Mallory repositioned her last pair of shoes and sat back on her heels with a sigh of satisfaction, surveying her now neat closet. Tanya's right, she admitted, cleaning is therapeutic....
Now for Duke's closet. Not long after they'd become lovers they had agreed that if they were going to share a single bed, they might as well share a single room too; and Mallory's attempts to reorganize efficiently had been the result-after, of course, an afternoon shopping spree at Kmart and Décor World with Tanya.
Duke, having some idea of how Mallory might be if interrupted, had left early this morning for a photo shoot with Wildwing and Nosedive. She knew well that it wasn't one of his favorite things to do; but as he'd kissed her goodbye, still heavy-eyed with sleep, he'd murmured I wanna give ya plenty o' room, sweetheart, and they'd laughed together at that.
Now, flinging his closet open, she was instantly dismayed. Everything on hangers. Everything neatly pressed. Even his shoes-and he only had three pairs to her twelve-neatly lined up.
Mallory released an irritated groan. Damn you, Duke! You didn't leave me anything to do!
But immediately she chastised herself. Come on, McMallard, you knew the man was a neat freak when you met him. Despite her annoyance, she found herself smiling. No sense in bitching about it now....
She got to her feet and dusted herself off, and was about to close the closet door when something caught her eye: a squarish shape, all but hidden behind the drape of one of his long coats. She bent and pulled it out: a shoebox.
Duke didn't tell me he'd bought anything, she said to herself; then she recognized the brand name. Hey, this is a Puckworld shoebox....
Carefully Mallory sank down on the edge of the bed, weighing the shoebox in her hands. This had to be for the stuff he'd brought with him from Puckworld-didn't feel like much of anything, but Canard had ordered that they travel light. She smiled again as she remembered her own shoebox-it had seemed, afterward, that she'd never get the wrinkles out of her favorite little red dress, but she'd insisted on cramming it in.
I wonder why he's never shown this to me? Maybe he's like some of the rest of us-we started chasing Dragaunus again so soon after we got here, maybe he put this back and forgot about it. Maybe, but that didn't seem likely.
Mallory frowned. Should I open this? There's got to be a reason he doesn't want me, or anyone else, seeing what's in here...if anything is...but dammit, we're lovers, and lovers don't keep secrets....
She took a deep breath and opened the box.
At first she thought it was empty, it was so light in her hands; but when she lifted the lid she could barely discern the edges of a long black envelope in its bottom, blending so perfectly with the interior of the shoebox as to be practically invisible.
She pulled the envelope out and dropped the box. The flat black packet was unsealed, though the flap was tucked in. Opening it revealed a sheaf of paper-very thin, ivory-tinted, expensive-looking paper.
Mallory paused. Letters. Maybe love letters, she thought, scowling; though the paper looked much too official for that. Why was Duke hiding this? More importantly, why was he keeping it? It had to be more than sentimental value.
Maybe leftovers from his Brotherhood days, she told herself. He's still not comfortable talking about that. Maybe I should just respect that, and put these back-I know he wouldn't like to feel I was prying.
But curiosity was getting the better of her. She shared a bed with this man, a room, a life. He'd shared so much with her already, she had a right to know what was going on....
She pulled the papers out of the envelope and riffled through them. Part of her had expected-and dreaded-some indication of the feminine, maybe a graceful handwriting or a trace of perfume. But it was not to be; the ink was obviously of a high quality but the large bold script that stared up at her, if it could be called script, was hard and scratchy, definitely masculine. Hmmm....
And she began to read.
Duke-
You must talk to me. If you won't talk to me then I can't help you; and as it stands you've raised enough suspicion already by the way you're acting. If people here think we're quits then they'll think you're guilty. Surely I don't have to remind you that what we're dealing with here is murder?
Stop asking me if I think you killed Halmar Sharpwing. You know I don't. He didn't like me anymore than you, after all. But the fact remains that the man is dead.
I'm not accusing you. The evidence is accusing you. I was there, Duke. I found him, and I saw what was there. A handful of grey feathers may be precious little to base a murder charge on, but given the circumstances you've got to admit that it's pretty damning. Like it or not, old boy, you've got yourself a fine task talking your way out of this one.
The Assembly suspects you because you have done nothing to make them trust you. Don't tell me that you're only thinking of the Brotherhood. I say you aren't thinking at all. You are the leader of the Assembly and you should know better than anyone what must be done. Running from this problem won't solve it-anymore than will throwing money at it, for all your insistence that I do so.
Mallory froze, her breathing suddenly suspended.
I'm not reading this right, I can't be reading this right, there's got to be some mistake-
But try as she might to puzzle it out, her gaze kept returning to those damning lines.
...what we're dealing with here is murder.... the man is dead....
Murder. Murder. If this was from someone in the Brotherhood-Duke had killed someone- Frantically she scanned the page, but the end of the letter was short and cold:
Be prepared to take action.
Jezrael
And Mallory started to cry.
After a while she wiped her eyes and looked at the letter again. There had to be some explanation for this....
Jezrael. She knew that name. Jezrael...Swordfeather. She knew who he was, of course; who wouldn't recognize the name of the richest man on Puckworld? And Duke had mentioned him a few times: they'd been in the Brotherhood together, they were great friends...and yet there was something else, spinning round in the back of her mind, eluding her grasp-and then it came to her. Something Duke had told her once, in the midst of a misunderstanding.
Jezrael was supposed to be the next leader of the Brotherhood, but the modest son of a bitch wouldn't take the position. Instead, it got passed onto me-course, a couple of years later, he did have to take it, but that's another story....
He'd looked so uncomfortable when he said that. Duke had told the team several times that he'd given up the Brotherhood's leadership, but he'd never said why. She'd wanted, at the time, to press him for the story, but he'd made it plain that she wouldn't get it out of him.
Now, apparently, she held it in her hands.
She wiped an errant tear away with the back of her hand and turned to the next letter; but what she found, instead, was a series of short notes, with no salutation or signature.
This attitude you've developed isn't helping. If you must go down then do so, as it seems no one else will come forth; but do not insist that the entire Brotherhood go down with you. If you would only go along with what Marcus is proposing then I'm sure all will work out for the best.
The next was equally brief.
No. I don't want it. I've never wanted it-what are you getting at? This isn't about you, or me. We're beyond that now. Despite how either of us feels we've reached the point where we must act for the common good.
Mallory read through them again and then laid them aside. Marcus. She knew that name too, the man who had been the Brotherhood's leader before Duke. Slowly, it was becoming apparent to her what had happened.
Someone-this Halmar Sharpwing, whoever he was, had been killed. Murdered. Maybe Duke hadn't done it-Jezrael certainly didn't seem to think so-but someone thought so, possibly several people, given the cryptic references to the "Assembly." Marcus' proposal, in the face of this crime, obviously called for Duke to step down as leader; and Duke, given the tone of Jezrael's second note, wasn't relishing the idea.
Mallory had to smile; she could imagine that Duke, being young as he had at the time, would have greatly enjoyed the prestige and attention he found as the Brotherhood's leader. But what was Jezrael talking about? What was it that he didn't want?
Duke's words came back to her. Jezrael was supposed to be the next leader of the Brotherhood...wouldn't take the position....
So. Just as Duke was reluctant to give up his leadership, Jezrael was equally reluctant to accept it. Mallory frowned querulously. Why? She'd learned enough from Duke to know that the leader's position was one of great esteem, something to be coveted. Men fought and died over it. Why wouldn't anyone want that kind of power?
Apparently Duke had wondered the same thing, because Jezrael's next note was curt and angry:
Must I remind you that I have a reputation to maintain? It's all well and good for you to flaunt yourself about, but I am in the public eye enough as it is without that nonsense.
Of course. Duke had been well known as one of Puckworld's master thieves. She'd heard his name as a child, amid tales of how he'd eluded the police time and time again. But someone like Jezrael, with money and power-both apparently honestly come by-he couldn't afford to have that jeopardized. Public knowledge of his part in the Brotherhood would certainly be a scandal.
But he had taken the leadership-according to Duke, he'd still held it at the time of the Invasion. So he must have found a way to keep it quiet, though there was nothing to that effect in what she'd read so far.
But Mallory was still puzzled. Why would Duke just step down? Why wouldn't he defend himself, try to clear his name?
She caught her breath. Duke had told her that Jezrael had known about his past, his life in the Assassin's Ring. Was that what this was about? Had Jezrael threatened to make Duke's past public knowledge if he didn't cede his position?
For a moment she considered it, but it seemed unlikely. Duke had spoken of Jezrael as a close friend-He was never one to give up on his brother had been his exact words. Duke wouldn't say that of a man who tried to blackmail him; and anyway Jezrael's letters didn't suggest it. His overall tone thus far had been dry and paternal, full of Do this or Don't do that-Mallory figured he was older than Duke-his voice sane and reasonable. It was Duke who was having trouble dealing with the issue; Jezrael was cool and calm. Mallory remembered something else Duke had said: The man never seemed to get unnerved by anything.
But Jezrael's next letter to Duke made it all too plain that he was unnerved.
Duke-
Stop this nonsense. Stop it now. Blood has been shed once; and shedding more will gain you nothing.
Leave Anya out of this. I know you don't care for her but she is my wife and I will not see her endangered, least of all by you. Do you understand me? YOU WILL NOT HARM HER . She is trying to help you-let her do so.
Of course that wretched past of yours will come out; were you such a fool as to think it would not? Don't blame my wife for uncovering your secrets-though I should have thought your innocence was more important to you.
Have it your way. Keep your precious secrets. I'd thought you were dead to that life-but lay a hand on my Anya and you'll be dead to this one.
-J
Mallory was trembling as she put the letter aside. There was no doubt that this time Duke had angered Jezrael. If she was reading these right then this Anya, Jezrael's wife, had stumbled upon Duke's life as an assassin, and Duke had done...what? Something, obviously; something bad enough to make Jezrael threaten him.
The door whispered open, and Mallory sat bolt upright as Duke sauntered in.
"Mornin', sweetheart," he said, smiling; but then he saw the letters in her hand, and the color drained from his face, the smile fading abruptly.
"Mallory," he croaked, "Mal, sweetheart, where did you find-"
"What did you do to her?" she hissed.
He stared. "What are you talking about? What did I-"
"Anya!" Mallory snapped. "Jezrael Swordfeather's wife! Damn you, Duke, what did you do to her?"
At first Duke was silent; he merely peeled his green-and-purple coat off and draped it over one of the bedposts, holding up his hands as if to stave off anymore of Mallory's remarks; then he sank to the floor, sitting at her feet with his legs crossed.
When he spoke it was slowly, his voice oddly distant. "Let me explain something to you. I didn't kill Halmar Sharpwing. But I found out who did."
"I didn't ask you-" Mallory began, but Duke cut her off.
"It was Tyrone LeSabre's wife," he murmured. "Dalina. My cousin Dalina-her mother and mine were sisters. Lina wasn't in the Brotherhood, but her husband was, so she hung around a little." He knew that Mallory was gaping at him, but he ignored her. "Halmar was drunk, and he made a pass at her. Lina brushed him off, and he tried to-to force her, and she killed him. The feathers that were found in his hand were hers-the same color as mine."
He sighed. "Dalina had been in the Ring too, but she left it when she married Tyrone. You see? Everything was coming back to the Ring. I had to do something to protect myself."
"Duke," Mallory said, and her voice shook dangerously.
He didn't look at her. "I was jealous when Jezrael met Anya. God, she was beautiful. And I'd been accustomed to having any woman I wanted-but she wanted him. Then I found out that she'd been a cop before she joined the Brotherhood, and I started seeing her as a threat. Marcus asked her to investigate Halmar's murder, and she dug up my life in the Ring, and I got scared."
"What did you do to her?" Mallory rasped again.
"I tried to have her killed."
"You-" Mallory shook her head. It was all incomprehensible. "How?"
"There's this thing in the Brotherhood called the Black Squad," Duke said wearily. "They're the leader's bodyguards, but they're also used to deal with traitors-"
"You mean they're assassins," Mallory said coldly.
The gray drake winced. "Yeah. They're assassins. But I was young, and stupid, and scared-so I sent Jennon Wingstar, my best Black Squad officer, after Anya."
Mallory nearly couldn't speak. She wanted to believe she wasn't hearing this. "What happened?"
"Jezrael killed him." Duke seemed to shrink before her eyes. "There was this huge stink over it. The Assembly-the members-had wanted me to resign when Halmar was murdered, because they thought I did it. Now they wanted my head."
"What did you do?" Mallory asked, though she already knew.
"Whaddaya mean, what did I do? I resigned. I didn't have a choice." He sounded terribly bitter. "But what else could I do? I'd already made an ass of myself, and then I tried-" He couldn't bring himself to say it again. "I mean, the man was my best friend, and I-"
He broke off, tears leaking from his good eye, and Mallory couldn't help herself. She slid off the bed onto the floor beside him, and wrapped her arms around his now trembling body.
"Duke," she whispered. "Duke, love, I'm sorry, I-"
"No." His answering whisper was harsh. "No. None of it should have happened."
She held him tightly, rocked him. "Tell me what happened next."
"Keep reading." He pressed his head against her breasts, muffling his words. "Keep reading, sweetheart, 'cause I don't want to talk about it."
Duke-
The Church commands that we should not murder; and in that I have failed as utterly as you. But the Church also commands that we forgive, and in that I am attempting to obey, although what you tried to do to Anya has not made it an easy thing. Don't expect her to be so understanding.
You ask if we are still friends, and I say that's up to you. But friends or not, you are still my brother. I swore a pact with you, and I intend to honor it, even if you do not.
You have also asked if perhaps you should leave the ranks for a time, and I agree completely. The events of the past few weeks cannot be laid to rest as long as you are here. You have a son; you should go to him and be with him. Only don't forget that you're still bound to us, and don't make yourself too scarce. In time this thing will resolve itself.
Jezrael
PS. Don't be surprised, when you return, if things between you and me don't seem quite the same. By myself I am quite willing to carry on; but for my wife's sake I must put a little distance between us.
Mallory frowned. She'd never imagined so much could be poured into just a few simple words. It was a painful attempt, on Jezrael's part, at reconciliation; but she could no longer tell which of them was the more deeply wounded.
But in this there was also the imperious tone of a man in authority. Don't forget you are still bound to us, and don't make yourself too scarce. As a general's daughter, Mallory understood Jezrael's unspoken message all too well: I want you out of my sight, he was plainly saying, but not too far out of it. You will still come when I command you.
And she knew Duke too well to think he'd do anything but obey.
Duke stirred himself, pushed away from her and stood up a little shakily. "I'm gonna go watch some TV," he said. "Need to be alone for a minute."
He sounded weary and-and pained, in some way she couldn't describe. Mallory looked from her lover to the few sheets of paper in her hand. "Duke-you and Jezrael-you two did make up?" she asked hopefully.
But he was already halfway out the door. "You finish what you got there, sweetheart, and then you come talk to me."
The first of the remaining sheets she held was another note, brief and fragmented, as if Jezrael had written it in a hurry. Only one sentence was complete, but the tone was much warmer, almost cordial:
D-
Where are you hiding yourself? Could use you about now if you care to drop in-got something might interest you. Weather here's abysmal. Trust you're well?
J
Mallory had to stifle her sudden urge to laugh. This was better, this was much better-she didn't know what Jezrael had had in mind for Duke, prompting the note, but their relationship had plainly improved by the time this had been written....
Guess one of them swallowed his pride, she said to herself. Probably both of them, to some degree.
There were only two sheets left now. A glance at the first made her think that it was only another note-there was no salutation-but its length told her differently.
She sighed, thinking of Duke sitting alone in front of the television, waiting for her to finish her reading. Hope this one's good news too....
What do you mean, if it's worth anything to me? Of course I value your opinion; why shouldn't I? You have a seat on the Elders' Council, if you would take it-you could be president if you wanted. You and I may have had our differences, but I respect you in spite of them, and hold you in the highest regard. I always have.
Come see me at your earliest convenience. I know we've been harsh and short with you-especially me-but I think enough time has passed now. You're still one of the Brethren and I believe it's time you were taken back into the fold.
Besides, there's work to be done. Oh, I know, I have the entire Brotherhood at my disposal, but right now I have need of an expert. There's a big job in the works and I can't take it myself. I've files to review and new members to rank, and altogether more on my plate than I can say grace over already. So a bit of help, I think, is in order-or at least it's being asked. Come down from wherever it is you're keeping yourself these days and give us a hand. God knows I see little enough of you.
Jezrael
Mallory came to the end of the last page; and there was nothing else. That, apparently, had been that, at least as far as Jezrael was concerned; but for Mallory herself, it wasn't enough. Things may have improved between the two drakes, but she was left feeling curiously unsatisfied. Everything had been said, yet it hadn't been sufficient.
Or had everything been said?
Slowly she gathered the letters, refolded them, and tucked them back into their black envelope tenderly. With a sigh she picked up the shoebox-that damned shoebox-and replaced the contents, replaced the lid, and slid it back beneath the tails of Duke's coat. On the outside, at least, everything was as she'd found it.
Now if she could only say the same for Duke....
She found him curled in his favorite recliner, his feet propped on the edge of the seat, his arms wrapped round his knees. He hadn't turned the TV on, instead was just staring at a blank screen.
Gingerly she perched on the chair's cushiony overstuffed arm, laid a soft hand on his shoulder. "Duke...?"
When he turned at last to look at her she saw that his face was streaked with tears. "You finished all that?"
"Yeah." Mallory swallowed. Her heart ached, her chest felt too full. There was too much she still didn't know. "But...but everything was all right, wasn't it? You and Jezrael-"
"We patched up our differences, if that's what you mean, sweetheart," Duke assured her. "It took a while, 'course, but Jezrael's a very...forgiving sort." He chuckled dryly, and the sound made Mallory's heart soar. "'Course, his wife still doesn't really like me...can't say I blame her, either. I wasn't a nice guy back then. Had too much of my old man in me."
Mallory winced. She didn't like to hear him talk about Talon, even in passing. "But you put that behind you."
"Yeah; and Jezrael knew that. Guess that's why he was so understanding." Duke slipped his arm around her waist. "You'd understand better if you could read everything he sent me-the guy was a first-class letter writer. He knew that sometimes that was the only way he could get me to listen to him." He sighed. "Wish I still had all those letters now. I lost a lot of them over the years-it's a damn shame you had to see the bad ones. But I think-"
He paused, then pulled away from her and got to his feet. "There's another one, if I can find it-just one more, from right before I got put in that Saurian work camp. It's always been so easy for me to-to beat myself up over this whole thing, over what I did to him and what I put him through. I guess I should be flattered that Jez believed in me enough to stand by me." Duke smiled wearily. "I always wanted to do something to pay him back, somehow-but the more I tried to pay him back, the deeper in debt he put me."
It was supposed to be funny, Mallory realized, but she didn't get the joke. "What are you talking about?"
He padded back into their bedroom, making her follow him. "Jezrael's the reason I'm here. He's the reason I met you-all because I was looking out for him. Canard knew about the Brotherhood, knew what we were capable of. He insisted on getting the Brethren involved in the Resistance, so when he started getting his strike force together, he-"
Mallory was beginning to understand. "Duke, you mean...?"
"That's right, sweetheart. Canard didn't want me-he never did. He wanted Jezrael." Duke had emptied a dresser drawer onto their bed and was going through its contents. "Jezrael would have gone-that's the kind of man he is. But he had a wife and four kids-and I only had Lauran, and by then he was old enough to look after himself, so-"
He swallowed hard. "I told Canard to take me instead."
Before Mallory could say anything, he'd found a small white envelope and extracted a fold of ivory paper from it. "Here, sweetheart. This is it," and Mallory unfolded it and began to read, the now-familiar script-smudged in spots, as if its writer had been weeping as he wrote-blurred by the thickness of her tears.
Duke-
This must of necessity be short; with everything I'm trying to do to keep the Brethren safe I don't have much time to spare.
I don't feel much like saying thank you for what you're about to do. It was me that this Canard fellow was after; it should be me that's going. But I know why you volunteered, and I want to say that I appreciate it, even though I don't quite understand it. Don't feel that you have to repay me for anything-I have done no more than I ought.
We are men and should be able to admit unflinchingly that we may never see each other alive again-but God, it's hard. Let me just say that you have my prayers.
Godspeed, my brother, and remember me-
Jezrael
They looked at each other but for a long time neither said anything. Mallory could feel her own tears sliding down her face and she knew that Duke was crying again too.
"You understand," he said at last; and she did.
Carefully she folded the letter again and slid it back into the envelope; but she encountered a curious resistance. "Duke, there's something else in here."
His eyebrows shot up. "What? There can't be, I've never-"
Mallory probed, and with her fingertips extracted a small square of pink notepaper, folded in quarters. Beneath Duke's astonished gaze she smoothed it out, stared hard at it, and began to laugh-high rich laughter that turned to sobs as her tears poured afresh.
"Mal?"
"Look," she gasped. "I don't think you can say Jezrael's wife doesn't like you anymore."
And Duke took the little square of paper from her-and there was no doubt, this time, that the author was distinctly feminine.
Duke,
Consider yourself forgiven.
And it was signed, very simply, Anya Swordfeather.