He gestured to the coins, the writing.
“You said it being a rival guild is a foolish idea,” Victor said. “Why is that?”
“Because a guild would either claim it, or destroy any evidence to avoid retribution. This is neither. This is mockery, or a riddle, or vengeance for a blood feud. Whatever it is, it isn’t normal, and it isn’t a guild. One, maybe two men working together.”
“Or women,” Victor said, glancing at the rhyme.
Haern stood, and he backed away from the lord. The shadows of his hood protected his face, so that only his eyes shone out. Most wilted under his stare, but this Victor was unafraid, and met them without flinching.
“Watcher,” Victor said. “I’ve wanted to meet you since I stepped foot in Veldaren. Forgive my boast before the King earlier. I know what you’ve done, and it is truly impressive. But your way is doomed to fail, and that is why I have come. You can’t control them any longer.”
“They fear me,” Haern said, shaking his head at the foolish noble. “That is why I can control them. What can you do? What terror can you inspire with a few scrolls, judges, and soldiers?”
Victor pulled the gold coins out from the corpse’s mouth, then stared into the vacant eyes.
“They fear you, for they know you are with them in the shadows.” He looked up. “But they will come to fear me more, Watcher, for I will leave them with no shadows at all. That is my terror. That is the difference between us. You skulk and hide in their midst, and with every murder, you become more like them. You are something they can understand. You are greater than them, you are frightening, but you are still just one man, and the moment you die, everything you’ve built will come crashing down. Let me help you. Let me save your legacy.”
Haern heard no lie, no doubt. Victor meant every word. As much as Haern wanted to dismiss him, he heard the promise of another life, of a chance to pull the weight of Veldaren off his shoulders.
“You really think you can cleanse this city?” he asked.
“I can. I will.”
Haern leapt, kicked off the wall, and then grabbed a windowsill. With it, he pulled himself to the rooftop, then spun, hulking like a gargoyle from a castle edge.
“Why?” he asked. “What gain? What reason?”
“You are the nameless man patrolling the rooftops at night,” Victor said, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yet you wonder about
Despite the seriousness, despite the body, Haern let out a laugh.
“Very well,” he said. “Happy hunting.”
Zusa had sent a runner back to the Gemcroft mansion to warn of their arrival, no doubt scrambling the servants about in preparation. Normally Alyssa would have thought to do so herself, but her mind was clearly elsewhere. After all, it wasn’t often a parent returned from the dead. Alyssa and Melody sat together in the litter, with Zusa following alongside, ignoring the stares she received for her attire. There might not be room for her within, but she wouldn’t leave Alyssa unguarded. The sun had begun to set, and so the guards escorting them carried torches. Given everyone’s somber mood, it almost felt like a funeral.
Upon reaching their mansion, Zusa offered Alyssa her hand, who took it as she stepped out. Together they looked upon their home, both quiet, both sullen.
“It will be difficult, but Nathaniel must be told,” Zusa said.
“I know.”
Melody emerged from the other side. Her clothes still hung from her thin body, but a bit of energy showed in her step as she looked upon her old home.
“Just as I remembered,” she said.
Alyssa went to her mother’s side and offered her arm for support. Melody took it, smiling, and then together they walked the path toward the door. Zusa followed after, feeling like an outcast. They were family, however distant. What was Zusa, though? Friend? Bodyguard? Not blood, certainly not that. Whatever family she might have had, it had been lost to her upon entering Karak’s temple, nothing but a sacrifice made to serve.
Melody stopped in the doorway of the mansion, her whole body trembling. She looked about, saw the paintings, the lush carpet, and the wood carefully stained and cleaned by an army of servants.
“Home,” she whispered. For a moment she stood perfectly still, and then closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, as if she could pull the very essence of the mansion into her lungs. Tears fell down her face, and sobs tore from her throat. Alyssa held her as that tiny body shuddered with each breath. Whatever doubt Zusa felt vanished at the sight. The torment was real. The sorrow, the joy, all mixed, all confused. No actress could pull off such a powerful display. Her insides twisting, Zusa hurried away, more than ever feeling like a trespasser.
Her room was out behind the mansion, in a converted servant’s quarters made flat and empty so that she might train. As Zusa hurried through the halls toward the back, she was stopped by a boy calling her name.
“Zusa?”
She turned, then smiled despite her worry. Nathaniel Gemcroft stood in the doorway of his room, dressed in his finest tunic. Already it looked tight on him, and she laughed at his obvious discomfort.
“You grow like a weed,” she said.
His eyes glanced downward, obviously embarrassed. He had his mother’s features, delicate, soft, and with a moppet of red hair atop his head. Though he was only nine, he was fiercely intelligent, and Zusa had grown attached to him over the years, as had much of the mansion’s staff.
“The servants say…well, you know. Is it true?”
Nathaniel looked up at her, and she saw the turmoil in his green eyes.
“It seems so,” she said. “Why the worry? She is your grandmother, and will be pleased to see such a fine grandson.”
Nathaniel shifted his feet and tugged at the hem of his tunic with his one arm.
“Because mother will worry, won’t she? Mother’s enemies might want grandmother to take her place.”
Such intelligence for one so young. Zusa sensed John Gandrem’s influence here. The Lord of Riverrun had found and protected Nathaniel after his near-death at the hands of a vicious lover of Alyssa’s. Ever since, the old man had played the father figure, and nearly every summer, Nathaniel went to his castle to learn to ride, wield a sword, and command oneself before the people. Evidently, he’d also learned of the many ploys men might use to gain favor and power. John was currently staying as a guest in their mansion, and she tried not to think of how he might react to Melody’s return.
Zusa knelt before him, put her hands on his shoulders.
“All that matters is that you show her respect,” she said. “Do not fear for your mother, and give no thought to her enemies. I’ll be watching over her always, and no one is more dangerous than me.”
“What about the Watcher?” Nathaniel asked, and he cracked a smile.
Zusa kissed his forehead.
“Not even him. Now go, introduce yourself, and make sure John does, as well.”
He bowed, then hurried away. She watched him, biting her lip as he vanished around a corner. Hopefully if Melody and Nathaniel got along, it would ease Alyssa’s discomfort. Not that it would help Zusa any. She’d had no discomfort when Alyssa took lovers and potential suitors before. Why did this bother her so? She didn’t know. She didn’t care. Back in her room, she stripped naked, then retightened the wrappings about herself. Her mind drifted, as it often did during the lengthy, tedious task.
Alyssa had once asked why she didn’t wear regular clothes since she’d left the order of the Faceless Women. “Regular clothes get in the way,” she’d told her, and there was some truth to that. She could not leap and climb in a dress. But mostly it was that in applying the wrappings, loop over loop about her slender arms, legs, and waist, she felt herself sliding away. They were poor armor, but they protected her from the minds of men. Anyone seeing her knew she was different, and had to treat her as such. In combat, she was not a woman, but a specter, a mystery. At times she even thought to hide her face as she once did, but could not do it. That was her rebellion, however shallow it might be. Those who died to her daggers would die seeing her face, and in her eyes, they’d see no mercy, no grace, just a killer better than they.
Pulling her cloak back over her shoulders, she slipped out into the night. Alleys and rooftops passed by her, and she was dimly aware of them. At one time she’d been an assassin for her priests, and greatly feared by those aware of her existence. With enough coin given as donation, the temple of Karak could eliminate even the most powerful of lords. Rumors even told of kings and queens who had died to the Faceless for daring to publicly
