Blood of the Underworld (27 page)

“There’s guards all over,” Nathaniel said as she tugged on his hand. “Mother said Lord Connington even hired extra. Why wouldn’t we be safe?”

Zusa stopped. She pulled free one of her daggers and then spun low so she could grab his neck with one hand and press the tip of her blade against his throat with the other. Nathaniel didn’t react, too stunned and confused. There in the dim, long hallway they were alone, the mansion strangely silent.

“There are a hundred guards swarming about outside these walls,” Zusa whispered to him. “But not a one could stop me from killing you this second. Guards don’t mean safety. Walls don’t mean safety. We are safe only when we are strong enough to protect ourselves, and right now, you are but a child. Until you are grown, I must protect you as well as your mother.”

She stood, let go of his neck.

“But you’ll protect me,” he said. “How is that any different than Lord Connington’s guards?”

“I protect you because I am loyal to your mother,” she said, putting away her dagger. “But who are Stephen’s guards loyal to?”

“To...to Stephen, but that doesn’t mean they’ll let something bad happen to us.”

Zusa shook her head.

“Always know the loyalties of the hands you put your life in. You will one day be a Lord of the Trifect, Nathan. You cannot rely on the honor and decency of men to stay alive.”

“So I should trust no one?” he asked. It sounded like a cruel lesson of an even crueler world awaited him when he grew older. Zusa stared at him, and he saw a bit of her hard facade fade. She knelt again, put her hands on his shoulders.

“Trust those you love, and that love you in return,” she said. “It will hurt more if they betray you, but at least you’ll still know joy.”

Zusa nodded toward a simple door that looked almost quaint compared to most of the rooms they’d passed.

“In there. Let us see what we find.”

She took his hand again, and they stepped into a fairly plain room, just a small bed, a dresser for clothes, and a washbasin with a mirror in the corner. Zusa looked about, analyzing things in a way Nathaniel doubted he would ever understand. She checked the window, the door, beneath the bed, and then nodded.

“I must look outside first, but I feel this will be safe,” she said. “The door is sturdy, and you can bolt it from within. The window is high, but you should be able to crawl through and land outside without breaking any bones. Those unfamiliar to the mansion will not think to find you in such a small, unadorned room.”

“There’s also a lot of shadows near the ceiling,” Nathaniel said, and his look made Zusa smile.

“There’s that, too. If you are ever afraid, trust me to be in the dark corners, always ready to save you. Now stay here. I’ll fetch some servants to bring you your things.”

She left him there, and he stood before the plain bed and white sheets and tried to pretend it was his home. It wasn’t. Zusa’s words continued to haunt him, and he closed his door, shut the lock. The room was quiet, and dark. Nathaniel sat on his bed and drummed his fingers against his stump. Time ticked along, and finally unable to stand anymore, he lurched to his feet, flung open the lock, and began wandering the halls.

In many ways, the mansion felt familiar, similar in style to his mother’s. But the tiny differences in the color of stone, the texture of the carpet, added up to something that was a constant reminder of his status as a visitor. A large woman passed him by, arms full of dirty sheets, and she gave him a glare. She said nothing, and didn’t stop him, so he hurried along. The hallway came to an end at a plain door, similar to the room Nathaniel stayed in. The main difference was that a small image had been carved into the wood, though he couldn’t quite make it out. A cat, perhaps?

Curious, he tested the doorknob, found it unlocked. Unable to stop himself, he pushed it open and stepped inside.

It was a child’s room, similar in size to Nathaniel’s. The bed was smaller, the window lower. All about the floor were scattered toys, little animals carved out of wood, each the size of his fist. There were no paintings, no markings, and something about the place made his hair stand on end. Hurrying to leave, he rushed through the door and bumped into a man, his head driving into the man’s stomach. As arms pushed him back, Nathaniel let out a yelp, convinced that Zusa’s words were prophetic, and that he was about to be murdered within walls surrounded by a hundred guards. But instead it was a well-dressed man, not much taller than him. He was young, and had a softness to his face that immediately removed any of Nathaniel’s initial fear of harm.

“I’m sorry if I startled you,” the young man said. He looked him over, his eyes lingering on the stump of his arm. “You must be Alyssa’s boy, right? Nathaniel?”

Nathaniel nodded, self-consciously clutching the stump with his other hand.

“I am,” he said.

“I’m Stephen. So glad to meet you.”

Stephen? Nathaniel realized who stood before him and nearly panicked. Here was their host, kind as could be, and Nathan had plowed headfirst into his stomach because he’d been spooked by a few old children’s toys. Nathaniel fell to one knee and bowed his head.

“Milord, I am honored to meet you. Please, forgive my poor greeting.”

He wanted to say it, and nearly did.

Oh, and please, please don’t tell my mother.

“Nothing to forgive, now stand up. It seems you wandered off, and others were starting to worry.”

Nathaniel felt his neck flush. Hardly ten minutes into their new home and he was already in trouble. Not a good start to the day.

“I didn’t mean to scare anyone,” he mumbled.

Stephen put a hand on Nathaniel’s shoulder, guiding him back down the hall.

“I’m sure you didn’t. Your mother is just nervous, what with the attack on her mansion. Most understandable, really.”

Right before turning a corner, Melody stepped around, and she sighed with relief at seeing the two.

“You shouldn’t run off like a little street urchin,” she said, but her words felt perfunctory. Nathaniel caught her eyes stealing to Stephen. Was she trying to gauge his reaction, see if he was upset?

“He was only studying the layout of the house, like any smart child would do,” Stephen said, smiling down at Nathaniel. “Isn’t that right?”

Nathaniel couldn’t nod his head in agreement fast enough. Stephen let go of his shoulder, and at Melody’s approach he opened his arms so the two might embrace.

“It is good to see you again,” Melody said. “And I have no doubt as to the boy’s intelligence, though he could use a bit more sense. But I should be kind. Anyone graced with visions should be expected to have their head more often in the clouds than on where one foot goes after the other.”

Stephen cocked his head at that.

“Visions? Do you mean…?”

“With my chrysarium,” Melody said, and there was a hint of pride in her voice. “Truly, I have never seen one so blessed. His mother has taught him little of faith, and never taken him to temple. I think the chrysarium awakened his soul with a hunger.”

Something about this seemed off, and Nathaniel didn’t like it at all. He kept hoping to see Zusa coming around the corner to join them, daggers in hand. They spoke of the chrysarium, and the visions, and it made his mouth dry and his testicles shrivel thinking of what he’d seen.

Stephen knelt down before him. A subtle change had overcome him, that youthful innocence replaced with something more, something Nathaniel didn’t understand.

“What did you see?” he asked. “Did you see Veldaren?”

He swallowed. Melody and Stephen were on either side of him, blocking the hallway. He felt trapped, and worse: the vision was returning, dominating his sight against his will.

“I did,” he said. “At least, I think it was.”

“What of it? Did it bloom, or burn?”

“Burn.”

Like a thousand suns
, he thought, but did not say it. Melody and Stephen shared a worried look, and he saw his grandmother take Stephen’s hand.

“He was so frightened,” Melody said. “I think...”

Stephen seemed to get it immediately, and he turned once more to Nathaniel.

“You saw him, didn’t you?” he asked. “His eyes like fire?”

Terror gripped his heart. He didn’t want to think of it, didn’t want to remember it. Tears ran down the sides of his face.

“I did,” he whispered.

Stephen wrapped his arms about him, pulled him close against his breast.

“Shush now,” he said, gently stroking his hair. “It’s all right. You poor child, you haven’t slept well since, have you? I’ll pray for you so that you can.”

Stephen stood, and again he and his grandmother shared a lingering moment.

“We’re almost out of time,” he said. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to save the city...”

He stopped as Alyssa came around the corner.

“Nathan?” she said, and Stephen parted so he could run to her. He wrapped his arm around her leg, felt her gently stroke his forehead. “Nathan, are you crying?”

“He felt guilty for running off,” Stephen said. “I think he feared he embarrassed you because of it, or that I might be upset, which I can assure you I am not. My home is his now, as it is yours, until everything can be made right.”

The eyes
, thought Nathaniel, unable to stop the memory. The tears had been of silver and gold, his face a shadow, but the eyes...the eyes...

The eyes of fire burned, focused on Veldaren, their essence consumed with fury and craving destruction. More and more gathered under the shadow’s banner, and the silver tears fell like rain across the city. He heard a child crying, crying...

By the time the vision ended and he came to, he was laying on his back, his mother kneeling over him. All he could say was the same thing, over and over.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

20

H
aern woke to the sound of scraping steel. He bolted upward in his bed and immediately regretted it. A moment of vertigo doubled him over, and he coughed and heaved as his insides twisted. Beside him, Brug sat up in his chair, dagger and whetstone in hand.

“Easy there,” Brug said, reaching over and pushing Haern back down onto the bed. Haern lacked the strength to resist, and he slowed his breathing so his heartbeat might return to normal.

“Where’s Delysia?” Haern asked.

Brug lifted an eyebrow at him and let out a grunt.

“Forced her to take a rest,” he said. “Been at your side nearly all night. It’s midday now, in case you can’t tell. You were out all morning.”

Haern remembered the fires he’d seen, the chaos unfurling at his supposed death.

“How’d everything go?” he asked.

Brug scraped the stone across his blade.

“Well...”

He began talking, and Haern listened intently. He heard of the smaller fires, the delay, and then of the larger attack on the dungeon. Haern shook his head at this, thinking of so many he’d put away managing to escape. It seemed the guilds were not just eager to celebrate, but wanted to wipe away every shred of his accomplishments in a single night.

“It was all just a feint, though,” Brug said, putting down one dagger and grabbing the other. “The real fight was at Alyssa’s. I’d say you should have been there, but from what my eyes were seeing, you already were.”

Haern frowned, confused.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean someone dressed up as you, grabbed similar swords, and went to town killing thieves to protect the Gemcroft mansion. Saw him, or you, or whatever, fighting alongside that Zusa girl who’s always protecting Alyssa. Damn good, too. Might have fooled me if I hadn’t seen the gaping hole in your chest earlier that morning. Not even Delysia can get someone up and running just a day after that.”

Haern lay down and closed his eyes to think. Someone impersonated him, but why? The obvious reason was to convince the town he was not, in fact, dead. But who benefitted most? Who had the skill, and the physical ability, to so closely imitate him? It was a small list indeed, and none made any sense.

“What of the fight?” he asked, trying to pull his mind back to other matters.

Brug shrugged.

“Was just a huge mob for the most part. Plenty died, but at least a good chunk were thieves as well.”

“Which guild?”

Brug scratched at his beard.

“Now that I think of it...all of ‘em. Alyssa must have pissed someone off good. Grudge from letting all those mercenaries loose, perhaps?”

It was possible, but didn’t feel right.

“Thren’s the only one who’s been able to unite the guilds before,” Haern said. “I wouldn’t doubt he’d hold a grudge, but this feels too similar to the failed attack during the Bloody Kensgold. He would have learned from that. And this may sound crazy, but I think he likes things as they are. That’s why he attacked Victor.”

“He attacked Victor because Victor was taking down his men and cutting off their heads.”

“Small timers, minor thieves. He didn’t like Victor threatening the delicate balance I’ve created.”

Brug grunted, rocked his chair back and forth.