He found them beside Victor in the distance. Haern feared they would hurt him, but from what he could see through the smoke, they only stood at his side, as if to protect him. Shaking his head, Haern turned behind him, realizing he had forgotten the threat of his father. If Thren had wanted, he could have born down upon him, but instead he stood far back, the look of anger on his face chilling even to Haern.
“You have none to blame,” Thren said, meeting Haern’s eye. “Whatever games we’ve played, they end tonight.”
He fled into the night, and Haern had no desire to chase. Sheathing his sabers, he neared the crater, which was slowly dwindling down in the amount of heat and smoke. Deathmask crossed his arms over his chest. By the way his eyes twinkled, Haern had little doubt the dark-haired man was enjoying himself.
“Since when do thieves protect the lords who hunt them?” Haern called out as he approached.
“We have no fear of the hunt,” Deathmask said, removing his mask. With a snap of his fingers, the ash fell to the street, revealing his features. He was a handsome man, his dark hair down to his neck, his tanned skin smooth and clean. Most noticeable were his eyes, the left a deep brown, the right colored red. “Besides, you know I enjoy a bit of chaos every now and then.”
Veliana joined his side, her daggers still twirling in her dexterous fingers. Her dark hair was pulled into a ponytail. She might have been beautiful but for the wicked scar that ran from forehead to chin, cutting across her right eye and leaving it a bloody orb.
“You don’t mind if we take him for a while, do you?” Veliana asked him.
“Victor?” asked Haern. “Why?”
“Just somewhere safe,” Deathmask said, giving Haern a wink. “Don’t try to follow us. Besides, I think you have your own mess to clean up.”
Deathmask nodded to the tavern that Victor had been using as a home. Haern glanced at it, saw the bodies and dwindling fire. When he looked back, he realized the twins were gone, and Victor with them. Deathmask’s smile grew.
“Don’t worry, Watcher,” he said. “We won’t keep him long.”
They stepped into the crater, and smoke wafted over them. When it cleared, they were gone. Haern took a deep breath, let it out. Whatever was going on, it was currently beyond his control. But it seemed like the Ash Guild wasn’t ready to see Lord Victor killed. At least, not by someone other than them.
“Damn it all,” Haern said, shaking his head. He looked to the fire, the bodies, and heard the screams of the injured who had yet to die. Far away, a trumpet sounded, the call of the city guard arriving far too late. A rock settled deep in Haern’s gut.
Whatever peace Veldaren had known, it died that night. Thren’s look had promised war, and in time, decimated guild or not, he would have it. Saying a prayer for the entire city, Haern returned to Victor’s place to wait for the rest of the Eschaton to arrive. Whatever their motivations, the Ash Guild could not be trusted. One way or another, Haern would find them before the night’s end.
10
Zusa waited atop the eastern wall of the city, hidden in the recesses of a watchtower. Whenever a guard lazily wandered by, she clung to the stone ceiling and let him pass underneath without a clue to her presence. Then she dropped down, returned to the edge, and waited. It had been many years, but she knew she would recognize Daverik the moment he arrived. What she’d say to him-that she was far less certain of. Perhaps she’d just kill him. She wanted to. Almost needed to.
The night wore on, but she forced herself to be patient. She had given Daverik no specific location, for she didn’t want his Faceless to set up an ambush. If they tried following, she would spot their movement. No matter how good they might be at slinking through shadows, they were young, and Zusa was better.
“Are you a coward now?” Zusa wondered aloud as the night wore on. Daverik had been many things, but at least he had never been one to give in to fear. But it’d been over a decade since they’d lain in each other’s arms. Perhaps she was naive to think he had changed so little.
A distant thunder turned her eyes west. She saw hints of a fire, and a lot of smoke. Curiosity tugged at her to go, but she refused. No matter what, she would not have Daverik wander by unnoticed, left to return to the temple thinking that
When he finally did show, she nearly missed him. Instead of priestly garb, he wore plain clothes, dull brown pants and a gray shirt. He carried no torch, the moonlight sufficient for him. When once his hair had fallen past his shoulders, now it was gone completely, his head smoothly shaved. Time had wore on his features, hardened them, but when she cast a second glance at him while he passed beneath her, she saw the cheeks she’d kissed, the large lips that had kissed her in return.
A test, she realized. Nothing about him revealed himself as a priest. Only someone familiar with him would know him for who and what he was. That she had passed…should she be pleased, or disappointed?
“Daverik,” she called out. As he turned, she slid down the wall, silently landing in a crouch. Scanning the rooftops, she saw no sign of the other Faceless. Good. Her attention turned to her former lover, who smiled at her and opened his arms.
“Katherine,” he said, and the sound of his voice was the key to a vault of a hundred memories. “My god, Katherine, is it really you?”
She stood to her full height, pulling her shoulders back and turning her head to the side. Though the wrappings were originally meant to hide her beauty, they also revealed every curve of her body. Let him see the woman she had become. Let him know what the priesthood had denied him for ten long years.
“Not Katherine,” she said. “They took that name from me when they covered my face, lashing it out of my soul with their whips and barbs. I am Zusa now.”
A soft smile spread across his pale face. The moonlight added a blue tint to his green eyes. That she noticed at all annoyed her.
“In all my memories, you will always be Katherine,” he said. “But if I must, I will call you Zusa.” He laughed, then shook his head in disbelief. “I had heard one of the Faceless had revolted, and turned away from the order. I had hoped it might be you. You were never one for rules or limitations.”
“Neither were you, or did the priesthood taint you, convince you that every time we fucked it was my fault?”
That smile of his faded. He took a step toward her, and she recoiled away.
“They tried,” he said softly. “They said you seduced me, that your beauty was unveiled sin. At times, I almost agreed. You are beautiful, Zusa, perhaps without equal. But what we did…what we had…I would never diminish it in such a way.”
Such charming, honest words. Daverik had always known what to say to her, and she felt her old wounds bleeding anew. They’d been in each other’s arms when the priests had discovered them. They’d needed no trial, no council, to confirm the obvious. While she watched, they’d lashed Daverik before the altar, let his blood bleed across the ancient stone. As for her, the order of the Faceless awaited. They’d stripped her naked, and while Daverik watched, bound only her mouth and eyes with the wrappings that would become her ceremonial dress.
And when they carried her away, he’d said only two words, whose meaning she had always feared, and never fully understood.
“Why are you here?” she asked, forcing a cold edge into her voice. Daverik was just a phantom from her past, a boyhood love. They’d both been so young, so foolish and naive. “I thought you’d been banished to Mordeina.”
“I was,” Daverik said, glancing about. When he saw that they were still alone, he walked over to the wall and leaned his back against it, crossing his arms. “But it was only for ten years, and now my time has come to an end. They gave me one last task as penance, a way to redeem my insult to our god.”
“Your god,” Zusa corrected. “I have no love for Karak.”
This clearly pained Daverik, but he continued without remarking on it.
