shadows,” Zusa said, smiling. “That way you are safe, for no assassin can hide there beside me.”
Alyssa gestured for her friend to sit. Zusa refused, but Alyssa took no offense. It was just one of the skilled lady’s many quirks. The woman had rescued her from rape and torture years before, and then helped protect her estate from Thren’s plans. She owed her life to Zusa, so if she wanted to stand instead of sit, she was more than welcome.
“Did you hear everything?” Alyssa asked.
“Everything of worth. The old man is scared. He tries to be the rock in a storm, to survive by doing nothing until it passes.”
“Sometimes a sound strategy.”
Zusa smirked. “This storm will not pass, not without action. Not with his cowardly action. You know what Bertram wants. He wants you bedded and yoked to another man. Then your womanly passions may be safely ignored, and he can rule through your husband.”
“Bertram has no desire for power.”
Zusa lifted an eyebrow. “Can you know for sure? He is old, but not dead.”
Alyssa sighed and drained the rest of her glass.
“What should I do?” she asked. She felt tired, lost. She badly missed her son. She’d sent Nathaniel north to Felwood Castle, to foster with Lord Gandrem. At least there he was safe from the thief guilds, and the training he received would help him later in life.
“Bertram’s question…are there any you have taken a fancy to?” Zusa asked.
Alyssa shrugged.
“Mark Tullen was attractive, though his station is probably lower than Bertram would prefer. At least he was willing to talk to me instead of staring down my blouse. Also, that noble who runs our mines, Arthur something…”
“Hadfield,” Zusa said.
“That’s right. He’s pleasant enough, and not ugly…little distant, though. Guess that’s just a product of being older.”
“The older, the less likely to cavort with other women.”
“He’s more than welcome to,” Alyssa said. She stood and turned away, trying to voice a silent fear she’d held onto for years, a fear that had strangled her relationships and kept her unmarried. “But any child we have…that will become the Gemcroft heir. Too many will shove Nathaniel aside, deem him unfit, unworthy. I can’t do that to him, Zusa. I can’t deny him his right. He’s my firstborn.”
She felt Zusa’s arms slip around her. Startled by the uncommon display of emotion, she accepted the hug.
“If your son is strong, he will claim what is his, no matter what the world tries,” she said. “Do not be afraid.”
“Thank you,” Alyssa said, pulling back and smiling. “What would I do without you?”
“May we never find out,” Zusa said, bowing low.
Alyssa waved her off, then retreated to her private chambers. She stared out the thick glass window, beyond her mansion’s great walls, to the city of Veldaren. She found herself hating the city, hating every dark corner and crevice. Always it conspired against her, waiting with poison and dagger to…
No. She had to stop thinking like that. She had to stop letting the thief guilds control every aspect of her life through force and fear. So she sat at her desk, pulled out an inkwell and piece of parchment, and paused. She’d
