A Dance of Death (6 page)

“Glad for you to be here, albeit it late,” said the soft-spoken Laurie, offering his hand as Ulrich turned about. Ulrich took it and shook while looking over the grieving father. His dark skin looked pale, and he’d cut his long ponytail as a sign of mourning. Of course Laurie had noticed he’d been late, and Ulrich tried to hide his annoyance at how perceptive he could be.

“Pressing matters delayed me,” he said. “I fear someone lost their head over them.”

Laurie winced, and Ulrich had to bite his tongue to keep from chuckling. He’d forgotten the most prevalent rumor was that Taras had been found decapitated, with his wife’s head lying in his lap. Ulrich had doubted the truth of it, but Laurie’s reaction made him wonder. Well, that and his little present in the bag earlier on the
Fireheart.

“I hope business continues well for you,” Laurie said, pushing the conversation to safer topics.

“Better than ever. There’s an opportunity we’ve discovered that should bring our wealth right up with yours, Laurie. I wonder, do you think there’s any more room in the Trifect for a promising merchant like myself?”

Laurie’s smile was so patronizing Ulrich once more bit his tongue.

“In hundreds of years, we’ve never had more than our three families. If you truly desire it, though, we can arrange a marriage, perhaps with one of Jack Connington’s nieces…”

“Sorry,” said Ulrich. “I don’t much care for arranged marriages. They rarely turn out well.”

The barb hit like he’d hoped, and even Laurie’s carefully controlled performance shook with momentary anger.

“Pardon me,” he said. “I should speak with the priest before he begins the services.”

With him gone, Ulrich wandered further, seeing few familiar faces. It was only because of his brother that he was there at all. The Trifect kept to itself, except when it came time to collect its debts.

A lovely lady caught his eye, distracting him from the paintings. She wore a revealing violet dress, and unlike most women of Angelport, she kept her hair cut short at the neck. Running a hand through his hair to make sure it was smooth, he joined her side.

“Would you like a drink?” he asked, seeing her hands empty.

“Are you a servant?”

Her voice was husky, deep. Her exoticness elevated her beauty in his eyes.

“Of course not,” he said, laughing as if amused by the error. “I am Ulrich Blackwater, merchant and proprietor of many wondrous items from all across Dezrel. I merely ask because you seemed alone, and I would hate for your shyness to keep you from enjoying yourself.”

“Not alone,” she said. “I am merely watching.”

She nodded toward an elegantly dressed woman across the hall. Ulrich tried to see if he recognized her, but did not. One of the lesser ladies of Angelport, perhaps, or from nearby Omn?

“I have given you my name, but not had the pleasure of yours,” he said, bringing his attention back to her.

“Zusa Gemcroft,” she said, still cool toward him. Ulrich took another drink, not yet frustrated. Something was clearly off with this woman, which made her all the more interesting.

“Gemcroft?” he said, feigning surprise. “Are you with Alyssa then?”

“I am.”

That explained the other woman across the hall surrounded by guests. No doubt they were all busy kissing Alyssa’s ass.

“I know a little of the Gemcroft family, but must confess, I have never heard your name mentioned before.”

She blushed a little, then pointed to one of the men near Alyssa, though who exactly Ulrich could not tell.

“I am newly married into the family.”

Ulrich’s smile widened. He loved seducing newlywed women. So nervous, so excited, and always a challenge. That, and it forever gave him power of blackmail if successful.

“I am truly envious of whoever the lucky-”

“Excuse me,” said one of the servants, immediately bowing in apology. “The service is about to begin. If you would, please follow me to the gardens.”

Zusa shot Ulrich a smile he could not decipher.

“I will see you another time,” she said, curtseying once before returning to Alyssa’s side. Ulrich watched the sway of her hips as she went, then glared at the servant.

“I know where the gardens are,” he said. “I’ll be there shortly.”

“Of course,” the servant said, bowing again.

Ulrich had no intention of going, having little interest in the prattle of priests and crying of women. He wandered deeper into the mansion, hoping for some solitude. Once everyone was dismissed, he’d slip back among them, say his goodbyes, and hurry off to more pressing matters. The Amour family, for example, needed a new head appointed, after the loss of the last one.

He chuckled at the grim pun. Perhaps he shouldn’t have tossed it overboard. It might have been amusing to present it to William’s wife. He’d always hated that hag. Turning a corner, he was surprised to find he was not alone. A blond man stood in the doorway of a nearby room, staring. Ulrich vaguely recognized him, then remembered he’d been at Alyssa’s side. He looked too nicely dressed to be a servant. Distant cousin, maybe?

“Lost?” he asked, deciding it best to make the other man explain his reasons for being there so he might not ask the same of him.

“Only looking.” He gestured to the room. “Was this where it all happened?”

Ulrich looked inside, realizing they were at Taras’s bedroom.

“I believe so. What brings you here? Morbid curiosity?”

“Something like that.”

Ulrich offered his hand. No doubt the stranger wished to avoid the service as much as he did. Already he liked him.

“Ulrich Blackwater,” he said.

“Haern…Gemcroft.”

Ulrich lifted his eyebrows. Were the Gemcrofts suddenly mating like rabbits? Here was yet another he’d never heard of.

“Well, Haern, what brings you to Angelport?”

He hesitated a moment, then looked back to the room.

“It is my honeymoon.”

“Is it, now? Well, a funeral is hardly the place to be. Or were you scouting for available bedrooms? I doubt this one will be used for a while.”

He laughed, then had a thought.

“Say, you aren’t married to a lady named Zusa, are you?”

Haern’s pause was enough. Ulrich smacked him on the shoulder, and was surprised by how firm his footing was. Almost felt like hitting a rock.

“You lucky bastard. Wouldn’t blame you for fucking on a dead man’s bed when the woman is that fine.”

Haern looked too embarrassed to respond, which amused Ulrich all the more. He was a handsome man, and with startling blue eyes. Seducing Zusa away from him for a tryst would be that much more of a challenge. Much as he liked the man, he decided he might have to use a bit of poison to ensure Zusa was his at least once before they left for Veldaren.

“Do you know what happened here?” Haern asked, stepping into the bedroom. Ulrich followed, also curious to see.

“Only rumors. You’d think a hundred men hacked them all to death, if you believed the rabble. I think it was just one man, though, a fool the commoners have begun calling the Wraith. He slaughtered guards left and right, butchered Taras and Julie, then vanished in a puff of smoke.”

“Smoke?” Haern whispered. “I see.”

The room had a clean yet barren feel to it. The sheets had been stripped from the bed and not replaced. The carpet was so immaculate it had to be new. The windows appeared new as well. Even the walls glistened with fresh paint, the room still stinking from the application. Haern looked about, then pointed upward.

“Damn,” Ulrich said, finally spotting it.

They’d changed the sheets, the floors, and the walls, but missed a faint spray of blood across the ceiling.

“This was no assassination,” Haern said, his voice soft. “I doubt he cared one way or the other about the couple. This was a message, and he made sure it carried far.”

Something about the way he spoke, the way he carried himself, gave Ulrich a sense of unease. For the first time, he realized the man had a pair of sabers sheathed at his belt.

“Consider me curious. What makes you think someone would cut off a person’s head, rip his entrails from his stomach, and fling his blood about like an insane painter, yet
not
care one way or the other about him?”

Haern walked over to the window, testing its lock.

“He let the baby live. I saw Madelyn holding her.”

Ulrich’s eyes narrowed at such perception.

“What is your relation to Alyssa again?”

Haern looked back.

“Second cousin.”

“Who is your father?”

“Is this a test?”

Ulrich slowly reached for his dagger.

“That’s a poor answer.”

Haern turned where he stood, and something odd came over him. His face darkened, and a hard edge entered those blue eyes. His stance shifted slightly, the muscles in his body relaxed yet at ready. While still at his sides, his hands brushed the hilts of his sabers, clearly ready to draw.

“I am a guest in the Keenan family’s mansion,” Haern said. “I was not aware I had to explain myself to you.”

Ulrich suddenly felt nervous, his every action scrutinized with deadly intensity. With a startling clarity, he realized he felt same as he did when in the presence of the Wraith.

“Forgive me for any insult,” Ulrich said, letting go of his dagger. “Just after what happened, we’re all a little nervous of assassins.”

Haern’s eyes seemed to sparkle at that.

“I don’t fear assassins,” he said. “Assassins fear me.”

“I can imagine.”

Haern left the room, passing a mere foot in front of Ulrich. For the briefest moment he thought to draw his dagger and stab for the man’s back, but he let the impulse pass. Such a confident display was not made carelessly. This Haern had looked him over, and dismissed him as a threat. The thought burned like fire in his gut. Smoothing out his shirt, he returned to the main parlor of the mansion to await his brother, enduring the many insulting glares he received from the serving staff.

After what felt like forever, the first of many guests returned. Ulrich remained seated, standing only when Stern finally showed.

“Something wrong?” he asked, seeing his brother’s obvious displeasure.

“We need to go,” Ulrich said.

“Why?”

“Because not too long ago, William’s head was cut from his shoulders and tossed into the ocean.”

Stern looked like he’d been slapped, and a bit of anger cut through his grief.

“Who would dare do such a…” He stopped, and then he shook his head, having read Ulrich all too well. “Him, isn’t it? That Wraith? What have we done to earn his wrath?”

“Lower your voice,” Ulrich said, grabbing his brother by the arm and leading him to the exit. “And I don’t know. Call a meeting of the Merchant Lords, and set it for tomorrow. We’ll let the Amours have a day to prepare their funeral and appoint one of William’s sons in charge.”

“And what is it you hurry off to do?”

“None of your concern.”

The Keenans were waiting by the door, with Madelyn holding the newborn child just as Haern had said. The two brothers said their goodbyes, then left. They split, each heading for their homes. Trusting Stern to spread the word (assuming the other Merchant Lords didn’t know already), Ulrich traveled through his spacious, but empty, home to his private room. No kids, no wife, no family. Just as Ulrich preferred. Once he’d stripped himself of his uncomfortable clothes and locked the door, he pulled out the pouch from his discarded shirt. But first, he covered up the large glass window. Sunlight always hurt his eyes afterward.

Tossing an entire leaf in his mouth, he bit down and then breathed deep. As his head grew light, and his blood pounded through his veins, he thought of what Zusa might look like naked. Amid the euphoria, he felt a certainty overcome him, one that lasted throughout the next two hours. No matter the cost, he would have her, and he’d make damn sure that arrogant prick Haern knew it. But mostly he thought of Zusa, of taking her against her will, until at last the Violet faded, and he fell asleep with his seed spilled across his hand.

A
lyssa played the kind supporter as the proceedings ended, and the guests trickled out one by one. She endured a hundred greetings, and treated every one as if they were with a long-lost friend.

“Will you be all right?” Zusa asked her when she closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead.

“I’m fine,” she said. “It’s just…all this makes me miss Nathanial for some reason.”

“We wallow in the sorrow of others. Of course you’d fear your own loss.”

“Doesn’t mean I like it, nor wish to think of it.”

“Then drink,” Zusa said, handing her a glass. “Wine is excellent for forgetting.”

Alyssa chuckled.

“At least there is that,” she said, hoping the burn of it going down her throat would banish her tiredness. As she accepted a second, one of Laurie’s servants came to inform her that her room was prepared.

“What of Zusa and Haern?’ she asked.

“They have a room of their own, though it is near the back with the servants. I hope there is no offense.”

“That will be fine,” Zusa said. “I only hope we do not keep the servants awake at night.”