Blood of the Underworld(107)
He took a step toward her, reaching out a hand.
“We can be together,” he said. “I know I erred revealing our love to the priests. I know I was a fool to feel guilt and shame. Please, this is all I know to do to make up for it.”
“Is that all you have to offer me?” Zusa asked. She tried to ignore his words, his apologies. She thought of herself in her filth, him kissing her neck. Thought of how oblivious he’d been to her situation. She was just a memory to him, a perfect memory...
“I’m not sure I can,” she said. “You’re a stranger to me, Daverik.”
“Now perhaps, but not before. We were our firsts, Katherine. Surely no flame has burned brighter for you than I.”
Anger, she thought. Keep the anger fresh. Keep the betrayal fresh.
“I can’t,” she said at last. “I can’t leave Alyssa.”
Daverik sighed, but despite his obvious disappointment, he let out a bitter laugh.
“I know. I’d hoped otherwise, but I know. I’m sorry, Katherine. If you’d only said yes, I’d have never told you. I’d have spared you the heartache.”
Zusa felt her heart begin to race as her mind immediately went to the most dire of assumptions.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
Daverik shook his head.
“I am not the only one to meet with Laerek tonight. The Widow was to meet him as well, but only after.”
Her racing heart stopped. Her stomach clenched.
“After what?” she asked.
“After killing Alyssa Gemcroft.”
Zusa flung herself at him, grabbing his neck so she might slam him against the wall.
“Why?” she screamed. “What have we done to deserve this?”
“I am not the one you should be angry with,” Daverik said, clutching her wrist. “I didn’t set this in motion. Alyssa represents something that is an affront to Karak, something that must be brought low to make way for his return.”
“Return? Whose return?”
Daverik shook his head.
“No time, Zusa. The Widow is just a puppet, a minor player in all this. Even Laerek is but a mouthpiece for the real force working behind everything. Alyssa is already dead. I’ll tell you where to find Laerek, but you must hurry. Take vengeance on him, before he leaves Veldaren forever.”
Zusa’s grip tightened, and she almost strangled the life from her former lover.
“Don’t be a fool,” he said in a raspy voice, fighting to breathe through her grasp. “Kill the one responsible, then come with me. We’ll leave this all behind. You’ll never feel pain again, not like this. Don’t go back. You don’t want to see it.”
“No,” she said, letting him go. “You’ve never understood me, Daverik, and you never will.”
With every last bit of strength she ran toward the Connington mansion, daggers at the ready, long cloak billowing.
Daverik watched her go, and his heart ached at the sight. He loved her, so much he loved her, but time and trials had changed her, warped her into something he only vaguely recognized.
“Such a shame,” he whispered.
He heard Ezra land behind him, quiet as a cat landing on padded feet.
“She still will not accept you, will she?” she asked.
Daverik shook his head.
“Zusa is too far gone, and whatever love she has for me is not enough to bring her back.”
He looked over his shoulder, saw her drawing her daggers. Daverik once more thought of the softness of Zusa’s skin, the way his lips had brushed her neck, and then cast aside the sinful memories so he might give his Faceless her order.
“She’ll interfere if she can. Kill her, and if the Widow cannot fulfill his task, then kill Alyssa as well.”
Ezra stepped closer, rubbing her wrapped face against his shoulder while leering up at him.
“You risked much for an old love,” she said. “Deborah just barely lives, and others of the temple are not so lucky.”
“The dead go to Karak, their souls claimed and protected,” Daverik snapped. “Zusa is greater than any of them, yet she will burn, only burn. I had to try.”
Ezra smirked as she stepped away to give chase.
“Tell me,” she said. “Would you have risked for my soul as you have for hers?”
He could not answer, and he felt his neck flush with the shame.
“I thought not,” Ezra said. “Dangerous games, Daverik. You play such dangerous games...”
She ran, to murder the only woman Daverik had ever loved. The act was just, of course, a necessary fate for a woman who had blasphemed against Karak. But he would find no comfort in it, no solace.
“Forgive me, Zusa,” he told the night. “Perhaps, after an eternity, I might one day hold your body against mine. But I’ve given you enough chances. I wash my hands of this. Your fault, not mine, dear Katherine...”