David Dalglish - A Dance of Shadows

Upon reaching their mansion, Zusa offered her hand to Alyssa, who took it as she stepped out. Together they looked upon their home, both quiet, both sullen.

“It will be difficult, but Nathaniel must be told,” Zusa said.

“I know.”

Melody emerged from the other side. Her clothes still hung from her thin body, but a bit of energy showed in her step as she looked upon her old home.

“Just as I remembered,” she said.

Alyssa went to her mother’s side and offered her arm for support. Melody took it, smiling, and then together they walked the path toward the door. Zusa followed after, feeling like an outcast. They were family, however distant. What was Zusa, though? Friend? Bodyguard? Not blood, certainly not that. Whatever family she might have had, it had been lost to her upon her entering Karak’s temple, nothing but a sacrifice made to serve.

Melody stopped in the doorway of the mansion, her whole body trembling. She looked about, saw the paintings, the lush carpet, and the wood carefully stained and cleaned by an army of servants.

“Home,” she whispered. For a moment she stood perfectly still, and then closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, as if she could pull the very essence of the mansion into her lungs. Tears fell down her face, and sobs tore from her throat. Alyssa held her as that tiny body shuddered with each breath. Whatever doubt Zusa felt vanished at the sight. The torment was real. The sorrow, the joy, all mixed, all confused. No pretender could pull off such a powerful display. Her insides twisting, Zusa hurried away, more than ever feeling like a trespasser.

Her room was out behind the mansion, in converted servants’ quarters made flat and empty so that she might train. As Zusa hurried through the halls toward the back, she was stopped by a boy calling her name.

“Zusa?”

She turned, then smiled despite her worry. Nathaniel Gemcroft stood in the doorway of his room, dressed in his finest tunic. Already it looked tight on him, and she laughed at his obvious discomfort.

“You grow like a weed,” she said.

He glanced downward, obviously embarrassed. He had his mother’s features, delicate, soft, and with a mop of red hair atop his head. Though he was barely nine, he was fiercely intelligent, and Zusa had grown attached to him over the years, as had much of the mansion’s staff.

“The servants say… well, you know. Is it true?”

Nathaniel looked up at her, and she saw the turmoil in his green eyes.

“It seems so,” she said. “Why the worry? She is your grandmother, and will be pleased to see such a fine grandson.”

Nathaniel shifted his feet and tugged at the hem of his tunic with his one arm.

“Because Mother will worry, won’t she? Mother’s enemies might want Grandmother to take her place.”

Such intelligence for one so young. Zusa sensed John Gandrem’s influence here. The lord of Felwood had found and protected Nathaniel after his near death at the hands of a vicious lover of Alyssa’s. Ever since, the old man had played the father figure, and nearly every summer, Nathaniel went to his castle to learn to ride, wield a sword, and command himself before the people. Evidently he’d also learned of the many ploys men might use to gain favor and power. John was currently staying as a guest in their mansion, and Zusa tried not to think of how he might react to Melody’s return.

Zusa knelt before Nathaniel, put her hands on his shoulders.

“All that matters is that you show her respect,” she said. “Do not fear for your mother, and give no thought to her enemies. I’ll be watching over her always, and no one is more dangerous than me.”

“What about the Watcher?” Nathaniel asked, and he cracked a smile.

Zusa kissed his forehead. “Not even him. Now go, introduce yourself, and make sure John does as well.”

He bowed, then hurried away. She watched him, biting her lip as he vanished around a corner. If Melody and Nathaniel got along, perhaps it would ease Alyssa’s discomfort. Not that it would help Zusa any. She’d felt no discomfort when Alyssa took lovers and potential suitors. Why did this bother her so? She didn’t know. She didn’t care. Back in her room, she stripped naked, then tightened the wrappings about herself. Her mind drifted, as it often did during the lengthy, tedious task.

Alyssa had once asked why she didn’t wear regular clothes since leaving the order of the faceless women. “Regular clothes get in the way,” she’d told her, and there was some truth to that. She could not leap and climb in a dress. But mostly it was that in applying the wrappings, loop over loop about her slender arms, legs, and waist, she felt herself sliding away. They were poor armor, but they protected her from the minds of men. Anyone seeing her knew she was different, and had to treat her as such. In combat she was not a woman but a specter, a mystery. At times she even thought to hide her face as she once had, but could not do it. That was her rebellion, however shallow it might be. Those who died by her daggers would die seeing her face, and in her eyes they’d see no mercy, no grace, just a killer better than they.

Pulling her cloak back over her shoulders, she slipped out into the night. Alleys and rooftops passed by her, and she was dimly aware of them. At one time she’d been an assassin for her priests, and greatly feared by those aware of her existence. With enough coin given as donation, the temple of Karak could eliminate even the most powerful of lords. Rumors even told of kings and queens who had died by the faceless for daring to publicly condemn faith in Karak. But now she was just one of many dangerous killers crawling the night, with little purpose, little meaning. Alyssa was her ward. The doings of thieves and murderers meant nothing to her.

Well, almost nothing. There was the Watcher…

“What brings you out this night?” asked Haern, as if her thoughts had summoned him into existence. Zusa turned. She crouched atop a spire of a mansion belonging to some minor lord who’d long since moved out of Veldaren to safer lands. Haern stood behind her, leaning against the chimney with a subdued smile on his face. He’d pulled back his hood, revealing his handsome face.

“Sometimes even mansions aren’t big enough,” she said.

Haern chuckled. “I stayed in one for a few years, and was never allowed to leave except when at my father’s side. I explored every inch of it a hundred times, and I daresay they can seem quite small when they’re your whole world.”

He joined her side, and together they overlooked the city. The night was deep, and in the starlight the city seemed calm, empty, but that was not what Zusa sensed. There was a tightness in the air, and glancing at Haern, she saw she was not alone in feeling it. Perhaps it wasn’t just Melody that bothered her…

“Something the matter?” she asked him.

“Just Victor,” he said, not looking at her. “Still torn on what to think, and how much to trust him.”

“Victor?” she asked. He glanced her way, an eyebrow raised in disbelief.

“Where have you been today?” he asked.

“Busy.”

He shrugged. “Look into it, then. I wouldn’t be surprised if he pays your mansion a visit tomorrow. A change is under way, and from the way he talks, I don’t think it is just the lowborn thieves he aims to scatter. Alyssa would do well to make friends with him.”

“I’ll remember.”

They fell silent again. As he stared, she looked him over. Ever since their time together in Angelport, he’d been a far more subdued person. Even now, as they relaxed underneath the moonlight, it looked as if he carried a terrible weight on his shoulders. His encounter with the man known as the Wraith had shaken him to his core, sent him prowling the nights with increased zeal. Zusa shook her head. She wondered how long until he cracked, and could take no more.