Free Shadowdance 01 - A Dance of Cloaks by David Dalglish Page B

woman might say kept her from doing so.
    They hurried down a long hall. Over twenty windows stretched along the right, their glass covered by violet curtains. On the left hung paintings of former masters of the Gemcroft estate. A hysterical laugh died in her throat as she wondered if her own painting would someday hang on that wall. She also wondered if she’d live long enough for someone to paint it.
    I come for my crown
, she thought.
What the bloody Abyss has come over me?
    She wanted none of this. When she’d returned to Veldaren, she’d meant to berate her father, show him his cowardice and hesitance and by doing so spur him into harsher dealings with the guilds. Once that business was done, she’d hoped to breach the subject of Yoren Kull, and of how they’d spent many nights together, and amid whispers atop pillows, murmured promises of marriage. But to usurp her father before the waning of the moon? To have strange women slaughtering guards loyal to her own flesh and blood? No, this was a dream, a nightmare. She tried to tell herself she would be a better ruler. She tried to tell herself she was ready.
    She didn’t believe a word of it.
    They reached the end of the hall. Eliora slipped through the empty doorway, silent as a ghost. A guard stood to the right of it, and he died with a dagger in his throat and a hand wrapped over his mouth. As she watched the blood spill across the floor, Alyssa remembered the questions her father had asked. What did the Kull household plan? Nothing, she’d insisted.
    Nothing but your elimination
, she thought. Dimly she wondered if her own eyes were as covered as Eliora’s with her thin white cloth.
    Once certain no more guards were about, Eliora waved Alyssa on through.
    “Is there anyone who might help supervise the Gemcroft estate?” the faceless woman asked as they passed through a series of bedrooms. “An advisor or a wise man, perhaps?”
    “My father does have an advisor,” Alyssa said. She remembered Eliora’s earlier warning and lowered her voice. “Though I cannot recall his name.”
    “Do you remember his face?”
    She nodded.
    “Describe him.”
    A face flashed before her eyes, that of an older man with a short white beard and a shaved head. His eyebrows she especially remembered. He had shaven them regularly, and as a little girl she had been fascinated by the strange way it made his face look.
    Eliora bobbed her head up and down, looking like a doll with its head off balance as Alyssa described the man.
    “Will you hurt him?” she asked when done.
    “No,” Eliora said. “Now I know, I will let him live. The elder man is the key to your take-over. To the common worker and guard, there is little difference when the figurehead changes names, so long as their immediate master stays the same.”
    The faceless woman stopped at another hallway and glanced in both directions.
    “Which way to your father’s bedroom?” she asked.
    Alyssa thought for a moment.
    “Left,” she said. “Not far from my own.”
    “Stay here, and stay silent,” Eliora said. “There will be guards.”
    The shadow cloak swirled about her body, her limbs and head fading away into a shapeless blob of black and gray. Only the serrated dagger shone bright and true in her violet hand. Alyssa glanced behind her every few moments, feeling almost certain a guard would find her alone and helpless. She had turned down numerous offers of training, and had been taught only rudimentary self-defense while living with John Gandrem at Felwood Castle. As she stood there, she wished she had taken those offers. She’d have given up anything if it meant holding a blade without fear of the shouts she heard throughout the mansion.
    The core of anger hidden in her breast flared. She had stridden into her father’s house as cocksure as any man might have. Had the chill of the cells stolen that away from her? She was the rightful heir, and after the embarrassment of five years of secret warfare