The Queen's Blade Prequel II - God Touched

by T C Southwell

  Five days later, Lilu bustled around her shabby room, tidying up. She had long since packed the assassin's clothes away in the sagging cupboard, and he lay as still as ever, the sheet covering him to his chest. She fed him nourishing broth every day, wiping away what spilt down his chin. Sometimes he twitched and his eyelids fluttered, making her catch her breath. Two days ago, he had developed a raging fever and tossed and moaned, soaking the sheets with sweat. She had been forced to call the healer again, and pay him five more goldens to overcome his reluctance. It had used up all her savings, and she had had to work harder to survive.

  A soft groan made her swing around, the damp rag she was using to wipe the dusty shelves clutched to her chest. The assassin had turned his head to the side. She crept closer, her heart hammering. Her enquiries at the fish market had told her that his name was Blade, and his reputation, according to gossip, was as fearsome as it was mysterious. How could one who was God Touched be a killer? She wished that he would wake up, but also dreaded it. At least she knew assassins did not kill without a client, so she was safe.

  The assassin turned his head again, and his eyes opened a slit. Lilu held her breath, creeping closer still. Blade's eyes flicked up to her, and their frigid greyness made her shiver. He raised his head and grimaced, sagging back, then licked his lips and coughed.

  “Where am I?”

  Lilu took the last few steps and sank down on the bed at his side. “You're in my room on Tarbriar Way.”

  He scowled. “Who are you?”

  “My name's Lilu, and I found you in Pitcairn Alley, more dead than alive. Someone tried to beat you to death.”

  “I don't remember.” He looked down to the sheets that covered all but his arms, his eyes lingering on the cast. “How badly am I injured?”

  “You have a broken arm and leg, three broken ribs, two stab wounds and a cut on your head. I paid a doctor to splint your bones and bought his tonic and salve. Oh, and your nose was broken. The healer fixed that too.”

  He stared at the ceiling, grimacing as he tried to move his broken limbs. Sweat popped out on his brow, and he hissed. “How about something for the pain?”

  “I can't afford it, and you were asleep anyway.”

  “I wasn't asleep, I was unconscious.”

  “Same thing.”

  “No it isn't. Why did you bring me here?”

  “You needed help,” she said. “You would have died if I'd left you there.”

  “Then you should have.” He pulled a face. “God, why does it taste like something died in my mouth?”

  “You've been unconscious for five days.” She frowned. “Why would you want to die?”

  “None of your business.”

  “I think it is my business, since I went to so much trouble, not to mention expense, to save you.”

  “You shouldn't have bothered.”

  “But I did, and I can't get my money back now.”

  His icy eyes impaled her. “Then you're a fool.”

  “I couldn't just leave you there to die.”

  “Yes you could. I would have. I'd have spat on me too, for good measure. Nothing quite so satisfying as a dead assassin.” He smiled. “You do know I'm an assassin, don't you?”

  The singular sweetness of his expression transfixed her, even though it did not reach his eyes. “Yes, I know all about you.”

  His smile vanished. “So, you've been prying. I'll wager you didn't know when you brought me home, though, huh?”

  “It wouldn't have made any difference.”

  He snorted. “Yes it would. You thought I might be a wealthy merchant, I suppose, worth money to his family if you saved him. Where's my purse?”

  “I spent the money in it, and I wasn't prying!” Lilu glared at him, floundering to keep up with his accusations and insults.

  “Of course you did. I'll bet you bought some frocks and baubles, didn’t you?”

  “No! I used it to pay the doctor, and it still wasn't enough. He wouldn't tend your injuries until I paid him seven goldens.”

  “So there should be three goldens left.”

  “There would be,” she said, “except I had to pay him another five when you had a fever two days ago.”

  “And you expect me to believe that?”

  “It's the truth, and I don't care whether you believe it or not.”

  “I'm not so easily duped by a...” His eyes raked her. “Trollop.”

  “Well this trollop saved your life.”

  He looked away. “And what do you expect for that? A reward? You'll be sadly disappointed if you think –”

  “I thought you were worth saving, but I see that was a mistake now.”

  “Only an idiot saves an assassin.”

  Lilu jumped up. “In that case, get out of my house!”

  “It's not a house, it's a dirty room, and –”

  “Get out! Go on!” Lilu grabbed the broom in the corner, raising it.

  He eyed her. “You won't use that.”

  “Don't bet on it, buster!”

  “Go on then.”

  Incensed, Lilu brought the broom down on his legs with a thud. The assassin stiffened, the blood draining from his already pale visage, which twisted in a grimace. “You bitch!”

  Lilu brandished the broom. “Go on, insult me some more and see what happens! You want to be a bastard? I can give as good as you!”

  “If I wasn't injured, you'd be sorry.”

  “But you are! How long do you think you'll last if I throw you out on the street? An injured assassin! The gutter-boys will stone you to death and piss in your ear.”

  Blade raised his eyes to meet hers, his frown easing. “Why would you care if they do?”

  “I don't!”

  “Then why did you save me?”

  Lilu lowered the broom and thrust her face closer. “Perhaps I wanted an injured man to torture, to get my own back for all the times they've hurt me. How would you like that?”

  “It sounds more believable.”

  She whacked his legs with the broom again. “Insult me again, go on!”

  He writhed, biting his lip. “Throw me out then. Death will be better than this.”

  “You brought this on yourself! You...” She trailed off as his eyes closed, and he slumped.

  Lilu dropped the broom and perched on the edge of the bed, a hand clamped over her mouth. She could not believe he had made her so angry, so quickly. His ashen, battered face tore her heart, the left side of it black with bruises, his nose swollen and one eye puffy and bloodshot. How could a God Touched want to die? Plainly he did, hence his attempt to goad her into throwing him out into the street.

  Most would have, but she could not. He was helpless and in pain, which was probably why he was so angry. That, and being shackled to a bed by his injuries. She regretted hitting him now, although at the time he had deserved it. He was not what she had expected. She was not sure what she had expected, but definitely not such rancour and insults from a man she had nursed for five days. She pulled back the sheets to inspect his legs, finding them unharmed, although the cast had a slight dent in it. Evidently it had taken the brunt of her blows. Blue bruises mottled his chest, arms and legs, and she knew he must be in a lot of pain, especially with three broken ribs, too. She sighed and pulled the sheet up again.

  Blade woke again the following day when she sat beside him to feed him. His eyes opened as she leant over to prop him up on the pillows, making her recoil a little. She sat back to regard him doubtfully. His eyes flicked around the room and came to rest on her.

  “So why aren't I dead on the street?”

  “Because I'm not a murderer.”

  “Ah.” He looked away. “I need something for the pain.”

  “I told you, I can't afford it, so don't start making demands.” She picked up the bowl of broth, which gave off a rich, meaty aroma. “Now, you must eat.”

  Blade glanced at the bowl and turned his head away. “Take it away.”

  “You hav
e to eat.”

  “I can't.”

  Lilu hesitated, then put the broth down, frowning. “Why not?”

  He glanced at her. “You don't know much about pain, do you?”

  “I know enough, after birthing two babies.”

  “And if someone had tried to feed you broth in the middle of it?”

  She snorted, then realised what he meant. “Right.”

  “I need a pain draught.”

  “So where do you propose I get the money for it?”

  He closed his eyes, and for a moment she thought he had lost consciousness again, but then he said, “In my jacket, there's a key. It opens the door to a room on the top floor of number seventeen Firetree Avenue. You'll find money in a pot behind the hearth stone. Take as much as you need.”

  Her brows rose. “Oh, so now you trust me? I thought you thought I was a thief?”

  “You are, but I can't do it, and I need that draught.”

  “I am not!”

  “So prove it.”

  She leant forward and poked him in the chest. “I'll not be treated like a servant, running errands for you. I've done enough. If you want that draught, I expect some civility, starting right now.”

  He opened his eyes and glared at her. “I'll be more civil when I'm not in agony.”

  She folded her arms and raised her brows.

  He sighed. “Please.”

  Lilu nodded and rose, picking up a shabby cloak before going over to the cupboard to find the key in his jacket. Blade watched her, his jaw ridged as he gritted his teeth. His immobility spoke volumes of his pain, and her eyes stung. He was too young and fragile to suffer so. She considered that as she walked towards Firetree Avenue. He did have an air of fragility about him. His features were so fine, almost too handsome for a man. Perhaps his neutering had had a hand in that. Whatever the reason, she found him devastatingly attractive.

  The key opened the door to a tidy, sparsely furnished room with mottled grey walls, a hard, narrow bed, a fireplace and a copper tub in a curtained corner. That was unusual, and she wondered at it, and all the soaps, oils and washing cloths around it. She went over to the fireplace and searched for the loose stone, prying it out with the poker. The pot was much heavier than she had expected, and bigger. Its contents shocked her. At least fifty goldens glinted within it, a vast fortune. He must be in agony to send her here, thinking her a thief. Indeed, the money was tempting. He was a rude, ungrateful bastard, and he owed her.

  Lilu pondered the problem for several minutes. Blade would not be able to return for many moons, with his injuries, and in that time his empty room might be robbed. In fact, if he did not pay his rent the landlord would get another tenant, who might find the money. It would be dangerous to carry so much back to her shack, but who would think that a trollop would have such a fortune? Making up her mind, she emptied the pot into a pouch that was lying on the table and tied it under her skirt, where no one would think to look. After tidying herself in the mirror, she left, locking the door behind her.

  Blade opened his eyes when she entered her room, raking her with a hard glance. She approached the bed and sat on it, studying him.

  “Did you get the draught?” he asked.

  Lilu pulled a flask from her pocket and poured some potion into a cup.

  He slugged it back and pulled a face. “Tastes like shit.”

  “It is. I didn't see the point of wasting good money on a worthless assassin, so I filled that from the gutter.”

  He nodded. “I thought so.”

  Lilu smiled and hitched her skirt up to her thighs to grope between her legs for the pouch.

  Blade watched her with a suspicious frown. “What are you doing?”

  “Finding some crabs to give you.”

  “How nice.”

  “Yes, I thought you might enjoy the company.” Lilu untied the pouch and drew it out, opening it to pour the coins onto the bed beside him. “I used one to buy the potion. Here's the change.” She took fourteen silvers from her bodice and added it to the pile.

  Blade eyed the coins. “Of course, you took it all. Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  “I didn't take it, I brought it to you. If I'd left it there, someone might have stolen it. You won't be going home for some time, you know.”

  His eyes flicked up to meet hers. “And now you have it, and I won't be able to prevent you from spending it.”

  “True. Who did you kill to earn it?”

  He sighed and lay back, staring at the ceiling. “Graleth.”

  “So it was you. They say it was impossible.”

  “They're wrong.”

  Lilu scooped the money back into the pouch and dumped it on his chest with a thud. “Here. Keep it under your pillow or something, since you don't trust me.”

  “Why should I trust you?”

  “Oh, I don't know, perhaps because I saved your life?”

  “That doesn’t mean you’re trustworthy.”

  “Listen, you ungrateful bastard, I could have kept that money instead of –”

  “All right.” He raised his right hand in an appeasing gesture. “You're right.”

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  “How do you feel about treating me so badly after I saved your life?”

  He looked puzzled. “I wish you hadn't?”

  “That's not what I mean and you know it.”

  “No I don't.”

  She leant closer, frowning. “You've never heard of 'sorry', I suppose?”

  “I've heard of it. I just don't use it.”

  “Then you'd better start learning to, or you'll be the sorry one.”

  “Because you'll hit me with a broom again?”

  “Exactly.”

  A slight smile curved his mouth. “I won't always be in this bed, you know.”

  “Damn right you won't, that's my bed and I want it back.” She sat back, frowning. “But that's not what you meant, is it? You're threatening me. You need me to take care of you, and you're threatening me? How stupid are you, exactly?”

  Blade looked away, and his despondent expression tore her heart afresh. He had been alone for a long time, she realised. At some point he had been badly abused, and distrusted everyone. He had learnt to rely on himself only, and now he needed her help. It must be hard for him, and she was trying to force gratitude and regret from him when he had none to give. He was at her mercy and he hated her for it. She leant closer again.

  “I tell you what, Blade. You find a bit of civility in that stone cold heart of yours, and I'll not ask for an apology. Deal?”

  He closed his eyes. “Deal.”

  “Now, are you going to eat this cold broth?”

  “No.” A muscle jumped in his jaw.

  “Fine, in that case, it's time to change your dressings and clean your wounds.”

  “You jest.”

  “Not even a little.”

  He opened his eyes. “Why don't you just let me die? Then you'll have my money.”

  “What did I just say about civility?”

  “That I don't have any.”

  “Apart from that.”

  Blade sighed and turned his head away. Taking it as a tacit capitulation, she brought the water basin and placed it on the bedside table, then pulled the sheet down to expose the dressings on his belly and flank. He hissed when she peeled them off, exposing red wounds tinged with yellow. Lilu wrinkled her nose at the smell.

  “I think some of your rotten insides are leaking out.”

  “More likely your dirty hands have given me a disease.”

  She poked a bruise, making him flinch. “You should probably keep quiet.”

  Lilu used the grey rag, which she had boiled, to swab the wounds.

  Blade flinched and groaned. “I've seen washerwomen scrub clothes with more gentleness than you.”

  “And I've seen small children cry less when they hurt themselves.”

  “I'm not crying.”

  “Shall I hire
a washerwoman, then?” Blade cursed, and to distract him she asked, “Where are you from?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Why did you become an assassin?”

  “I enjoy killing people.”

  “That's a lie.”

  “No it's not.”

  Lilu rinsed the cloth. “How many have you killed?”

  “A lot.”

  She clicked her tongue. “Fifty-seven isn't all that many.”

  “How do – aah!” He gripped her wrist with his good hand. “That's enough!”

  “It's common knowledge. The fishwives know it.”

  “It's wrong.”

  She glanced down at his hand, making her expression coy. “I didn’t know you wanted to hold my hand. That’s so sweet!”

  The assassin released her as if she had become white-hot, a pink flush stealing into his pale cheeks. Blade, she realised with a surge of wonder, was pure. He must have been young indeed when he had been castrated. She longed to ask him about it, but knew that if there was one subject guaranteed to anger him, that would be it. He fascinated her even more, though, for he would never want what she sold. She found it strangely alluring that someone so handsome should be so innocent, and it made him a precious rarity, to be treasured.

  Lilu glanced at Blade, whose eyes were closed again. Dropping the rag in the basin, she picked up the bottle of salve and applied some to the wounds. He hissed again, opening his eyes, and she tried to be gentle. When she had replaced the dressings, she inspected the gash in his scalp, which was dry and scabbed.

  Blade studied the woman who leant over him. His head pounded, his throat burnt with thirst, his right arm and left leg throbbed with dull venom and shafts of agony shot from his ribs every time he drew breath. Compared to that, the vicious stinging of the stab wounds was minor, along with the aching tenderness of his bruises. He felt like he had been trampled by a herd of wild horses, and wondered what he looked like, longing for a mirror. At least all his teeth were still in place.