Blood of the Underworld

“Return? Whose return?”

Daverik shook his head.

“No time, Zusa. The Widow is just a puppet, a minor player in all this. Even Laerek is but a mouthpiece for the real force working behind everything. Alyssa is already dead. I’ll tell you where to find Laerek, but you must hurry. Take vengeance on him, before he leaves Veldaren forever.”

Zusa’s grip tightened, and she almost strangled the life from her former lover.

“Don’t be a fool,” he said in a raspy voice, fighting to breathe through her grasp. “Kill the one responsible, then come with me. We’ll leave this all behind. You’ll never feel pain again, not like this. Don’t go back. You don’t want to see it.”

“No,” she said, letting him go. “You’ve never understood me, Daverik, and you never will.”

With every last bit of strength she ran toward the Connington mansion, daggers at the ready, long cloak billowing.

Daverik watched her go, and his heart ached at the sight. He loved her, so much he loved her, but time and trials had changed her, warped her into something he only vaguely recognized.

“Such a shame,” he whispered.

He heard Ezra land behind him, quiet as a cat landing on padded feet.

“She still will not accept you, will she?” she asked.

Daverik shook his head.

“Zusa is too far gone, and whatever love she has for me is not enough to bring her back.”

He looked over his shoulder, saw her drawing her daggers. Daverik once more thought of the softness of Zusa’s skin, the way his lips had brushed her neck, and then cast aside the sinful memories so he might give his Faceless her order.

“She’ll interfere if she can. Kill her, and if the Widow cannot fulfill his task, then kill Alyssa as well.”

Ezra stepped closer, rubbing her wrapped face against his shoulder while leering up at him.

“You risked much for an old love,” she said. “Deborah just barely lives, and others of the temple are not so lucky.”

“The dead go to Karak, their souls claimed and protected,” Daverik snapped. “Zusa is greater than any of them, yet she will burn, only burn. I had to try.”

Ezra smirked as she stepped away to give chase.

“Tell me,” she said. “Would you have risked for my soul as you have for hers?”

He could not answer, and he felt his neck flush with the shame.

“I thought not,” Ezra said. “Dangerous games, Daverik. You play such dangerous games…”

She ran, to murder the only woman Daverik had ever loved. The act was just, of course, a necessary fate for a woman who had blasphemed against Karak. But he would find no comfort in it, no solace.

“Forgive me, Zusa,” he told the night. “Perhaps, after an eternity, I might one day hold your body against mine. But I’ve given you enough chances. I wash my hands of this. Your fault, not mine, dear Katherine…”

27

Stephen Connington stepped into the tiny room, holding a candle to give himself light. As he’d hoped, she was already waiting for him there.

“Mother,” he said, seeing her sitting against the wall, surrounded by little toys carved out of wood.

“I’m here, child,” Melody said.

Stephen went to her, curling up in her arms as he closed his eyes. He was getting too big for it, he knew, but he did so anyway. With his eyes closed, he was once more lost in darkness, lost in a past he’d thought he’d escaped. Sadly, it seemed he never would.

“Do you think father loved me?” he asked.

“You know he did.”

He thought of the years of darkness amid months of light, of the beatings and the hunger, followed by Leon’s lips on his neck.

“Do I?” Stephen asked.

He’d been a bastard of Leon’s, birthed by a lowly servant girl who had aroused his father’s attention. Melody was not his mother, not by blood, no matter how much he might wish it be true. There’d been times Leon had treated him well, had laughed and told him stories as they walked through the mansion. Other times, though…other times…

“He told you so, didn’t he?” Melody said, stirring him from his thoughts.

His father’s voice echoed in his head, distorted over time so he couldn’t be sure if the love he heard in it existed or not.

You know they would kill you, Stephen. They don’t think you’re good enough to be one of them, to take over everything I’ve built. They want some boy pulled from a prissy noblelady’s cunt instead. But you’re my daughter, you hear me? You never forget it. My blood. So don’t you worry when I put you down there. It’s for your safety, Stephen. Your safety.

No matter the love he felt from his father, those long months spent in the cell had wore on him, bathing him in darkness as he grew up isolated and alone. But then, when he was almost six, an angel had been delivered to him. It was his mother, the true mother that owned his heart. Melody had been placed in the cell adjacent to his. The first he’d ever known of her was the songs she sang to pass the time. In that deep darkness, that voice had carried him, given him comfort so he could sleep without crying.

“Alyssa’s supposed to be next,” Stephen said. “Laerek insists on it, before she might discover our plans.”

“I understand,” Melody said, gently stroking his hair. Not his real hair, though, but the long wig he’d put on prior to entering. He still remembered the night he’d taken it, hidden in shadows while watching the whores pass. Oh, some didn’t ask for money, might have even claimed they were proper women, noble ladies or faithful wives. But they were all whores. His father had made that clear.

All women are whores, Stephen, even you. It’s in their blood, and it’s stronger than anything else in this world. That’s why you shouldn’t feel bad. It’s not your fault. You just can’t help it, always looking at me like you do. But you’re my daughter, my precious little daughter. Now come here.

Stephen had sliced the woman’s beautiful brown hair off at the scalp, all while the venom of the brown widow spider kept her paralyzed. She’d been unable to move, but he’d seen the screams in her eyes when he finally pulled the last of it free. It was her beauty, he knew. She hated to lose her beauty, to see someone stronger, someone more deserving, take it away.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Stephen asked. “I…she’s my sister, isn’t she? Your daughter?”

Melody’s careful stroking of his head paused, and he felt his muscles tense. He hated when she did that, one of those subtle things to let him know her displeasure.

“She’s not my daughter,” Melody said, her bony fingers tightening around his shoulders, making him feel like a disobedient child. “She’s Maynard’s daughter. He kept her from me, Stephen. He wanted her for himself, because he was selfish. Because he was weak. He knew the strength Karak gave me, and would not let her know it as well. That’s why he sold me to your father.”

Stephen felt fury burn bright in his chest. Of course it was Maynard Keenan’s fault. Leon had made that quite clear. He’d come to his father multiple times, whenever he was given freedom to leave his cell and roam the mansion. Whenever he asked for Melody to be released, he’d been given the same answer.

If Maynard finds out, he’ll kill me. She’s supposed to be dead, Stephen.You know what dead means, right? It means not walking around talking to my servants, being seen by guests, eating food cooked by women with more mouths than sense. I love her dearly, but down there she has to stay if you want her to survive.

For five long years he’d asked, until the Bloody Kensgold came. He’d been in his cell, not allowed to join the festivities, when the thieves had come and set the mansion ablaze. The smoke had been thick as the building