Blood of the Underworld Read online

  Thren leapt at him, every ounce of his speed sending him flying toward the giant man. Once more their swords clashed, but Grayson’s mind was overcome for just a moment, unable to maintain the balance needed against such an opponent. But Thren had cried his tears for Marion, and he’d long since buried her in his heart. Grayson’s wounds, though, they’d stayed fresh, and because of it new ones slashed across his chest as Thren pressed harder and harder. He felt rage boiling in his veins, and it gave him strength. Looping closer, he slashed through Grayson’s left wrist, severing tendons. The blade dropped to the ground. Thren hammered the other, staying close, denying him the chance to flee. The other fell, its handle soaked with blood as Thren hacked into his arm.

  Grayson tried to sweep out his feet with a kick, but Thren leapt into the air, his knee catching Grayson’s forehead. The man fell back, and Thren stabbed through his side, the blade puncturing the roof so it held him there like a stake. Grayson screamed, and he pulled against the blade. Another stab, this one through the shoulder, kept him down.

  Thren leaned close, so they were mere inches away.

  “You know who he is,” he said. “Your arrival was not coincidence. You’ve spat in my face, and for that you’ll die, but first you’ll tell me who.”

  “What are you talking about?” Grayson asked, still struggling against the two blades. Thren had purposefully made sure neither punched through a vital organ, wanting to control Grayson’s death, to have it be exactly when he desired it.

  “The man mocking me,” he said. “The one who has killed my members, taken their eyes, and left his words written in blood. Tell me who he is.”

  “I don’t know,” Grayson said. He reached toward Thren with a shaking hand, and despite his wounds, tried to grab his neck to strangle him. Thren admired his dedication, but had no time for that. He released the hilts of his swords, grabbed Grayson’s wrists, and held him down.

  “You lie.”

  “I was never told his name.”

  Thren’s eyes narrowed.

  “Told by who?”

  Grayson shook his head, and he laughed despite his pain.

  “It’s all a game, Thren, and I played along because it suited us well. His name’s Laerek, a priest of Karak.”

  It made no sense, but he detected no lie.

  “A priest?” he asked. “What have I done to them that Karak’s followers would hate me?”

  Another laugh.

  “I don’t know, and I don’t give a shit.”

  Thren grabbed Grayson’s neck with a hand and pushed his head down.

  “Tell me where to find him.”

  “Are you going to kill me?”

  Thren swallowed, and then he nodded.

  “Yeah. I will.”

  Grayson let out a soft sigh. His dark skin was turning pale, yet he kept total control of his voice.

  “So be it. He’ll be waiting for me in an alley off Songbird Road, by that shoemaker’s place.”

  Thren again sensed no lie. He stood, and his hand closed around the hilt of his sword.

  “Thren,” Grayson said, and for the first time his voice wavered.

  “Yes?”

  Grayson grinned darkly.

  “Make sure that bastard suffers.”

  Thren yanked the blade free, spun it around, and then slashed open Grayson’s throat. His body convulsed for a moment as blood spilled across his neck and chest, and then he lay still. Thren stood over him, breathing heavily, and despite himself, he felt tears run down his face.

  “You loved Marion more than I,” he told the corpse. “A shame it cost you so.”

  He yanked the other sword free, not bothering to clean off the blood. He still had work to do.

  “Laerek,” Thren whispered as trumpets sounded, the raid on the Sun Guild nearing its end.

  30

  Alyssa tossed and turned, but she could not sleep. Zusa had still not returned, and with the setting of the sun she felt her hope dwindling. With every creak of a board she sat up in bed, looking to see if Zusa was opening the door or climbing down from the ceiling. Always, nothing. She’d give so much to have the Faceless Woman climb into her bed, to wrap her arms around her and tell her everything was well, everything was safe. Despite her wealth and fortune, she could not buy the one thing she so desperately needed.

  Still feeling anxious, she at last gave up on sleep and slipped out of bed. She threw a robe over her thin nightgown, then stepped into the hallways. It was dark despite the many candles. Something gnawed at her tired mind, but she couldn’t place what it was. Even more impatient, she hurried to Nathaniel’s room. If she were stuck awake, at least it’d be with her son. Seeing him asleep, and at peace, was often what it took to reassure her troubled mind that all was well. She’d done it plenty when he was a newborn, and though it felt childish to do so now that he was older, she didn’t care. Reaching his door, she again felt that gnawing fear, an awareness that she was missing something both troubling, and obvious.

  Opening the door to her son’s room, she stepped inside, and was surprised to find that he was still awake.

  “Mom?”

  His head tilted higher, and he clearly looked relieved. Two candles burned on the other side of the room, filling the room with yellow light.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked, sitting down beside his bed. He sat up, which revealed the stump of his arm. It was scabbed over, with several spots bleeding from him picking at it. Nathaniel seemed oblivious, just scratching repeatedly with his hand as he shuddered and looked away. Alyssa felt the worry in her gut strengthen.

  “I don’t want to sleep,” he said.

  “You know you need to. I can see how tired you are.”

  “It’s not that,” he said. “I...I don’t want to dream. I keep seeing him, mommy, and I don’t want to anymore.”

  “Him?” Alyssa frowned. “What do you mean?”

  He looked feverish, yet when she touched his face, he was bathed in a cold sweat.

  “Every time I dream, I see him laughing,” he said. “Veldaren’s burning, and he laughs.”

  Alyssa kissed his forehead, then gently pushed him onto his back. Tucking him in, she tried to hide any of her own fears. He’d had night terrors before, particularly after he’d lost his arm, and it’d taken over a year for them to go away. Yet this seemed different. He’d never really been aware of what frightened him back then, why he’d awaken screaming...

  “How long have you had these dreams?” she asked, trying to sound more tired than worried.

  “Ever since grandmother showed me the chrysarium.”

  Alyssa forced herself not to frown. Chrysarium? What in Karak’s name was a chrysarium? It sounded like something a wizard might conjure up. That her mother had exposed him to it without checking with her first immediately made her angry.

  “Honey, what did grandmother show you?”

  He shrank into the bed, scratched harder at the stump of his arm.

  “She made me promise not to tell.”

  “You can tell me. You know that. You can always tell me everything.”

  She reached down and grabbed his hand to stop the picking.

  “Tell me,” she said, letting a little of her earnestness come through.

  “I saw visions,” he said. “Grandmother said they were from the gods, and it meant I was special. But I don’t want them, they’re horrible, and they won’t let me sleep!”

  Alyssa swallowed, and a hundred things she might scream at Melody ran through her mind.

  “Listen to me, Nathan,” she said. “They’re just visions. They can’t hurt you, and they don’t mean anything. I want you to lie here, and try to relax. You don’t have to sleep if you don’t want to. I’m going to talk to Melody and find out what happened. If she did something, maybe she can fix this.”

  “But she’ll be asleep.”

  A dry smile stretched across Alyssa’s lips.

  “Then I’ll wake her.”

  She kissed his che
ek, then stood. When she reached his door, she stopped, for she heard shuffling on the other side. For some reason her heart froze, and she remained perfectly still as the sound slowly faded away. Peering through a crack, she saw a young woman with dark brown hair heading down the hall. Alyssa frowned. She didn’t look like a servant, nor dress like one, yet Alyssa could not place her despite their time in the mansion.

  “Nathan,” she whispered, turning back to her son. “When I step out, I want you to lock the door, all right? No questions, and don’t open it for anyone but me, you understand?”

  With that she entered the hall, and then waited until she heard the rattle of his lock. Satisfied, she hurried the opposite direction as the unknown woman, and came upon Stephen’s room, the door slightly ajar. Was the woman a prostitute, perhaps? Not that she cared to judge Stephen’s actions, but it seemed odd the guards would not escort her...

  And then it hit her, the obvious fear that had gnawed at the back of her mind. The guards. There should have been guards stationed all around the home, at her door, Nathaniel’s, and especially Stephen’s. But there were none. A chill spread through her veins. Why were there no guards?

  Her instincts were to run to her son, but his door was locked, and she’d checked it the first night he’d stayed in there alone. It’d take a solid beating by grown men to break the bolt. Swallowing the instinct down, she instead slipped into Stephen’s room. Always before it was locked, and guarded. She’d assumed it well-founded paranoia of assassins. Now, though...

  Inside she found a room similar to her own, well furnished and with an enormous bed in the center, its lavender bed curtains pulled back. Moonlight streamed in through three windows, faintly illuminating the room in a soft blue. The bed itself was empty. In the far corner she saw a door, also open. Yellow light shone from within, flickering off an unseen candle. Curious, she walked toward the door, glad her feet were bare. On the thick carpet, she made hardly a sound with her passing. Stopping just before the entrance, she drew a deep breath, and prayed it was all nothing, all a strange misunderstanding. There’d be nothing within but clothes, finery, maybe some old armor...

  Alyssa stepped inside.

  Three candles in a golden candelabra rest atop a small stool. On either side of her, covering the walls of what appeared to be an extraordinarily large closet, were portraits of Leon Connington, drawn in various styles and skills. She recognized them well, for they’d once decorated the walls upon her last visits, before Leon had been killed by the Watcher. She remembered Zusa remarking upon their absence, and the implied dislike the son might have carried for the father. But there in that room, she knew it was the reverse, a clandestine revering of the man whose eyes glowered down from all corners.

  Every instinct of warning fired off in her mind. The mansion was no longer safe to her. Turning to leave, she stopped, for on the ground, nearly hidden from the light of the candles, was a jar. The mere sight of it twisted her stomach, despite being unable to identify the contents within. With shaking hands she knelt down, grabbed it, and lifted it up to the candlelight. It was made of thick, clear glass. Swirling within a syrupy liquid of some kind were over a dozen naked eyeballs.

  It took all her control to hold back her scream. The jar fell from her hands and landed with a dull thud on the carpet. Alyssa left it there, and rushed for the door. She needed her son so they could flee. Even the wild streets at night would feel safer than the enclosed walls of the Connington mansion. Before exiting she had the presence of mind to stop and check the hall first. From the crack in the door she saw the approach of the same unknown woman...except now she wasn’t quite so unknown. Alyssa recognized those eyes, the softness of the nose and chin...

  It can’t be him, she thought, but knew it was. She ducked back behind the door. Was he coming back to his room? She had no blade, no weapon, and none appeared to be in his room. In her indecision she tensed, waiting for the door to press open. It did not. Holding her breath, Alyssa once more peered out through the door and saw that he’d continued on. She could see the small crossbow in his hand, pressed against his side as he walked. Sticking her head out, she could just barely see her own door down the hall, and sure enough, Stephen slowly pushed it open and slid inside without making a sound.

  The moment he vanished within, Alyssa ran, once more thankful for the bareness of her feet. When Stephen found her room empty, there was only one place he’d think to go, and it was the one place she had to beat him to.

  At the door to Nathaniel’s room, she stopped, knocked twice (the noise seeming unbearably loud), and then waited for a sound of movement.

  “It’s me, your mother,” she said, not waiting for him to ask. “Unlock the door, now!”

  He did, and she shoved it open hard enough to send him staggering backward. Stepping inside, she spun, shut it, and then pressed in the bolt. That done, she grabbed Nathaniel, pressed him against her, and wondered what in all of Dezrel she could possibly do now.

  “Mom?” he asked when she said nothing, only held him.

  “Shush,” she said, blowing out the candles to plunge the room into darkness. “Don’t make a noise.”

  He nodded.

  The two backed away, slowly, as if a monster lurked on the other side of the door. One did, except it wasn’t a creature of legend or fireside tales. This one was real, its venom deadly, its appetite sick and deranged.

  The doorknob turned. Alyssa’s breath caught in her throat, and she pressed a hand over Nathaniel’s mouth. The door pressed inward, just a fraction, before the bolt caught it. For a moment, a pause, and then the knob returned to its resting position. Two knocks followed.

  “Nathan?” she heard Stephen ask from the other side. His voice was gentle, as if embarrassed to impose. “Nathaniel, it’s me, Stephen. Are you awake? I need to tell you something about your mother.”

  She clutched her son tighter.

  “Nathaniel?” More knocks, heavier. His voice took on a firmer edge. “Nathaniel, I said open the door. This is important.”

  Alyssa’s mind raced. There was the window, but it was fairly high, and only Nathaniel could fit through it. She held little doubt that after her death, Nathan’s would follow. Guards crawled along the outside. Could her son escape, especially without her help? She didn’t think so. She commanded a presence, an implied threat of house against house warfare. Nathaniel was a small boy with a severed arm, born of a disgraced father. His disappearance would bother no one.

  But would Stephen hurt Nathaniel if he wasn’t certain about her own fate? It was a horrible gamble, but she saw no other way.

  “Listen,” she whispered into her son’s ear, desperately praying that Stephen would not hear through the door. “My life depends on you. Get in bed, and pretend you’ve had a nightmare. No matter what, I am not here, you understand me? I’m not here.”

  He nodded. She kissed his forehead as Stephen banged on the door.

  “Nathaniel! Open the door this instant!”

  Though her son was small, his bed was still plenty big, and Alyssa crawled underneath and backed as far as she could against the wall. Despite every logical part of her telling her this was her best hope to survive, she still felt a horrible guilt smothering her, crushing her chest. If Stephen did something to Nathaniel while she hid under his bed like a damn child...

  No time. Taking in a breath, she held it as Nathaniel undid the bolt. The door flung open, and she heard footsteps as Stephen entered.

  “I’m sorry,” she heard her son say. “I was scared, I had...why are you dressed like that?”

  A pause before the answer.

  “I, um, it’s just a game, Nathaniel. A game adults play. Is your mother in here?”

  “I was hoping you were her,” Nathaniel said. “I keep dreaming of him, of that horrible man...”

  A good lie, thought Alyssa, especially for off the cuff. Should they get out of this alive, she knew she’d have to watch him more carefully.

  Stephen stepped further
into the room. She could see his feet from where she hid, and for some reason it horrified her to see a shaven leg in a long-heeled shoe. Was it just a disguise, or something more? Did she truly know so little of the man whose house she’d been living in? And what was the reason for his hatred of her household, and of the Spider Guild?

  “I thought I heard whispering,” Stephen said. “Was that you?”

  “I...was praying.”

  “Praying? To who, Nathan?”

  He seemed to have no answer. Stephen continued further into the room, out of her sight. The closet door opened, shut. Still she waited. The lighting was incredibly poor, just what little moonlight came in through the curtained window. Perhaps in the darkness, he would not see...

  Stephen knelt before the bed. Her whole world froze. He was looking right at her. Everything about him was solid black, just a feminine shape peering underneath the bed. Alyssa didn’t move, didn’t breath, didn’t even dare think. She felt like a rabbit cornered by a wolf. And then, after a few agonizing seconds, he stood.

  “Just checking for monsters,” he said to her son. Slowly she let out a breath as tears ran down her face.

  “Is it safe?” Nathaniel asked as Stephen headed for the door.

  “No monsters,” Stephen said. “Go back to bed. Oh, and Nathan...if you’re to pray, pray to Karak. He’s the true god of this world. You’re old enough to be accountable for such things now.”

  “Yes, milord.”

  Another pause, and then the door shut. Alyssa clutched the carpet with her fingers, trying to push away her lingering terror. Her son sat on the bed, his feet dangling off. Rolling out, she got to her knees and wrapped her arms about him. She was still embracing him when the door reopened, and Stephen stepped inside, a terrible smile on his painted face. Alyssa froze, too stunned to act. Something so simple, so stupid, had cost her terribly.

  Nathan hadn’t relocked the door.

  “Hello, Alyssa,” Stephen said, lifting the crossbow.