Blood of the Underworld

mysterious woman committed? She told the truth, of course, and as you can imagine, we did not believe her. Melody Gemcroft was dead. We all knew that. We all knew, but she persisted…”

He suddenly lurched to his feet, and before Alyssa knew what was going on, the young man knelt before her and took her hand in his.

“Please forgive me, Alyssa,” he said, staring at the floor. “For a year she stayed, and I disbelieved. But she did not relent, and told us stories, memories, all to prove she was who she claimed to be. I should have known sooner; I should have believed her. Will you forgive me for adding torment to an already tormented woman?”

“I…yes,” Alyssa said, carefully freeing her hand. Something about his touch made her uneasy. “How could you have known? I barely believe it myself.”

This seemed to be enough, and with a jarring mood swing, Stephen was once more the charming boy.

“The finest physicians and priests in all of Dezrel have attended her,” he said, grabbing a cake smothered with blueberries and wolfing it down. “Better food and bed have helped nurse her to health, and I am glad she took meeting you so well. Even walking at times puts her out of breath.”

“I must thank you,” Alyssa said, standing. “For everything.”

“It is all I can do to make up for the sins of my father,” Stephen said. “That, and to earn your forgiveness. I want us to be friends, Alyssa. May your next visit be far sooner than the last. As for Melody, we’ll have her few things packed up and ready in just a few moments.”

It was only then it hit Alyssa that it wasn’t all a dream. Her mother was alive, and of course it was expected that she would go with her, to her proper home. Alyssa swallowed, and she felt her world crumbling. She hated it, how she hated it, but her immediate thought was nothing but an angry denial.

I am still ruler of the Gemcroft family!

She dug her fingernails into her arm as punishment. Such a selfish, childish thought was unbecoming of her. She was better than that, more mature.

“All the best,” she said to Stephen, forcing a pleasant mask across her face. “It will be such a pleasure to bring my mother home.”

To meet her grandchild. To see how the rooms had changed. To hear of her husband’s death, and the thief war that had nearly decimated them. To reenter a family of whom she was the eldest, and the lawful ruler.

“All the best,” Stephen smiled.

Alyssa grabbed Zusa’s hand, squeezed it tight.

3

Thren Felhorn crouched in the alley, watching the people pass. He wore the gray cloak of the Spider Guild, of which he was the undisputed ruler. Merchants, thieves, and lords quivered just hearing his name. At least, they once did. But now someone had dared disrespect him, and even flaunted it against him.

“Damn Serpents,” Thren said. “Do they think I would let them go unpunished?”

Beside him, his second in command-a rugged thief named Martin-put a pinch of crimleaf between his teeth and bit down.

“They’ve only claimed the first kill, and marked it as such,” Martin said, turning to spit. “That second one don’t seem like them. Tongue of gold? What the fuck does that mean? Bert was hardly known for his pretty words.”

Thren felt his insides harden. They’d found Bert the previous night, an arrow embedded in his throat. His mouth had been open, but no golden tongue there. The eyes of silver, though, they had seen, and the memory still filled him with rage. They’d taken the coins and fled just before the city guard arrived. Some had thought it a hit by the Watcher, but Thren dismissed that immediately. It wasn’t the Watcher’s style. His two men accosted outside one of their taverns-now that was the Watcher’s style. No, the coins and odd rhyme left in mockery had to be the Serpent Guild. Their new leader, Wilson Ket, was known for his pathetic attempts at resembling nobility instead of the street rat he was.

“Now,” Thren said, and the two rushed out.

They’d been watching another tavern, a place where Thren had been told Wilson liked to drink in the early mornings. The crowds had thinned, and no Serpents were in sight. At his command, he and Martin crossed the street, their hands on their hilts. But when he reached the door, he stopped and swore.

“Did someone warn him?” Martin asked.

Thren shrugged. He didn’t know. Enough already didn’t make sense, but adding this?

The door was broken inward. They stepped inside, their blades drawn. Not sure what to expect, Thren still did not find it within that tavern. Instead, several Serpents lay on the floor, their arms bound behind their backs. Over a dozen armed soldiers were about, some tying ropes, others questioning the Serpents, while a few just stood around looking bored. That boredom vanished the moment they laid eyes on the two of them, barging in with naked blades.

“Oh, shit,” Martin muttered.

An appropriate understatement.

“Halt!” several cried, but Thren was already on his way out. In the street, he turned north and ran, jamming his swords into their sheaths. Martin followed, still clutching his dagger.

“They’re following!” Martin yelled, and Thren glanced back to confirm. Only four, but they wore fine sets of chainmail that would turn their weapons with ease. He almost engaged them, figuring to end the fight quickly, but then he saw another squad of soldiers turn the corner just ahead. They wore the same insignia as the others: yellow wings overtop a gold sun. Thren had never seen it before in his life.

“Follow me,” he told Martin, cutting hard to his right. They ducked into an alley, then dove through a window upon reaching a dead end. Thren landed hard atop a table, then rolled to avoid Martin’s fall. Banging one of his knees on the way to the floor, Thren clenched his teeth and muttered a litany of curses at whoever had placed the table there. A woman stood screaming, and he slashed out her throat, not giving a thought to her corpse as they ran up the stairs. On the rooftops they were truly at home, and they leapt across with practiced ease. Once the guards were far behind, Thren stopped.

“Damn it,” he muttered, as up ahead Martin slowed, realizing his guild master was not keeping pace. A cramp stung Thren’s side, and he tried to push it into a corner of his mind so it wouldn’t bother him. It would have been easier if he weren’t so desperate for air. Old, he thought. Was this what it meant to get old? Despite his training, despite his legendary skill, he’d still just be a weary man gasping for air while the young ran on?

“You feeling fine, Thren?” Martin asked.

“Don’t ask stupid questions,” Thren snapped. “What just happened there?”

Martin shrugged.

“Looks like mercenaries going out hunting for thieves. We’ve seen it before.”

Thren shook his head.

“Yes, but not since the Watcher’s agreement. Have they learned nothing? We nearly burned this city down before. Do they think we cannot do it again?”

Martin walked over to the edge of the roof, knelt down on one knee, and peered down.

“Thren,” he said. “You might want to look at this.”

Thren joined him at the side, and if his insides were already hard, they now turned to iron. Hundreds of soldiers wearing the sun and wing insignia patrolled the streets. His mind flashed back to the bloody conflict four years prior, but it didn’t match up. Back then, Alyssa had unleashed a horde of mercenaries upon the city, smashing in homes, cutting down anyone suspected of guilt, and filling the city with fear. This, though…

“They’re orderly,” he said, with a hint of wonder. “Calm.”

“Not just that,” Martin said, pointing. “They’re only talking to most. What do you think they’re doing?”

Thren could spot a thief without even trying, and he saw at least seven weaving through the heavy crowd of the main street. None dared act. When one neared the soldiers, Thren thought they might spot the cloak and attack, but did not.

“They’re arresting thieves, but not at random,” Thren said. “Who ordered this? Whose soldiers are