solid black, just a feminine shape peering underneath the bed. Alyssa didn’t move, didn’t breath, didn’t even dare think. She felt like a rabbit cornered by a wolf. And then, after a few agonizing seconds, he stood.
“Just checking for monsters,” he said to her son. Slowly she let out a breath as tears ran down her face.
“Is it safe?” Nathaniel asked as Stephen headed for the door.
“No monsters,” Stephen said. “Go back to bed. Oh, and Nathan…if you’re to pray, pray to Karak. He’s the true god of this world. You’re old enough to be accountable for such things now.”
“Yes, milord.”
Another pause, and then the door shut. Alyssa clutched the carpet with her fingers, trying to push away her lingering terror. Her son sat on the bed, his feet dangling off. Rolling out, she got to her knees and wrapped her arms about him. She was still embracing him when the door reopened, and Stephen stepped inside, a terrible smile on his painted face. Alyssa froze, too stunned to act. Something so simple, so stupid, had cost her terribly.
Nathan hadn’t relocked the door.
“Hello, Alyssa,” Stephen said, lifting the crossbow.
Zusa flew through the streets, legs pumping and head bobbing with her gasping of air. Too much, she thought, she was pushing herself too much. She’d undergone hunger and torture, the dagger in her right hand mostly numb as it clutched her dagger, yet she dared not waste a precious second resting, or recapturing her breath. A hundred images flashed through her mind, and every one of them was too painful to dwell on for long. She saw Alyssa lying on her bed, or the floor, or out in the garden of the estate, her eyes open but empty, silver coins staring up at the stars.
Through it all, the words of Vrashka echoed in her head, seemingly innocuous at first, but now so far from it.
Why would Stephen have any connection with the priests of Karak, let alone have his family’s personal torturers training someone of their faith? There was an easy answer, but she didn’t want to believe it, didn’t want to acknowledge how it explained why the Widow might be able to get inside the mansion. So she ran, and prayed to any god other than Karak to let her beloved Alyssa be safe, and Nathaniel, as well. She’d promised him she’d always be there in the shadows to protect him. What if it wasn’t just Alyssa she found with eyes of silver, and a tongue of gold…
Zusa stumbled, her concentration broken by such nightmarish daydreaming. The empty streets spun before her, and she landed on her shoulder hard enough to elicit a cry of pain. Laying there, tears swelling, she saw a shape flying through the air behind her, solid dark but for the faint gray of the cloak trailing after.
No pause, no hesitation. Zusa rolled to her right, her cloak wrapping about her upper body. Ezra landed, her knee and dagger striking where she should have been. Zusa kicked at Ezra’s legs, but the woman leapt over it, diving toward her with both daggers leading. Arms trapped by her thick cloak, she pushed the fabric outward. Ezra’s daggers punched through it, but the handguards snagged when Zusa twisted and shoved to the side. Again she kicked, this time connecting with Ezra’s midsection. The Faceless Woman fell back so she might regain her balance. Zusa staggered to her feet, let her ragged cloak unfurl about her.
“Did Daverik decide it was time for me to die?” Zusa asked.
“He still loves you,” Ezra said, crouching down as she circled her, looking like a strange animal ready for the pounce. Even her eyes were wide and wild. “But even he knows that the loyalty of our faith must come before those we love.”
“Some faith,” Zusa said, grinning to hide her exhaustion and worry. “Is that what they told you when they stripped you naked and forced you into the Faceless? Loyalty before love?”
Ezra thrust, but pulled it back when Zusa moved to block it. Another thrust, this one equally prepared for. Ezra was testing for an opening, gauging her reaction speed. Zusa felt her nerves fraying. She didn’t have time for this.
“You don’t deserve his love,” Ezra said.
“You’re wrong,” Zusa said. “He doesn’t deserve mine.”
Zusa took the offensive, and was surprised when Ezra did not move to block. Instead she remained still, even when the daggers closed in on her neck. But Zusa did not cut flesh. Instead her daggers moved right through, as if hitting a mirage. From behind her she heard laughter, and spun to find Ezra there, twirling her daggers in mockery.
“I have Karak’s blessing,” she said. “Behold his gift.”
As Zusa watched, Ezra’s form grew still, then blinked away, just an afterimage. It was like when staring too long at the sun, the seeing of something burned into the eye that wasn’t actually there. Zusa tensed for an attack, but could only guess where it would come from.
“I prayed,” Ezra said, off to her left. Zusa spun, but again just an afterimage. When Ezra spoke again, she was on the right. “All night I prayed for the strength to defeat you. And now I have it.”
The image of her shifted, and suddenly she was mere inches away, leering toward her.
“I can move faster than the eye,” she told Zusa, laughing. “What hope have you now?”
Zusa swung at her, and their daggers connected. For a moment it was an old, familiar dance, a give and take of position that Zusa knew she could easily win. But when she tried to finish her opponent, to thrust through an opening to pierce Ezra’s heart, Ezra’s form turned blurry, and then she was ten feet away down the street.
“Damn it,” Zusa whispered. She didn’t have time for this, but she had to remain calm, had to think. Slowly Ezra approached, reeking of confidence.
“Will you always run?” Zusa asked her. “Stand and fight, and stop using Karak’s gift as an excuse to hide your cowardice.”
Ezra shook her head, still walking toward her. Every slow footstep ate away another second, each one perhaps the difference between life and death for Alyssa. And Ezra knew it, too. Zusa could see it in the mocking glint in the woman’s eyes.
Zusa flung herself forward, a rash attack that Ezra would expect from her. With her skill, it might have been enough to overwhelm Ezra, but Zusa had something else in mind. At the last moment, just before their daggers clashed, she dove to the side, making a run toward the mansion. Ezra spun, and Zusa trusted her to react on instinct, to believe her frantically running toward her loved ones.
A mere two steps toward the mansion, Zusa flipped her left dagger so the blade faced downward in her fist, then dug her heels in so she might fling herself backward. It was a blind stab, a gamble, as her dagger thrust through her own cloak. Ezra collided with her, caught unaware of the sudden change in her direction. The blade of the dagger punched through cloth, flesh, then belly. Ezra gasped, her upper body collapsing against Zusa, her head on her shoulder. Zusa twisted, keeping the position awkward and their bodies entangled so Ezra could not thrust.
“Zusa…” gasped Ezra as her body shivered.
“You should have listened,” Zusa said, pulling her dagger free. “You could have found freedom. You could have prevented this.”
When she pushed away, the other woman had nothing to lean against, and no strength of her own to stand. Zusa ran on, leaving Ezra to die alone, slumped over in the dirt and darkness.
31
Alyssa lay on the floor of Nathaniel’s room, slowly breathing in and out as blood trickled down the side of her chest to the carpet. The small bolt had caught her right breast, and with each breath it flared with pain. Despite every desire to move, to scream and fight, she could do nothing, immobilized by the poison coursing through her veins.
“Don’t cry, Nathan,” Stephen said, a second bolt readied in the crossbow and aimed straight at him. “I know you’re young, but Melody’s said much of you. You’re a bright child, a wise child. I think you’re ready for this, ready to see the ugly truth behind the lies of this world.”
