Invisible Assassin (7 page)

A memory rose from the shadowy depths of his past, released by the softening of his cold grip, and he allowed it to emerge into the light like a timid, fearful creature kept too long in a cage of ice and darkness. Three girls played in a meadow, and a man with soft eyes and an easy smile watched them as he puffed his pipe. A laughing woman weaved flowers into her daughters' hair and cast him a loving glance. They lived there still, haunting him with their soft laughter and gentle smiles. Ghosts that he had buried long ago. All the joy of his youth was locked behind the iron door of his will, the key to it lost in the bottomless pool of blood in which he had wallowed ever since. His mother's sweet voice spoke from beyond the curtain of that sweet memory, murmuring the words she had used so often to him.

Blade closed his eyes and allowed the coldness he found so hard to stave off to seep into him once more, washing away the bright memories and the sorrow they brought with them.

When Kerrion returned from his duties that evening, he found Minna-Satu waiting for him. He noted her intense expression as he kissed her, and stepped back to study her.

"What is wrong?"

"I went to see Blade today."

"Ah." Kerrion sighed and made his way over to the tray that held a bottle of wine and two goblets. "I should have guessed from your expression. Why is it that he has the power to upset people so much? What did he say?"

"He does not expect to survive Ronan's assassination."

The King swung around. "Blade? Voicing doubts about his abilities? That surprises me."

"Why should it? He is a man, not a magician. Ronan will probably be the most difficult target he has ever had, and he has, by all accounts, entered into his thirtieth year."

"He had no trouble with Targan."

"Targan was not forewarned."

Kerrion poured two cups of wine and offered her one. "So he has changed his mind, then?"

"No, I have." She took the cup and sipped the wine. "I will not send him to kill Ronan."

"He has already agreed."

"He works for me, not you."

"He is playing on your emotions. He just wants to go home. As he said, he is tired of all this."

She shook her head. "He did not ask to be released. He said he will probably not survive to return to Jashimari, which is his greatest wish. I do not want him to go, but nor do I wish him dead."

"If Ronan is not stopped, it will be you who dies. Sacrificing Blade is not too high a price to pay to ensure your safety."

"It is. You have many brothers, Kerrion. Blade has only killed three of them. How many does that leave, twelve? What of Armin, when he returns from Contara?"

Kerrion drained his cup in a couple of gulps. "Armin will not return. I shall order him to govern Contara. He cannot threaten you from there. Even if he disobeyed and tried to return, arranging an accident for him on the way would not be difficult. I can deal with the rest of my brothers. They are all a lot younger than Ronan and Armin. Let us not make any rash decisions, let us see what happens."

"I will not send Blade to kill Ronan, that is final."

"And I will not allow your life to be put in danger. You value the life of a damned assassin above your own? He has risked his life each time he was sent to assassinate someone, and you sent him on some of those assignments. What about when he came here to kill Lerton? You knew that he may not survive, but still you sent him."

"That was to save my people by saving you, our only hope for peace. I will not have him die merely to protect me."

"Yet he is not averse to the idea," Kerrion pointed out.

"Blade has no love for life. His death will mean more to me than it does to him."

"Well, he will not be around to ponder it, will he?"

"No, I will. It will be on my conscience."

Kerrion studied her mulish expression. "He will probably get himself killed in some drunken brawl in a rat-infested taproom in Jashimari if he lives to return. Why put such a value on his life when it is worthless to him?"

"Because it is not worthless to me."

"And I will not put a price on yours." He closed the gap between them and gripped her arms. "If you die I will renounce my throne. The war will start all over again."

"You would put your daughter in danger?"

"Jashimari will not fall."

"It will when it is beset on two sides. Contara will be ruled by Armin, who will inherit the Cotti crown."

Kerrion released her and spun away, raising his hands in a gesture of helpless fury. "Why does he always cause so much trouble?" He went to the window and leant on the ledge, gazing at the rising Maiden Moon, now at the fullness of its phase. Minna drained her cup and put it aside with a faint clink, watching him.

After several tense minutes, he turned to face her again. "Let us not argue about it. I will not try to change your mind; let us just see what happens."

Minna nodded, looking relieved. Kerrion walked over to sit beside her and take her in his arms.

Half a moon passed in relative peace. The Maiden Moon waned and the waxing Warrior replaced it. Blade recovered from his injuries and exercised in the hidden garden again, just as Ronan left his sickbed. Kerrion had inflicted several serious wounds on his brother during their fight, ensuring that he would be out of action for quite a while. As soon as he was able, the Prince honed his skills against several excellent fighters, and Kerrion, learning of this, was forced to do the same lest his brother's swordsmanship outstrip his own.

Tension in the palace rose to palpable levels as rumours of a second challenge became rife, and lords found themselves forced to choose between them. Owing to Kerrion's ill-advised association with a Jashimari woman, many took Ronan's part even though he was not the more popular of the two, nor the next in line to the throne. The Cotti lords knew that if Kerrion was defeated, Ronan would have to face his other older brother Armin. So much infighting boded ill for the Cotti monarchy, and many laid the blame for the brewing conflict at Minna-Satu's door.

Blade had just returned from his morning exercise and had a quick bath when Olan knocked on his door and entered. Over time the antagonism between them had eased a little, and their open hostility had mellowed to mere snappishness and cutting remarks. Blade frowned at the servant's intrusion, and Olan smiled nastily.

"Your Queen requires your company for luncheon."

"Does she?" Blade tossed aside the towel and reached for his shirt. Several scars marred his chest, some of them quite fresh. His whipcord build revealed every muscle in sharp detail, no trace of fat softening it. Noticing Olan's scrutiny, he turned away as he pulled on his shirt and laced it up.

Olan commented, "I'm surprised that she requires your company so often. Are all Jashimari women so insatiable?"

Blade scowled, then chuckled, turning to face the servant. "You think that's the reason?"

Olan shrugged. "What else? If the King finds out..."

"Tell him. He'll be most amused."

"Amused?"

"He knows what you obviously don't, so do many others. Are you truly so unobservant?"

The servant looked miffed. "What don't I know?"

Blade pulled on his jacket and headed for the door, passing close to Olan. "I'm not going to tell you. I'm flattered that you think me the Queen's lover."

Olan trotted after the assassin as he sauntered down the corridor. "Why else would you spend so many time-glasses alone with her?"

"She enjoys my company."

"I'm sure she does."

"Not for the reasons you suspect."

"Are you claiming to be so trustworthy, spending long time-glasses with a beautiful woman doing nothing more than talking?"

Blade chuckled again. "You seem disappointed."

"It makes no sense to me."

"Good." The assassin turned at the Queen's doors. "May it puzzle you forever. I'll not enlighten you."

Olan glared at Blade as he knocked on the door, looking frustrated. "You're lying."

"Perhaps." A handmaiden opened the doors, and Blade entered, leaving Olan in a quandary.

Minna looked up with a smile when Blade entered her apartments, the sight of him bringing its usual warm pang. The meal passed as many others had done, in quiet conversation accompanied by good food, which the assassin picked at as usual. Minna avoided contentious issues, discussing more light-hearted subjects, upon which Blade made little comment. Normally she steered clear of personal topics, but today she noticed his continued lack of appetite and could not contain her curiosity.

"Are you so afraid of becoming fat, My Lord? You hardly eat anything, yet the food is good. I would say you could safely gain several pounds. It would lend you weight in a fight, would it not?"

Blade smiled. "Indeed it would, My Queen. That is why good fighters carry more weight than I do. It adds to their strength, and, should they gain the upper hand, aids greatly in overpowering their opponent.

"But to an assassin weight is not helpful at all. We need to be as light as possible. It makes sneaking around a lot easier. Creaking floorboards have cost many assassins their lives. It also allows us to be more agile, and since stealth and agility are the most important aspects of an assassin, we choose that over strength. It rarely happens that an assassin must overpower his victim."

"I see." She smiled, delighted to have stumbled upon a subject about which he seemed happy to talk. "So all assassins are like you? It is not one of your peculiarities?"

"Not really. Any assassin who values his trade, and his life, will keep himself fit. A fat assassin will not last long, and many are forced to retire because they do not have the discipline to restrict their eating."

"And I suppose it must be even more difficult for you?"

He inclined his head, his smile fading. "Yes, My Queen, it is."

Realising that she had blundered onto a delicate point, she picked up her wine cup to cover her embarrassment and changed the topic. "Are you now able to complete your dance, My Lord?"

"No. I doubt I shall ever regain my former stamina."

"This must be a great source of chagrin to you."

His faint smile returned. "For an assassin who is past the age of retirement, I am content with my present abilities, much as I would enjoy the advantages of youth."

"Is there a mandatory age of retirement for assassins?"

"No, but most choose to retire in their late twenties, or earlier if they can afford it. Few continue past that, and those who do seldom live to retire at all, for they lose their edge and..." Blade broke off as the doors burst open, and Minna looked around in surprise.

A tall man stood in the doorway, his dark blond hair framing a brutal face in which pale brown eyes glittered with venom. Though a couple of years younger than Kerrion, he carried himself with the same assurance and arrogant disdain, but possessed none of Kerrion's noble features or the clear golden eyes that bespoke honesty and valour. Instead, he radiated King Shandor's imperious brutality. Blade stood up, eyeing the intruder, and Minna-Satu frowned.

"Another of Kerrion's brothers, I assume," Blade muttered.

The stranger walked closer, raking the seated Queen with a caustic glance. "I am Prince Ronan, and you will bow to me, woman."

Minna raised her chin. "I am Queen Minna-Satu, and I bow to no one."

"I shall see you grovel before you die," Ronan snarled, ignoring Blade. Apparently he had discounted the assassin as a mere courtier, a Jashimari fop, dressed as he was in plain black cloth trousers and a white silk shirt under a rather ornamental, slit-sleeved jacket.

Minna rose to face Ronan. "Are all Cotti Princes murderers by trade?"

"Mind your tongue, woman, we Cotti do not tolerate insolent sluts."

The Queen's frown deepened and her cheeks warmed with anger. "And I do not tolerate upstart Princes with no manners. Get out!"

Ronan smiled, his eyes venomous. "Do you really think I will obey you? Only the King can give me orders, and he rarely dares to, for he knows I dislike them."

"He will kill you when he learns of this. If you lay a hand on me, you will pay the price."

Ronan chuckled. "He told you that, I suppose? Kerrion will say many things to gain the favour of a beautiful woman, though you are not to my taste at all. I am in no danger, I assure you."

"Two of your brothers have already died. How can you doubt it?"

Ronan shrugged. "I did not say he was a clever man. He hopes to lessen the threat to his throne, but he can do nothing to me if I kill you. And since he is not in the palace today, there is nothing he can do to stop me, either. It seems he had to go and inspect some new well outside the city, one of the tedious duties of a king. Of course, I commissioned the well, my gift to the pitiful inhabitants of a dirty village, for just this purpose. So there will be no interruptions. Now, before you die, I want to know where the assassin is hiding."

"You sound just like your brother, Rigal. He too came in here with thugs and threats, and he found my assassin."

"As I suspected. The story Kerrion told the advisors made no sense to me. I sent Rigal to kill you, not to protect you."

"And he failed, as will you."

Ronan stepped closer, his attitude menacing. A growl made him look around as Shista rose from her pile of cushions and walked towards him, her eyes fixed on him with palpable intensity. The Prince's hand dropped to the hilt of his sword.

"Unlike Rigal, I have no qualms about killing a sand cat, stupid woman."

"I cannot prevent her from defending me, Prince Ronan. You have chosen an ill moment to accost me, it seems. It may be that the King is absent on business, but you should have made certain my familiar and my assassin were also absent."

"Your assassin?"

Blade, who had stepped behind the Prince, raised his hands to signal the Queen not to divulge his presence, and lowered them hastily when Ronan swung around. The Prince raked him with a dismissive glance.

"This? He is nothing but a girlish courtier, one of your neutered playthings. You do not fool me with your stupid lies." Ronan turned to face the approaching sand cat once more, his eyes narrowing as Shista prowled closer. "But if your cat comes any closer, I will not bother to find out where your assassin is, I will kill you now." He drew his sword and pointed it at the Queen, close enough to run her through with a jab of his arm.