David Dalglish - A Dance of Ghosts

Zusa’s hands wrapped around hers. They were soft, and she felt the distinct touch of her unique wrappings about them.

“Please, Alyssa, I beg you,” said Zusa. “Don’t do this. Don’t put yourself at his mercy.”

“There’s more,” Alyssa said, trying to ignore the ache in her friend’s words. “If we marry, you must promise to respect and obey Victor as you would myself. That is his only demand.”

“Like a servant,” Zusa said, and there were finally tears in her voice.

Alyssa hated herself, hated every word she spoke, but what choice did she have?

“Yes. Like a servant.”

She’d have given everything to see Zusa’s face at that moment, to witness her reaction, to see if the wounds she felt she caused were as deep as she feared.

“As you wish, milady.”

Silence stretched out, ended by the slamming of her door. At its sound, Alyssa broke, tears running down her face, a sob escaping through her clenched teeth. It shouldn’t have been so hard. It was a simple request, damn it! Zusa was more than a servant, more than a friend, but could she remain so once Alyssa married? Once she slept in Victor’s bed, once the holdings of their families merged and Victor took on the Gemcroft name, what then would Zusa be to her? All Zusa had to do was listen, and trust her … but deep in her heart, she knew it unfair to demand that of her friend all while refusing to give her the same trust.

Minutes crawled, and she slowly wiped her face clean. She’d known marrying Victor would be difficult, but she’d never guessed the difficulties would start so soon. As she regained her composure, she heard the door open, and Alyssa turned away, a meager defense against her own indecency.

“Yes?” she asked with a quavering voice.

“It’s only me,” Victor said. He said it so softly, so gingerly, it made a mockery of the stern, proud man he’d been only moments ago. “Did Zusa take it well?”

She almost told him the betrothal was over. She almost screamed for him to leave her home, leave her life, to go marching back to his wheat fields and leave Veldaren to burn and die without his help. Things could return to how they had been, just Alyssa and her son, cowering in their home while the Darkhand claimed street after street, always watching, always waiting to see if any would betray his dominance. But just as she would not surrender to Muzien’s fear, she refused to surrender to her guilt.

“No,” she said, elaborating no further. Victor sat beside her and put a hand on her shoulder, and she nearly laughed at his touch. Here was her future husband, and she felt not the slightest attraction, not the tiniest excitement at having his hand upon her. Only dread and a sickness to her stomach. He tried pulling her close, but she resisted, and thankfully, he did not seem offended.

“I’m sorry,” Victor told her. “Perhaps if I talked to her, we might reach an understanding…”

“Give it time first,” she said. “Just give us both time.”

His hand squeezed, and she allowed him to pull her against his side, allowed him to offer his meager comfort.

“The pain will pass,” he told her. “And if she is the friend you believe her to be, she will come around. Remember, there are risk and pain to every grand accomplishment, and I assure you, yours will be grand indeed.”

“What accomplishments?” she asked. “Burning down a city to avenge the death of a son who still lived? Losing my sight to a confused, sickly boy? Or being overthrown by my own mother? Which accomplishment of mine will be written into the chronicles of time?”

“Forget your past,” he told her. “The future is all that matters. Here in this city, we have an opportunity to rise above our failures, rise so high we will salvage something from this horrid mess. I have dreams for you, Alyssa, dreams you have denied yourself for far too long. With me at your side, you may become what you were always meant to be.”

At first, she thought he meant the crushing of the thief guilds, but it felt wrong. He spoke of something else. Something … grander.

“What dreams?” she asked. “What is it you would have me become?”

She felt his breath against her neck, his lips nearing her ear.

“I would make you a queen,” he whispered. “Your little son would become a prince and, one day, a king. Tell me, is that not a legacy worth fighting for?”

What he spoke was treason, and ridiculous to even think possible, but something about the way he said it, the way he believed it, made her response catch in her throat. Her son … king?

“How?” she dared asked.

“In time,” he told her, and he took her hand in his. It was larger than Zusa’s, rougher, and she found herself missing the other woman’s touch. “But imagine how much better the city would be if you sat on the throne. If someone strong like you, or like me, could look upon the corruption and despair and denounce every last shred of it all. What city could we create? What nation? Think of the legacy we could leave for your son to inherit.”

It wasn’t a game, and it wasn’t a dream. Victor meant it, and he carried such conviction, there must be a way.

“Queen,” she whispered, imagining a crown on her head.

“Queen Alyssa,” Victor repeated. “And Prince Nathaniel.”

King Victor Gemcroft went unspoken, but the name lingered in the air, and she knew it was in Victor’s eyes, on his lips, and buried deep in his heart. It was madness. It was insane.

But if it wasn’t?

This time, when Victor pulled her close, she settled into him, feigning happiness at his touch, her mind trying to wrap around what it might mean to rule a kingdom. She thought of the armies she might command, the wrongs she could make right. She imagined the pride in her chest as her son ascended to a golden throne while all the lords and nobles who had mocked him behind his back were forced to bend their knees and bow their heads.

Prince Nathaniel Gemcroft …

Such a beautiful name.

As you wish, milady.

Zusa walked down the quiet street, seeing nothing.

As you wish …

The sun had just begun to set, and in her wrappings, she knew she was a strange sight, yet she could not muster the strength to care. She wasn’t even sure how long she’d wandered, aimless, crisscrossing streets, seen by dozens as over an hour crawled by, if not two. But it didn’t matter. None of it did. With the sun setting, she was only reminded that come nightfall, she had no home to return to, no waiting bed, no family. Dimly, she thought to go to the Eschaton Mercenaries, but it felt too much like begging, and she had more pride than that. At least, she liked to think she did, but as she passed down yet another nameless street, still lost in her sour mood, she wondered just how much pride she actually had left.

It helped none to see so many tiles bearing the mark of the Sun. Each one reminded her of how Alyssa had surrendered to their demands. Each one reminded her of how she would trust Victor to keep her safe from them, trust him more than she trusted her. All those years she’d protected her, stayed at her side, loved her … did they mean nothing now? Or perhaps she’d only deluded herself. Could she truly consider herself so important to Alyssa’s life if her opinion could be cast aside so easily?

Stop it, she told herself. Stop moping. Stop wallowing. Think on the task at hand!

Doing her best to ignore anything but the present day, she knew her immediate need was to find a place to sleep. She had more than enough coin to rent a room in an inn, for several months, even, but the idea left a bad taste in her mouth. A last resort, perhaps, if not her only resort. Still, as she walked, she thought of the only other home she’d known. It was a strange nostalgia coming over her, but to the south of Veldaren she ran, finally feeling a purpose to her footsteps. Yes, there’d been one other home for her, and odd as it seemed, there were still many good memories attached to it.