David Dalglish - A Dance of Shadows

All women are whores, Stephen, even you. It’s in their blood, and it’s stronger than anything else in this world. That’s why you shouldn’t feel bad. It’s not your fault. You just can’t help it, always looking at me like you do. But you’re my daughter, my precious little daughter. Now come here and sit on my lap.

Stephen had sliced the woman’s beautiful brown hair off at the scalp, all while the venom of the brown widow spider kept her paralyzed. She’d been unable to move, but he’d seen the screams in her eyes when he finally pulled the last of it free. It was her beauty, he knew. She hated to lose her beauty, to see someone stronger, someone more deserving, take it away.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Stephen asked. “You were so mad last time I threatened her.”

Melody’s careful stroking of his head paused, and he felt his muscles tense. He hated when she did that, one of those subtle things that gave away her worry.

“She is indeed my daughter,” Melody said, her bony fingers tightening around his shoulders, making him feel like a disobedient child. “But some things are more powerful than blood, Stephen. Faith. That’s what matters. Our beloved god must be saved, he must be served, and Alyssa has refused. It’s not her fault, though. My child she once was, but now she’s Maynard’s daughter. After he sold me to your father, there was no way for me to pray with her, to raise her as she should be raised. Now her head is filled with the same doubt and sin her father always had.”

Stephen felt fury burn bright in his chest. Of course it was Maynard Gemcroft’s fault. Leon had made that quite clear. Stephen had come to his father multiple times during his rare moments of freedom to leave his cell and roam the mansion. Whenever he asked for Melody to be released, he was given the same answer.

If Maynard finds out, he’ll kill me. She’s supposed to be dead, Stephen. You know what dead means, right? It means not walking around talking to my servants, being seen by guests, eating food cooked by women with more mouths than sense. I love her dearly, but down there she has to stay if you want her to survive.

For five long years he’d asked, until the Bloody Kensgold came. He’d been in his cell, not allowed to join the festivities, when the thieves had come and set the mansion ablaze. The smoke had been thick as the building burned above them. The heat had swelled, and Stephen had huddled by the floor, sobbing in terror. Melody had kept him calm, singing through the noise and chaos, her voice echoing across the stone to give him comfort. Anytime he woke in the night, heart gripped with horror, he still recalled those songs. Deep underground, they’d survived while the rest of the mansion collapsed.

It’d taken two days, but at last they’d been dug free. Stephen still remembered staggering out into the light, stinking of filth, his body drained and dying for a drink of water. He’d reached for his father, only to have Leon take a step back, his nose crinkling in disgust. That was when Stephen realized just how ugly he was, how wretched the body he inhabited. When his mother had been pulled out, it was she he’d held, she he’d pulled close against his body.

“I was never his son,” Stephen whispered. “He called me daughter, and every time it was a lie.”

“Hush now,” Melody said, putting a hand against his cheek and forcing him to look up at her. “You can’t help how you were born, so don’t blame yourself. Your father was a troubled man, but he loved you. He loved us . Never doubt that.”

He nodded, then tugged at her shirt. “May I?” he asked.

“If you must.”

She unbuttoned her blouse, then pulled free a breast. Stephen latched onto it with his lips, rubbed across the nipple with his tongue, and then began to suck. No milk came out, but he was long past needing that physical nourishment. It was the attention he needed, the soothing sensation of being cradled by his mother. He suckled for a while, felt his nerves gradually ease. He was anxious about killing Alyssa, he knew. It was that bodyguard of hers, that heathen woman Zusa. Laerek had assured him she was imprisoned at the temple, but he knew enough of Zusa to worry. When he killed Alyssa, he’d have to make it quick, not enjoy it like the others.

But Laerek had made him another promise, one that still got his blood racing when he thought of it.

“Laerek said he’ll have Thren ready for me soon,” he said, releasing Melody’s nipple and then pressing his face against her breast. “He was given orders to leave him alive, just so I can kill him. I can’t wait, Mother, I can’t…”

She stroked his face, and he heard her chuckle as if he’d said something amusing.

“You shouldn’t let him trouble you so,” she said.

Stephen shook his head. “How can you say that? You loved Father, too, didn’t you?”

“Of course.” Said with hesitation, and it worried him further.

“And he killed him, Mother! Thren killed him!”

Stephen had just taken power a little over a year ago, his right as firstborn son finally acknowledged despite his having been discovered within Leon’s cells. The longtime adviser Potts had vouched for his blood relationship, despite clearly preferring he not take over the family enterprise. Upon receiving his power, the first thing he’d done was march down into the cells and free Melody, his beloved mother. For a year they’d let her recover, keeping her hidden from any who might desire to harm her while she regained her strength. During that time she’d written many letters, and one of those letters had brought the young Laerek to his home.

“Do you know who killed your father?” the priest had asked.

Stephen had not been told, so he’d been left to rumors. “I assume it was the Watcher,” he’d replied. “Is that not what the whispers say?”

Laerek had shaken his head, and given him such a condescending smirk. “A man in gray, wielding matching blades, came into your father’s home, slew his guards, and then executed him without mercy. He’d brought a companion with him, who died, unable to escape. Ask your house guards. Ask Potts. It took time, but they found men able to identify him. His name was Senke, a longtime member of the Spider Guild. The Watcher didn’t kill your father, Stephen. Thren Felhorn did.”

Stephen had had nothing to say to that. He’d given no thought to Leon’s murder, only to maintaining his power. Melody had stayed at his side, teaching him the ways of high society, guiding him through the pitfalls that might have ensnared him. But upon learning this, upon receiving the name of the man who’d killed his father, Stephen had grown focused, felt his mind narrowing in like a razor’s edge. Thren had to die. The man had killed his father. Thren, and everyone loyal to him, had to die.

Yet now it seemed Melody held so little interest in Thren’s death.

“Why do you not hate him as much as I?” he asked her. His face in her cleavage, he inhaled deeply, the smell of her sweat and sex so familiar to him. “You told me Laerek was right, that Thren was guilty. You sent me after them, praised me when I killed his Spiders…”

Melody gently pushed him back, and before he could protest, she fully clothed herself. “You aren’t mature enough to understand the truth,” she said, a stern edge overcoming her voice.

“I rule the Connington family now. I am no child, now tell me why!”

She gave him a look he’d always hated, one that made his insides squirm and his hands twist behind his back.

“I sent you after Thren because you’re sick,” she told him. “You were killing women, innocent women. I know you, baby, I know you can’t help it… but I could shape it. I could point your weaknesses toward something good, something pure. Thren and his Spider Guild deserved to die, needed to die. The end of days will be upon us if we do not prepare Veldaren for the prophet’s arrival. My child, my sweet child, I only wanted to protect you. I only wanted you to do Karak’s will, and to stop hiding in here amid your darkness and your toys.”