Alyssa glanced back, saw the same guard watching them with a sneer on his face.
“Perhaps on the way out,” she said, and they both quietly laughed.
Another guard stopped them at the door, and he glared at the daggers Zusa carried.
“No weapons,” he told them.
“Zusa is my bodyguard, and will use them only to protect me,” Alyssa said.
“There is no need. You are safe within these walls.”
“Is that so?” Alyssa asked. “How long have you served the Conningtons, good sir?”
“Nine years,” said the guard.
“That means you were here. Excellent. Please, tell me, where were you when your former master died?”
The guard swallowed hard. Leon had died in the mansion barracks, believed by most to have been killed by the Watcher.
“Very well,” said the guard. “But do not draw them unless forced.”
The doors opened, and they stepped inside. Alyssa had been there before, after its reconstruction from the fire during the Bloody Kensgold. The floors were still soft, deep red rugs she knew had to be a nightmare to keep clean. The ceiling was high above her, the wood columns decorated with various animals. But where there should have been vases on tables were only bare surfaces. Where there should have been paintings and murals, bare walls.
“Much missing extravagance,” Zusa said, keeping her voice soft.
“Perhaps their coffers are worse than we thought,” Alyssa said.
Zusa didn’t look convinced. She gestured to where many portraits of Leon were clearly missing.
“Or the son looked upon the father, and did not like what he saw.”
At the end of the hall they waited until a servant stepped in, announced their presence, and then flung open the door. A practiced smile on her face, Alyssa went in to greet the new heir to the Connington fortune.
She knew he’d be young, only eighteen if their information on him was true, but she was still surprised by his small size, his soft face, and even softer hands, as he bent on one knee, bowed low, and kissed her offered fingers. Alyssa felt her smile grow more natural. He may not have spent his early life in affluence, but he’d learned quickly over the past year.
“I’m thrilled to at last make your acquaintance,” Stephen said, his voice tinged with a charming honesty. “I must admit, ever since my appointment, you were the one I was most nervous to meet.”
“May I ask why?”
“Your beauty, of course,” he said, and Alyssa caught his nervous glances about the room, his struggle to meet her eye. “That, and your unpredictability. Would you care for something to drink?”
They were in a cozy study, one wall covered with books, another with maps of Dezrel. Between the chairs was a small table, currently empty. When Alyssa agreed, Stephen noticeably calmed, calling out orders for servants and offering seats to his guests. Alyssa sat opposite him at the table, while Zusa refused, instead lurking behind Alyssa’s chair with her arms draped protectively over her neck. The embrace was a bit over-familiar for public, but Alyssa let it be. It amused her to see how Stephen’s eyes kept glancing their way.
As various cakes and fruits were placed before them, Stephen sat down and cleared his throat.
“I must confess, milady, that I asked you here with reason, one that you will…well, one that you’ll find surprising.”
“I’ve had advisors attempt to take my life, lovers turn to madmen, and my son brought to me from the dead.” Alyssa smiled at him. “I daresay you have a difficult task if you think you can surprise me.”
Stephen cleared his throat, but she saw a gleam in his eye piercing through his nervousness. He looked…pleased. She tried not to show it as she nibbled on a sweetcake, but a bit of worry crept up her belly. What if he did have something worthy of surprise?
“Alyssa…milady…what do you remember of your mother?”
The cake caught in her throat, and it took all of her control to keep her from launching into an unseemly coughing fit. Her mother? Why did he ask of her mother?
“She died when I was young,” she said once she had swallowed. “The servants would not tell me the reason, and my father would only say that she left. I presume you think you know the truth of the matter?”
Stephen stood, as if unable to sit any longer.
“That I would, if you’d…”
She waved a hand dismissively, interrupting him.
“I am no fool, Stephen, and rumors are no stranger to me. I know what happened, if that is all you’d tell me. My mother was unfaithful to my father, and he…” She shook her head. “I love my father, but he was right to hide it from me. I’m not sure I’d have forgiven him, certainly not back then. She was given to Leon’s…your father’s gentle touchers. I can only pray they were merciful.”
She felt Zusa’s palm cup against her face, and she closed her eyes and leaned against it, accepting the comfort. When Alyssa looked again, Stephen was approaching the other door to the room.
“Well then,” he said, unable to hold back a grin. “Everything you have said is true. But you are still wrong.”
He opened the door, then stepped back.
“Alyssa,” he said, “may I present to you Melody Gemcroft.”
Alyssa’s heart stopped. Standing in the hall, as if afraid to enter through the doorway, was a woman from a dream. Her eyes had sunken further, and many new wrinkles stretched across her lips and face, but the hair was the same, the ears, the nose, all the same as the woman who had sat on Alyssa’s bed, candle in hand, and read story after story until sleep had taken her away. A thousand memories assaulted her, many long forgotten. Of brushing each other’s hair. Of strict discipline and teaching of etiquette. The way she’d flicked her nose with a finger whenever she grabbed the wrong utensil at dinner. The smell of crushed flowers every time they’d embraced.
“Mother,” Alyssa whispered.
Tears swelled in Melody’s eyes, but they did not fall. She took a few tentative steps inside, and then Alyssa was on her feet. Their hug was careful, slow, as if each were afraid of the other. When they separated, Alyssa looked deeply into that tired, pale face and was convinced beyond a doubt. She didn’t know what to feel. Didn’t know what it meant.
“How?” she asked.
“Not now,” Melody said. “But…it is good to see you, Alyssa. You’ve grown to be so beautiful, just like I knew you would.”
“She still needs her rest,” Stephen said, gently taking Melody’s hand. “I’ll explain what I can. Servant?”
He snapped his fingers, and when the stiff-necked servant arrived, he directed the man to take Melody back to her room. Feeling as if the world were spinning, Alyssa watched her long-dead mother be led away. Her stomach cramping, she went back to her chair, where Zusa remained leaning against the top, a guarded expression on her face.
“Is it true?” Zusa whispered as she sat.
“I think so.” Alyssa felt like she walked in a dream, one where the dead had come back to life. Would Maynard be revealed next, having lived in hiding after taking an arrow to the chest? She looked to Stephen, who appeared ready to burst with pride.
“How?” she asked again.
“Your father did give Melody over to my father’s gentle touchers,” Stephen said, sipping from his drink. “He even paid for it. But they didn’t kill her. I believe my father fancied her beauty, from what I have learned. I will spare you all I know, but her detention was…unkind, as you can imagine. When Leon was killed, everything here was chaos. It was several years before the caretakers would even acknowledge my presence, let alone my true birthright. None of us knew who Melody was, for she would say nothing, and we had no record of her existence. Even the gentle touchers didn’t know for certain.”
He took another drink. Alyssa felt chills, imagining years crawling by trapped in Leon’s dungeon. Stephen was right; she could imagine the ‘unkind’ tortures he’d have subjected her to. How long might it have been? Struggling to remember, she thought back to when she’d first heard of her mother’s disappearance, a year before the Bloody Kensgold. That put it at near ten years. Ten years in darkness. No wonder her eyes had sunken in, and her thin frame had been unable to fill the simple violet dress she wore.