Lady of Drith

by Chad Huskins

  She broke off, tearing up at the memory of her mother there in her study, the blade she had taken to her own heart still embedded in her chest, a pool of blood spreading on the ornate rug.

  “And you found a note, too, didn’t you?” Blackveil asked.

  “Yes.”

  “In her handwriting?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you would know her handwriting anywhere?”

  “Yes!” she shouted, the tears rolling down her cheeks. How dare this stranger force her to recall such a thing! It was a violation. A violation of something most intimate.

  “And what did the note say?” the woman went on relentlessly. She appeared to have no emotion, no care for the impropriety of asking about tragic memories.

  “I don’t have to tell you anything else!” Drea hissed.

  “It was short, wasn’t it? And that was never your mother’s way. She was a poet, always talking at length about a thing. She preferred plays, tragedies, those that extolled the virtues of the sad things in this world. So unlike her to die with two lines of a simple apology. There was no artistry to it, was there? No poetry.”

  Drea did not like where this was going. She felt trapped. Her past was being rewritten by this murderous ex-slave. She was being forced into drudging up horrific memories, as well as emotions she had not entirely dealt with, and was having to confess them to a stranger.

  She felt naked before Lady Blackveil, completely helpless against her words. But were they lies?

  “House Kalder,” Blackveil said, “was once a mighty House. But let me tell you when it started to fall. Two hundred years ago, an ancestor of yours named Denlok Kalder went into business with a man named Tyber Dustrang. It was a simple enterprise, the two men were just interested in creating multicolor dyes and selling them to the clothesmakers on the Street of Fabrics.

  “But, as it turned out, Tyber was a distant cousin by marriage to a man named Zeph Syphen, though nobody really knew this at the time. The two of them were very close, or so the stories tell us. The Syphenus were mortal enemies of the Kalderus, both personally and financially, and so House Syphen found a way to enter into House Kalder without anyone’s knowledge: the spy they sent was Tyber Dustrang.

  “And so began two centuries’ worth of silent skullduggery, the Dustrangus growing in number among the Kalderus, doing the bidding of their true masters, the Syphenus. The Dustrangus could not outright kill them all, for that would be too obvious, and surely they would be caught. The plan that Zeph Syphen put into play was more cunning. Generations of poisoning the Kalder family name, the tradition passed down from father to son, from mother to daughter. The Kalderus had a snake in their house, and it was called Dustrang, though they never knew it.

  “Utilizing the teachings written down in The Way, the Syphenus and the Dustrangus helped orchestrate audits that hit the Kalderus hard. They used deception. They sometimes came with smiles, sometimes as friends. This cabal of men started referring to themselves as the Temple of the Hidden Door.

  “Soon, they became vicious. The Hidden Door rigged false account books that made some members of the Kalder family appear to be hiding coin from the Treasury, which made them look guilty of tax evasion. They falsified documents that made it look as though House Kalder had skimped on paying their debts. They spread rumors that women in the Kalderus were having affairs behind their men’s backs.

  “One generation at a time, House Kalder fell—the Syphenus fighting you politically, while the Dustrangus posed as friends and poisoned your house from the inside—until only your father, your mother, and you remained. The man they set to ‘guide’ your father through his business dealings was Markus Dustrang.

  “Then, one day, your father and the Imperator met to decide your fate. You would marry the Imperator. It was mutually beneficial. Marrying the daughter of one of the Four Patron Families made Fedarus appear rooted to the community, as you said. And your father used you as a last-ditch effort to restore power and glory to the name of Kalder.

  “But the Hidden Door wasn’t not done with you. You see, the Syphenus have long been interested in the throne. House Syphen is a den of snakes, and they have even been battling one another, both politically and publically, to reach such heights. The Syphenus followed The Way a little too well, it seems, and turned on each other. Their plans were moving slowly, carefully, until the day came when your marriage was announced.

  “The Imperator’s marriage to their most hated enemy could not be borne. The Syphenus could not allow the Kalderus to be resurrected. So, they acted. The Hidden Door once again mobilized against your family, and destroyed the last of it.”

  Drea shook her head. She couldn’t speak. She clenched her jaw, and her hands were balled into fists. A tear fell on her cheek and was dried out quickly by the chill wind.

  Thryis took Drea’s hand and squeezed it. “Drea luv, are you all right?”

  “Now you know the truth of history, how what came before us lays the groundwork for who we are now.” Blackveil snorted derisively. “It’s a cruel joke, isn’t it? For the only reason your father is dead, the only reason your mother is dead, the only reason you were an orphan being sold off to an emperor, and the only reason you must live among those who killed your family…is because your ancestor was late to a meeting.”

  Drea shook her head. She would not believe any of this. It was not fair. The goddess Loraci would not permit this travesty of lies and injustice to happen. Drea had always been faithful and observant of the gods, obedient to her parents, and obedient to the Empire of Drith. How could this happen to her? How?

  “How can you know all this?” she whispered. “How would an ex-slave know—”

  “My name is—was—Tissasi oda Dustrang,” the woman said.

  The significance of the name was not lost on Drea. The oda denoted a person who was of that family, but not a bloodmember—and oda was a pet name sometimes afforded a favored slave.

  “My master’s House was one of many involved in the destruction of the Kalderus. My grandfather made armor and swords for your grandfather. On many occasions, I heard stories whispered between my master and his Syphenus friends. Sometimes, they recounted the legend of their ancestor, Tyber, who instituted the legacy of treachery in your family, feeding information to House Syphen for generations, helping them to undermine the Kalderus.”

  Drea’s heart was racing just listening to all of this. The rage of the Kalder bloodline was running through her veins. The very idea that her father’s murder and her mother’s suicide had all been orchestrated…I can’t believe it! If I believe it, I will go mad!

  “How can I be expected to trust any of this?” Drea finally asked, trembling. “What proof do you have?”

  The Lady’s eyes seemed to smile, and then she stepped to one side to reveal a door behind her. Drea hadn’t noticed that they had stopped in a row of snow-draped mariya shops—she hadn’t been paying attention to where Lady Blackveil was leading them at all, really.

  And when the Lady opened the door into a dark room, Drea peered inside, and saw only the dim light of an electric globe buzzing on the wall. She stepped to the doorway and looked inside. And, sitting there, not ten steps away, bloodied and beaten and tied in chains on the floor, was Lord Markus Dustrang.

  : The Hidden Door:

  Drea took a step back from the door, and reached for Thryis’s hand at once. “Gods above and below, what is this? What’ve you done?”

  “I brought him here for you,” said Lady Blackveil, her voice glacially calm. “This was the only way to get him alone to answer your questions.”

  “This is madness!” Thryis said. “You’ve kidnapped the patriarch of the Dustrangus—”

  “I’ve captured a son of the Hidden Door,” the Lady said, sweeping into the room. “You don’t have to enter, but if you want answers, this is your last chance.”

  Drea stood in the doorway shivering. “Why? Why are you doing this?” she asked.

  “Because a long
time ago, agents of the Hidden Door dismantled my family, as well. That’s how I wound up a slave.” She waved for the girls to join her, and, though Drea could feel Thryis’s trepidation, they both stepped inside. And as they did, Drea realized that she and Thryis had just made themselves complicit in a crime, accomplices in the abduction of an important man.

  There’s no turning back now.

  Lady Blackveil shut the door behind them. “You may ask your questions, but do so quickly, for you must return to your cottage before your absence is noticed. And when we are finished here, if you are convinced what I’ve said is true, just say the word, and I will end this man’s life.”

  “You’ll…?” Drea was shocked, and a serpent of fear slithered through her belly. Gods, what have I made myself a party to?

  On the floor, Lord Dustrang moaned. He was in a bloodied state, lying on his side and barely conscious. His right eye was swollen, his lower lip also. Drea had never seen such a proud man made so vulnerable. It was improper. It disagreed with her upbringing.

  When Dustrang finally looked up and saw Drea, his eyes went wide with both shock and hope, and he began to wrestle against his chains. His mouth was gagged with a thick cloth, and his voice came through muffled.

  Lady Blackveil stepped on his neck, and said, “I’m going to remove the gag. But if you scream, I swear to Loraci, I’m going to put a bullet through you.” She tapped the pistol at her side. “Is that understood?”

  Lord Dustrang nodded as much as he could with her foot on his, and she removed the gag. “Drea!” he breathed. “Run! Get help before she—”

  “Be silent now, Lord Dustrang,” Drea said, walking over to him slowly. “Be very, very silent. I have questions that require answers, and I need you to be honest with me.”

  “I don’t know what this woman has told you, but it isn’t true! I’ve always been loyal to House Kalder! You know me, girl. Look at me—I’m Markus Dustrang! I was your father’s friend and business partner. I was—”

  “ ‘It’s dangerous keeping her alive. The others in the Hidden Door, they also agree with me.’ Do you remember those words, Lord Dustrang? You should, they’re yours.” She watched him carefully, watching his eyes as he tried to make the connection. “I was listening that night when you met with Lord Syphen in his study. You intimated that it would be better if I were dead.”

  Dustrang looked at her, his eyes filled with worry. “I-I never…I never said—”

  “I heard you.”

  Thryis stepped to Drea’s side. “Drea luv, what’s all this? You never told me about—”

  Drea silenced her with a wave. Looking down on Lord Dustrang, seeing him now in a place of desperation, it filled Drea with a sensation she’d never really felt before. Control. For the first time, she was the one with all the power. She could order his death, and she felt confident Lady Blackveil would do as she said.

  “I heard you,” Drea repeated.

  “You…you must’ve heard me wrong, Drea,” said Dustrang. “I would never treat the daughter of a friend such a way! I’m telling you, you heard it wrong!”

  “Let’s assume I did. Immediately after you said this, Lord Syphen said, and I quote, ‘She’ll make a fine broodmare.’ You sat across from a man who said he’d pawn me off like some prostitute, and you let the insult go. I wonder, is this how a friend to my father would act when hearing his daughter spoken about so?”

  Dustrang shook his head. “You…you heard it wrong…”

  “And I also heard you quoting from The Way, a book that’s sole purpose is to teach strategies for overtaking an enemy.”

  “I’m telling you, you heard wrong—”

  “First Precept: Distill the Glamour!” Drea shouted. “Isn’t that right, Lord Dustrang? The Glamour being how you want the world to perceive you. Your Glamour was that of a friend. Your House came as a friend to mine. We let you in. We trusted you!”

  “You’ve been poisoned by Lady Blackveil’s words!”

  “STOP LYING!” she roared.

  Dustrang went silent, and looked at her with renewed suspicion, as if before he’d thought he was dealing with a squirrel, and now realized that, somehow, it had transformed into a lion.

  “I also heard you speak of the Hidden Door that night,” Drea continued. “And now this Lady here, she tells me an interesting story. A story that suggests a centuries-long silent attack against my family. The Kalderus and the Dustrangus have long been tied together, sometimes through business, sometimes through marriage, and all that time you were using the lessons of The Way to dismantle House Kalder.”

  “The Dustrangus have always been faithful to the Kalderus—”

  “The Dustrangus are the pets of the Syphenus!” Drea hissed, taking a step towards him with her fists balled. “I heard you in that study, Lord Dustrang! I—heard—you!”

  He looked up at her, and for a moment she thought he would appeal again, but finally his eyes glossed over with defeat, and he looked dejectedly at the ground.

  “ ‘It’s dangerous keeping her alive. The others agree.’ That’s what you said, Lord Dustrang. Those were your words. Now that this little façade is over, I want the truth.”

  Dustrang snorted derisively. He even chuckled. “What do you want me to tell you, little Drea?” he said, looking up at her. “Hm? What is it you really want to hear?”

  “My father. What happened that day in the triumph?”

  “The first thing you should know, Drea, is that not every single thing that is decided among those in the Hidden Door is shared with everyone else in it. Most things are compartmentalized. Do you know what that means?”

  “Enlighten me,” she said.

  “It means that everyone plays their part, and not all of us are allowed to know the parts the others play. There are spies working in other Major Houses that not even I know about.”

  “Who controls them? Who’s their leader?”

  “The Temple of the Hidden Door has no true leader. It’s a cabal, a group of men and a few women working towards a common goal. Power. By any means.”

  “But there must be someone most senior,” Drea said. “Someone who’s in charge. Like the Imperator who controls the Senate, or the Triumverate—there must always be someone at the top.”

  “There’s no one person in charge, as I said. But there are certain…groups…pockets of people that have the most influence. And I think you can guess who those are.”

  “The Syphenus.”

  “Correct.”

  “How come they’re the ones with the most control?”

  Dustrang tried to sit up, but it was difficult in his chains. He finally pressed his back against the wall, and hove a heavy sigh. “I thought it should be obvious, Drea. They’re fell-sorcerers, all of them. And they’re the ones who quite literally wrote the book on deceitful takeovers. A book used to take over companies, politicians, even win wars.”

  Drea took another step closer to him. “You still haven’t answered my question. You haven’t told me what happened to my father.”

  “I told you, everything in the Hidden Door is compartmentalized. If your father’s death was a planned assassination, then it was arranged without my knowledge—”

  “But is it outside the realm of possibility that his death was planned?”

  Lord Dustrang hesitated.

  “Answer her truly,” said Lady Blackveil, standing close by, her jewel-encrusted hand on her gun. “If I detect a lie, I have ways of making you speak the truth. You don’t want to know those ways.”

  The man looked Drea in the eye. “No,” he said. “It’s not outside the realm of possibility.”

  “And my mother?” Drea said, fresh tears of rage welling up in her eyes. “What about her?”

  Again, Dustrang hesitated. Then he said, “Yes. Yes, it’s possible her death was also…arranged.”

  Drea shook her head. “My father was a political rival to Lord Syphen, and he wanted to institute the Five-Year Law for all slaves, so I underst
and why the Hidden Door might want him dead. But why my mother, Lord Dustrang? Why might she be targeted?”

  He swallowed, and took a moment to gather his courage. “Your father…he’d spoken with a number of senators about his belief that his life was in jeopardy. I heard rumors that he was on to us. Someone had told him about the Hidden Door’s existence. For the first time in eight hundred years, we were exposed, and the Kalderus knew that they had enemies, and not just in House Dustrang, but in other Major Houses, as well. Enemies intent on killing them.”

  “Who told my father about the Hidden Door’s existence?” Drea asked.

  “I don’t know. None of us ever found out. But it was believed to be one of our agents, someone whose conscience couldn’t let them go on deceiving the Kalderus.”

  Drea chewed on that for a moment. “What does this have to do with my mother’s death?”

  “If I had to guess,” Dustrang said, “it would be because she was a clever woman. I heard rumors—from others in the Hidden Door—that she was smarter than the average noblewoman. She understood the masculine arts, logic and philosophy and politics, and her husband actually sought her advice on some political matters!”

  The way Dustrang said it, it was as though it was the most preposterous concept in the world. A woman educating herself on politics!

  And Drea understood immediately. “They killed her because they feared what she might know. They were afraid my father had told her everything, and that she might tell someone else about the Hidden Door’s agenda to wrest control of Drith.”

  “Possibly,” Dustrang said. “I cannot be certain of anything.”

  “But you suspected all along, didn’t you?” Drea said. “That’s why you told Lord Syphen it was dangerous keeping me alive. You were afraid I might know something, as well.”

  Dustrang passed into a shameful silence. He even looked away from her, unable to meet her gaze.

  “Why?” Drea asked. “Why would you want to collude with the Syphenus and destroy my family?”

  “Why?” Dustrang laughed mirthlessly. “Why, she asks! Because it’s what my father did, and his father before him! It’s been a family tradition, you silly girl!”