David Dalglish: Blood of the Underworld

“Do not be afraid,” Victor said, putting his back to the Watcher. “I have come as Veldaren’s savior, and am prepared for the burden. Let it all be cast on me. Let it be my name the thieves hear. Let them know I am the one enforcing your laws. There is nothing for you to lose. Noble, beggar, merchant, thief…all will come to justice. The coin I ask for in return is a pittance compared to what you gain. Give me your blessing.”

Edwin could tell Gerand wanted nothing to do with the offer, but for once, Edwin saw a ray of light in his miserable city. For years he’d lived in fear that he’d meet the same fate as his parents, killed off because one of the guilds decided him too meddlesome. Could this Lord Victor do it? Could he do what even the Watcher could not?

“If you truly desire to uphold the law, then so be it,” he said. “You and your men may act in the name of Victor Kane, ask questions in your name, and deliver justice in a manner befitting the law. But the moment I hear of your own men breaking my laws, starting fires, and acting like the lowborn scum they no doubt are, I will banish you from my city, never to return. As for your reward…”

He stared into Victor’s eyes, and Victor stared back.

“Every guild broken. Every guildmaster dead or gone. When I can walk down my streets without fear of an arrow, and eat my food without checking for sprinkles of glass, you will have your coin, as well as any portion of land within this city you desire for your home.”

Victor’s smile grew.

“Thank you,” he said, bowing. “You’ll never regret it. I swear this upon the honor of my house.”

With a wave of his hand, Edwin dismissed the lord, who left in a hurry. A bounce was in his step. Unbelievable. Would he still be so cheerful when the collected might of every thief guild bore down upon him? How long until there were none left alive to taste his drink and sample his food? And when the chaos grew, and the real bloodshed began, was there anyone with enough skill to protect him?

He looked to the window, but the Watcher was already gone.

Her servant women fussed over her, fitting clothes, applying rouge, and brushing hair, until Alyssa Gemcroft finally sent them away, unable to take any more. They filed out, leaving her alone in her extravagant bedroom. Well, not quite alone…

“Come down, Zusa,” she said. “Tell me what is wrong.”

From a far corner of the room, hidden in a dark space unlit by light from the windows, a woman fell to the ground. Despite the many years it had been since leaving Karak’s cult of Faceless Women, Zusa still wore the tight wrappings across her body, strips of cloth colored various shades of black and purple. Her face, at least, she kept exposed: dark skin, dark hair cut short at the neck, and beautiful green eyes. A long grey cloak hung from her shoulders, the thin material curling about her body with the slightest tugs of Zusa’s fingers.

“There is nothing wrong,” Zusa said, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning against the wall.

“I’m used to you keeping an eye on me, but you only hide on the ceiling when you’re nervous.” She smiled at her friend. “You know I trust your instincts, so tell me.”

Zusa gestured to the dress.

“You doll yourself up worse than a whore. Powder everywhere, rouge, perfume on your neck…and I must say, I pity your breasts.”

Alyssa looked down at herself. Indeed, she’d let her servants help prepare her for her meeting, but had she let them get carried away? Her dress was a sultry red, tightly fitted, with a ring of rubies sewn along the neck. A gold chain held a large emerald tucked into the curve of her breasts, which, true to Zusa’s words, her corset had rammed almost unnaturally high.

“This is what is expected of me,” Alyssa said, sighing. She wanted to sit down, but feared to ruffle her dress, or even worse, strain the ties of the corset. The realization made her blush, and she could tell Zusa knew her defense a flimsy one.

“Since when did Lady Gemcroft do the expected?” Zusa asked, the last of her nerves fading away with a smile. “But you are beautiful, even if overdone. I only wonder why. Lord Stephen is but a child, young even compared to you. Your smile alone should impress him.”

Alyssa paced, keeping her movements slow and controlled lest she muss her appearance.

“It’s been a year since his appointment, and I am yet to meet him. I fear he’ll think I have snubbed him, or deemed him unworthy of his position. I only wish to make a good impression.”

Zusa sat down on the bed, shifting the daggers tied to her waist so they did not poke into the soft mattress.

“He will think it anyway,” she said. “Though I fear his impression will be that you are making advances upon him.”

Alyssa opened her mouth, closed it, and then looked to her dress. She sighed.

“Help me, will you?” she asked.

Ten minutes later she was in a far more comfortable dress, and they’d wiped clean her face. Alyssa left her hair the same, having always enjoyed the sight of thin braids interlocked and weaving throughout her long red locks. Able to breathe and move far more freely, she hugged Zusa, then attached a simple lace of silver about her neck.

“We have kept Stephen waiting long enough,” she said. “Let’s go.”

A litter waited outside her mansion, and she and Zusa climbed inside. As they traveled through the streets of Veldaren, Alyssa felt butterflies in her stomach and did her best to belittle them. It was stupid to be nervous. Of the three families of the Trifect, she’d been in power the longest, and had clearly solidified her position as ruler of the Gemcroft fortune. Stephen Connington was but a bastard of his father, Leon. Still, he was the only one with a clear biological relation. It’d taken several years before he’d been granted control of the estate from the caretakers. In the end, they’d had no choice. Leon had killed most of his family members and steadfastly refused to have named heirs, lest they drown him in his bath.

She winced at the memory of Leon. He’d been unpleasant at times, if not repulsive. The fat had rolled off of him, yet his tiny eyes had always been of a young, starving man eager to take, and take, regardless the vice. She’d heard stories of what his gentle touchers-his private group of elite torturers-could do to a man to make him break. A shudder ran through her. She prayed that Stephen had inherited very little of his father beyond his name.

As for the last family of the Trifect, the Keenans, they’d yet to recover from the fiasco in Angelport two years prior, when both Madelyn and Laurie had been murdered, along with their temporary successor, Torgar. Their grandchild, Tori, was the biological heir, but it would be many years before she could take over rule. Last report Alyssa had heard from Angelport was that various relatives were still bickering over who would be Tori’s godfather, as the Keenan wealth crumbled around them.

No, Alyssa was the pillar of strength of the Trifect, the one holding it all together. She had to be strong, confident. Zusa had been right. Terrible as it was, the last thing she wanted to do was flaunt her feminine qualities when needing Stephen to take her seriously.

“I should have brought Nathaniel with me,” Alyssa said as the litter bounced across the rough street.

“Your son is better served with an honorable man like Lord Gandrem than dealing with worms like the Conningtons,” Zusa said.

Alyssa frowned and glanced out the curtained window to the passing homes.

“Yes,” she said. “But it won’t be too long before he must put away foolish fantasies of knights and armies. I won’t have all I’ve built squander and break like it has for the Keenans. In time, he must learn to deal with the worms as well as the dragons.”