glance at the setting sun. In daylight, she spent time with a charming Yoren and his favored mercenaries. She laughed as they sparred, told filthy jokes, and took turns trading verbal barbs at each other’s prowess in blade, bow, and bed. Her meals with Theo Kull, poorer quality than what she might have had at her father’s, were still plentiful.
But her bruises never faded. Every night Yoren reapplied them. It didn’t matter how willingly she gave herself to him. He liked the feel of his fingers around her neck. He liked the way her moans paused and broke by her repeated gasps for air. He even liked it when she struggled, which she did only when he demanded it of her.
“Something the matter?” Yoren asked beside her.
“Thinking of home,” she said, hoping the comment was innocent enough for the inquiry to end. The two sat before an enormous bonfire, their arms linked. The contact felt like a perverse lie to Alyssa, but she endured. With her free hand she secretly fondled the dagger hidden in her skirts. She’d thought of using it several times. Once she had even reached for her discarded dress and the dagger hidden within, right when Yoren was climaxing and his hands seemed to clutch her throat with inhuman strength. As her fingers had touched the hilt, he’d finally relented.
One of the mercenaries tossed another large log onto the bonfire, startling her from her thoughts with his shout.
“Where’s the music we was promised? I’ve got a song to sing, yet no music to sing it with. I ain’t singing without no song!”
Alyssa faked a smile. The cold of winter had come on strong with the approaching night, and the mercenaries had successfully begged permission to build a bonfire to ward away the cold. The bulk of the camp, minus some servants and patrolling men, was seated around that bonfire. Veldaren’s walls were in the far distance, but Alyssa felt certain that anyone walking along their breadth could spot their fire with ease.
“Here’s your music,” one sellsword shouted, following it up with loud a burp.
“Give me some more of Gunter’s cooking, and I’ll give you some music of my own,” another man shouted. Gunter, whose cooking was renowned, but his priggish attitude loathed, raised a forefinger and shook it at the mercenary. He got a finger right back, and it wasn’t the forefinger. The men around him howled with laughter, and soon a chorus of bodily noises sang in Gunter’s direction.
“I think the king should be treated to such skillful musicians,” Alyssa said, laughing in spite of her quiet mood. This earned her a chorus of cheerful agreements.
“A sign of a good leader,” Theo said, sitting on the other side of Yoren. “You inspire love in men, Alyssa. Good things surely await your rule of the Gemcroft estate.”
“A rule I may never have,” Alyssa said, the naming of her father’s house souring her smile. “But while the sun is setting and the moon rising, let us speak of more certain and happier things, such as the opening of another cask of cider!”
The mercenaries roared, and when Theo nodded in approval, they cheered.
“They wouldn’t be so boisterous if they knew what I had planned for them on the morrow,” Theo said, lowering his voice for just the three of them.
“They would,” Yoren said, “but only after an extra round of drink or two. Keeping them in the dark is cheaper.”
Theo laughed, and Alyssa laughed along, her mind racing. So far she knew little of what the two men planned. When one of their servant boys returned from the city with news that Keenan had moved the Kensgold to outside the walls, neither had been upset. In fact, they had seemed almost overjoyed.
A young woman slipped through the men, doing her best to ignore the few comments she received and the occasional grab at her body.
“Milord,” she said, bowing to Theo. “The two women are here.”
Theo sighed.
“Send them on over.”
The woman bowed and then hurried away. A minute later two of the faceless stepped into the light of the great bonfire. Neither bowed to Theo Kull upon arrival.
“Welcome back to my camp,” Theo said. “Next time, please introduce yourself to my guards, not the serving women. Shadow-walkers or not, I’d prefer you to follow protocol like every normal human being.”
“Your women argue less,” said the one on the left. Alyssa recognized her sharp voice as Zusa’s. “They also hold their tongues. Safer for all involved.”