The Queen's Blade (18 page)

"You know, I heard a story from one of my customers the other day. He told me that those men the Queen sent to kill King Shandor all failed, and she sent one man to do the job. Would you believe, he succeeded, and he brought back the Cotti Prince." Lilu's eyes narrowed. "I hope the Queen will flay him alive, one little strip of skin at a time. The man she sent, she's made a lord now, given him lands and riches, which he deserves of course." She glanced at him coyly again. "They call him the Queen's Blade."

"Do they?"

"They do. And they say that he's an assassin, and he now has the Queen's favour."

"Lucky man."

"Yes." She squeezed his arm. "And he's not married."

Blade disentangled himself and stood up. "It's time I was going."

"You owe me, Blade!"

He swung on her. "I didn't ask to be saved! Maybe you should have left me to die."

"No." She rose and stood before him. "You're a good man, and if I hadn't saved you, King Shandor would still be alive to wage the Endless War."

"You think his son won't carry on with it?"

"His son's a prisoner of the Queen."

"He has fifteen brothers." Blade banged the wine cup down on the table.

Lilu shook her head, gazing up at him. "I don't care about that. You could make me very happy. Don't I deserve it?"

"You're asking to be my wife?"

She nodded. "I know what you are, and I don't care. I've had my fill of it. All I ask is a home for my children and money to live on. You can afford it now. No one else would have saved you. I did it out of the goodness of my heart, because you looked like a kind man. You have a noble face. I didn't expect anything in return, and you had nothing then. But you do now, and all I'm asking is a little share in it, not much. I know you'd be ashamed of me, I'd never expect you to acknowledge me publicly, I mean, with your new friends. You could send me to your estate, and I'd stay there, raise my children, that's all I ask."

"No."

"Please, Blade!" Fresh tears filled her eyes, and she clung to his arm. "I can't bear this life anymore! Have you no pity?"

"No, I don't." He regarded her coldly. "You did what you did for your own selfish reasons, whatever they were."

"I couldn't let you die!"

"You thought I might be a meal ticket."

"No!" She hung on when he tried to free himself. "I didn't, I swear! Don't leave me in this dump, I'm begging you. You have no reason to marry, surely you can do it to save me, as I saved you? If you leave me here, I'll die."

"I doubt that," he growled, trying to pry her hands from his arm, but she clung to him like a limpet and sank to her knees, almost dragging him down with her. "Stop this, Lilu!"

"Don't, oh God, don't leave me here!" She buried her face in his thigh, transferring her hold to it and shaking with the storm of wailing sobs that his refusal had unleashed.

Blade stared down at her, annoyed and confused. A vision flashed before his eyes.
A little girl knelt in the burning sand, her eyes filled with tears, her hands raised in pleading. A girl with grey eyes and midnight hair, skin that had been as pale as milk until the fierce sun had reddened it. Her eyes were his own, and she wept before a laughing Cotti officer, begging.
She had died a few days later. He had wept then, but not since. Somewhere he had lost his pity. He opened his eyes. Lilu raised a tear-stained face, ugly, beaten and abused, her eyes filled with despair.

"All right, Lilu." He raised a hand to stem her leap of joy. "I'll not marry you, but you may go to my estate and live there with your children."

She flung her arms around his neck and hugged him fiercely, ignoring his attempts to pry her free. "Thank you, Blade! Oh, thank you, thank you!"

Lilu rained kisses on his face until he put a hand over her mouth and pushed her away. His rejection did not dampen her joy, she bounced around the room, throwing tattered dresses onto the floor and flinging pots of powder and paint at the walls.

"No more of this! I'm free! I can be with my children."

He glanced around, longing to leave. "Have you a pen and paper?"

She leapt to the dresser and yanked open a drawer. "Yes."

Blade took them and bent to scribble a note, ordering whoever was in charge of his estate to provide Lilu and her children with board and lodging, money for clothes and schooling. It was the first time he had used his newly acquired rank, and signed his name ‘Lord Conash’. Lilu snatched the paper and read it with a huge smile. Blade grabbed the bag and headed for the door.

Lilu reach it first and barred it.

"Now what?" he demanded.

"If only you could know the joy I'm feeling now."

"I'll try to imagine it."

"I was right, you are a good man. It's all there inside of you, hidden away, buried under ice." She tapped his chest. "I wish I could reach it."

"You're wrong; I did it to put an end to your carping. Now I must go."

She tried to stroke his cheek, but he evaded her caress. "My children will know who saved them from the gutter; my sons will honour your name. You're going to be a legend."

"Leave the predictions to Shamsara, Lilu. You've got what you wanted; now get out of my way."

She stood aside, her eyes bright with joy she could not share with him. "Goodbye, Blade. God be with you."

"I doubt that," he retorted, brushing past her into the hall.

On the walk back to the palace, he wondered at his generosity and the momentary weakness that had prompted it. Perhaps she deserved some reward for saving his life. At least now he no longer had to be burdened with the sense of owing her something. He tried to imagine the shock and horror of his undoubtedly well-bred retainers when a broken-nosed whore arrived with five bastards in tow and a letter from their new lord ordering them to care for her. The thought brought a little amusement to brighten his day and compensate for his face's throbbing.

At the palace, he went to his rooms and ordered a bath, forced to don some of his new finery afterwards. The manservant grimaced at the state of his clothes and took them away to be cleaned, his expression making it clear that he would rather have burnt them. Blade sent the vial of potion to the Queen with a letter that told her how to use it, then settled down to wait, playing a game of peeress with himself.

The Queen arrived in his chamber at the allotted time, and her eyes widened at the sight of his bruised face.

"My Lord Conash. What happened?"

He bowed. "My Queen. A minor altercation, nothing serious."

Minna-Satu smiled. "Who won?"

"He did."

Her brows rose. "You surprise me. You, who are so deadly?"

"I am not a taproom brawler, My Queen. In my profession, there is seldom a call to fight, I am no expert at it."

"Then you should have run away."

"I tried."

"I see." She settled on a pile of cushions. "Did you get what you need?"

He nodded.

"Good, then let us proceed."

Over the next time-glass, Blade worked his magic on the Queen, transforming her, with the aid of paint and powder, into a sultry handmaiden even he barely recognised. During the times when he was forced to come into close contact with her in order to paint her eyes and don the wig, he avoided her gaze. When he was finished, she donned the cheap, but alluring gown and perfume, and he stood back to study her, nodding in satisfaction.

As he was putting away the pots of paint and powder, he said, "What of your safety, My Queen? Should Kerrion grow violent for any reason, what protection do you have?"

"Shista will come with me, unobserved, of course."

He nodded. "Good."

"Do you really think Prince Kerrion is a violent man?"

"I know him little, but I feel that he is unpredictable. He resents his captivity more than he shows, his politeness towards you is studied. You gave him the potion?"

"As you instructed."

"That will help."

Minna brushed at the silken gown. The red wig framed her face and fell about her shoulders in coiled, gleaming tresses. It was pinned to her luxuriant mane, making it seem amazingly thick. He moved closer to tug at it, ensuring its security, and she gazed up at him, turning away when he had finished. At the door she paused, her eyes pools of sorrow in the darkness.

"Thank you."

He bowed. "My Queen."

After she left, he lay awake for some time, staring at the ceiling. The Queen's sadness seemed strange. He had expected nervousness, and the excitement of a maid going to her first lover, not the solemnity and sorrow that hung about her. Her mood was better suited to a woman facing the gallows than a Queen encountering her chosen consort. He tried to puzzle out the meaning of it, but failed, drifting into the dark arms of sleep.

The next day, a sealed package arrived, containing the wig and clothes, but Blade did not see the Queen for three more days after that.

At a supper party in the Queen's apartments, which several other lords and Kerrion attended, Queen Minna-Satu appeared distant, her attitude stiff and her expression guarded. She forced a brief smile when Blade arrived, but did not speak to him. Kerrion seemed morose, and picked at his food with an uncharacteristic lack of appetite, ignoring Blade's presence. The nobles also ignored the assassin, who ate his meal in silence, too far from the Queen to speak to her.

Kerrion no longer sat at her side either, but was placed further down the table between two lords. Blade watched the stilted interaction between the Prince and Queen, gleaning little from it. Their conversation was curtly polite, though this seemed to be Kerrion's doing more than the Queen's. The Prince's eyes, however, rested upon her often whenever she glanced elsewhere, and when he was not looking, she gazed at him. Several times, Blade caught Minna looking at him when he glanced up from his food, and wondered at this also.

Queen Minna-Satu found her gaze drawn to the Prince, the memory of their encounter still fresh in her mind. Since that night, she had hardly seen him, and her invitations to dine together had been declined. When she had visited him, he had been aloof and asked her to leave. The invitation to this party had been a formal one, which he had been obliged to accept, or appear rude. As she had hoped, he had accepted rather than insult her and her other guests, but his behaviour puzzled her.

Certainly he had not seen through her disguise, yet now he seemed to want nothing to do with her. She longed to admit her guilt and tell him that their encounter had meant so much more to her than merely conceiving a child, but could not. The sorrow of that concealment ate at her, and their cold politeness towards each other brought fresh pain with each occasion, yet she longed to share his company as often as she could. She also watched the assassin, wondering what thoughts hid behind his bland expression and cold eyes.

Trouble was brewing in her court, she could sense it even here at the supper table, though Blade seemed oblivious to it. Kerrion was too sunk in his thoughts to notice or care, but she noted sly glances amongst some of her senior lords, which disturbed her, and she watched their interaction with wary eyes.

After the dinner she ordered extra guards to be stationed at the doors and windows of Kerrion's rooms, a strange intuition warning her of his danger. The next day she sent four spies to the lords who had aroused her suspicions, and decided to dine with them more often in future, so she could monitor their collaboration. Usually her lords spent most of their time scheming against each other and vying for her favour, now some of them seemed to be joining forces.

Chapter Eleven

Mendal pushed aside the musty curtain and entered the gloomy room in the bowels of the palace, which had once been used as a royal burial chamber. Eight queens were interred within its dusty confines, using all the available floor space, and a new chamber had been designated for later burials. Since then, this room had been all but forgotten, and made an excellent meeting place far from prying eyes and ears. No one ventured down here anymore, not even the cleaners or historians. The undisturbed dust that filmed the floor and tombs testified to that.

Adding his torch to the four that already burnt in sconces on the walls, he glanced around at his collaborators. The four lords seemed ill at ease in each other's company, more used to being at odds. Lord Mordon scowled at Lord Bellcamp, his dark eyes burning with hate in his thin, saturnine face. He resembled his kin, the ferret, and his quick movements and darting black eyes made his beast easy to recognise. Lord Bellcamp met his glare with pale eyes of icy blue, his thick red brows drawn together. The coldness of his stare betrayed his affinity with sharks, a rare beast for a powerful man.

Beside Bellcamp's beefy frame, the massive bulk of Lord Durlan strained at the seams of his clothes, and he mopped his face with a lacy linen handkerchief. He frowned at everyone, angered by the humid confines of the underground room, as any man of the boar would be. Lord Javare made up the final member of the quartet, but he ignored them all with equal scorn, a head of noble grey hair redeeming his rather brutish features. His beast was not so easily read, but Mendal found a kindred spirit in this man of snakes. His familiar, a ringed ground snake, had no venom, but could inflict a painful bite.

Mendal distracted their attention from each other and drew it to himself as he sat down on a dusty tomb with no regard for the remains of the ancient queen that rested within it.

"So, we are all here," he observed, shooting each a scathing glance. "And you have managed not to kill each other. Amazing."

"There is more at stake now," Lord Javare said.

"Indeed," Mendal agreed. "All of your futures."

Lord Bellcamp growled, "How do we know that what you claim is true, Mendal? You no longer have the Queen's confidence."

"I have spies. Why do you suppose the Prince is still alive? Do you think the Queen requires his entertainment? No, she is negotiating peace with him, and if she succeeds, you will all be ruined."