Zusa knelt before him, put her hands on his shoulders.
“All that matters is that you show her respect,” she said. “Do not fear for your mother, and give no thought to her enemies. I’ll be watching over her always, and no one is more dangerous than me.”
“What about the Watcher?” Nathaniel asked, and he cracked a smile.
Zusa kissed his forehead.
“Not even him. Now go, introduce yourself, and make sure John does, as well.”
He bowed, then hurried away. She watched him, biting her lip as he vanished around a corner. Hopefully if Melody and Nathaniel got along, it would ease Alyssa’s discomfort. Not that it would help Zusa any. She’d had no discomfort when Alyssa took lovers and potential suitors before. Why did this bother her so? She didn’t know. She didn’t care. Back in her room, she stripped naked, then retightened the wrappings about herself. Her mind drifted, as it often did during the lengthy, tedious task.
Alyssa had once asked why she didn’t wear regular clothes since she’d left the order of the Faceless Women. “Regular clothes get in the way,” she’d told her, and there was some truth to that. She could not leap and climb in a dress. But mostly it was that in applying the wrappings, loop over loop about her slender arms, legs, and waist, she felt herself sliding away. They were poor armor, but they protected her from the minds of men. Anyone seeing her knew she was different, and had to treat her as such. In combat, she was not a woman, but a specter, a mystery. At times she even thought to hide her face as she once did, but could not do it. That was her rebellion, however shallow it might be. Those who died to her daggers would die seeing her face, and in her eyes, they’d see no mercy, no grace, just a killer better than they.
Pulling her cloak back over her shoulders, she slipped out into the night. Alleys and rooftops passed by her, and she was dimly aware of them. At one time she’d been an assassin for her priests, and greatly feared by those aware of her existence. With enough coin given as donation, the temple of Karak could eliminate even the most powerful of lords. Rumors even told of kings and queens who had died to the Faceless for daring to publicly condemn faith in Karak. But now she was just one of many dangerous killers crawling the night, with little purpose, little meaning. Alyssa was her ward. The doings of thieves and murderers meant nothing to her.
Well, almost nothing. There was the Watcher...
“What brings you out this night?” asked Haern, as if her thoughts had summoned him into existence. Zusa turned. She crouched atop a spire of a mansion belonging to some minor lord who’d long since moved out of Veldaren to safer lands. Haern stood behind her, leaning against the chimney with a subdued smile on his face. He’d pulled back his hood, revealing his handsome face.
“Sometimes even mansions aren’t big enough,” she said.
Haern chuckled.
“I stayed in one for a few years, and was never allowed to leave except when at my father’s side. I explored every inch of it a hundred times, and I daresay they can seem quite small when they’re your whole world.”
He joined her side, and together they overlooked the city. The night was deep, and in the starlight the city seemed calm, empty, but that was not what Zusa sensed. There was a tightness in the air, and glancing at Haern, she saw she was not alone in feeling it. Perhaps it wasn’t just Melody that bothered her...
“Something the matter?” she asked him.
“Just Victor,” he said, not looking at her. “Still torn on what to think, and how much to trust him.”
“Victor?” she asked. He glanced her way, an eyebrow raised in disbelief.
“Where have you been today?” he asked.
“Busy.”
He shrugged.
“Look into it, then. I wouldn’t be surprised if he pays your mansion a visit tomorrow. A change is underway, and from the way he talks, I don’t think it is just the lowborn thieves he aims to scatter. Alyssa would do well to make friends with him.”
“I’ll remember.”
They fell silent again. As he stared, she looked him over. Ever since their time together in Angelport, he’d been a far more subdued person. Even now, as they relaxed underneath the moonlight, it looked like he carried a terrible weight on his shoulders. Zusa shook her head. He’d seen what might happen to Veldaren if he failed like in Angelport. The terror, the responsibility, it fueled him, yet drained him, as well. She wondered how long until he cracked, and could take no more.
Then again, she’d seen his strength. For good or ill, giving up didn’t ever seem to be an option with him. Slowly, carefully, as if reaching toward a frightened animal, she put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed. She wanted to be reassuring, but she knew so little of him, and even less of his deeper troubles.