The Queen's Blade Prequel II - God Touched

by T C Southwell

She rubbed her eyes. “No. Nor do I deserve your anger. What have I done?”

  “You've become pathetic, even more so than you were before.”

  “And why does that bother you?”

  Blade walked back to her. “Either come with me or go back. Choose.”

  Lilu sighed, but followed when he swung away and continued down the street. By the time he reached his rooms, he could tell from her rasping breaths that she was exhausted. When she gazed at the staircase with despairing eyes, he gripped her arm and trundled her up it, shoved her into his room and slammed the door. She sank into the solitary, overstuffed chair, gasping, while he lighted the lamps.

  Blade drew aside the curtain that hid his copper tub, still half full of tepid water from his afternoon bath and only a little soapy.

  “First you'll wash off that stink before it makes me sick.”

  “It's not my stink; it's –”

  “Spare me the details.”

  Lilu levered herself out of the chair and went behind the curtain, which he pulled back into place with a vicious hiss of rings on bar.

  Lilu tugged off her frock and climbed into the water, which was not too cold, although it made her shiver. Choosing a frey flower scented soap from the selection, she scrubbed herself all over, including her hair, glad to be rid of the smell of her clients. She listened to the soft sounds Blade made moving around in the room, wondering what he wanted. When he had entered the room at the whorehouse, her heart had almost stopped in delight, wonder and horror that he should find her there, naked and abused.

  It made her ridiculously happy to see him again, and her heart still hammered. Was she wrong about him? Did he, in fact, have a use for a woman? Even if he did, however, he would not choose to lie with an ugly whore when he could undoubtedly have any woman he wanted, even rich, beautiful ladies. From the way he had averted his eyes and his distasteful expression at the time, she doubted it. Did he feel sorry for her? Was he capable of such feelings? She would find out, she suspected, when she got out of the bath.

  A soft towel hung on the railing beside her, and she dried herself and donned the frock again, wishing that she had a clean one. As she emerged from the alcove, the baby kicked, making her grunt and clasp her belly. Blade sat in the chair, staring into a roaring fire, a cup of wine in one hand. A thin mattress lay on the floor beside the hearth, and she wondered where it had come from. She had not heard him leave the room, but perhaps he had. She sat down on it, combing her hair in the fire's heat to dry it.

  Blade watched her with frigid eyes, sipping his wine, and gestured to the bottle and cup on the table beside his chair. “Have some, if you want.”

  Lilu crawled to it and poured a cup, settled back to sip it and found that it was a rich, musky red variety, expensive. She gazed at him, amazed to be here in his room, so unexpectedly and after not seeing him for two moons. He looked healthier, his gaunt, pale look gone.

  “You're looking well,” she ventured.

  He scowled at the fire. “And you look worse, if such a thing is possible. Why do you continue to work there, even now?”

  “It's the whorehouse or the street, and the street's worse.”

  “You must like being a whore then, or you'd have chosen something else.”

  She shook her head. “I never had a choice. My father sold me into service when I was twelve.” She sipped her wine, listening to the snap of the fire. “Thank you, for what you did to Tromar.”

  “Tromar? Who in Damnation is he?”

  “The drover. I know what you did, so it's no good denying it.”

  He shrugged. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

  “You did a good job on his nose. What did you use, a faggot?”

  A slight smile tugged at his lips. “You're dreaming. I don't go around beating up bear kin for the sake of whores.”

  “And all his front teeth are missing too. He looks worse than I do now.”

  “At least he doesn't have to rut with men in a dark broom cupboard to earn his keep.”

  “You must have put the fear of Tinsharon into him. He never came back.”

  He sipped his wine. “I tire of your delusions, I really do.”

  She sighed, giving up. “What do you want with me?”

  “I have need of a whore.”

  Her heart pounded. “You do? I... I didn't think you would...”

  “What?”

  “Find me... interesting.”

  He chuckled, shaking his head. “I don't. I could - can have any woman I want, so I don't need to lie with dirty harlots. Especially ugly harlots.”

  She looked away to hide her pain. “Then what?”

  “I have a task for you. My Guild has agreed to my blood debt. I want the men who tried to kill me, but I don't know who they are. I'll set you up in a whorehouse in Trobalon territory, somewhere their thugs go, and you'll listen to the gossip and learn their names. They'll brag about almost killing the Dance Master, even now.”

  “And if I don't want to spy for you?”

  “Then you can go back to that cesspit where I found you.”

  “You could pay for the information at those whorehouses. The women would tell you for a few silvers.”

  He inclined his head. “Sure, and tell the thugs I'm looking for them, too. Then they'd either try to kill me again, or flee.”

  “So, you trust me.”

  His eyes flicked to her, lingering on the bruises around her neck. “If you betray me, I'll kill you.”

  “No you won't. You could just as easily threaten the whores at those brothels, and they'd believe you.”

  “What makes you think I won't kill you?”

  Lilu cocked her head and smiled. “Many reasons. Firstly, I saved your life. Secondly, you can't kill without a client, and thirdly, you'd never harm a woman.”

  He snorted. “What makes you think that?”

  “You loved your mother, I can tell. In fact, I'd even say that you were your mother's favourite son, if you had brothers. Perhaps you were an only child, but she doted on you, and you on her. You carried me home when Tromar beat me, and beat him in exactly the same way because of it. You fed me when I was hungry and protected me when I was in trouble, and now you've saved me from that cesspit, as you so nicely put it.”

  He scowled at her. “You're deluded. You were afraid of me after Tromar beat you.”

  She nodded, hanging her head. “I was hurt, and you were angry. When you didn't, I realised how wrong I was to think you capable of it. You'll have a problem if anyone ever hires you to kill a woman. You won't do it. What's more, you'll probably save her. You hate men. Did your father beat you?”

  “No.”

  Lilu longed to know him better. He was such a fascinating, beautiful man, and she wished she could see his pure aura again, but without Symbell's song it was invisible. He stretched out his legs to the fire and rested his head on the back of the chair, looking relaxed.

  “What's your real name?” she asked.

  Several moments passed before he replied, “Conash.”

  She frowned, puzzled. “Dead Son? Why would your mother name you that?”

  “I was born dead. My father gave it to me as a grave name.”

  “They're dead, aren't they? Your folks?”

  “Mind your own business.”

  Lilu put aside her cup and crawled closer to his chair, kneeling beside it to hesitantly place a hand on his shin. His eyes flicked down to her, full of hostility.

  “I'll do what you want,” she said, “but soon I'll give birth, and it would be nice to have a break afterwards. Will you pay me for the information?”

  “Very well. A golden for every name and description you bring me.”

  Her breath caught at the vast sum he offered. “So much. Can you afford it?”

  “Yes.”

  “You're working again.”

  “Yes.”

  Her eyes fell upon his silver-studded belt, and she contemplated its significance with a wash of prid
e. “You're still the Master of the Dance. That's wonderful. Did anyone challenge you?”

  “Only one fool.”

  “And you showed him just how much of a fool he was, I'll wager.”

  “Something like that.”

  She smiled. “I'm glad. The healer did his work well.”

  “He should have, at that price.”

  After a moment's hesitation, Lilu took hold of his hand and turned it to run her fingers over his smooth palm with its tiny scars. He endured it for a moment, then tugged it away and tucked it under his jacket.

  “Quit pawing me,” he said.

  “But I like to paw you,” she said, tilting her head. “You're so soft.”

  He chuckled.

  “You're cat kin, aren't you?”

  Blade slugged back the last of his wine and jumped up, pulling off his jacket as he went over to his bed. “Sleep on the pallet, and don't wake me up.”

  Lilu watched him strip down to his baggy shorts and climb into his bed, then lay down on the pallet with a sigh. The fire had warmed the room, and she was more comfortable than she had been for two moons, although her stomach rumbled. At least she was clean and unmolested. She lay awake, contemplating the future. If Blade continued to intrude into her life every time she had need of him, perhaps things would not be so bad, and she blessed Symbell for her guidance. As a God Touched, he would not abandon her now, and she knew she was safe for the first time since her father had left her at the whorehouse thirteen years ago. Blade was the Master of the Dance, the deadliest man in Jondar, and her friend.

  It saddened her that he would never be more, but she was an ugly whore and he was a eunuch, making any silly romantic dreams pure folly. She had given up on romance many years ago, but his friendship was the most precious gift anyone had ever given her, not counting her children. Their fathers had not intended to sire them, but Blade had returned and saved her, and, much as he denied it, she knew she was probably the closest thing to a friend he had. She doubted that he would ever allow her close to him, however.

  A soft pop and flash made her look up with a smile. Symbell hovered over her, her wings a shimmering blur. She drifted down to land on Lilu's belly, arching her neck to gaze through her flesh at the child within. Lilu stroked her neck, and Symbell purred, her eyes aglow and her skin shimmering with waves of soft pink and gold. Radiant dragons had many powers, but they never interfered in the lives of their human friends. Dragon kin were exceedingly rare, and their familiars gifted them with insight, intelligence and precognizance. The baby kicked, making Lilu wince, and Symbell trilled.

  “It's a boy?” Lilu whispered, smiling.

  Serpent kin, Symbell's whispery voice said in her mind.

  “Another son. I'm blessed.”

  He will die with blood on his hands.

  Lilu's smile faded. “I wish you wouldn't tell me things like that.”

  He is Tromar's son.

  “Oh, god.”

  Symbell raised her head and gazed at the sleeping assassin. He is Tinsharon's son.

  “What do you mean?”

  God Touched.

  “Yes, but not god conceived.”

  The radiant trilled. All God Touched are born from Tinsharon's grace.

  “But you don't mean – ow!” Lilu yelped as Symbell bit her on the belly, her razor-sharp crystal teeth leaving little bloody marks.

  He told you he was born dead, Symbell said.

  “Oh. I see.”

  Look again. The radiant spread her translucent wings, puffed up her throat and filled the room with sweet, fluting notes, which rose and fell without tune or discord. Lilu propped herself up on one elbow to gaze at the man in the bed as the room transformed into a wonderland of pearly radiance and silver glimmers. The floor glowed with preternatural light and the walls turned into tarnished silver, the overstuffed chair looked like silver lava shining through a ragged skin. The greatest radiance, however, came from the bed, where pale hues gathered and brightened into a soft aura, surrounding the sleeping assassin. Lilu watched with her heart in her throat as the aura coalesced, taking on a hard-edged glitter. It had been enthralling when Blade was a stranger, now that she knew him, it held an awesome fascination.

  Symbell continued to sing, and the aura around Blade grew brighter and paler until it was hard to look at. Lilu's eyes filled with tears when three pale, flowing conduits formed in the air above him, indicating a lingering attachment to the dead.

  “His father and mother?” she whispered.

  And his familiar, Symbell's silver voice said in her mind.

  “Oh, god... a cat.”

  Who died defending him.

  “Who killed them?”

  The Sun People.

  “Cotti.”

  Lilu stared at the shimmering conduits while Symbell sang, wondering why the radiant's song continued. Then she noticed him. He sat in the darkest corner of the room, and the brightest conduit led to him. The gilded outline of a shadowy cat, watching her with glowing eyes. Lilu's eyes overflowed, and she stifled a sob.

  His name is Rivan, Symbell whispered. He watches over him still.

  “Does Blade know?”

  No. His presence brought the boy to the brink of madness. Now he stays in the shadows. He will never leave.

  The assassin tossed and sighed, muttering. Symbell fell silent, and the magic ebbed away in fading sparkles and dying glimmers. The darkness clamped down, only the glow from the hearth alleviating it. The cat vanished, and Lilu turned to her familiar.

  “He's waiting for Blade to die.”

  Symbell arched her neck. Hush.

  Blade grew still, and Lilu sensed the soft magic that pushed him back into the arms of sleep as it tugged at her eyelids. She fought it, yawning, and gazed at Symbell, who folded her wings and sat up on her haunches.

  He will have a long wait, she trilled.

  “That's good.”

  Not so good, but I cannot tell you what I see.

  “Why not?”

  Forbidden.

  “Why?”

  The radiant's glow brightened, which Lilu knew meant she was preparing to hop back into her own time. He has a destiny.

  “Don't we all?”

  Not like his.

  “What is he?”

  Symbell gave a trilling purr and spread her wings, rising into the air. God Touched.

  “Yes, but...”

  The radiant dragon vanished with a soft pop, leaving a glowing spot in the air and shimmering sparkles that faded away. Lilu sighed and lay down, clasping her belly, where little feet pressed against her flesh from the inside. Tromar's son. He had been one of her more sadistic customers. The other girls had spurned him after one try, and Lilu had been the only one who would go with him, since she had so few customers compared to the prettier girls. Tromar had a wife, she recalled, and bragged about her beauty, although she was barren. Lilu often wondered if he treated her as roughly as he did the whores. Now he had sired a son, and, if he found out, she feared that he would try to steal the child.

  The drover was desperate for a son, so much so that when one of the other girls he had lain with once had fallen pregnant he had hounded her to find out if he was the father. She had denied it, but only when she had birthed a baby girl with red hair had he left her alone. Lilu had a bad feeling about her new son, and her feelings were usually right. Closing her eyes, she pushed the ugly thoughts from her mind, aching with fatigue. Tomorrow, Blade would take her to a new whorehouse, but he would have trouble persuading them to take her on, she was sure. No one wanted an ugly, pregnant, broken-nosed harlot.

  A toe nudging her leg woke Lilu, and she opened her eyes with a start, relaxing when she found Blade standing over her. He swung away and went over to the table as she sat up. Midday sun streamed in through the window to warm a patch of floor. The aroma of hot, meaty food made her mouth water, and she levered herself to her feet to approach the table. A pie awaited her on a plate, and Blade nibbled another, sipping a cup of
wine. He never seemed to be without a wine cup in his hand, she reflected while she ate.

  Blade gazed out of the window, and pushed his half eaten pie over to her when she finished hers.

  “You don't eat enough,” she admonished.

  “I also dislike being told what to do.” He rose and crossed the room to his bed, drew a money pouch from under the pillow and tied it to his belt.

  Stuffing the last of the pie into her mouth, Lilu rose and inspected herself in the mirror above the dresser, finger-combing her hair and straightening her wrinkled dress. Blade snorted and headed for the door.

  “Don't bother.”

  Lilu hurried to catch up, and he slammed the door behind her. The walk across the city tired her, and she was glad when Blade stopped outside a seedy building with a battered, peeling sign that named it the Winsome Wench. She followed him into a dim taproom with dirty rushes on the floor and two slatternly whores drinking ale at a table. Blade was not wearing his belt, she noted. Dilapidated furniture cluttered the room, and a few men drank ale at the tables, swapping ribald remarks. The whores eyed Blade with interest, and one winked.

  Blade ignored her and approached a fat, balding man with a greasy face who sat behind the counter. The barkeep stood up and shuffled over, his eyes raking Blade.

  “What'll it be?”

  “A cup of your best wine, and a conversation with this dump's owner.”

  “That'd be me.” The man poured a cup of pale wine and pushed it over to the assassin.

  “Good. This whore needs a place to trade.” Blade gestured at Lilu, who sat on a stool.

  “You jest. No man will want her, with a face like that.”

  “They will, for two coppers a go.”

  “Two coppers, eh?” The whorehouse's owner frowned at Lilu. “Is she experienced?”

  “Very.”

  “She's also with child.”

  Blade smiled. “I had noticed that, oddly enough.”

  “What's it to you?”

  “None of your business. She's a hard worker.”

  “She'd have to be,” the man said. “I already have enough whores, though, this city's crawling with them.”

  “How many are this cheap?”

  “Quite a few.”