David Dalglish - A Dance of Ghosts

“You should talk to Melody first,” John said. “Listen to her and pay your respects. Once you do, I feel you’ll be in a more proper frame of mind when visiting your mother.”

“Do you have her locked up?”

John stood up a bit straighter.

“She’s being kept in a safe place, yes.”

Not a coup, thought Nathaniel. Of course not. Only his mother was imprisoned, someone new was in charge of his family’s affairs, and the whole thing was being reinforced by John Gandrem’s soldiers.

But not a coup.

“Can I eat first?” Nathaniel asked.

“Of course,” John said, and he opened the door to leave. The hard image he conveyed softened a bit, and some of the warmth that had made Nathaniel trust the man came forth. “Nathaniel … I understand this is difficult; I really do. But we live in a very harsh world, and those at the top are always in danger of being toppled by those beneath. I fear your mother’s decisions of late put everything your family has built in danger, and it would not be the first time, either. Now is not a time for rash decisions but for calm, careful planning and acceptance of the world as it currently is. Please remember this, and do not treat your grandmother harshly. All we do, in some way or another, is for you.”

He left, shutting the door behind him. Nathaniel wanted to scream and throw his chamber pot at the man, but he kept the reaction choked down. It wouldn’t do anything. It wouldn’t help anything. To them, he was but a child, and his worth was only in his last name and in the man he might grow up to be. Right now … right now he was a scared little boy who they hoped would not cause too much of a scene as Melody seized control. Perhaps John was right. Perhaps he should just do his best to get along, to make sense of things, to see it from their point of view.

Despite the light streaming through his slender window, much of his room was still dark. Nathaniel pulled off his old shirt and slid on the new one, and as he pushed his head through the collar, he nearly screamed at the sight of Zusa crouching right in front of him, her body bathed in shadow.

“Shhhh,” Zusa said, shoving her hand over his mouth and holding him close. Her eyes darted to the door, and she tensed to see if somehow any had sensed her arrival despite Nathaniel having not made a sound. When it was clear no one was at all aware, she pulled back her hand and then kissed him atop the forehead.

“I am so glad you are safe,” she whispered. “I feared the worst when John’s men began spreading the news of Melody’s control.”

“I don’t think they’ll hurt me,” Nathaniel said.

“I don’t think they will, either,” Zusa said. “It’s your mother I fear for. If she’s to have any hope, we must act now.”

Her haste, her desperation made sense to Nathaniel. John had often drilled into him the importance of time, of how each day a man sat on a throne strengthened people’s belief that it was his, no matter his birthright or claim.

“What will you do?” Nathaniel asked. “Kill them all?”

He’d meant it as a bitter joke, a way to convey to Zusa his inability to see what she might accomplish on her own. The way her face darkened and the sheer stubborn ferocity he saw in her eyes made him think twice.

“They have her held in the mansion’s old cells,” she said. “At least a dozen soldiers bar the way, more than I fear I can handle on my own. But your mother has allies outside the household, Lord Victor in particular. I would ask for his help first before I try assaulting John’s fighting force alone.”

“Then why haven’t you gone to him already?” he asked. “Leave me. I’m safe here.”

Zusa shook her head.

“Time is of the essence, little one. Each passing day strengthens Melody’s claim. I need Lord Victor to act without alerting John or Melody to his possible interference. That means I need someone he’ll trust more than myself, without question, without hesitation. That’s you, Nathaniel. Your testimony will push him to action; now, are you ready? Doing so puts your life in danger, more so than if you remained behind.”

In the end, it was no decision, only a matter of finding the necessary bravery. Deep in his heart, he knew his mother had earned far better loyalty and respect than to have her household stolen away from her in the deep of night. He would not sit idly by in a comfortable prison while his mother’s only true friend risked her life to free them.

“All right,” he said. “Tell me what to do.”

She took his hand in hers and crouched down so her beautiful brown eyes could stare into his.

“Hold on,” she said, “and trust me.”

Zusa grabbed his blanket with her other hand, pulling it off the bed. Together, they moved into the corner of the room, and she held the blanket above them, blotting out what morning light could reach them. He felt her hand tighten, sensed the woman tense.

“This will be … uncomfortable,” Zusa said. “Once we’re outside, there’s no turning back. No matter what, run where I tell you to run, and do not once stop. No one will hurt you, but they’ll hurt me, and I have no intention of leaving you behind.”

“I understand,” he said.

“I pray you do, Nathan. Close your eyes. It helps lessen the discomfort.”

He did, and he felt her strong arms close about him, pulling him to her breast. It made his skin tingle, and he was glad for his fear, for it kept him from focusing on the strange feelings that filled him with being so close to the woman. Her grip tightened, and suddenly, it felt like he was falling. Everything darkened, the blanket vanished, and then the shadows were replaced with the bright morning light outside. Together, they rolled, Zusa coming up on her knees and Nathaniel doubled over, clutching his stomach as he retched uncontrollably.

“Vomit later,” Zusa said, one hand on his wrist, the other grabbing a coiled rope that seemed to have been waiting for them beside the wall. They were in the garden, with a few trees separating them from the large fence protecting the mansion grounds. John Gandrem’s men patrolled the area, and a squad of three nearby noticed their sudden appearance and let out a cry of alarm. With a fierce tug, Zusa pulled him to his feet, and he flailed his legs to keep pace as she made for the nearby wall. The squad of three moved to intercept, and with Nathaniel slowing her down, she knew they would not make it in time.

“Keep running,” Zusa said, thrusting the coiled rope before him. He let go of her wrist to take it, and he held it to his chest as if his life depended on it. The rope was heavy, and with his having but one arm, it forced him to double over a bit to use his stomach to help hold on. Walking in such a way was awkward, his movements slow, but he pressed on anyway. Ahead of him, he watched Zusa draw both of her daggers and approach the squad of three that blocked her way.

“Move aside,” Zusa told them.

“We’ve been ordered not to harm you,” said one of the guards. “Not unless you give us no choice.”

“Move out of our way, or stand your ground and die,” Zusa said, daggers twirling in her hands. “That’s the only choice I leave you with.”

They were three, well armed and armored, while she was a lone woman with slender daggers. Nathaniel knew they would not listen, not with several more men running from further up and down the mansion grounds. So he kept going, following Zusa, trusting her. The woman crouched down, and she looked like a snake coiling for a strike. One of the three moved to attack, and that was enough to send her into motion. Zusa spun, a rotating blur, her dagger smacking aside the guard’s thrust with ease. She continued forward, arm lashing out, deflecting a stab from a second guard, then assaulting the first with brutal efficiency. Nathaniel’s eyes widened at the blood that flew from the man’s neck and face as her daggers raked across him.