“And a foul guess it is,” Haern said, his voice startling many into reaching for their weapons. He ignored them. “Check his eyes.”
As a couple swore, Victor leaned down, and his hand brushed over the face. Seeing the silver for eyes, Victor shook his head and frowned.
“Leave us,” he said. At first Haern went to go, then realized he spoke to his own soldiers.
“Milord,” said Liam, “are you sure…”
“That’s an order.”
The protest died. The men funneled out to the main street, leaving Victor alone in the alley. Haern put a hand on the rooftop’s edge and swung himself to the ground. He landed silently, not even his cloak making a rustle. Victor stood over the body, and he let out a sigh.
“What is this?” he asked. “You know this city. Tell me.”
“I’m not sure I should help you,” Haern said.
“Forget your stubborn pride,” Victor said, glaring at him. “A man died. I want to know how, and why.”
Haern looked to the dead thief, saw the silver glinting in his eyes.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Twice now I have seen this…arrangement, along with the rhyme on the wall.” He knelt beside the corpse and lifted it up. Finding what he wanted, he gestured so Victor might see, as welclass="underline" a tiny bolt embedded in the back of the man’s neck.
“Poison?” Victor asked. Haern nodded, glad the man could make the connection.
“Quick, silent, hard to stop,” Haern said. “I’m not sure it’s what kills them, though. Look.”
He pulled away the silver and gestured into the hollow eye cavities. One was filled with more blood than the other, and contained a puncture wound leading in to the brain.
“So whoever it is paralyzes them, tortures them, and then kills them?” Victor asked.
“Appears so,” Haern said. “Easy enough to understand, but then you have this…”
He gestured to the coins, the writing.
“You said it being a rival guild is a foolish idea,” Victor said. “Why is that?”
“Because a guild would either claim it, or destroy any evidence to avoid retribution. This is neither. This is mockery, or a riddle, or vengeance for a blood feud. Whatever it is, it isn’t normal, and it isn’t a guild. One, maybe two men working together.”
“Or women,” Victor said, glancing at the rhyme.
Haern stood, and he backed away from the lord. The shadows of his hood protected his face, so that only his eyes shone out. Most wilted under his stare, but this Victor was unafraid, and met them without flinching.
“Watcher,” Victor said. “I’ve wanted to meet you since I stepped foot in Veldaren. Forgive my boast before the King earlier. I know what you’ve done, and it is truly impressive. But your way is doomed to fail, and that is why I have come. You can’t control them any longer.”
“They fear me,” Haern said, shaking his head at the foolish noble. “That is why I can control them. What can you do? What terror can you inspire with a few scrolls, judges, and soldiers?”
Victor pulled the gold coins out from the corpse’s mouth, then stared into the vacant eyes.
“They fear you, for they know you are with them in the shadows.” He looked up. “But they will come to fear me more, Watcher, for I will leave them with no shadows at all. That is my terror. That is the difference between us. You skulk and hide in their midst, and with every murder, you become more like them. You are something they can understand. You are greater than them, you are frightening, but you are still just one man, and the moment you die, everything you’ve built will come crashing down. Let me help you. Let me save your legacy.”
Haern heard no lie, no doubt. Victor meant every word. As much as Haern wanted to dismiss him, he heard the promise of another life, of a chance to pull the weight of Veldaren off his shoulders.
“You really think you can cleanse this city?” he asked.
“I can. I will.”
Haern leapt, kicked off the wall, and then grabbed a windowsill. With it, he pulled himself to the rooftop, then spun, hulking like a gargoyle from a castle edge.
“Why?” he asked. “What gain? What reason?”
“You are the nameless man patrolling the rooftops at night,” Victor said, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yet you wonder about my intentions?”
Despite the seriousness, despite the body, Haern let out a laugh.
“Very well,” he said. “Happy hunting.”
Zusa had sent a runner back to the Gemcroft mansion to warn of their arrival, no doubt scrambling the servants about in preparation. Normally Alyssa would have thought to do so herself, but her mind was clearly elsewhere. After all, it wasn’t often a parent returned from the dead. Alyssa and Melody sat together in the litter, with Zusa following alongside, ignoring the stares she received for her attire. There might not be room for her within, but she wouldn’t leave Alyssa unguarded. The sun had begun to set, and so the guards escorting them carried torches. Given everyone’s somber mood, it almost felt like a funeral.
Upon reaching their mansion, Zusa offered Alyssa her hand, who took it as she stepped out. Together they looked upon their home, both quiet, both sullen.
“It will be difficult, but Nathaniel must be told,” Zusa said.
“I know.”
Melody emerged from the other side. Her clothes still hung from her thin body, but a bit of energy showed in her step as she looked upon her old home.
“Just as I remembered,” she said.
Alyssa went to her mother’s side and offered her arm for support. Melody took it, smiling, and then together they walked the path toward the door. Zusa followed after, feeling like an outcast. They were family, however distant. What was Zusa, though? Friend? Bodyguard? Not blood, certainly not that. Whatever family she might have had, it had been lost to her upon entering Karak’s temple, nothing but a sacrifice made to serve.
Melody stopped in the doorway of the mansion, her whole body trembling. She looked about, saw the paintings, the lush carpet, and the wood carefully stained and cleaned by an army of servants.
“Home,” she whispered. For a moment she stood perfectly still, and then closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, as if she could pull the very essence of the mansion into her lungs. Tears fell down her face, and sobs tore from her throat. Alyssa held her as that tiny body shuddered with each breath. Whatever doubt Zusa felt vanished at the sight. The torment was real. The sorrow, the joy, all mixed, all confused. No actress could pull off such a powerful display. Her insides twisting, Zusa hurried away, more than ever feeling like a trespasser.
Her room was out behind the mansion, in a converted servant’s quarters made flat and empty so that she might train. As Zusa hurried through the halls toward the back, she was stopped by a boy calling her name.
“Zusa?”
She turned, then smiled despite her worry. Nathaniel Gemcroft stood in the doorway of his room, dressed in his finest tunic. Already it looked tight on him, and she laughed at his obvious discomfort.
“You grow like a weed,” she said.
His eyes glanced downward, obviously embarrassed. He had his mother’s features, delicate, soft, and with a moppet of red hair atop his head. Though he was only nine, he was fiercely intelligent, and Zusa had grown attached to him over the years, as had much of the mansion’s staff.
“The servants say…well, you know. Is it true?”
Nathaniel looked up at her, and she saw the turmoil in his green eyes.
“It seems so,” she said. “Why the worry? She is your grandmother, and will be pleased to see such a fine grandson.”
Nathaniel shifted his feet and tugged at the hem of his tunic with his one arm.
“Because mother will worry, won’t she? Mother’s enemies might want grandmother to take her place.”
Such intelligence for one so young. Zusa sensed John Gandrem’s influence here. The Lord of Riverrun had found and protected Nathaniel after his near-death at the hands of a vicious lover of Alyssa’s. Ever since, the old man had played the father figure, and nearly every summer, Nathaniel went to his castle to learn to ride, wield a sword, and command oneself before the people. Evidently, he’d also learned of the many ploys men might use to gain favor and power. John was currently staying as a guest in their mansion, and she tried not to think of how he might react to Melody’s return.