David Dalglish - A Dance of Blades

“And they were right,” he said. “Do you have any friends that might still be here in Veldaren?”

“A mercenary never has friends, not if he wants to live long enough to get his pay. And sure, I have some contacts that should still be around. What you thinking?”

“That man in gray who attacked us at the caravan, the one calling himself the Watcher…we need to bring his corpse to Alyssa so she might move on from her son’s death. That, and who knows where his loyalties lie? He could do me great harm by telling the right pair of ears what actually happened.”

“It won’t be easy,” Oric said. “I never met him when working for Leon, but we all heard about him. The thieves can’t stand him, but they can’t find him, either.”

“I don’t care,” Arthur said. “Whoever you hire, make sure they’re good enough to handle the job. Cost is no object.”

Oric nodded. “What about the boy?”

“I must stay here with Alyssa in her time of need. Take half my soldiers and ride north. I trust you to handle the matter in a manner most fitting.”

Oric’s grin was ear to ear.

“If he ain’t frozen in the woods somewhere, we’ll find him. Don’t worry, Arthur. Might not be how we wanted it, but when it all boils down, you’re in control. Just keep whispering them sweet words in that pretty ear of hers. I’ll take care of any blood spilling.”

Not long after he left, someone else knocked on the door.

“Come in,” Arthur said, wishing he still had his sword.

Bertram, the old advisor who had worked for the Gemcroft family for at least fifty years, stepped inside.

“You spoke with Alyssa?” Arthur asked.

“Not yet, but I know her well enough to anticipate her response. She will put me in charge of the boy’s funeral. Did you bring Nathaniel’s body with you?”

The question stung, just as deep as when Alyssa had first asked. He had no body…

“Burned,” he said. “Back with the caravan. Alyssa didn’t take too kindly to that. I take it she’ll want the remains brought to her?”

Bertram nodded. “It would be greatly distressing if we didn’t have something to bury for the funeral. Not that it matters, of course. Bones are bones after a fire reaches them, yes?”

Arthur stared at the old man, trying to understand what was going on. Was he helping him, or fishing for information?

“I doubt Alyssa would agree,” he said, erring on the side of caution.

“She cannot judge what she does not know.” Bertram turned for the door, put his hand on the handle, and then stopped. “I will be very busy over the next few days, and will have no time to venture into the wild. Perhaps you, or some of your men, might retrieve the body for me? I would greatly appreciate it.”

“Anything I can do to help.”

Bertram glanced back and smiled.

“Claim her hand, and you’ll have done all that I could ask. Good night, Lord Hadfield.”

Arthur waited another thirty minutes before venturing from his room. This was not his first time staying at the mansion, so he knew the way to the soldiers’ quarters. Once there, he found most of them asleep, but when he knocked, Oric came to the door still armed and awake.

“Something the matter?” he asked.

“Alyssa wants Nathaniel’s body,” he said.

Oric raised an eyebrow. “That’s an interesting request to fill, given the circumstances.”

“And I expect you, and you alone, to handle it.”

“Consider the problem solved,” Oric said, ushering Arthur out the door. “We never talked, and you know nothing of this. Watch your tongue. We’re sleeping in the den of lions now.”

“We’re the lions in this den,” Arthur said, flashing Oric a grin. Instead of going back to his room, though, he headed to the eastern half of the complex, to where Alyssa no doubt lay alone, tired, and in desperate need of his comfort.

*

A lyssa waited until her servants escorted Arthur to his room before she fled to her own. She was only halfway there when she stumbled and fell, and sobbed in the carpeted hallway. In the quiet of the night, she felt alone, and if any servants or guards were nearby, they allowed her privacy for her grief. She thought of Nathaniel, her son, her wonderful, handsome son. A thousand memories flashed before her mind, all of them tainted with sorrow. His smile she’d never see again. His laugh she’d never hear again. The way he’d cried at night, the way he’d nuzzled her breast when only a newborn, the way he…the way he…

More sobs. She felt close to breaking, as if her sanity would pour out with her tears. She’d lost many over the years, friends, her father, but why Nathaniel? Why him? Why now? How could she have made such a foolish mistake?

Over and over she slammed a fist against the floor. Not her fault. Not her fault, damn it all, not her fault! It was them, the thieves and their greed and lust. It was that Watcher, a monster unleashed against her by the thieves. They’d pay, all of them.

“I’m sorry,” she heard Zusa say. She looked up, wiped her nose with her robe, and then nodded at the woman. She sat opposite her in the hall, her knees pulled up to her chest. She still wore the strange wrappings of her former sect.

“He was supposed to be safe,” Alyssa said, trying to regain control. Her voice quivered but a little. “Safe, and now he’s dead. Did you talk to any of Arthur’s soldiers?”

“They all say the same. They came with Arthur along the road and found the caravan attacked, with the bodies gathered together in a great pyre. Their only clue was a symbol of an eye, that of the Watcher.”

“Who is he?” Alyssa asked. “What is he?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then find out, Zusa. Whatever it costs, whatever it takes, find him. I have never ached for something like I do for this. I want Nathaniel’s killer brought to me. I want him to die by my hand. Can you do this? Can you find him?”

Zusa stood and then bowed low.

“The dark of the streets have always been my home,” she said. “Nothing can hide from me. I will find him, I swear it.”

Alyssa accepted her offered hand and stood. She kissed Zusa’s fingers, then bowed herself.

“Thank you. Send Bertram to my room after a few minutes. Wake him if he isn’t already.”

Alyssa hurried to her room, wishing to wash her face of the garish rouge and powder she’d put on for Arthur. Once there, she dipped a cloth into a basin of cold water, left there from when she first went to bed. Off came her painted face. She was still washing when she heard the door knock.

“Come in,” she said.

Bertram entered, and he looked about half as bad as she felt. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, and his face was covered with uneven gray stubble.

“My dear child,” he said, taking her into his arms. She set the cloth down and leaned against him. She felt so tired, so lost.

“It’s like a terrible dream,” she said softly. “One I can’t seem to wake from. What did I do to deserve this, Bertram?”

“Nothing,” he said. “No woman should endure this, but endure you must. The Gemcroft legacy must survive, no matter the hardships. And we shall, Alyssa, we shall. Whatever help you need, I am here for you.”

“Thank you,” she said. “It would help me greatly if you would prepare the…the services.”

He nodded. “He will have a fine funeral, one worthy of his bloodline.”

She bit back a bitter comment. While her son was alive he’d seemed unpleased with Nathaniel’s bloodline. Now he was dead, and his threat of succession was ended, he seemed ready to forget all that. No, she scolded herself. She was overreacting. Bertram had never said a harsh word about Nathaniel, at least not undeserved.