A Dance of Cloaks (9 page)

The faceless woman led them up the winding stairs out of the dungeon. They encountered no guards, dead or living. As they ascended, Alyssa heard the ruckus the dogs were making. Eliora must have noticed the look on her face, for the hounds sounded as if they were ravenous for blood.

“They are frightened and angry,” she explained. “It is a simple spell we cast upon them to draw the guards out of the estate. My sisters are all inside, I assure you.”

Alyssa nodded but said nothing.

The stairs ended in a cramped room with bare walls and a lone door, the outside of which was normally bolted. Eliora gently pushed it open; Jorel must have gone down without alerting anyone, otherwise they would have locked it behind him.

“How many are with you?” Alyssa asked. Eliora shot her a glare.

“We are three,” she said. “Though we may be less if you continue braying louder than a mule.”

With so little time between her arrival and subsequent imprisonment, Alyssa had not taken stock of her father’s defenses. She knew they could not be light. No matter how much she might belittle the thief guilds, she was not an idiot. Without adequate protection, cloaked men with daggers would be lurking under every bed and within every closet.

Of course, those defenses seemed to have meant little to the faceless woman, and that thought gave Alyssa a chill. Surely the Kulls were behind their hiring, but what if it had been Thren Felhorn instead? Suddenly her father’s difficulties dealing with the threat of the guilds didn’t seem quite so pathetic. Clearly the Kulls meant for her to take over the Gemcroft estate. Once in position to rule, she would keep all that in mind when deciding how to deal with her father.

Men shouted in the far distance, their voices muffled through the walls.

“That would be Nava,” Eliora whispered. “She is looping the compound, killing guards foolish enough to leave themselves vulnerable. Hurry now. We go to your father’s room.”

The plush carpet felt wonderful to her bare feet. Even better was the warm burst of air blowing across her skin. She remembered how warm her father kept the mansion, and how she used to stretch out before the large fires roaring in the multitude of hearths throughout its halls. Winter still approached, but already Maynard had begun fighting the chill. Alyssa almost stole away from Eliora for such a fire, desiring nothing more than to huddle close and burn away the deep frost that had settled into her bones. The biting words the faceless woman might say kept her from doing so.

They hurried down a long hall. Over twenty windows stretched along the right, their glass covered by violet curtains. On the left hung paintings of former masters of the Gemcroft estate. A hysterical laugh died in her throat as she wondered if her own painting would hang on the wall. She also wondered if she’d live long enough for someone to paint it.

I come for my crown,
she thought.
What the bloody abyss has come over me?

She wanted none of this. She had meant to berate her father, show him his cowardice and hesitance and by doing so spur him into harsher dealings with the guilds. Never did she expect to usurp him before the waning of the moon.

They reached the end of the hall. Eliora slipped through the empty doorway, silent as a ghost. A guard stood to the right of it, and he died with a dagger in his throat and a wrapped hand over his mouth. As she watched the blood spill across the floor, Alyssa remembered the questions her father had asked. What did the Kull household plan?
Your elimination,
she thought.
The company of the faceless.
Dimly she wondered if her own eyes might be as covered as Eliora’s was with her thin white cloth.

Once certain no more guards were about, Eliora waved Alyssa on through.

“Is there anyone who might help supervise the Gemcroft estate?” the faceless woman asked as they passed through a series of bedrooms. “An advisor or a wise man, perhaps?”

“He does,” Alyssa said. She remembered Eliora’s earlier warning and lowered her voice. “Though I cannot remember his name.”

“Do you remember his face?”

She nodded.

“Describe him.”

A face flashed before her eyes, that of an older man with a short white beard and a shaved head. His eyebrows she especially remembered. He had shaved them regularly, and as a little girl she had been fascinated by the strange way it made his face look.

Eliora bobbed her head up and down, looking like a strange doll with its head off-balance.

“Will you hurt him?” Alyssa asked when done.

“No,” Eliora said. “Now I know, I will let him live. The elder man is the key to your takeover. To the common worker and guard, there is little difference when the figurehead changes names so long as their immediate master stays the same.”

The faceless woman stopped at another hallway and glanced both directions.

“Which way to your father’s bedroom?” she asked.

Alyssa thought for a moment.

“Left,” she said. “Not far from my own.”

“Stay here, and stay silent,” Eliora said. “There will be guards.”

The shadow cloak swirled about her body, her limbs and head fading away into a shapeless blob of black and gray. Only the serrated dagger shone bright and true in her violet hand. Alyssa glanced behind her every few moments, feeling almost certain a guard would find her alone and helpless. She had turned down numerous offers for training (the Pensleys had been particularly adamant that she spar daily with their weaponsmaster, an ex-knight named Durg who reeked more of wine than honor). As she stood there, she wished she had taken up those offers. She would gladly endure Durg’s drunken glances if it meant holding a blade without fear of the shouts she heard throughout the mansion.

The core of anger hidden in her breast flared. She had strode into her father’s house as cocksure as any other man might have. Had the chill of the cells stolen that away from her? She was the rightful heir, and after the embarrassment of five years worth of secret warfare against an inferior opponent, most members of her household would certainly be glad of a stronger, smarter leader. If any guard appeared, she would
demand
the loyalty of his sword.

The sounds of a scuffle reached her ears, coupled with a single, pained scream that was cut off halfway through. She was afraid to look around the corner to see, but did so anyway. She saw several bodies lying in a bloody path that ended at another corner. She thought to give chase when a dagger pressed against her neck.

“Where is my sister?” she heard a voice ask.

“Are you Nava?” Alyssa asked, trying her hardest not to sound afraid. Her voice came out sounding weak but annoyed. Given the circumstances, she thought that was acceptable. The dagger shifted against her skin, and from the brief pause, she figured the woman surprised.

“Not Nava,” she whispered. “Zusa. Now where is my sister?”

“Eliora went ahead,” Alyssa said, telling no more than what was asked. She tried to remind herself that this was
her
home, and that she should ask the questions, but her logic was weak against the serrated edge pressed against her soft skin.

“Little woman better not lie,” Zusa said. “False tongues are often split.”

The dagger scraped across her neck. Alyssa was certain blood would run down her back, but none did.

“No lie,” she said. “Now remove that blade. I am Alyssa Gemcroft, and it was your task to free me from my prison. Threaten harm upon me, and you risk the boon you were promised for this affair.”

The dagger left her neck. At first, Alyssa felt pride at her handling the situation, but when she turned she saw that another of the faceless women had joined them. Disguised in their black and purple cloth, she had not a clue who it might be, but then she heard the soft whisper and knew.

“Maynard is not in his room,” Eliora said. “Something is amiss.”

“Find him quick,” Zusa said. “Time is our enemy.”

The dogs howled louder as both faceless women turned to Alyssa.

“Where is your father?” they demanded.

“I don’t know,” she said, taken aback. “The hour is late; he should be in bed. Maybe something needed his attention, or his sleep was troubled and he took to wandering…”

“Or he was waiting for us,” Eliora said. “May Karak damn them all. Move, while Nava still buys us time outside.”

They hurried down the hall, Alyssa’s mind racing. She wondered if her father had any hidden rooms or safe places tucked away in corners of the estate, but she remembered none. She had been a rambunctious girl, and curious, too. If there had been any, she would have known.

Unless father added them recently,
she thought. With five years of secret war, he would have had plenty of time to build and remodel.

Their path led them to the dining hall, which looked naked with the empty chairs, covered table, and unlit chandeliers. The shouts of the guards grew louder. The faceless women tilted their heads toward each other, as if sharing a thought. Guards were pouring into the mansion.

“Alerted,” Zusa said. “But how?”

Alyssa knew of no other way to describe it: the bare wall to her left exploded inward. What should have been solid stone crumpled and curled, red smoke wafting off it. Inside was a room of which she had no memory. The walls were gray plaster, undecorated and leading further into the mansion. Filling that room were more than twenty guards, armored in steel and armed with swords. Tabards emblazoned with the Gemcroft sigil covered their tunics.

“We play the fool!” Zusa shouted, drawing her dagger and lunging toward the entrance. Eliora was quick behind her. The guards attempted to flood into the room, but they were held back at the narrow exit. Those in the front battled with the faceless women, but their movements seemed slow compared to the grace of their opponent. Alyssa thought their armor might be her companions’ doom, but the serrated dagger sliced through the mail like butter. The metal melted and smoked purple after each cut, helpless before the powerful magic.

The women held strong, but they were pushing back a river with only daggers. Five died at their feet, but the rest pressed forward, shoving aside their dying comrades. As the guards spread out to surround them, the two assassins flipped back and away, their bodies curling around sword strikes as if their bones were water.

“Run, girl!” Eliora shouted. Alyssa sprinted down the hall and into a long corridor. She glanced out the rows of windows, her heart shuddering at the sight. Pouring in through the front gates in frightening numbers were various mercenaries wearing the Gemcroft standard. Whatever her punishment would have been in the cell, Alyssa realized that her attempt to escape and supplant her father would increase it tenfold.

Screams chased her down the hall. Escape was all that mattered now, she realized. There would be no grab for power, no careful bartering of life for rule. The thought of returning to her cold, drafty cell spurred her on. When she reached a door, she glanced behind. None of the faceless had come yet.

Glass shattered, and Alyssa cried out as shards of it cut across her face. A figure crashed in through the window. She felt arms wrap around her body.

“Worry not for my sisters,” said a deep-voiced woman that could only be Nava. “Your life is precious. Follow me into the night.”

Alyssa’s breathing was ragged, frightened gasps. Her pulse was a war-drum in her ears. With trembling fingers, she took Nava’s hand. A painful lurch later, they tumbled through the broken window and onto the cool grass of the lawn.

“No words,” Nava said, pressing a wrapped finger across Alyssa’s lips. “Not until we leave the gate. Understand?”

Alyssa nodded.

“Good. Come.”

They were on the western side of the complex. The main gates were to the south, but instead of going there, Nava pulled her north. The stars were hidden behind clouds, and in the dim light Alyssa stumbled as she ran. Only the strong grip on her wrist kept her moving. More mercenaries spread around the house, and she heard their shouts behind her. They had not yet been spotted, but how long until they were?

The tall gate loomed high to her left. She felt the tug on her wrist lead her closer and closer, until suddenly a hand clasped over her mouth, holding in her startled cry as they halted all movement.

“Shhh,” Nava hissed into Alyssa’s ear.

The faceless woman removed her cloak, the fabric making a soft sigh as it slipped through her fingers. A single word of magic and it snapped erect. Nava flung it across the bars, where it stuck like honey. The woman rolled through it, spun on her heels, and then reached back. Her hand pressed through the bars as if they were darkness, only darkness. Alyssa swallowed her fear and took her hand. A hard jerk forward, and then she was on the other side.

Nava snapped her fingers. The cloak returned to cloth, glinting as if a thousand stars were woven into its fabric. She wrapped it across her shoulders and took Alyssa’s hand. Together they fled from the shouts of soldiers and mercenaries. Alyssa gave one last look at the mansion, knowing in her heart that it would never be hers.

D
eep within, Maynard stepped out from the gray tunnels winding throughout his estate. His advisor, the gray-bearded man with shaved eyebrows stood beside him. His name was Bertram Sully.