“The end is approaching,” Bertram said. “This is Thren’s war, and he champions it with the last of his strength. But he is not so strong, not so young. His Spider Guild is far from the force it used to be. In time the other guilds will see reason and turn against him. Until then, we have only one choice left before us, and that is to endure.”
Alyssa closed her eyes and inhaled the scent of the wine. For a moment she wondered if it was poisoned, but she fought the paranoia down. She would not sacrifice such a simple pleasure. She couldn’t give the rogues that much of a victory.
Still, when she drank, it was a small sip.
“You told me much the same after the Kensgold,” she said, setting down the cup. “As you have every year for the past five. The mercenaries have bled us dry. Our mines to the north no longer produce the yields they were renowned for. The king is too frightened to help us. How long until we eat in rags, without coin for servants and wood for fires?”
“We are on the defensive,” Bertram said, accepting his own cup of wine. “Such is our fate for being a large target. But the bloodshed has slowed, you know that as well as I. Be patient. Let us bleed them as they bleed us. The last thing we want is to inflame their passions while we still appear weak and leaderless.”
Alyssa felt anger flare in her chest, not only at the insult, but also at its damning familiarity.
“Leaderless?” she asked. “I have protected the Gemcroft name for five years of shadow wars. I’ve brokered trade agreements, organized mercenaries, bribed nobles, and done everything as well as my father ever did, yet we are leaderless? Why is that, Bertram?”
Bertram endured the rant without a shred of emotion on his face, and that only infuriated Alyssa further. Again she felt like a schoolchild before her teacher, and part of her wondered if that was exactly how her advisor viewed her.
“I say this only because the rest of Dezrel believes it,” he said when she was finished. “You have no husband, and the only heir to the Gemcroft name is a bastard of unknown heritage.”
“Don’t talk about Nathaniel that way,” she said, her voice turning cold. “Don’t you dare speak ill of my son.”
Bertram raised his hands and spread his palms.
“I meant no offense, milady. Nathaniel is a good child, smart too. But a lady of your station should be partnered with someone equally influential. You’ve had many suitors; surely you’ve taken a liking to one of them?”
Alyssa took another sip of wine, her eyes glancing up at the shadowy corners of the dining hall.
“Leave me,” she said. “All of you. We’ll speak of this another time.”
Bertram stood, bowed, and followed the servants out.
“Come down, Zusa,” she told the ceiling. “You know you’re always welcome at my table. There’s no need for you to skulk and hide.”
Clinging like a spider to the wall, Zusa smiled down at her. With deceptive ease she let go, falling headfirst toward the carpet. A deft twist of her arms, a tuck of her knees, and she landed gracefully on her feet, her long cloak billowing behind her. Instead of any normal outfit she wore long strips of cloth wrapped around her body, hiding every inch of skin. Except for above her neck, Alyssa was still pleased to see. Zusa had once belonged to a strict order of Karak, the dark god. Upon her willful exile Zusa had cast aside the cloth from her face, revealing her stunning looks and her beautiful black hair, which she kept cropped short around her neck. Two daggers hung from her belt, wickedly sharp.
“Let me be the one in the shadows,” Zusa said, smiling. “That way you are safe, for no assassin can hide beside me.”
Alyssa gestured for her friend to sit. Zusa refused, but Alyssa took no offense. It was just one of the skilled lady’s many quirks. The woman had rescued her years before from an attempt by a former lover to take over her family line, and then helped protect her estate from Thren’s plans. She owed her life to Zusa, so if Zusa wanted to stand instead of sit, she was more than welcome.
“Did you hear everything?” Alyssa asked.
“Everything of worth. The old man is scared. He tries to be the rock in a storm, to survive by doing nothing until it passes.”
“Sometimes a sound strategy.”
Zusa smirked. “This storm will not pass, not without action. Not with his cowardly action. You know what Bertram wants. He wants you bedded and yoked to another man. Then your womanly passions may be safely ignored, and he can rule through your husband.”
“Bertram has no desire for power.”
Zusa lifted an eyebrow. “Can you know for sure? He is old, but not dead.”
Alyssa sighed and drained her cup.
“What should I do?” she asked. She felt tired, lost. She badly missed her son. She’d sent Nathaniel north to Felwood Castle, to be fostered by Lord John Gandrem. John was a good man, and a good friend of the family. More important, he was far away from Veldaren and its guilds of thieves. At least there Nathaniel was safe, and the training he received would help him later in life.
“Bertram’s question … are there any you have taken a fancy to?” Zusa asked.
Alyssa shrugged.
“Mark Tullen was attractive, though his station is probably lower than Bertram would prefer. At least he was willing to talk to me instead of staring down my blouse. Also, that noble who runs our mines, Arthur something…”
“Hadfield,” Zusa said.
“That’s right. He’s pleasant enough, and not ugly … little distant, though. Guess that’s just a product of being older.”
“The older, the less likely to cavort with other women.”
“He’s more than welcome to,” Alyssa said. She stood and turned away, trying to voice a silent fear she’d held on to for years, a fear that had strangled her relationships and kept her unmarried. “But any child we have … that is who will become the Gemcroft heir. Too many will shove Nathaniel aside, deem him unfit, unworthy. I can’t do that to him, Zusa. I can’t deny him his right. He’s my firstborn.”
She felt Zusa’s arms slip around her. Startled by the uncommon display of emotion, she accepted the hug.
“If your son is strong, he will claim what is his, no matter what the world tries,” she said. “Do not be afraid.”
“Thank you,” Alyssa said, pulling back and smiling. “What would I do without you?”
“May we never find out,” Zusa said, bowing low.
Alyssa waved her off, then retreated to her private chambers. She stared out the thick glass window, beyond her mansion’s great walls, to the city of Veldaren. She found herself hating the city, hating every dark corner and crevice. Always it conspired against her, waiting with poison and dagger to…
No. She had to stop thinking like that. She had to stop letting the thief guilds control every aspect of her life through force and fear. So she sat at her desk, pulled out an inkwell and a piece of parchment, and paused. She’d sent Nathaniel away to protect him, to be fostered with a good family. Not so long ago her father had done the same with her, and she remembered her anger, her loneliness, and her feelings of betrayal. Gods help her, she’d even sent Nathaniel to the same person she’d been sent to. Once more she understood her father in a way she never had before. He’d hidden her because he loved her, not to get her out of the way as she’d once thought.
Still, how angry she’d been when she returned…
No, she would not let history repeat itself. Her decision made, she dipped the quill in the ink and began writing.
My dear Lord Tullen, she began. I have a request for you involving my son, Nathaniel…
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Shadowdance 01 - A Dance of Cloaks Page 41