A Dance of Chaos: Book 6 of Shadowdance (17 page)

She sensed Victor’s disapproval of such questioning, but he smoothly attempted to deflect it.

“Today is a day of happiness,” he said, patting her hand. “Not a time to discuss such serious things.”

“But we will discuss it, Victor. I’ve forfeited my happiness for the Trifect before, and I’ll do so again if I must. You promised me my son would be king. If you wish to kneel with me before a priest later today and take on the name of Gemcroft, you’ll tell me exactly how you plan to make that come to pass.”

Victor sighed, and if she could see and be certain not to miss, she’d have slapped him for it.

“Such a thing will take time and patience,” he said, his footsteps letting her know he had begun pacing. “In a sword duel, sometimes the way to victory isn’t by hacking and slashing at your foe, but instead letting them make a mistake, perhaps an errant swing or an overextension, and then taking advantage of that mistake. Deposing King Edwin successfully will involve perfect timing and expert manipulation of the people, and until certain … factors line up, we cannot make our move.”

“What factors?” she asked. “What is it we are waiting for?”

Another damn sigh.

“The king to die, of course. It’s only a matter of time. He has no heirs and no wife. While the noble bloods only grumble and mutter about it under their breath, it won’t be like that for much longer. No clear successor means war upon his death, and a throne dozens may attempt to seize. Someone will kill him in hopes of taking it for themselves; it doesn’t have to be us. For Karak’s sake, even Muzien may end up doing us the favor. He’s already threatened to. It may just take a few well-placed rumors and lies to convince the elf to carry through on his threat.”

The whole time he spoke, Alyssa felt her throat tightening and her heart beginning to pound in her chest.

“Is that so?” she said, struggling to keep her tone neutral. “And when the king dies…?”

“Then we seize the castle. Between your house soldiers and my growing army of mercenaries, we can storm its gates with ease. With the king dead, it’s possible no one will be there to resist us. Power is all about image, Alyssa, and once we declare ourselves king and queen from the throne, much of the battle will already be won.”

It was enticing, of course. A wonderful dream. A beautiful suicide.

“Armies will march on us,” she said. “We won’t have the manpower to guard the walls, and your unprotected lands will be conquered in days. Someone with a better claim…”

“Listen to me, Alyssa,” Victor said, pacing halted. “You are Alyssa Gemcroft, she with fire in her veins. When you declare yourself queen, tell me, who in their right mind would dare challenge you, when challenging you means challenging the entirety of the Trifect? Not a coin passes through this land your empire hasn’t touched. You control the mines, the Conningtons the farms and merchant guilds, the Keenans the ships that sail the waters … and the boats little Tori Keenan doesn’t control, the Merchant Lords do, and now they themselves are your allies. Turning against you would be financial suicide. No, every lord and lady will line up to kiss our asses in hopes of benefitting from the new rulers of Veldaren … married rulers, strong, wise, and with a named heir.”

Alyssa could sense the threads of possibility woven throughout, but intermixed was desperation, even insanity. The Trifect had remained in power since the departure of the brother gods precisely because it refused to accept the responsibility of the crown. Better to manipulate those in power than to bear such a burden oneself. To take up that burden now, when the Trifect felt more fragile than it had in decades, with Tori so young and the Conningtons still bickering over who would replace the dead Stephen? Madness.

But she’d told Zusa she saw no hope in any other future, and she still felt that helplessness hanging over her. Steeling her jaw, she swore to cast it off, and heart pounding harder, she vowed to make it all work, to endure even Victor’s foolishness while gaining from him what she could.

“I understand,” she said. “Are they ready for us outside?”

It took Victor a moment to realize what she meant.

“I … yes, the priest is here, as is the lawyer, but the kitchen’s just started preparing the feast, and I don’t know if Nathaniel’s dressed yet.”

“I don’t care.” Alyssa rose from her seat and offered Victor a hand. “This isn’t about love, Victor, just power and respect. Take me to my garden. Let’s sign our names, and before both god and king, declare you a member of the Trifect.”

“Not quite the sweet words I imagined hearing from my betrothed on our wedding day,” he said, taking her hand in his. At that, Alyssa could not help but laugh.

“Whatever expectations you have of me, Victor, I suggest you lower them. You’re my husband now, and it won’t be long before you discover how far less noble I am than you.”

“I’m not your husband yet,” he said as he tightened his grip and led her from her room toward the garden. On their way they encountered Terrance, and Alyssa tensed when she heard Victor call out his name.

“The wedding begins now,” Victor told him, hardly slowing as he guided Alyssa through the hall. “Send only those necessary into the garden.”

“Of course,” Terrance said, and she sensed his unease in the slight quiver of his voice.

Onward they went, passing through doors, until a gust of fresh air blew against her skin. Reflexively closing her eyes against it, Alyssa pretended she could see the colors of the flowers, the golden light shining down through swaying leaves, and the carefully managed carpet of green grass. She had her memories to guide her, to aid in the pretending, and for one brief moment she was happy.

“They should be ready soon,” Victor said, shattering the illusion.

“Good,” Alyssa said, swallowing down the lump in her throat. “Very good.”

Awkwardly she stood there, holding Victor’s hand, waiting for the ceremony, or what little there would be, to begin.

“Ah, the lovely couple,” said an older voice, and Alyssa turned his way. “Forgive me, but with such haste this will be a most unusual ceremony. Are you sure you would rather not wait?”

“Are you the priest?” she asked.

“I am.”

“Then say only what you must. I care not for the ceremony.”

The older man cleared his throat, and she sensed him turning his attention to Victor.

“The lawyer is here as well. We may begin whenever you wish.”

Victor squeezed Alyssa’s hand tight.

“We are ready,” he said.

Some shuffling, the older man coughed, and then without pomp he began.

“I ask the each of you, Lady Alyssa Gemcroft and Lord Victor Kane, do you promise your love, your trust, and your faithfulness to one another, to become in union something blessed and holy before the sight of our god, Ashhur?”

“We do,” said Victor.

“We do,” said Alyssa, and she felt the tightening of invisible ropes about her neck with each syllable.

“Then before Ashhur, as witnessed by a representative of His Majesty, King Edwin Vaelor, I declare you husband and wife, Lord and Lady Gemcroft. May you know only happiness in your years together, from this first moment of new life to the grave and the life beyond.”

“If you’d sign here,” said another man, younger, sounding bored and even a little annoyed. The lawyer, she decided, the guess confirmed when a quill was placed in her free hand. Victor released her other hand, took her wrist, and guided her to the line, where she signed with a quick scribble she knew was getting worse every day. That done, she handed over the quill, felt her husband take her hands.

“My lovely wife,” he said, leaning closer, his voice dropping. “It is such an honor to become a member of the Gemcroft family. I pray you trust me always, and I promise you, I will never, ever let you regret this day.”

“Such grand promises,” she said, doing her best to smile. She sensed him dipping lower, felt his lips upon hers. She kissed back once, lips pressed tightly closed together, her back arching away from him ever so slightly. From all around she heard soft, scattered applause from the few servants in attendance. As Victor pulled away and squeezed her hands, all Alyssa could think of was how glad she was Zusa hadn’t witnessed that cold mockery of a kiss.

   10   

A
s the sun set behind the walls of the city, Muzien waited for Zusa at the entrance to his guildhouse, having sent runners to find her half an hour before. Despite the seriousness of the night, it still put a smile on his face to see her come strolling up the road. So much confidence in her step, conveyed with every swing of her hips and the daggers belted to them. To think servants of Karak would wish her smooth skin hidden, her green eyes veiled …

“You summoned me?” she asked once she could speak without shouting.

“I heard you had a run-in with Thren and the Watcher,” he said.

“I did. They escaped, but I promise not to let them do so again.”

“They’re skilled foes,” Muzien said, shaking his head. “Make no such promises, for they are beyond even your control. In time, though, they’ll make a mistake, and you will be there to ensure they pay for it.”

Zusa waited before him, arms crossed over her chest. She tugged at the collar of her coat, and Muzien wondered how much she might prefer a cloak instead.

“They’ll grow bolder with each day they live,” she said. “Such confidence is dangerous. Will you not go after them instead?”

Muzien stepped close, and he ran his fingers through her short dark hair.

“For such skill and beauty, you’ve lived only in shadows and secrecy,” he told her. “If you kill Thren or the Watcher, your name will be envied throughout the underworld. But should you kill them
both
? My legacy is already set in stone. Yours? Yours is young, and I would give you the chance to make it something beautiful.”

It was impressive, if not a little disappointing, how controlled she remained at his touch. No excitement, no tilting of the face. No disgust, either, nor repulsion. Simply put, he didn’t know what he was to her. Given her skill, her beauty, he decided that come peaceful times he would put far more effort into investigating the riddle that was the former faceless woman.

“Walk with me,” he said, and she joined him as he traveled down the road.

“Do you wish something of me?” she asked.

“Besides your lovely company?”

He lifted an eyebrow, but again she gave him no clue, no reaction. The cloth may as well have never left her face, she was so guarded and unreadable.

“Besides that, yes,” she said.

Muzien let out a sigh, and he forced his mind to more pressing matters.

“I know the priests of Karak have a strong presence in the city,” he said. “But what I do not know is where their temple is located. I’ve scoured this entire city and found nothing, yet those in power insist it is real, yet also insist they cannot bring me to it lest they suffer greatly. This troubles me, for I need to discuss matters of importance with Karak’s followers.”

“You wish me to lead you to the temple,” Zusa said. It was not a question.

“I do.”

For once that perfect visage cracked, and he saw the barest hints of an internal debate raging within.

“I will lead you there,” she said. “But I will not enter. Should they recognize me, there will be blood spilled, and I will not risk becoming their prisoner again.”

Silence fell over them as they walked, and Muzien debated how to react. By refusing to enter the temple she was refusing him, regardless of whether he had actually given the order. Part of him wanted to break her for it, to let her know her life depended on accepting his wishes no matter how strongly they risked her life or filled her with repulsion. But she was clearly different from his other guildmembers, something special, and given the wounds of her past as well as the risk of complications should the priests recognize her, he decided to let the matter slide.

“Very well,” he said. “Lead me to their temple doors, and I shall force you to travel no closer than that.”

That appeared acceptable enough, and she nodded.

“All right,” she said. “Follow me.”

She led him to the eastern district of the city, where the homes were built tall and guarded, revealing the power and wealth of those who resided safely away from the poverty of the other districts. Amid the affluence was a somber-looking mansion with heavy iron gates surrounding it. Zusa paused before it, and she nodded in the building’s direction.