9
S he knew Garrick would want an explanation, but Veliana delayed seeing him as long as possible. The longer he wondered and worried, the better. She wanted him to feel belittled, to realize her contempt for him. Anything else might make him think things were different. At last one of their young guild rats found her at a tavern on the other side of the city and informed her of Garrick’s request.
“Tell him I’m on my way,” she said, flicking the boy a copper piece. “But I still plan on finishing my drink first.”
She nursed it for another half-hour. By then several men arrived, all wearing the dark gray of the Ash Guild. They were recent recruits to the guild, men she realized she knew very little about. Garrick’s men, then. Again she cursed herself for being so blind to the man’s ambition. Of course she’d vetted them, knew their names, but that was the limit of her influence upon them.
“Garrick’s waiting,” said one. He was named Gil, if she remembered correctly. Why had she let him in? He looked like a dog had shit out a muscular version of itself that happened to walk on two legs.
“Surely he has more important problems,” she said, draining the last of her glass.
“Than insubordination? No, Veliana, he doesn’t.”
She shot him a wink as she stood.
“Lead on, boys. Three to one to take me to the dance? I feel honored.”
“Shut it.”
It was an hour until sunset, and in the orange glow Veliana felt exposed wearing their cloaks as they traversed across the city. They were deep in Spider territory, and instead of trying to travel through the less profitable outskirts, they marched together through its very center. She saw a few men in the softer gray cloaks, but they did not accost them, nor hail for an explanation. Strange.
Deathmask was already waiting in the chamber when Veliana arrived. Garrick sat on his cushions, smoking as usual. He looked incredibly pleased, which threw her off. She expected him to be ranting and raving. And why was Deathmask there? Was she about to witness another attempt on his life? Not counting herself or Deathmask, twelve men gathered about. All were armed. She felt her worry grow. What if this wasn’t for the stranger they’d invited? What if this was for her execution?
Her hands brushed the daggers at her hip. If it came to that, she’d take Garrick down with her, no matter the cost. Better the Ash Guild dissolved leaderless than continue in the hands of that paranoid bastard.
“You know how to keep a gentleman waiting,” Garrick said as she arrived.
“I’m sure Deathmask will forgive me.”
Garrick chuckled, not at all bothered by the slight.
“Well, we’re all here now. Before we begin…Vel, would you care to hand over your daggers? I’d hate for someone to get hurt.”
It took all her concentration to hide her panic. Should she do it? If she refused, it might make her seem all the more rebellious. Its meaning might also be taken to a far worse, though truthful, extreme. She glanced at Deathmask, and during the brief moment their eyes connected, she saw the corner of his mouth curl into a grin, followed by a wink.
Trusting him, she handed over her daggers and crossed her arms.
“I trust I won’t like what I’m about to hear if you’d insult me so,” she said.
“Perhaps, but I am not the one who shall be speaking.” He turned to Deathmask. “Tell me, please, why Veliana is still alive.”
All about men murmured, and she wondered how they were interpreting that statement.
“I do not understand,” Deathmask said, feigning confusion. “Is there a reason she should not be?”
“Don’t lie to me. I know she attacked you last night. One of my men watched your exchange. Tell me, why is it you didn’t kill her? She did, after all, try to kill you.”
“I assumed it just a training exercise,” Deathmask said, the lie smooth on his tongue. “Veliana confirmed as much near the end of our fight. Was I wrong in my assumption? Was her response to me a lie?”
This was clearly not the answer Garrick had expected. He frowned and shifted in his cushion.
“Yes, you damn fool, you were wrong, and she a liar. You should be dead, yet are not.”
Veliana held her tongue. What game was Garrick playing? She’d warned him at revealing attempts to murder an accepted member without reason or proof, yet here he was exposing his plans to the guild, and not just that, but showing how they had failed.
“For what reason would she attack me?” Deathmask asked.
“Isn’t it obvious? She fears you. She knows with your skill you might quickly ascend to take her place. Isn’t that right, Veliana?”
He grinned at her, his bloodshot eyes twinkling. Veliana’s hands shook as she choked down her outrage. So that was it. He’d cast the shame of a failed inner-guild execution on her, and if she tried to deny it, it was her word against his. Her word against the word of their guildmaster. One clearly outranked the other. The punishment for such a charge was limited to two options: banishment, or death.
Staring at that grin, she knew which option Garrick had already chosen.
“You planned this from the start,” she said, her voice nearly a whisper. Garrick stood and stepped closer as the rest of the guild tensed. They understood the accusation, and they too knew the possible punishments.
“I merely took advantage of an opportunity,” he whispered so only she could hear. She glared at Deathmask, suddenly wondering how many of his promises had been lies. Perhaps all of them. He’d set her up, she realized. She’d wasted time debating and discussing with Zusa when she should have killed the bastard. All attempts on his life had been made in secret, with no one else informed. They’d all died as well. No one could prove Garrick’s attempts. Once more, his word against hers. Damn it all!
“As you know,” Garrick said, raising his voice to a theatrical level as he turned his back to her. “Our laws are clear for such an attempt. We cannot have anarchy within our ranks, not in this crucial time while we fight for our very survival.” He spun. “You will be made an example, Veliana, one for the entire guild to see.”
“Guildmaster, if I may make a request,” said Deathmask. Garrick seemed worried, but he gestured for him to continue. “Since it was my life she tried to take, I ask that I be the one to carry out her punishment.”
“You fuck,” she said, her hands clenched tight into fists. “You sick little fuck.”
She feinted a lunge at Garrick and then hurled herself at Deathmask. She was unarmed, but even with her bare hands she knew a multitude of ways to kill. If she could strike him just right, crush his throat or snap his neck, then at least she’d die taking revenge. Her fist slammed into his mouth, just in case he attempted to cast a spell. With her other fist she doubled him over with a blow to the stomach. She heard men shouting, but she stepped closer and wrapped her arms around his neck. Just a single hard twist and then…
Something hard smacked the back of her head. Her stomach heaved, and her whole body went limp. Deathmask pulled free, and he shouted for the others to leave her be.
“She is mine,” he said. “Guildmaster, I ask, is your punishment for this madwoman execution?”
“It is,” said Garrick. He sounded amused by her display.
Her helpless rage grew. The men let her go, but it took all her strength to stand. Already a knot grew on the back of her head. She felt ready to vomit. Deathmask closed the distance, and her wild punch missed. He grabbed her by the throat and flung her against a wall. A dagger flashed from his belt and pressed against her neck.