It was as direct a challenge he could make without proof. Instead of rattling Thren, it only made him smile.
“You’ve attempted to usurp control of my guild,” Thren said as the thieves on either side of him stood, reaching for their weapons. “You lied about killing the Watcher, and led my men to their deaths in a battle you had no stake in. You are no longer welcome in my home. Go elsewhere, old friend, for you cannot stay here.”
Grayson’s hand drifted to his sword. All about, the tavern had gone deathly quiet. Hopelessly outnumbered, Grayson knew he could not win, not then.
“You fear me a threat, yet cannot run, so you would banish me instead,” he said. “You are a coward. You’ve never had the strength to face an opponent that might defeat you. Keep pretending you are strong. That’s what you did when Marion died. Why not continue?”
Thren was on his feet in a heartbeat, shortswords drawn.
“Say it,” he said, ice in his voice. “Say what you’ve always wanted to say, so I can kill you.”
“Say what?” Grayson asked, purposefully putting his back to Thren and walking for the door. “That you killed my sister? I would if it was true, but it ain’t.”
He stopped at the door, no one with the courage to get in his way. He looked over his shoulder, gave Thren one last smirk.
“She killed herself the day she married you.”
The door slammed shut behind him, and Grayson laughed. It’d been so long, he’d forgotten how great it felt to raise the ire of one so focused and controlled. But his humor hid the scars that Grayson himself had nearly forgotten. His poor Marion, in love with that fool. Now she was dead, and all her sons, as well. All because of Thren.
It would be such a pleasure killing him.
Entertaining the image of him plunging his sword through Thren’s throat, Grayson made his way toward the southern district. He might be late, but that was of little concern to him. The others would not leave. They’d need to hear of how things went. Whistling a tune, he cut through the alleys until he found one in particular, of little note but for the two men already there.
“I thought you wouldn’t show,” Daverik said.
“Why’s that?” asked Grayson.
“Because of how complete your failure was,” said Laerek, tugging at the hem of his priestly robes. Grayson chuckled and shook his head. Laerek was his and Daverik’s liaison from the west, speaking for the nameless man moving the various pieces in the game they currently played. Grayson was unaware of his full reasons, but so long as his Suns got to make their move on the streets of Veldaren, he really couldn’t care less.
“It was neither a failure, nor so complete,” Grayson said, unafraid of Laerek. He was a wisp of a man, thin, his nose long and his tongue sharp. He had no real power, just a glorified messenger for someone who had the gold and influence to bend both the guilds of Mordan and the priests of Karak to his will.
“All the guilds suffered tremendous casualties,” Daverik said. “Victor’s patrols kept them from causing too much chaos. As for Lady Gemcroft’s place, well...”
“Should have been there, Laerek,” Grayson said, crossing his arms and leaning against a wall. “Dead as far as the eye could see. Doesn’t matter that Alyssa still lives. Her mansion is in pieces, and the guilds are no threat to us anymore.”
“Then who is a threat?” Laerek asked.
“The Trifect still is,” Daverik said, and Grayson noted the uncomfortable look on his face as he said it. “That, and Victor. His arrival has...complicated things.”
“Trifect should have been taken care of,” Laerek said. “You assured me your Faceless could kill Alyssa without difficulty.”
“There were complications.”
“Complications?”
Grayson laughed out loud.
“He means that devil woman in the gray cloak. I watched her tear through her enemies like they were straw men. Love to have an hour with her in bed. But so long as she’s guarding Alyssa, I doubt anyone’s killing her.”
Laerek looked to Daverik for confirmation, who nodded.
“She killed two of my Faceless,” he said. “Her name is Zusa. She was once a member of the Faceless herself, years ago.”
“Then she needs to be eliminated,” Laerek said. “If your Faceless cannot handle her, then perhaps I will send our third after her.”
Grayson grunted.
“They’re calling him the Widow now,” he said. “Some sick joke he is. Not sure what you think he’ll accomplish against...”
“Leave that to me,” Laerek snapped.
Grayson shrugged. Laerek had made it clear that there were three key players working together in Veldaren. Two were Grayson and Daverik, but as for the third, he’d never met him, nor even seen his face. He only knew what everyone else knew: he killed members of the Spider Guild, took their eyes, and mocked them in rhymes written in their blood.