David Dalglish - A Dance of Shadows

“How dare you?” Ezra asked through clenched teeth.

“They hide your beauty to mask their own shame,” said Zusa, “not so you might earn penance in Karak’s eyes.”

“I will not listen to your blasphemy.”

“You don’t need to.” Zusa put the tip of her dagger against Ezra’s left eye. “Tell me the name of the man who brought back our order, or I will scar your face so terribly at least you will have a reason to keep it hidden.”

Ezra swallowed and looked away. Zusa could see her trying to be brave, to hold fast to her loyalty to Karak. She shook her head, annoyed. Leaning even closer, she let her cheek brush against Ezra’s, let her lips touch her ear.

“Just a name,” she breathed. “All I ask is a name. Who created you, gave you your lessons, your rules, your training? Do not make me mar your beauty. You suffer enough. Trust me, I know it well, know your loathing, your anger, your frustration that the man you fucked suffered only whipping and a banishment to a new temple while you must spend every waking moment as an outcast, humbled and cowering in hopes of forgiveness by our dear, beloved Karak…”

Ezra closed her eyes, struggled to maintain calm.

“You would have me condemn my soul to fire.”

“I would have you speak a name, you stupid girl. Now tell me, or bid good-bye to your eye.”

Ezra breathed in deep, let it out. Zusa sensed the defeat in it, and sighed in relief herself. She had no real intention of scarring the poor woman forced into such a terrible punishment. That relief fled the moment she heard the name.

“Daverik,” the woman said. “Come from Mordeina with the highest blessings of the priesthood.”

Daverik…

“You lie,” Zusa said. “You must lie!”

Ezra tilted her head back as the knife pressed against her eye, and she let out a cry as the tip dipped in and out of the white of her eyeball. Blood pooled, and a red tear slid down her face.

“Do not insult me,” she said. “Now do what you must.”

Zusa thought to jam her dagger through the woman’s throat, but could not. Ezra was only confused, her mind twisted, her faith a noose about her slender neck. She stood and took a step back as her insides churned.

“I want you to give Daverik a message,” she said.

“Why would he care what you have to say?” Ezra asked, kneeling. She ran a wrapped hand through her brown hair, then touched where she’d been cut across the stomach.

“He will care,” Zusa said. “Tell him… tell him Katherine must speak to him, and to find her along the eastern wall tomorrow night.”

Zusa turned to leave, glanced back.

“And tell him to come alone.”

“We’ll find you,” Ezra said, struggling to a stand as the wounds in her stomach bled anew from the movement. “My sisters and I will kill you for this.”

“For what, looking upon your eyes and hair?” Zusa smirked. “We faceless saw far more of each other than that.”

With a running leap, she soared into the air, leaving Ezra far behind. If only she could leave her troubles behind as easily. Daverik’s face flashed before her eyes, so young, so handsome. Back before her name had been stripped away, and rebranded as Zusa. Before they’d been caught together. Before her love of him had doomed her to a life as one of the faceless.

She’d thought him dead. Thought him gone. Thought him forever out of her life.

She’d thought wrong.

“Damn you, Daverik,” she whispered as she ran back to the Gemcroft mansion. “What cruel fate is this?”

Alyssa slept terribly, and gladly welcomed the daylight when it shone through the violet curtains that covered her window. At least it meant she could get up instead of trying to fall back asleep. She bathed, and servants brushed her hair and helped her into a modest green dress. Through it all she keenly felt Zusa’s absence. Normally she lingered like a protective angel, but this morning, when Alyssa needed her comfort most, she was gone.

“Keep the meal small,” she told her servants. “And ensure John Gandrem is invited to our table.”

“Yes, milady,” one said, hurrying off to give the order.

Finally ready to face the day, she dismissed the servants and stared at herself in the looking glass. They’d done what they could, but the dark circles remained visible beneath her eyes, her face puffy. She’d spent much of the night in tears, all in confusion. She felt joy at having her mother back from the dead, and at times it nearly overwhelmed her. Other times she felt terror at the notion of losing control of everything she’d built, and if she closed her eyes tight, she could almost hear invisible gears turning, the machinations of a hundred different lords and ladies seeking to use this newfound change against her. Sometimes she wished Melody had remained dead, and then immediately followed this up with shame and regret for such horrible, selfish desires.

Yes, she was very glad the night was done. The last thing she wanted to be was alone with her thoughts. She was sick of them. Exiting her room, she crossed the hall to where her mother stayed. A servant was just leaving, her head ducked low and her eyes to the floor.

“Is Melody dressed?” she asked.

“Yes,” said the servant, a pretty little thing with dark hair. “But I think perhaps she needs a moment alone…”

Alyssa dismissed her, and despite her advice, knocked on the door. No answer. She turned the knob and gently pushed it in. Stepping inside, she found her mother sitting on the edge of the bed. The image shocked her breath away. Melody wore an emerald dress that had long remained in storage, Alyssa being too short to wear most of her mother’s clothing. Her long hair was tied back into a painfully familiar braid, one Alyssa used to tug when in a rambunctious mood. She looked like a ghost escaped from the past, and Alyssa could almost imagine her childhood self sitting beside her, book in hand. Except tears were in her mother’s eyes instead of the smile she’d known in the past.

“Are you all right?” Alyssa asked, strangely timid in her own house. She remained in the doorway, her cheek pressing against its darkly polished wood.

“I will be fine,” Melody said, dabbing at her eyes with a cloth. “I just… it’s a bit overwhelming to be here once more.”

“I can only imagine,” Alyssa said.

Melody smiled softly.

“I have so many memories,” she said. “Despite what Maynard… did, there were good times, many good times. But let us not dwell on that. Mindy said you have prepared us breakfast, and I don’t want to keep John waiting.”

Alyssa’s cheek twitched at that. John Gandrem was staying in their mansion as an honored guest, and was very much a father to her son. When Melody had introduced herself, John had seemed quite taken, and they’d been deep in conversation when Alyssa left them to retire for the night. Idly she wondered what a union between Felwood Castle and the Gemcroft estate might mean for her son. So much added wealth and land…

She shook her head, dashing the ridiculous fantasies away.

“Indeed,” she said. “I would hate to be rude.”

In their grand dining hall, John and Nathaniel sat beside each other in the center of the long oak table, looking humorously insignificant compared to the food stretched out before them. They had not begun eating yet, and Alyssa was not surprised. John was most particular in his manners, and that was partly why Alyssa had first sent her son to be fostered in his hall. John stood at their arrival, and Nathaniel quickly followed. She smiled at her son, looking so small and youthful beside the older lord, who was dressed in fine green robes and a thin silver crown across his forehead.