Shadowdance 01 - A Dance of Cloaks

of the Trifect, the three wealthiest families of merchants, nobles, and power brokers in all of Dezrel. On that night Thren Felhorn had led an uprising of thief guilds against the Trifect, burning down one of their mansions and attempting to annihilate their leaders. He’d failed, and his guild had broken down to a fraction of its former size. On that night Alyssa had assumed control after the death of her father, victim to an arrow as they’d fought to protect their home.
    “I know,” Bertram said. “Is that what distracts you so? Leon and Laurie have both agreed to delay another Kensgold until this dangerous business is over with.”
    “And when will that be?” she asked as another servant arrived with a silver cup of wine. “I hide here in my mansion, fearful of my food and scared of every shadow in my bedroom. We cannot defeat the guilds, Bertram. We’ve broken them, fractured many to pieces, but it’s like smashing a puddle with a club. They all come back together, under new names, new leaders.”
    “The end is approaching,” Bertram said. “This is Thren’s war, and he champions it with the last of his strength. But he is not so strong, not so young. His Spider Guild is far from the force it used to be. In time the other guilds will see reason and turn against him. Until then, we have only one choice left before us, and that is to endure.”
    Alyssa closed her eyes and inhaled the scent of the wine. For a moment she wondered if it was poisoned, but she fought the paranoia down. She would not sacrifice such a simple pleasure. She couldn’t give the rogues that much of a victory.
    Still, when she drank, it was a small sip.
    “You told me much the same after the Kensgold,” she said, setting down the cup. “As you have every year for the past five. The mercenaries have bled us dry. Our mines to the north no longer produce the yields they were renowned for. The king is too frightened to help us. How long until we eat in rags, without coin for servants and wood for fires?”
    “We are on the defensive,” Bertram said, accepting his own cup of wine. “Such is our fate for being a large target. But the bloodshed has slowed, you know that as well as I. Be patient. Let us bleed them as they bleed us. The last thing we want is to inflame their passions while we still appear weak and leaderless.”
    Alyssa felt anger flare in her chest, not only at the insult, but also at its damning familiarity.
    “Leaderless?” she asked. “I have protected the Gemcroft name for five years of shadow wars. I’ve brokered trade agreements, organized mercenaries, bribed nobles, and done everything as well as my father ever did, yet we are
leaderless
? Why is that, Bertram?”
    Bertram endured the rant without a shred of emotion on his face, and that only infuriated Alyssa further. Again she felt like a schoolchild before her teacher, and part of her wondered if that was exactly how her advisor viewed her.
    “I say this only because the rest of Dezrel believes it,” he said when she was finished. “You have no husband, and the only heir to the Gemcroft name is a bastard of unknown heritage.”
    “Don’t talk about Nathaniel that way,” she said, her voice turning cold. “Don’t you dare speak ill of my son.”
    Bertram raised his hands and spread his palms.
    “I meant no offense, milady. Nathaniel is a good child, smart too. But a lady of your station should be partnered with someone equally influential. You’ve had many suitors; surely you’ve taken a liking to one of them?”
    Alyssa took another sip of wine, her eyes glancing up at the shadowy corners of the dining hall.
    “Leave me,” she said. “All of you. We’ll speak of this another time.”
    Bertram stood, bowed, and followed the servants out.
    “Come down, Zusa,” she told the ceiling. “You know you’re always welcome at my table. There’s no need for you to skulk and hide.”
    Clinging like a spider to the wall, Zusa smiled down at her. With deceptive ease she let go, falling headfirst toward the carpet. A deft twist of her arms, a tuck of her knees, and she landed gracefully on her feet, her long cloak billowing behind her. Instead of any normal outfit she wore long strips of cloth wrapped around her body, hiding every inch of skin. Except for above her neck, Alyssa was still pleased to see. Zusa had once belonged to a strict order of Karak, the dark god. Upon her willful exile Zusa had cast aside the cloth from her face, revealing