Shadowdance 01 - A Dance of Cloaks

shifted uncomfortably as her grandmother muttered and looked around the kitchen.
    “All right,” Gran said. “I don’t like this one bit, but here’s what we’ll do. I’ll hurry out and find a guard. You stay right where you are. If that boy starts kicking and shoving at the door, you watch the latch at the top. That dagger starts moving, or the wood starts to break, you run your skinny ass out to the streets and the nearest guard station. Am I understood?”
    Delysia tucked her hands behind her back and lowered her head. That always seemed to please Gran best when she was lecturing.
    “Yes, Gran,” the girl said.
    Gran was still frowning when she hurried back to her bedroom. She was only in her shift, and dead body or no dead body, she wasn’t going out indecent. Once she had on a dull beige dress and a red scarf, she returned to the kitchen and kissed her granddaughter on the forehead.
    “Be safe, and may Ashhur watch over you,” she said.
    “I’ll be careful,” Delysia said. Gran’s eyes darted over to the pantry as if a monster lurked within.
    “You better. Remember, second it looks weak, you run like the wind.”
    When she was gone, Delysia sat down on the expensive chair. She picked at the fine cloth on the cushion, not seeing how it was really any different from the other chair. She’d left it in front of the pantry door, thinking maybe if the door burst open it might cause the boy to stumble. With his mask on, she hadn’t had a chance to see much of his face, only his blond hair peeking out from the top.
    The candles slowly flickered and burned. The longer Gran was gone, the more slowly the seconds seemed to crawl. Delysia hadn’t realized just how quiet the mansion had gotten. For as long as she could remember, cats had lived underneath the floor of their home, sneaking in and out of holes her family could never find. She heard them crawling now, thumping against boards and beams. Every time she heard one, her skin crawled. They’d never bothered her before, but now she imagined men with daggers instead of cats with kittens.
    In that quiet, she heard a muffled noise within the pantry.
    Delysia tensed. Even her breathing halted. She listened for something, anything. Another noise, this time like a foot dragging along the floor. The young man was getting up. She thought about shoving the back of the chair against the pantry door, but knew it would do no good. There was nothing for it to hook under. She’d have to trust the dagger.
    Suddenly the door rocked outward. She heard objects rattling within, and the wood creaked as the dagger caught inside the latch. Despite herself, Delysia let out a shrill scream.
    That seemed to puzzle whoever was inside. She heard him speak, his voice muffled but still understandable.
    “You’re alive?”
    Delysia wasn’t sure how to respond.
    “Of course I am,” she said. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
    She heard a loud thump within. It sounded like he’d sat down with his back against the door.
    “Then I didn’t fail,” she heard him say, though whether to her or himself, she didn’t know.
    “My granny is getting the guard,” Delysia said, thinking if she could keep him talking he wouldn’t start beating on the door. Of course, with that being her plan, she realized how dumb it was to admit guards were coming. She smacked her forehead and hoped she hadn’t screwed up too badly.
    “Guards?” the boy said. “Good, you’ll be safe.”
    Delysia stared at the door, certain she had misheard.
    “What was that?” she asked.
    “I said good, you’ll be safe.”
    She blinked. Why would someone who had broken into her home care if she was safe, unless…
    “What are you doing here?” she asked.
    “Protecting you,” said the boy.
    “From who?”
    “The men who killed your father.”
    That sent an icy chill down her spine. She’d tried to forget the body in the hallway, tried to forget the horrible moment when her father had collapsed amid his followers. Why did people want her dead? Why did they want her father dead?
    “We never hurt anyone,” she said, tears forming in her eyes. “Why did they do this, my father was good! He was good, real good, more than I’ll ever be … why did … why…”
    Delysia cried. The young man inside remained silent the whole while. For some reason she found that rather kind of him.
    “My name is Haern,” said the pantry once her crying died down to just sniffles.
    “Hello, Haern,” she replied. “I’m