by Stacey Filak
Gemma had made a special effort to get to know the girl, and she found that Katya was light-fingered, charismatic and quick-thinking. Gemma believed that one day she could stand on the dais in Gemma’s place should Gemma fail to produce an heir of her own.
Fin stepped out from the shadows. “All right, you animals!” he bellowed. “Gemma’s got the floor, now. Give her your prickling respect.” He flashed pointed teeth in her direction, despite the hollowness in his eyes.
Immediately, a hush fell over the crowd. Gemma estimated that as many as six hundred had crammed into Guildhall—a full quarter of the membership. Clearing her throat, she stepped forward, holding before her the enormous tome that contained the Guild’s bylaws. “You know what it says here.” She paused, drawing in a deep breath. “Melnora is dying. She was stabbed three hours ago.”
Of course, this was complete horseshit—and she looked around to see if anyone seemed to know she was laying a false trail. She forced herself to meet the eyes of the leaders: Riquin, the oddly bearded head of the pirates; Yimur, ironically flat-chested mistress of whores; Gellen, straight-arrow captain of the sellswords; Dalia, one-eyed leader of thieves; and Devery, the cold-as-ice master assassin. Her stomach flipped when she saw him. He was supposed to be on Far Coast on assignment for Melnora. These leaders had reported directly to Melnora, and now they would come to Gemma for favors, coin, guidance and leadership. Though the youngest was a handful of years older than Gemma and some were Melnora’s age, Gemma would be their mother.
Every thief in Yigris belongs to me now.
She steeled herself, meeting the master assassin’s cold, calculating eyes and holding his gaze longer than any other’s. She wanted to let the Guild believe that even if he and his ilk were responsible for the strange attacks on Melnora and Abram, that she was not afraid of him. Devery glanced away first, his pale face coloring slightly.
“I pray to Aegos we will meet back here in a few days and I will tell you the queen lives. But until then”—she thrust the book forward—“Melnora has named me heir in the absence of a true child of her blood and bone.”
Gemma nodded to Fin to take the book, and she drew the knife at her waist. Holding her hand up, she slid the blade along her palm, drawing a shallow line of crimson. “I bleed for the Shadow Guild. I lay my life down for the well-being of my brothers and sisters. I accept the weight of this duty upon my shoulders. Anyone who does not accept my leadership should draw blades against me now.” She stood back, waiting to see if they would come.
Slowly, she realized no one rose from their seats. She began to breathe easier as she stared out at the sea of faces. Blood dripped from her hand onto the wooden dais, leaving her stain next to the stains of those who’d come before her and naming her Queen of Under.
“Above suffers today, too, and I do not know what the goddess has planned for Yigris. But I will do whatever it takes to see that our way of life is not altered. I will not let their poison contaminate our Under. You have the promise of your queen.”
As quickly as the meeting had begun, it ended, and Guild members spilled out into the tunnels. Fin clapped her on the shoulder as she wrapped her hand in a clean cloth. “You did good, Gem,” he said, his big hand ruffling her hair the way it had when she was a kid.
Gemma nodded. Melnora’s greatest fear had been that someone would use her passing to undermine the Guild, and though she should have been elated that no one had challenged her, Gemma felt it hard to breathe through her guilt. Her heart hurt for Melnora and Fin, and Gemma would have given up all the power in the world to have her queen back. Sighing, she looked up and saw Devery pushing his way through the crowd.
Fin thrust his chin toward the master assassin. “You want me to keep him away?”
“I’m good. I’ve got some other people I need to see tonight. Check on Melnora. Give her my love.”
When Fin was gone and the crowd had thinned, Devery finally reached her. “Regency,” he said, his voice little more than a whisper.
She met his eyes steadily, though her heart was pounding. “Walk with me. I’ve got places I still need to be.” She turned her back on him. She knew that all eyes were still on her, that the Guild wanted to see how she would handle these first moments, so she put her back to the assassin, letting those still in the hall see that she was brave enough to do so, and made her way to the door at the back of the dais, toward the bowels of Guildhall. She listened to the absence of sound from his footsteps, not for the first time both horrified and amazed by the master assassin’s ability to be utterly undetectable.
She opened the door into a darkened hallway and felt—rather than heard—him slip in behind her. As she turned to him, his unnaturally dexterous hands slipped beneath her vest and unbuttoned her shirt. Her breath caught as she leaned in to kiss him. “I didn’t know you were back yet.” She felt the heat of his mouth against her throat and was met by silence as his lips found her breasts. She pressed herself against the wall as his fingers smoothly undid the laces of her breeches and found their way between her legs. “Dev,” she moaned, “I don’t know if …”
Her nipple audibly popped out of his mouth as he pulled away from her. She had to stop herself from pushing his hand immediately back to where it had been. “Gem,” he whispered, mouth pressing against her ear, “I’ve been gone three months. I want … I need to …”
She could feel his urgency as he pressed against her, the thin material of their clothes seeming like a futile barrier to desire. Aegos, I want him to bend me over and prick me right here, but … She drew herself straight, her own body requiring as much if not more restraint than his. “I promise, I’ll make it up to you,” she said, running a finger down the bulging front of his breeches. “But I have a meeting with the King of Above. I’m sorry, love.”
He kissed her, groaning against her mouth. “Don’t go. Don’t waste your time on the Above. I can think of much more entertaining ways of wasting your time.”
The hint of mischief in his voice sent shivers up her spine. “I have to go,” she said, sighing. “An assassin got Abram, too, Dev. Everything’s all cocked up. I need to see it straight.”
Devery leaned away from her. “Truly? Goddess.”
“I assume you haven’t heard anything?” she asked, straightening her shirt and tightening her laces.
He shook his head. “It wasn’t the Under. I can tell you that.”
“I might be late,” she said, pulling her vest down over her ass, “but you can wait for me in the home tunnel if you want.” He leaned against her, and she kissed him lightly on the forehead. “I’d be glad if you did.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” he said. “I am secretly in love with the Queen of Under now.”
She wanted to curl up in his arms, and if she didn’t force herself to go, that was exactly what she would do. “There’s something I want to tell you later.”
He kissed her deep and long before he said, “Why not tell me now?” His hand wandered up the buttons of her shirt as he leaned in to kiss her once more.
“Not in the dark.” She laughed, biting his lip. Though she could have easily been convinced to stay here and spend the evening with him, she knew what she had to do. She’d already decided on the disguise she’d wear when she went to the Six-Mast to meet with Tollan. Until she knew who was really behind the attacks on Melnora and Abram, she had to take every precaution. “Want to help me get dressed?”
“I believe we have established that is exactly the opposite of what I want to do.”
CHAPTER FIVE
SIX-MAST INN
Wince was led through a labyrinth of hallways by a curvy young woman in an apron and little else. Despite the scenery, he couldn’t help but wonder why he was meeting his best friend, who should be in the palace being crowned king, at this moment, in the most infamous whorehouse in Yigris. Somehow, he knew it wasn’t good, but he couldn’t put all the pieces together. His mind slipped backward as memories rose to the surface like air bubbles from t
he deep.
Tollan had burst into the stables, eager for some sword work, but Wince blurted, “What does ‘in perpetuity’ mean?”
“Goddess, Wince!” Tollan had stammered, slamming the door shut behind him and staring at the slim black-and-red leather volume Wince had swiped from under Tollan’s tutor’s nose. “You’re not supposed to read that! Nobody’s supposed to read that!”
“What do you mean? You and Master Yubron have been reading it for weeks.”
“Yes, but … but it’s only for Daghans. It’s a secret.” Tollan lowered his voice and then glanced over his shoulder as if half expecting his father to be standing there. “If anyone finds out, you’ll be strapped for sure.”
“They can’t do that. My father’s the weapons master. He would …” But his voice trailed off. The king could do anything he wanted.
“Just give it to me, Wince. I’ll put it back and no one will know. I won’t tell.”
“I know you won’t tell, Toll. But what does it mean?”
For an instant, Tollan seemed to war with himself but then a proud grin spread across his face. “It means that my father’s in charge of the good people, and his cousin’s in charge of the bad ones. But they work together to keep Yigris safe, so we’ve got enough gold. It means that someday, I’ll be in charge of the Above, and no thief or pirate can say or do anything against me because my family’s in charge of them, too. In perpetuity.” He winked at Wince. “That means forever.”
Wince stared at him openmouthed. “Do you think you’ll actually meet a real thief?”
Tollan nodded. “There’s a thief queen. She’s House Daghan, too, and when I’m king, she and I will make deals and bargains.”
Wince stared off for a long moment. Then he grinned at Tollan. “Do you think she’s pretty?”
“This is the room of Mr. Hu Tratala.” The girl broke into his reverie. “He is a fine, upstanding gentleman, not a rogue like you,” she winked playfully at him as his gaze slipped down then immediately bounced back up to her face. She curtsied and pinched his backside as she walked past him.
It was downright scandalous … but that didn’t stop him from swelling within his small clothes and fantasizing about what a woman like that might be willing to do. There were no women like this in Above. There were dowdy mistresses and young women with their hair curled too tight. Of course, it wasn’t seemly for a woman to behave so saltily. It was the man’s place to express desire, to control the relationship. The world where he lived was rigid and cold, but from what he’d seen of the Under thus far, this was exactly the kind of adventure Wincel Quintella could get used to.
When Tollan opened the door to his room at the Six-Mast, Wince couldn’t help but let out a harsh bark of laughter.
“What?” Tollan grunted. “Is the eye patch too much?”
“Nah. I mean …” Wince choked on another laugh, and then he smiled. “I’m just teasing, Toll. Ah, prick.” He glanced away. “I’m sorry about your father.”
Tollan nodded. “Thank you. I’ve got a bit to tell you.”
As Wince followed him into the bedroom, Tollan briefly considered doing a jaunty pirate’s jig or knocking Wince’s trick knee out of place the way he had when they were kids. But they were grown men now, and no comedic device was going to lessen the strain of this night.
“This is as good a time as any, Toll. Tell me what’s going on. Why are we doing”—he waved in the direction of Tollan’s costume—“whatever the prick this is?”
Tollan sighed, leaning in as close as he could to his friend. “It’s a lot to tell. My father was murdered. We believe that the same assassin attacked the Queen of Under today, too. We’re waiting to meet with the new queen, and we can’t meet in the Black Chamber because,” he gulped, “because Iven’s accused me of the murder.”
Wince stared at him, speechless.
Tollan continued, “Right now, I can’t go back to the palace because I don’t know what Iven’s thinking. If he truly believes I’ve killed our father, he’ll have the guards out searching for me. I could be tried for treason. I have no choice but to put my trust in the Under, and in Gemma Antos, the new Queen of Under. It rankles. This isn’t how any of this was supposed to happen.”
“Have you lost your damn mind?” Wince’s eyes went wide. “What makes you think she didn’t have them killed?”
Tollan smiled. He knew he could count on Wince not to treat him like the king. He wanted to reach out and hug his friend, though he restrained himself. “I can’t believe that any woman who’s capable of being Queen of Under is going to blatantly assassinate the King of Above and the Queen of Under in the same manner on the same day. Gemma must be too smart to do such a stupid thing.” But the truth was Tollan had no choice but to trust Gemma. He had nowhere else to go.
Wince raised an eyebrow. “You’ve already met this new queen? Maybe she’s going to show up here and finish the job?”
“Aegos. If she wanted to kill me, she could have done it this afternoon. I was alone with her in the Black Chamber. There wasn’t a person who could have stopped her. This is why the pact works. Because the Above trust the Under, and vice versa.”
“Yeah, but, she isn’t …” Wince was treading on unsteady ground. He wasn’t technically supposed to know about the family connection between the rulers of Above and Under, or that Melnora had been barren.
“And why here? Why is the King of Above sitting in a gold-painted room in a whorehouse?” Wince gestured around them with distaste.
Tollan chuckled. “I get the feeling I’m the black sheep of the family. I don’t think I’d have fit in very well at her meeting with murderers and thieves. She’ll be here to meet us soon.”
Wince rolled his eyes, clearly displeased by the circumstances. “I just … I don’t like some thief queen holding your fate in her hands.”
“Melnora trusted her. She raised her and named her heir. That has to be good enough for me.”
Wince lifted his hands in mock surrender. “All right, Your Grace. I understand. So, this new queen? Is she pretty?”
When Tollan opened the door for Gemma, she was done up like a diamond-ringed whore. She wore a clinging dress of nearly sheer gold cloth, which lifted her breasts to obscene heights. Her face was painted with shimmering gold powder, and brilliant splashes of color highlighted her lips and cheekbones. Long, coppery curls trailed down her back as she walked through the door to Tollan’s room. Had Tollan not been expecting her, he wouldn’t have recognized her.
“Lord Tratala,” she murmured, curtsying deeply.
Tollan understood immediately, as this was a game he knew the rules to. In Above, they shared fake pleasantries like the clap. “Darling,” he said, using his best phony Farcastian accent, all nasal twang and soft vowels. “This is my associate, Master Wincel Quintella. I have utter faith in his integrity and—” he paused, accentuating the word as if it meant something lascivious—“discretion.”
Gemma sighed, whispering for his ears alone, “Thank Aegos. This prickling wig was about to drive me mad!” She pulled it off and tossed it onto the bed, running a bejeweled hand through her hair, then turned to grin at Wince. “I am most grateful to make your acquaintance, Master Quintella.”
“And I, yours, Miss …” He trailed off, his green eyes wandering down her gold-drenched body. Tollan felt his own face grow red with embarrassment for his friend.
“Ah, yes. Discretion,” Gemma said, still in the voice of a courtesan—breathy and feigning desire. She lifted two fingers in an obscene gesture that nearly made Tollan choke with laughter. Wince’s eyebrows climbed to his hairline.
Tollan continued in his accent, “You’re not here to do the pricking, Wince. See to the door.”
Gemma laughed and said, “I don’t mind if he joins us. That is, if you don’t, sir.” Wince’s eyes grew wide.
“Oh, how very … titillating, my dear.” Tollan nodded to Wince, who opened the door, checked to be sure that no one was listening and then pulle
d it closed and threw the lock.
When Tollan glanced back at Gemma, she was sitting cross-legged on the bed, showing enough stocking to be salacious and grinning broadly. At mid-thigh on each leg she wore a leather sheath that held a wickedly sharp dagger. In her lap was a leather-bound book full of blank pages and two charcoal pencils. Licking her lips, she bent over the book and wrote: Sorry. I forgot there’d be two of you. I didn’t bring enough pencils.
Wince moved closer, seemingly unable to drag his attention from Gemma’s ample bosom, but she didn’t seem to notice. Tollan flicked his friend on the ear, drawing a hostile glare followed by an embarrassed shrug.
Gemma handed Tollan the book and a pencil, and he scrawled quickly: Don’t worry. Wince is a simpleton—can’t write worth shit.
Wince grabbed the book, and wrote carefully: Prick you, Toll. I write fine.
Both of them looked up as Gemma moaned loudly. “Oh, Hu.” She grinned, winking at them and pointing at the door. She cupped her hand to her ear as if she were eavesdropping.
Wince looked at Tollan, eyes gone wide once more.
As Gemma wrote, she interjected the silence with whimpers and moans, and once, a high-pitched giggle. Then she held the book out to Tollan.
Until we know who killed your father and attacked Melnora, we have to assume we’re being watched. Don’t let your guard down.
After Tollan read the note, he wrote: I’m hoping you know who might be behind it all. Crime isn’t my area of expertise. He was having a hard time concentrating with her moaning and Wince’s increasingly heavy breathing.
Gemma looked up at him, eyebrow raised as if to say, oh, really? She made a stuttering, breathy sound—a mix between a squeal and a moan of ecstasy.