David Dalglish - A Dance of Shadows

Zusa kept her head low, not caring to look at him or acknowledge his words. Her hands shook uncontrollably, and she felt blood trickling down her wrists. As he crept closer, she shut her eyes, tried to imagine herself far, far away. His rough hands grabbed her face, forced her to look up at him.

“Such beautiful eyes,” he said, staring into them. “But you do not need them anymore, just a tongue to pray, and knees to confess upon.”

He was reaching for another needle when the door opened, and Daverik stepped inside. Zusa stared at him amid her delirium, the man just a blurred figure outlined with light from a distant torch.

“I would have a word with her,” he said.

Vrashka stepped back, bowing low.

“Of course,” he said. “She is yours to convert. But it will take time, and I have only started to break her.”

“She might still see reason,” Daverik said, not looking at her. Vrashka bowed again, then stepped out. As the door closed, the priest noticed the needles still in her fingers and frowned.

“I warned you,” he said. “Now keep still.”

“Not sure I can,” she said. She felt his hand close around hers, pinning it to the wall. One by one he removed the needles, dropping them into a bloody pail Vrashka had brought with him. Switching to the other hand, he worked in silence. Zusa kept her eyes downcast, let her mind focus on the pain as the needles slid out from within her fingertips. When he was done, he sat opposite her and pushed aside Vrashka’s bag. Tension filled the room, broken only by the soft trickle of water.

“You set a trap for me,” Zusa said.

“Not a trap, just protection. I thought you might come for me after what happened at Alyssa’s mansion.”

Zusa shook her head, feeling like a stupid child. Her warning had been clear, so of course Daverik had planned for her arrival. Eyes still downcast, she wondered if she had anything to say to him, but found herself strangely empty inside.

“They want you executed,” Daverik said. He paused a moment, as if waiting to see if she would respond. She didn’t.

“I’m not sure I can stop them,” he continued. “You killed two of my faceless, and you have blasphemed against Karak for many years now by showing your face after abandoning the order. You also fought against one of our paladins sent to retrieve you in the early days of your betrayal.”

“His name was Ethric,” she said. “I killed him in a river, cut out his throat, and then left him there so the fish could eat his flesh. He’d been sent to kill me, not return me to the temple. We did as we were told, as we have always done, and were branded outcasts for it. But that’s what Karak does, isn’t it? He finds ways to punish his faithful should they ever be an inconvenience to his temple. Our lives are nothing to him.”

“You’re wrong,” Daverik said. “Karak showed you forgiveness. He gave you a chance to repent, to make right the wrongs…”

“What wrongs?” She laughed. “Our love wasn’t wrong. It wasn’t sin. It was just against the rules. It complicated things, made people worry. But you were lashed, and I imprisoned, and now you come here to remake the order that took me from you. You’re a disgrace.”

“They didn’t take you from me,” he said.

It felt as if a fever had overcome her, and she laughed again. Her hands were giant throbs of pain, and she could not feel her individual fingers.

“They didn’t? Then who?”

“It was me,” Daverik said, and he looked away as if ashamed. “I told them of our affair.”

The last words he’d spoken to her echoed in her head.

I’m sorry…

“You bastard,” she whispered. “You damned, stupid bastard. Why? Why would you do that to us?”

“Because we would have been caught,” Daverik said, standing so he might pace. His eyes never met hers. “Because it was only a matter of time. And because it was wrong. I neglected prayers, I stopped paying attention in services. I only thought about you, cared about you. When I should have been meditating, I was thinking of seeing you, imagining what I might do the next time we…”

He stopped himself. Frustrated, he struck the wall with his fist. Zusa wanted to feel fury, to feel betrayal, but instead she saw the torment deep within her former lover and knew what had brought him back.

“You came to Veldaren for me,” she said. “Just for me.”

He looked to the door, nodded his head. “Every single night since, I’ve lain down in my bed and felt guilt for what I did. I thought it would get better. I thought the certainty of my faith would prove what really mattered, and that in time, with separation, I’d know without a doubt I’d been right. But it never happened. That I was asked to train the new faceless is a cruel joke, Zusa, but I agreed to do it for you. You can come back. We can be together. Perhaps not as we were, but I’d still see you, still be able to hear your voice.”

He breathed in deeply, then let it out in a sigh.

“My decision cost you your faith in Karak. I have committed no greater crime than that.”

Zusa’s anger had been softening, but those last words were worse than Vrashka’s needles.

“Are you really still so blind?” she asked. “You carry guilt not for my torment, but because I turned my back on Karak?”

“What could be a worse crime?” he asked. “To see you lost to the fires of the Abyss…”

He approached her, knelt before her so they might see eye to eye. His hand gently stroked her cheek, brushing away tears.

“Come back to me,” he whispered. “I don’t want to lose you, not again, and not forever.”

He looked so young then, so much like the boy she’d loved. His face was leaning ever closer. Shackled, helpless, she could not stop him as his lips closed around hers. Her insides twisted and curled with turmoil. She felt fury at his foolishness, yet hope that he might free her. She felt sick at his desires, that he could find beauty in her while she was captive and tortured, yet at the same time it was so easy to slip back into the past, to escape from her cell into memories of him and her, young, foolish, and clumsy as they sneaked into each other’s rooms late at night. She felt pain, sorrow, and betrayal.

Her lips did not kiss him back. When he tried to kiss her again, she turned to the side and steeled her gaze at the wall.

“You’re a cruel, evil man,” she whispered.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do. You were a fool, a naïve child to have done what you did. But that was then. For you to still think it now, to kiss my naked face while begging me to have it covered, shows just how sick your mind has become.”

His whole body tensed, and for a moment she thought he would strike her. But he did not. Instead he stood and went to the door so he could lean his back against it.

“I told you Alyssa was in danger,” he said. “That she still lives is a miracle, but it won’t be long before her death. It’s inevitable, Zusa. You should know that. We are the servants of Karak, and we will not be swayed.”

“What has she done to you?”

“I’m sure if we dug into her past we’d find sins, but that isn’t what matters. I told you to make her a friend of Karak, but your stubbornness struck you as always. Dangerous times are coming, and we must prepare Veldaren for the prophet’s arrival. The world will suffer dearly if we fail.”

“The prophet?” Zusa asked. She wanted to laugh, and would have had she not been so exhausted. “You speak of phantoms from the past, of a man long dead. You would kill us, make us all suffer, because of bedtime stories about Karak’s first priest?”

Daverik slowly shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Good night, Zusa. I’ll buy you some time before Vrashka returns, claim that I’m giving you a day or two to think on my request. Come back to the order, and all will be forgiven.”