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.
Zusa flew through the streets, legs pumping and head bobbing with her gasping of air. Too much, she thought, she was pushing herself too much. She’d undergone hunger and torture, the dagger in her right hand mostly numb as it clutched her dagger, yet she dared not waste a precious second resting, or recapturing her breath. A hundred images flashed through her mind, and every one of them was too painful to dwell on for long. She saw Alyssa lying on her bed, or the floor, or out in the garden of the estate, her eyes open but empty, silver coins staring up at the stars.
Through it all, the words of Vrashka echoed in her head, seemingly innocuous at first, but now so far from it.
I spent time with Stephen’s gentle touchers not so long ago, did you know that?
Why would Stephen have any connection with the priests of Karak, let alone have his family’s personal torturers training someone of their faith? There was an easy answer, but she didn’t want to believe it, didn’t want to acknowledge how it explained why the Widow might be able to get inside the mansion. So she ran, and prayed to any god other than Karak to let her beloved Alyssa be safe, and Nathaniel, as well. She’d promised him she’d always be there in the shadows to protect him. What if it wasn’t just Alyssa she found with eyes of silver, and a tongue of gold...
Zusa stumbled, her concentration broken by such nightmarish daydreaming. The empty streets spun before her, and she landed on her shoulder hard enough to elicit a cry of pain. Laying there, tears swelling, she saw a shape flying through the air behind her, solid dark but for the faint gray of the cloak trailing after.
No pause, no hesitation. Zusa rolled to her right, her cloak wrapping about her upper body. Ezra landed, her knee and dagger striking where she should have been. Zusa kicked at Ezra’s legs, but the woman leapt over it, diving toward her with both daggers leading. Arms trapped by her thick cloak, she pushed the fabric outward. Ezra’s daggers punched through it, but the handguards snagged when Zusa twisted and shoved to the side. Again she kicked, this time connecting with Ezra’s midsection. The Faceless Woman fell back so she might regain her balance. Zusa staggered to her feet, let her ragged cloak unfurl about her.