Shadowdance 01 - A Dance of Cloaks

one way or another.”
    “And if they refuse?”
    Maynard Gemcroft’s eyes glinted with danger.
    “Then we reveal their existence, all while flooding the city with rumors of human sacrifice and murdered children. Let the mobs burn their temple and tear them limb from limb. We shall see if they remain neutral when
that
is the fate I offer.”

CHAPTER
6
    K ayla wasn’t sure what she’d expected of Thren’s safe house upon first arriving there, but the elegant mansion surrounded by steel bars was certainly not it. She spent the day scouting the place, meeting new members, committing faces to memory. All throughout, Haern made excuses to see her, not that she minded. Having Thren’s son with her seemed to make everyone treat her with more respect.
    When her tour of the place was done, she returned to the room, Haern in tow like a lovesick puppy.
    “Can’t have asked for a nicer room,” she said as she plopped down onto the bed. At the door, Haern remained, as if embarrassed to come farther inside. “So how did your father get such an … impressive building to be his safe house?”
    “Some rich merchant fled the city with his family,” Haern said, his voice much quieter than it had been during their flight from the soldiers. “The Kanes, I think they were called. All his helpers stayed to keep the mansion clean, warm, and safe. My father moved in shortly after. I’ve even heard he keeps a few business contracts with various men about the city while pretending to be a friend of the real owner.”
    “What happens when the merchant returns to his home?” she asked.
    “He will not return until our war is done,” Haern said. “By then, we will need this place no longer.”
    Kayla thought the logic sound, but in the back of her mind she wondered what might happen if the merchant showed up with his possessions and servants and the rest of his guards. She doubted it would be Thren who ended up looking for a new home.
    “Wait,” she said when the boy made to leave.
    “Your name,” she said when he stopped halfway through the door. “I suppose I should start calling you Aaron now?”
    He looked away, and his neck flushed red.
    “I suppose you should,” he said. “But…”
    “But…?” she pressed when his voice trailed off.
    “But I like not being myself,” he said, unable to meet her eye. His fingers tugged at loose splinters in the door. “I liked you not knowing who I was. That meant I could be anyone. So you can call me Haern if you want. Just not … just not around my father. I don’t think he’d like that.”
    And then he was gone. Kayla shook her head, deciding she was more confused now than before she’d asked the question.
    “Kayla?”
    She looked up, saw one of the younger members of the Spider Guild standing at the door.
    “Yes?” she asked.
    “Thren wants to see you.”
    She let out a sigh, then waved him away. At last she’d find out just what the man wanted from her. Sitting in her room with nothing to do would drive her insane.
    As she walked through the estate, marveling at various paintings of the faraway lands of Omn, Ker, and Mordan, she let her mind wander to her own situation. She had avoided guilds, instead relying on her information and her contacts to keep herself warm, fed, and safe. Now she had allied herself with the most dangerous man in Veldaren, and for what? A vague promise of wealth, the same vague promise that she had mocked hundreds of others for following?
    No, it wasn’t the wealth. It was the power, she realized. He had offered her a role at his side, the highest reward he could bestow. If the entire city quaked in fear at the name of Felhorn, might not the same one day happen for Kayla? A foolish fantasy, perhaps, but she could not shake it away. It sucked wisdom from her heart like a leech. She distantly hoped that her reward for such folly would not be too severe.
    The hall of paintings ended at Thren’s room. She knocked twice, then waited patiently. A moment later the door crept open, and a mailed hand waved her in. She entered, passing between two guards with their dirks drawn. Inside was a plush room of velvet reds and silky yellows. An enormous bed, its wood painted silver and its knobs carved into pairs of wings, was in the far corner. In the center of the room was a rectangular table with six chairs, seeming like a strange joke with its dull finish and undecorated nature amid a sea of decadence.
    Thren sat in the middle seat facing the