David Dalglish - Blood of the Underworld

“Alyssa’s supposed to be next,” Stephen said. “Laerek insists on it, before she might discover our plans.”

“I understand,” Melody said, gently stroking his hair. Not his real hair, though, but the long wig he’d put on prior to entering. He still remembered the night he’d taken it, hidden in shadows while watching the whores pass. Oh, some didn’t ask for money, might have even claimed they were proper women, noble ladies or faithful wives. But they were all whores. His father had made that clear.

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.

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. “I…she’s my sister, isn’t she? Your daughter?”

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 to let him know her displeasure.

“She’s not my daughter,” Melody said, her bony fingers tightening around his shoulders, making him feel like a disobedient child. “She’s Maynard’s daughter. He kept her from me, Stephen. He wanted her for himself, because he was selfish. Because he was weak. He knew the strength Karak gave me, and would not let her know it as well. That’s why he sold me to your father.”

Stephen felt fury burn bright in his chest. Of course it was Maynard Keenan’s fault. Leon had made that quite clear. He’d come to his father multiple times, whenever he was given freedom to leave his cell and roam the mansion. Whenever he asked for Melody to be released, he’d been 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 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 a body he inhabited. When his mother had been pulled out, it was she whom he’d held, she whom he’d pulled close against his body.

“I was never his daughter,” Stephen whispered. “Every time he called me that, he lied.”

“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, not like the earliest years in the prison, but he was long past needing that physical nourishment. It was the attention he needed now, 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 assured him she’d be occupied that night, but he knew enough of Zusa to not trust that promise. 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, mommy, 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.”

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

He’d just taken power a little over a year ago, his right as firstborn son finally acknowledged despite him being discovered within Leon’s cells. Not long after, Laerek had come to him, asking questions about things Stephen had never wanted to think on again.

“Do you know who killed your father?” Laerek 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. His name was Senke, a long-time member of the Spider Guild. Thren Felhorn killed your father, Stephen.”

“Then why does the Watcher take the credit?”

“He thrives on fear. Why would he not?”

Stephen had had nothing to say to that. He’d given no thought to Leon’s murder, only in regaining his power. Upon doing so, his very first act had been to free Melody. She had been with him, teaching him the ways of high society, guiding him through the pitfalls that might have ensnared him. And hearing Laerek’s question, she’d leaned down and whispered into his ear.

“You have the name of his murderer. What will you do, Stephen? How much did you truly love him?”

He thought of that now as she held him, seemingly uncaring about the death of Leon’s murderer.

“Why do you not hate him as much as I?” he asked her. His face deep into her cleavage, he inhaled deeply, the smell of her sweat and sex so familiar to him. “You were the one who urged me to meet Laerek, who asked me to seek vengeance. I do this all for you.”

Melody gently pushed him back, and before he could protest, she fully clothed herself.

“You would doubt me, then question my emotions?” she said, a stern edge overcoming her voice. “Truth is, Leon is dead. If avenging his murder gives you peace, then I support you. But most important is that we remain faithful to our god. That is why I wanted you to listen. That is why I urged you to do as Laerek says. The end of days is coming, my sweet little child. Veldaren must be made ready. Will you fight for it, or will you sit here in your room with your toys and your shadows and hide from what you have been called to do by our glorious Karak?”