A Dance of Cloaks (20 page)

“Where did you get this?” she asked.

“Father has begun paying me for my aid,” he said. “He says I need to be treated like any other of his men if I am to earn their respect.”

“He must pay you well,” Kayla said, holding the earrings close so she could admire their sparkle. Clearly they had been polished and well-cared for. A part of her felt too cheap and dirty to wear them.

“You’re beautiful,” Aaron said. His voice, his eyes, his demeanor: everything about him, so normally quiet and secretive, made no attempt to hide the plain truth he spoke. He thought she was beautiful, and that simple belief was enough to have her put them in her ears, pressing them through scarred over holes from earrings she had worn as a girl. A bit of blood ran across her fingers, but she made sure none dripped across the silver.

“Thank you,” she said. She kissed his forehead, amused at how red his ears turned.

“Senke says I’ll owe him for the next five years,” Aaron said, babbling. He clearly didn’t know how to react to the kiss. “But I’ll keep paying him, and it shouldn’t be a problem, unless I die, but then I don’t need to worry about paying him back do I? Not unless he can find my ghost and…”

“Shush, Aaron,” Kayla said. At the invoking of his name, his whole body seemed to shrivel inward and slip behind a protective mask.

“Haern,” he said.

“Sorry,” Kayla said. “This kiss is for Haern, then.”

She kissed him just above his right eye.

“You’re a cute boy,” she said. “Now run along and do something appropriate for your age.”

He nodded, the blush from his ears and his neck having connected at his cheeks. His apparent love, so juvenile and simple, was enough to brighten Kayla’s night. She ushered him out the door, then plopped back down on her bed. As she spread her arms through the fabric of her covers, she let her mind wander. Aaron was cute, and more importantly, Thren’s son. Once he got older, maybe sixteen or so, perhaps she could arrange for a marriage. Her place in the guild would be solidified so completely she’d rule once Thren died.

Assuming Thren ever died. The tough bastard looked ready to live another forty years. When he did pass away, she wondered if the Spider Guild would even survive.

What am I thinking?
she thought.
Of course it will last. Thren won’t spend his whole life building a castle of cards. He wants a legacy.

Kayla dozed off, her light sleep broken by a firm knock on her door. A tingle in her temples told her to open it herself. Her warning was correct; Thren stood waiting, his arms crossed, his swords hanging from his belt.

“You should be more alert when I am gone,” he said as he stepped past her into her room. “If something should happen to me, an attack on our guild would immediately follow.”

“A silly worry,” Kayla said as she shut the door. “Since when can something happen to you?”

He looked at her as if deciding whether to smile or scowl. So instead he shrugged.

“Even the impossible tends to find its way to our everyday lives. I have a task for you, Kayla, one more suited to your talents…”

He stopped. She felt a moment of self-conscious worry spike through her. Was her shirt open again? Her hair messed up in some strange way? He followed her eyes, then realized he was staring at her earrings.

“Your son gave them to me,” she said.

She was not prepared for the rage that roared to life in his eyes, his hands, and his snarl. He slammed her against the wall, her wrists pinned. Before she even knew she was in danger, she was helpless.

“Listen carefully,” he said to her. Somehow his rage never reached his voice. “Aaron must remain pure. He has the chance to become something incredible. I will have my heir, and I will not risk its ruin to the caress of a woman, the stupor of drink, or the delusions of gods and goddesses. Do you understand me?”

“I’ll give them back,” Kayla said. She almost nodded, then realized that would dangle her earrings, and she feared that might set him off.

“Not just that,” Thren said. “I want his heart broken. Give it a callous that will never heal. When you are done, meet me and Senke in my room. I still have that job for you.”

“As you wish,” she said.

He let go of her hands, glanced about the room, and then left.

Kayla felt her knees tremble, and when the door was shut she let her fear out in a single sob. The fear didn’t last long. Anger raged upward. She had heard so many rumors about Aaron, what he was and what he had done. A part of her realized that so many of them were most likely true, and now she knew why.

She took off her earrings, put them in her pocket, and then left for Aaron’s room. Despite what Aaron had said about his father treating him like the other men, his room was separate from the rest, isolated and private. She knocked on the door.

The look of mixed excitement and fear on his face did little to settle the knot in her stomach.

“May I come in?” she asked, wondering how many of his young boy’s fantasies started with her saying exactly those words. He didn’t answer, only nod.

She stepped inside. Spacious, with a tall ceiling and several windows, but the decorations were sparse. He had a bed, a trunk for his clothes, and the rest was weapons, training equipment, and books. From her quick glance, it appeared all of it received equal attention.

“Your earrings,” Aaron said, immediately noticing their absence.

“Here,” she said, taking his hand and plopping them atop his palm. “Take them back.”

She saw something breaking in his blue eyes.

“Why?” he asked.

Kayla opened her mouth, a lie on her tongue. She knew she could, and more importantly, she knew she should. Doing the right thing was not often something she worried about, but staring at those eyes, she wondered.

“Answer me this question first,” she said. “Did you really kill your brother at the age of eight?”

He sucked in his lips and bit. He was staring at her ears. She brushed them once, realizing they still bled.

“Yes,” he said.

She felt her heart wince a little, but that wasn’t what mattered. The second question was what mattered.

“Why?” she asked.

Aaron answered without the slightest hesitation.

“Because my father wanted me to.”

Kayla nodded. Of course. What else mattered in Aaron’s life? He was being steadily created, a work of art that only Thren Felhorn could find beautiful. To see such parental devotion twisted and turned to murder and fratricide…

“Listen to me,” she said, lowering her voice. “I can’t love you, Aaron. I can’t even treat you with kindness, and my reason is the same as why you killed your brother. Take the earrings. Don’t hide your hurt. Don’t be ashamed of your tears.”

She took his chin in her fingers and tilted his head upward.

“But I can love Haern,” she said. “I’m not sure what Aaron might become. He may scare me, even hurt me at his own father’s request. So you must keep Haern hidden and safe. Keep him alive. Can you do that for me?”

His tears rolled down his cheeks, but he nodded. She saw that strength and felt beyond proud.

“Aaron must never love me,” she said as she turned to the door. “But Haern can.”

“I’ll remember,” Aaron said. As Kayla left, he grabbed one of his many swords and slammed the side of a training dummy. He had learned another lessen of what it meant to have power. It meant crushing the will of another to meet your own.

More and more, Aaron Felhorn felt rebellion growing in his heart at the very notion of wielding that same power. He choked it down. Those thoughts didn’t belong to Aaron. They weren’t who he was.

He cut one of his blankets in half, poked in a few eyeholes, and then wrapped it about his face. Lost in his training, he swung his sword about the room, shifting from stance to stance. He let his anger and rebellion grow, for he was Haern now, and those thoughts belonged to him.

K
ayla entered Thren’s room and knelt before his table.

“My task?” she asked.

“Were you successful?” Thren asked her first. Knowing her life was on the line, Kayla kept her smile hidden deep inside her breast.

“Beyond expectations,” she answered.

10

W
earing the same disguise as the night before, Maynard returned to the priests’ temple. He dismissed his guards when he reached the gate, confident his threats were more than enough to keep him safe. It was the ruffians and cutthroats that wandered the streets that worried him. He didn’t want to imagine the celebration that might erupt in the underworld if he was found and killed in the open.

Not surprisingly, his reception was far less warm than before. He was immediately led to Pelarak’s room and then made to wait. The high priest arrived shortly after.

“You have put us in an uncomfortable position,” Pelarak said as he shut the door behind him.

“Welcome to the rest of Veldaren,” Maynard said. “No one is comfortable, not while vermin pretend to be kings.”

“When men pretend they to be gods, things are just as dire,” Pelarak said. Maynard ignored the thinly veiled insult.

“I’ve come for my answer. Will you aid us in destroying the thief guilds, or will you cling to your worthless neutrality?”

Pelarak walked around him and then sat at his desk. He tapped his fingertips together, then put his forefingers to his lips.

“You must understand that I do what Karak desires of me,” Pelarak said. “This decision is not mine, but his.”

Under normal circumstances, Maynard would have paid lip service to Pelarak’s faith. With his daughter missing and his estate lacking a true heir, he had no time or patience. He rolled his eyes.

“Don’t feed me that nonsense. You are in charge here, high priest, not some voice in your head.”

“You doubt Karak’s power?”

“Doubt it?” Maynard said. “Would I be so insistent you help me if I doubted it? I just don’t want to hear any nonsense about prayers or obscure promises and prophecies. I want an answer. The correct one.”

Pelarak smiled a wolfish smile.

“You won’t get it. Not the one you want.”

“I will carry out my promise,” Maynard said.

“And we believe you,” Pelarak insisted. “Listen to what I have to say.”

He gestured to the chair opposite of him. Annoyed, Maynard sat down. Part of him knew he should calm himself. He was being hotheaded and rash, something he always dismissed in others. The priests had vexed him for years, however. If diplomacy and bribes did nothing for them, it was time to try threats and brute force.

“Look for a moment from my perspective,” Pelarak said. “Let’s assume I agree with you; the rogues need put in line, and this nonsensical war ended. But if I join now after you hold a sword over our heads, what prevents us from being puppets of the Trifect instead of servants to our god? We would kill kings for making the same threats you have made.”

Maynard felt a bit of his hotheadedness leave him. Something very dangerous was about to happen. Pelarak did not make threats lightly, and his assumption of safety seemed to be arrogance in hindsight. The priests could kill him with a wave of their hands. All his power and gold meant nothing if they felt Karak wanted his head.

“Rudely put, perhaps,” Maynard said, falling deeper into his political persona, “but you do speak a bit of truth. We need your aid, Pelarak. For if you are not with us, then I fear the actions of your women assassins places you against us.”

“I will deal with them in time,” Pelarak said. “I told you, they do not represent us. Karak is our lord, and I am his closest servant. He wishes this war over. How, though, is where you and I will disagree.”

“Presumptuous,” Maynard said. “How will we disagree?”

Pelarak stood, smoothing out his black robe as he did. A free hand rubbed his balding head. Maynard did not like this at all. The high priest was very rarely hesitant. This was bad. Very bad.

“We will aid you, but only under the condition that you give us someone into our safekeeping, someone to join our order. The next time you wave a sword over our necks, we will have someone to wave ours over as well.”

Maynard felt his heart sink.