to take advantage of their numbers. That thinned the wall toward Garrick, and Veliana wielded her daggers like a demoness, twisting and curling to avoid every thrust. Blood soon joined the wine that stained the floor. Deathmask felt pride in seeing her work. No one that survived could possibly doubt that the best of the Spider Guild had come to take the life of a rival.
Well, those that watched her, anyway. He, on the other hand, struggled to stay alive. His dagger batted side to side, sometimes faster than he expected thanks to the earlier enchantment. The impulse to cast a spell to blind his opponent filled him, and only at the last second did he refrain. The ruse was more important. He gained nothing giving himself away. The Ash needed to be his guild to rule. He couldn’t do that if revealed in the guise of a rival guild. His arms trembled as he felt steel cut into them. He fought three men at once, and they grinned at the sight of blood. He was outmatched, and now they knew it.
“Finish it!” he cried to Veliana, hurrying to the door.
Veliana was in the middle of disemboweling another man, and at his cry, she shoved him aside. The path between her and Garrick was clear. Instead of charging, she lifted a dagger and threw. Its aim was true. The point pierced his shoulder and lodged deep, burying up to the hilt. Garrick howled as his blood ran.
That was enough. Deathmask rushed for the exit, feeling like his legs didn’t belong to him. Veliana hesitated for just a moment, and he saw her other dagger trembling in her hand. Trusting her to do the smart thing, he burst through the door and into the night. She appeared a moment later, looking none too pleased.
“Come on,” he said. He took a zigzag course through the city, on a path he had memorized by heart. They arrived at an inn with rooms they’d already paid for several hours before. Deathmask climbed in through a window, which had no glass, only thick wood shutters that he had left unlocked. He was already changing back into his Ash Guild outfit when Veliana climbed inside.
“Did you kill him?” he asked.
“I wanted to.”
“That a no?”
She yanked the mask off her face and flung back her hood. “What do you think?”
He grinned. Knowing his skill was nowhere near hers, he’d left the delicate task of harming, but not killing, Garrick up to Veliana. Up until the throw itself, he hadn’t been sure if she would make it lethal or not.
“You did marvelously,” he said, tossing the old cloak to the bed and pulling off his tunic. “And now I can trust you all the more. If I was in your position, I might have accidentally hit Garrick’s throat.”
“That would have left me homeless and guildless,” she said, grabbing her old Ash outfit from the bed. She reached for the door.
“Where you going?” he asked.
“To change.”
The door shut behind her. Deathmask sighed. No fun at all.
She returned moments later, dressed in the colors of the Ash and looking to be in an even fouler mood.
“They’re still stained with my blood,” she said, referring to the red patch on her chest.
“I’ll try to get you something newer when I can,” he said. “Didn’t want to attract any attention. They might wonder why I was requesting an outfit for someone half my weight.”
“You’re a thief now, remember? Steal it.”
Deathmask shrugged. “Ready?”
She pushed him aside and climbed out the window.
“This better work,” she muttered. “Otherwise we’re in for a lengthy death.”
“I’m in for one perhaps, but you’ve already had your public execution, remember?”
She slammed the shutters in his face.
15
W hen amid her grief, she had thought hearing the cries of pain and seeing the river of blood would give her closure, but instead Alyssa felt hollow as she watched the fires spread across the city. Standing at the second-story window of her private study, she touched the cold glass and wondered what it was she had done. Had she brought freedom to the city? Peace of mind?
Not this night. But perhaps this was just like cauterizing a wound. There would be heat, pain, but then the bleeding would stop and healing could commence.
Someone knocked on the door, and she had a feeling who. The rest of her help would be asleep, or perhaps laying awake in their rooms, wondering about the safety of their friends and family beyond her mansion’s walls.
“Come in, Arthur,” she said, surprised by how tired she sounded. She rubbed her face with her hand, discovering tears. Had she really reached such a low, crying without realizing it while she wasted the night away staring out a window?
The door opened, then softly shut. Moments later she felt Arthur’s hands on her shoulders. When he started massaging she leaned back, pressing her head against his neck.
“People are too scared to form bucket lines,” he said. “The fires will only spread.”
She sighed. She should have known, of course. Probably did, even, but let her hatred blind her. Let the whole city burn, she’d thought plenty of times, so long as it burned the rats with it. But this was her war now, and that meant dealing with all its ills, all its blame.
“Send someone to the castle. Tell the king I request the aid of his soldiers in putting out the fires. With the castle guard there, it should outweigh any fear.”
“Self-preservation is strong,” Arthur said, letting her go. “For so many to remain in hiding, willing to lose everything to the fire, shows how great a fear you have created.”
“I meant to scare the thieves,” she said. “Not the innocent. But are there any innocent anymore? How deep does Veldaren’s sickness run? Maybe I should let it burn, all of it. My son is nothing but ash, so why not them, why not…?”
He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight, and in them she let herself cry. She found herself crying often in his presence. There was a strength in him, and a desire to please. More than anything, she felt she could trust him. He’d been there for her when she needed him most.
“Was this wrong?” she asked. “Have I truly erred so badly?”
His response was long delayed, to the point she thought he might not answer.
“You have done what you thought was right, and what was best for the Gemcroft family. I will not fault you for that, if you will do the same for me.”
“And what is that, Arthur?”
He turned her about and kissed her. His hands were firm on her shoulders. She felt herself responding. She was so exhausted, so drained. His touch was like an awakening, a pull from a nightmare that threatened to consume her day in and day out.
“The messenger,” she breathed while her mind remained able to think.
Arthur leaned close, his hot breath against her ear.
“Let the fires burn a little longer. If the cowards cannot save their own city, the blame lies with them.”
The study lacked a bed, but the carpet was soft. They made love, him atop her. She wrapped her arms around his chest and clutched him as if her life might end if she let go. She tried to forget the death and fire, her call for revenge. Even as the pleasure tore through her, she could not help but wonder if that wicked, wicked man responsible for the death of her son lay dead somewhere in the street, or if his body were nothing but ash in a distant fire. Atop her, Arthur continued to grunt and thrust.
*
T he arrival of the sun was a blessed thing to Veldaren’s citizens. The mercenaries retreated, having fought and searched long through the night. Those with cloaks and colors buried themselves inside whatever safe houses they had to recuperate and plan. Those who sided with neither filled the streets, forming bucket lines from the wells and digging ditches to combat the fires. Many others went to their families and friends, needing confirmation of their survival before beginning their daily tasks. The market’s bustle was subdued, the streets awash with
