The Queen's Blade Prequel II - God Touched

by T C Southwell

  “That is it? He is dead?”

  Blade inclined his head, wiping his dagger on the velvet drapes. “You were expecting it to be more exciting?”

  “It seemed... so easy.”

  “That's what you paid for. A swift, silent end.”

  “It was amazing.” She trailed her fingers across her chest, parting her diaphanous nightgown, which barely hid her nakedness. Sliding off the bed, she approached him, skirting the dead pig.

  “You are skilled indeed. A master assassin, well worthy of your title, though you have the appearance of a youth. We shall have wine.”

  He sheathed his daggers. “No we will not, Viscountess. Do you have the rest of my fee?”

  She moved closer, her voice dropping to a throaty purr. “Come now, do not be coy. Are you not titillated? Does killing a man not excite you?”

  “No.”

  Marilda stopped before him, too close for comfort. “If you wish the rest of your fee, lie with me.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  The viscountess gripped the front of his jacket and, taking him by surprise, pushed him backwards. The bed caught him behind his knees, and he landed on his back, the noblewoman on top of him. She straddled him, shed her negligee with a shrug and leant close. Blade froze, staring at her perfect, slender nakedness. Marilda slithered onto his chest, as lissom as a snake, and gripped his face. Pressing her lips to his, she tried to push her tongue into his mouth. The bed foiled Blade's recoil, but he kept his mouth closed. When his hands flashed up to push her away they encountered soft skin, and he snatched them back. Her grip stopped him from turning his head aside, and shock, mingled with intense curiosity, held him fast. Perhaps this time it would be different, although he did not want her tongue in his mouth. She trailed her lips and tongue over his cheek, tugging his collar open.

  “You are a beautiful man,” she murmured in his ear. “So strong and deadly, like a big, gorgeous cat.” She drew back to gaze at the base of his throat, her finger tracing his mark. “A beautiful killer.”

  Blade wondered why he was so cold inside, as if a blizzard had invaded his chest. He may as well have been a piece of wood. Nothing had changed since his last encounter with a noble slut, much as he wished it had. How he longed for the lust other men had, so he could show her how much of a man he was. He was not, however, and all her beauty and sensuality did not stir one iota of desire in him. She fumbled open his jacket's laces and pushed her hand inside, encountering his leather vest.

  She giggled. “You wear far too many clothes.”

  Shaking back her hair, she raised her eyes to his and froze, blinking. Blade knew what she had seen there; the utter iciness and emptiness he had seen in the mirror so many times. With a swift shove, he pushed her aside and rolled on top of her, straddling her. He found a dagger in his hand, although he did not recall drawing it, and it was pressed against the side of her neck, where her life throbbed so close to the surface.

  The humiliation of his lack yearned for release. One swift slash and she would die in a fountain of blood. He leant closer, gazing deep into her eyes. She gulped, raising her hands in a warding gesture, and placed them on his chest. She was so weak, so helpless, and so beautiful. He longed to snuff her like a candle between finger and thumb. Her lust offended him. All he had was perhaps a little despair. He was frozen. She panted with terror, her eyes white-ringed, reading her death in his.

  “You are right, Viscountess,” he murmured. “I am a killer. That is all I am, and all I sell is death.” He tilted his head. “Yet you wish to fornicate with me beside the body of your husband before he has even grown cold. You disgust me. Do you truly wish to join him?”

  Marilda's head jerked from side to side, and she gulped again. Her silence bought her life, for he was certain that if she had spoken at that moment he would have killed her. Yet the thought of doing so sickened him. She was helpless, but then, everyone was, against him. Why did the thought of her death repel him? Her soft skin brought memories of other gentle hands that reached out from his past, through the mists that hid it, to stroke and cuddle while a sweet voice murmured tender words. He lifted the dagger, holding it before her flinching eyes.

  “This is what you bought. Do not play with ice, Viscountess. It kills just as surely as fire. A more painless end, certainly, but an end all the same. You are closer to it now than you have ever been before. Does it not titillate you? Are you not excited?”

  She stared at him, licking her lips. He longed to slice off the wet pink appendage that had assaulted his mouth, and the lush lips it moistened. He turned his head and spat.

  “You are worse than a whore. You would pay to rut with the man who just killed your husband. You think your beauty will tempt me, but the ugliness of your mind disgusts me. You inflict your wantonness upon me and sully me with your lust. He was guilty of being a fat smelly man, no fault of his. You are a defiler.”

  Blade released her and rose to his feet. “Clothe yourself and bring me my money.”

  Marilda donned a satin gown with shaking hands, unable to meet his eyes. She went over to a desk and drew out a bag of coins, placing it in his hand. Blade sheathed his dagger and tied the pouch to his belt. She retreated, looking dazed, when he brushed past her on his way to the door, where he paused.

  “I advise you to scream long and hard in the morning, Viscountess, if you wish to convince everyone that you're innocent of this crime. Doubtless you will enjoy sleeping beside his cold corpse as much as you enjoyed watching him die.”

  She nodded, rubbing her neck where his dagger had touched her.

  Blade slipped out and locked the door behind him before retracing his steps through the garden. Instead of returning to his rooms, as he had planned, his steps led him to Lilu's door in the seedy whorehouse. She sat up when he banged the door closed, her hair wild and her bloodshot eyes wide and red-rimmed in a puffy face. It looked as if she had been weeping. He paced up and down the room, barely five steps in either direction.

  Lilu lighted a lamp, watching him. “Blade? What is it? What's wrong?”

  He shook his head.

  “What's happened? Are you all right?”

  He ran a hand through his hair, scowling. She rose and gripped his arm, halting him. He turned his head to look down at her hand, and she released him.

  “What did she do?”

  Blade paced again, and she sat on the bed.

  “You'll wear a hole in my floor.” She patted the bed beside her. “Come and sit down. Tell me what happened. She tried to seduce you, didn't she?”

  His mouth twisted.

  “You were right to reject her. She's a slut.”

  Blade stopped and stared at the far wall, then walked over to sit beside her, his gaze fixed upon the floor. She hesitated, then took hold of his hand, a little surprised when he did not pull it away.

  “You did the right thing. You're far too pure for her to tarnish with her depravity.”

  Realising that he was not going to speak no matter how much she coaxed him, she pressed his hand to her cheek. She knew that any hint of flirtation from her now would send him out of the door faster than the north wind howled through the Boundary Mountains' crags. He had come to her for some sort of comfort, she hoped, and she thought she knew the reason. Wealthy noblewomen were well known for their appetite for forbidden flesh, particularly that of young men and especially ones like Blade, whose cold beauty and deadly reputation made him so attractive.

  Something had upset him to the point that he could not speak of it, and she knew better than to try to persuade him. He would do so when he was ready. She released his hand and poured two cups of wine, the sort he liked, which she kept a bottle of now, for when he visited. He took a gulp, and she noticed that his hand trembled a little. Almost half a time-glass passed while they sipped wine together.

  He raised his head and whispered, “She wanted to watch.”

  “Who did you kill for her?”

  “Her husband.”
/>   “Why did she want him dead?”

  “She disliked him. He was a man of the boar. She is kin of snakes.”

  Lilu nodded, watching him. “What did she do to you?”

  He touched his lips. “She wanted to lie with me.”

  “She kissed you?”

  “She tried.”

  “You feel... violated?”

  “Defiled.” He glared at the wall. “She's a defiler.”

  She hesitated. “To have her thrust unwanted attentions on you would make you feel like that, naturally.”

  “I almost killed her.”

  “You hurt her?”

  “No. I wanted to kill her. I was a hair's breadth from slitting her throat, but she has no mark upon her.”

  Lilu knew that the foolish noblewoman was fortunate indeed that Blade was averse to killing a woman. “That's good.”

  He glanced at her. “Why would she do such a thing to a stranger?”

  “She's wanton. Some noblewomen allow their lust to rule them, and take advantage of young men. What has upset you so? Is it because she tried to kiss you, or seduce you?”

  “All of it. She looks beautiful, but inside she's ugly. She made a mockery of my trade with her wish to rut with me afterwards, beside the body of her dead husband.”

  “Oh, I see.” Lilu smiled. “Your pride is wounded. She didn't fear you. She should have respected your status as a killer, not so?”

  He inclined his head, frowning. “I suppose that's part of it. Also that she thrust her unwanted attentions on me.”

  Lilu bit her lip, not knowing what to say. She could tell him she understood, and that it was a natural reaction, but she could not reveal that she knew the reason for it. He did not want anyone to know what he was, of that she was certain, and most people did not. She hoped he would tell her, but suspected he would not, since all her teasing had not made him reveal it. He must know she would stop if he told her the truth, yet still he would not, even though her flirting annoyed him. He longed to be like other men, and advances such as this only rubbed salt into his wounds.

  She leant closer and took his hand again. “I'm glad you're not tempted by sluts like her. She's beneath you.”

  He pulled his hand free and slugged back the last of his wine, banging the cup down on the bedside table. “I must bathe.”

  Lilu watched him leave with a heavy heart, wishing he would stay. Clearly all he wanted now, however, was to wash off the noblewoman's touch, a strange reaction. Then again, there was nothing normal about Blade, she mused.

  Chapter Ten

  Blade closed the spyglass and leant against the chimney behind him, pondering his next target with some frustration. Lord Rothwayer's mansion was a veritable fortress, as many that belonged to high-ranking nobility were. Nobles who frequented the Queen's court tended to be targets for assassination, and ensured that it was all but impossible. In addition to the bars on Lord Rothwayer's windows, eight dogmen patrolled around the house, alert for danger. They looked like veterans of the Great War, too old for soldiering but formidable and well-trained all the same. Just like the sacred Knights of the Veil who guarded the priestesses and their temples, and underwent voluntary castration to gain the privilege.

  Three days ago, a messenger had handed him a missive requesting Lord Rothwayer's death and promising fifty goldens for the job to be done. Yesterday he had received the down payment, but since then he had been unable to find a chink in the lord's defences. Rothwayer was a close associate of the Queen, and accorded the privilege of his rank in the form of wealth and servants, many of whom lived in the mansion's servants' quarters and were on duty at night. The lord also had a wife and three children, and his two young sons were dog kin. Rothwayer himself was owl kin, a portly man with a kindly face and an air of wisdom. His wife was squirrel kin, and his daughter, the eldest of his children, appeared to be something even more insignificant, like mouse or lizard.

  One thing that Blade's spying had taught him, however, was that Rothwayer had a good appetite for pretty young whores, and one visited the mansion each night after dusk. The assassin contemplated the prospect of donning a female disguise again without enthusiasm. There seemed to be no other choice with so many guards, servants and family members around Lord Rothwayer. Every day, he travelled to the palace in a gilded carriage with his guards, and he did not appear to frequent any drinking establishments.

  Blade rose and stretched before walking to the edge of the roof to jump down into the street, startling a barrow-hag. The old harridans seemed to be everywhere, he mused, as he wandered towards Lilu's lodgings. The whore was busy when he arrived, judging by the sounds coming from her room, and he settled in the taproom to wait. When she emerged a few minutes later, he crooked a finger at her, and she slid onto the bench opposite with a smile. He drew two goldens from his purse and held them out.

  “Go to the market and buy me a woman's wig and a long-sleeved dress, a large one.”

  She looked puzzled. “What for? Wait!” She held up a hand when he opened his mouth. “Let me guess. None of my business?”

  “Correct. You may keep the change, but don't buy cheap goods.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes, now.”

  Lilu pouted, but pocketed the coins and headed for the door. Blade leant back and sipped his wine, regretting that he had thrown away the wig and dress from Graleth's assassination. At least he had kept the rest of the items.

  Sensing a presence, he looked up, surprised to find a Watch commander standing over him. Many of the taproom's patrons gazed at the commander with open curiosity, and the two assassins looked suspicious. The weather-beaten man sank onto the bench opposite, his leathery face set in lines of deep resentment. A harvester beetle clung to his lapel like a badge, its iridescent wing cases jewel-like against his dull brown uniform. He leant closer, his black eyes glinting.

  “I dislike being forced to buy your services, assassin.”

  Blade tilted his head. “I can see that. What forces you?”

  “A murderer. He has eluded my men for two moons now, and murders every other night. Women, mostly, and a few children, mainly street urchins, but still... he must be stopped.”

  “Why can't your men catch him?”

  “He's a damned ghost. No one ever sees him.”

  “That means you can't describe him, and nor can you name him or give me his location, all of which are required before you may hire me.”

  The Watch commander's scowl grew fiercer. “There's only one explanation for his prowess, Dance Master. He's one of your kind.”

  Blade shook his head. “Impossible. The Guild would have ordered his death.”

  “Then he must be from another city, come here to kill with impunity.”

  “Possibly. But since you can't meet my requirements, I can't oblige.”

  “Perhaps you should ask your elders how pleased they'll be if my men start arresting assassins.”

  Blade frowned. “How can I kill a man I can't find, any more than your men can arrest him?”

  “Find a way. Ask your fellows to help, I don't care. I want him dead.” The Watch commander banged a bag on coins on the table. “Twenty goldens. Ten now, the rest when he's dead.”

  Blade eyed the purse. “I can't guarantee that I'll find him.”

  “Then I'll expect a refund.”

  “I may kill the wrong man.”

  “So be it. Then you keep trying. He kills in the slums, in the dead of night. Mostly around the Twine District.”

  The assassin sighed. “Make it fifty goldens, and I'll see what I can do.”

  “Fine. Forty when it's done.”

  “That's a lot to pay to save a few unwanted urchins and whores.”

  “Last tenday he slew Lady Emrith, who ministers to the poor in that area. Her husband is enraged.”

  “Ah.” Blade nodded. “And Lord Emrith has the Queen's ear.”

  “My orders come from Captain Redgard, commander of the palace guard.”

&nbs
p; “To hire me?”

  “To do whatever it takes to kill this man.” The commander rose to his feet. “I want his body. Bring it to a Watch station and tell them who you are.”

  “And be arrested? I think not.”

  “You won't be. And if you are, not for very long.”

  “My trade doesn't include carting around bodies, Commander. I leave them where they lie, for your men to find. So shall it be. I'll inform them of its location, no more.”

  “Very well.”

  Blade scowled at the commander's broad back as he headed for the door, disliking his newest assignment. Especially when he already had a booking. Then again, he did not necessarily have to do it himself. Raising a hand, he beckoned to one of the assassins who sat in another gloomy corner. The man hesitated, clearly surprised, then rose and approached, looking wary. Blade gestured to the bench opposite, and the assassin sat down.

  “Have you a name?” Blade asked.

  “Slayer.”

  “How appropriate. I have a job for you. Ten goldens to slay the man who's killing whores and urchins in the Twine District. No, I don't know his name or what he looks like, nor do I have his address. That's the job, take it or leave it.”

  Slayer licked his lips. “I'll take it.”

  “Good.” Blade slapped five goldens on the table. “When he's dead, tell me where his body is. Off you go.”

  “Quick or -”

  “Don't be a bloody idiot. Just kill him, you dolt.”

  Slayer scowled, but scooped up the coins and left. Blade settled back and sipped his wine.

  The next night, Blade donned the whore's disguise in his rooms, inspecting himself in the mirror. Lilu had bought a tasteless bright pink cotton dress with white ruffles, large enough to fit Blade's shoulders, and a belt cinched his waist above the swaddling that gave him womanly hips. The berry juice, eye colour and powder he applied transformed him into the beautiful feminine stranger he had seen in the mirror before. He arranged the long, wavy brown wig into a fetching style with bangs to soften his face. Cheap baubles glinted on his neck and wrists, where long sleeves hid his daggers. Anointing himself with cheap perfume, he twirled in front of the mirror, making the water bag bosom bounce. Fortunately, Lord Rothwayer had a taste for robust girls.