David Dalglish: A Dance Of Death

“Do not worry about me. I’m here for you, after all. To lose Julie like that…”

Stern finished his glass, then set it down hard on a nearby shelf.

“It’s the damn Trifect,” he said. “They’re no better than the thieves they warred with for years, and my daughter had to get into the middle of it. Knew she shouldn’t have married Taras, married into that privileged, murderous circle of…”

“Enough,” Ulrich said, glancing about to make sure no one heard. “You know why we let her, what we all stood to gain. Their marriage was to help create peace. Don’t ruin that now by ranting like a drunken idiot at their funeral!”

Stern took a deep breath, and he nodded.

“Forgive me,” he said, tears breaking through his steely facade. “I have not slept well in weeks. She was all I had left, Ulrich. The last piece of Lynn in this world. Now she’s gone, and why? The whim of a madman? What could he want?”

Ulrich thought of the meeting with the Wraith on the Fireheart and decided now was not the time to discuss it.

“Go wash your face,” he said, squeezing his brother’s shoulder. “I’ll mingle fine on my own while you compose yourself.”

Stern thanked him and left. After refilling his drink, Ulrich wandered through the mansion, paying more attention to the art than the people. The three families of the Trifect might be arrogant, overconfident, and wasteful, he thought, but they had good taste in paintings. While admiring a portrait of a paladin, the right half of the canvas purposely charred and burned, he heard someone clear their throat behind him.

“Glad for you to be here, albeit it late,” said the soft-spoken Laurie, offering his hand as Ulrich turned about. Ulrich took it and shook while looking over the grieving father. His dark skin looked pale, and he’d cut his long ponytail as a sign of mourning. Of course Laurie had noticed he’d been late, and Ulrich tried to hide his annoyance at how perceptive he could be.

“Pressing matters delayed me,” he said. “I fear someone lost their head over them.”

Laurie winced, and Ulrich had to bite his tongue to keep from chuckling. He’d forgotten the most prevalent rumor was that Taras had been found decapitated, with his wife’s head lying in his lap. Ulrich had doubted the truth of it, but Laurie’s reaction made him wonder. Well, that and his little present in the bag earlier on the Fireheart.

“I hope business continues well for you,” Laurie said, pushing the conversation to safer topics.

“Better than ever. There’s an opportunity we’ve discovered that should bring our wealth right up with yours, Laurie. I wonder, do you think there’s any more room in the Trifect for a promising merchant like myself?”

Laurie’s smile was so patronizing Ulrich once more bit his tongue.

“In hundreds of years, we’ve never had more than our three families. If you truly desire it, though, we can arrange a marriage, perhaps with one of Jack Connington’s nieces…”

“Sorry,” said Ulrich. “I don’t much care for arranged marriages. They rarely turn out well.”

The barb hit like he’d hoped, and even Laurie’s carefully controlled performance shook with momentary anger.

“Pardon me,” he said. “I should speak with the priest before he begins the services.”

With him gone, Ulrich wandered further, seeing few familiar faces. It was only because of his brother that he was there at all. The Trifect kept to itself, except when it came time to collect its debts.

A lovely lady caught his eye, distracting him from the paintings. She wore a revealing violet dress, and unlike most women of Angelport, she kept her hair cut short at the neck. Running a hand through his hair to make sure it was smooth, he joined her side.

“Would you like a drink?” he asked, seeing her hands empty.

“Are you a servant?”

Her voice was husky, deep. Her exoticness elevated her beauty in his eyes.

“Of course not,” he said, laughing as if amused by the error. “I am Ulrich Blackwater, merchant and proprietor of many wondrous items from all across Dezrel. I merely ask because you seemed alone, and I would hate for your shyness to keep you from enjoying yourself.”

“Not alone,” she said. “I am merely watching.”

She nodded toward an elegantly dressed woman across the hall. Ulrich tried to see if he recognized her, but did not. One of the lesser ladies of Angelport, perhaps, or from nearby Omn?

“I have given you my name, but not had the pleasure of yours,” he said, bringing his attention back to her.

“Zusa Gemcroft,” she said, still cool toward him. Ulrich took another drink, not yet frustrated. Something was clearly off with this woman, which made her all the more interesting.

“Gemcroft?” he said, feigning surprise. “Are you with Alyssa then?”

“I am.”

That explained the other woman across the hall surrounded by guests. No doubt they were all busy kissing Alyssa’s ass.

“I know a little of the Gemcroft family, but must confess, I have never heard your name mentioned before.”

She blushed a little, then pointed to one of the men near Alyssa, though who exactly Ulrich could not tell.

“I am newly married into the family.”

Ulrich’s smile widened. He loved seducing newlywed women. So nervous, so excited, and always a challenge. That, and it forever gave him power of blackmail if successful.

“I am truly envious of whoever the lucky-”

“Excuse me,” said one of the servants, immediately bowing in apology. “The service is about to begin. If you would, please follow me to the gardens.”

Zusa shot Ulrich a smile he could not decipher.

“I will see you another time,” she said, curtseying once before returning to Alyssa’s side. Ulrich watched the sway of her hips as she went, then glared at the servant.

“I know where the gardens are,” he said. “I’ll be there shortly.”

“Of course,” the servant said, bowing again.

Ulrich had no intention of going, having little interest in the prattle of priests and crying of women. He wandered deeper into the mansion, hoping for some solitude. Once everyone was dismissed, he’d slip back among them, say his goodbyes, and hurry off to more pressing matters. The Amour family, for example, needed a new head appointed, after the loss of the last one.

He chuckled at the grim pun. Perhaps he shouldn’t have tossed it overboard. It might have been amusing to present it to William’s wife. He’d always hated that hag. Turning a corner, he was surprised to find he was not alone. A blond man stood in the doorway of a nearby room, staring. Ulrich vaguely recognized him, then remembered he’d been at Alyssa’s side. He looked too nicely dressed to be a servant. Distant cousin, maybe?

“Lost?” he asked, deciding it best to make the other man explain his reasons for being there so he might not ask the same of him.

“Only looking.” He gestured to the room. “Was this where it all happened?”

Ulrich looked inside, realizing they were at Taras’s bedroom.

“I believe so. What brings you here? Morbid curiosity?”

“Something like that.”

Ulrich offered his hand. No doubt the stranger wished to avoid the service as much as he did. Already he liked him.

“Ulrich Blackwater,” he said.

“Haern…Gemcroft.”

Ulrich lifted his eyebrows. Were the Gemcrofts suddenly mating like rabbits? Here was yet another he’d never heard of.

“Well, Haern, what brings you to Angelport?”

He hesitated a moment, then looked back to the room.

“It is my honeymoon.”

“Is it, now? Well, a funeral is hardly the place to be. Or were you scouting for available bedrooms? I doubt this one will be used for a while.”