David Dalglish - A Dance of Shadows

And then it hit her, the obvious fear that had gnawed at the back of her mind. The guards. There should have been guards stationed all around the home, at her door, Nathaniel’s, and especially Stephen’s. But there were none. A chill spread through her veins. Why were there no guards?

Her instincts were to run to her son, but his door was locked, and she’d checked it the first night he’d stayed in there alone. It’d take a solid beating by grown men to break the bolt. Swallowing the instinct down, she instead slipped into Stephen’s room. Always before it had been locked and guarded. She’d assumed this was because of well-founded fear of assassins. Now, though…

Inside she found a room similar to her own, well furnished and with an enormous bed in the center, its lavender curtains pulled back. Moonlight streamed in through three windows, faintly illuminating the room in a soft blue. The bed itself was empty. In the far corner she saw a door, also open. Yellow light shone from within, flickering from an unseen candle. Curious, she walked toward the door, glad her feet were bare. On the thick carpet, she made hardly a sound with her passing. Stopping just before the entrance, she drew a deep breath, and prayed it was nothing, all a strange misunderstanding. There’d be nothing within but clothes, finery, maybe some old armor…

Alyssa stepped inside.

Three candles in a golden candelabra rested atop a small stool. On either side of her, covering the walls of what appeared to be an extraordinarily large closet, were portraits of Leon Connington, painted in various styles and with varying skill. She recognized them well, for they’d decorated the walls upon her visits before Leon had been killed by the Watcher. She remembered Zusa remarking upon their absence, and the implied dislike the son might have for the father. But there in that room she knew it was the reverse, a clandestine reverence for the man whose eyes glowered down from all corners.

Every instinct of warning fired off in her mind. The mansion was no longer safe for her. Turning to leave, she stopped, for on the ground, nearly hidden from the light of the candles, was a jar. The mere sight of it twisted her stomach, despite her being unable to identify the contents within. With shaking hands she knelt down, grabbed it, and lifted it up to the candlelight. It was made of thick, clear glass. Swirling within a syrupy liquid of some kind were over a dozen naked eyeballs.

It took all her control to hold back her scream. The jar fell from her hands and landed with a dull thud on the carpet. Alyssa left it there and rushed for the door. They had to flee. Even the wild streets at night would feel safer than the enclosed walls of the Connington mansion. Before exiting she had the presence of mind to stop and check the hall. From the crack in the door she saw the approach of the same unknown woman… except now she wasn’t quite so unknown. Alyssa recognized those eyes, the softness of the nose and chin…

It can’t be him , she thought, but knew it was. She ducked behind the door. Was he coming back to his room? She had no blade, no weapon, and none appeared to be in his room. In her indecision she tensed, waiting for the door to press open. It did not. Holding her breath, Alyssa once more peered out through the door and saw that he’d continued. She could see the small crossbow in his hand, pressed against his side as he walked. Sticking her head out, she could just barely see her own door down the hall, and sure enough, Stephen slowly pushed it open and slid inside without making a sound.

The moment he vanished within, Alyssa ran, once more thankful for the bareness of her feet. When Stephen found her room empty there was only one place he’d think to go, and it was the one place she had to beat him to.

At the door to Nathaniel’s room, she stopped, knocked twice (the noise seeming unbearably loud), and then waited for a sound of movement.

“It’s me, your mother,” she said, not waiting for him to ask. “Unlock the door, now!”

He did, and she shoved it open hard enough to send him staggering backward. Stepping inside, she spun, shut it, and then pressed in the bolt. That done, she grabbed Nathaniel, held him against her, and wondered what in all of Dezrel she could possibly do now.

“Mom?” he asked when she said nothing, only held him.

“Shush,” she said, blowing out the candles to plunge the room into darkness. “Don’t make a noise.”

He nodded.

The two backed away, slowly, as if a monster lurked on the other side of the door. One did, except it wasn’t a creature of legend or fireside tales. This one was real, its venom deadly, its appetite sick and deranged.

The doorknob turned. Alyssa’s breath caught in her throat, and she put a hand over Nathaniel’s mouth. The door pressed inward, just a fraction, before the bolt caught it. There was a pause, and then the knob returned to its resting position. Two knocks followed.

“Nathan?” she heard Stephen ask from the other side. His voice was gentle, as if he were embarrassed to impose. “Nathaniel, it’s me, Stephen. Are you awake? I need to tell you something about your mother.”

She clutched her son tighter.

“Nathaniel?” More knocks, heavier. His voice took on a firmer edge. “Nathaniel, I said open the door. This is important.”

Alyssa’s mind raced. There was the window, but it was fairly high, and only Nathaniel could fit through it. She held little doubt that after her death, Nathan’s would follow. Guards crawled along the outside. Could her son escape, especially without her help? She didn’t think so. She commanded a presence, an implied threat of house-against-house warfare. Nathaniel was a small boy with a severed arm, born of a disgraced father. His disappearance would bother no one.

But would Stephen hurt Nathaniel if he wasn’t certain about her own fate? It was a horrible gamble, but she saw no other way.

“Listen,” she whispered into her son’s ear, desperately praying that Stephen would not hear through the door. “My life depends on you. Get in bed, and pretend you’ve had a nightmare. No matter what, I am not here, you understand me? I’m not here.”

He nodded. She kissed his forehead as Stephen banged on the door.

“Nathaniel! Open the door this instant!”

Though her son was small, his bed was still plenty big, and Alyssa crawled underneath and backed as far as she could against the wall. Despite every logical part of her telling her this was her best hope to survive, she still felt a horrible guilt smothering her, crushing her chest. If Stephen did something to Nathaniel while she hid under his bed like a damn child…

No time. Taking in a breath, she held it as Nathaniel undid the bolt. The door opened, and she heard footsteps as Stephen entered.

“I’m sorry,” she heard her son say. “I was scared, I had… why are you dressed like that?”

A pause before the answer. “I, um, it’s just a game, Nathaniel. A game adults play. Is your mother in here?”

“I was hoping you were her,” Nathaniel said. “I keep dreaming of him, of that horrible man…”

A good lie, thought Alyssa, especially off the cuff. Should they get out of this alive, she knew she’d have to watch him more carefully.

Stephen stepped farther into the room. She could see his feet from where she hid, and for some reason it horrified her to see a shaven leg in a high-heeled shoe. Was it just a disguise, or something more? Did she truly know so little of the man whose house she’d been living in? And what was the reason for his hatred of her household, and of the Spider Guild?

“I thought I heard whispering,” Stephen said. “Was that you?”

“I… was praying.”

“Praying? To who, Nathan?”