The Queen_s Blade tqb-1

by T C Southwell

  "A treaty!" Kerrion sneered. "It is as worthless as the paper it is written on. A man who can turn on his kin will not honour an agreement with another kingdom."

  "King Jan-Durval was a thorn in our side. The threat of reprisals has ever thwarted our attempts to invade Jashimari."

  "So now you have handed it to Verone on a platter!" Kerrion threw the paper down. "And on what authority did you make this treaty? You are not the King!"

  "Nor are you!" Lerton shot back. "The way the trial is going, you never will be, either."

  "You and your lies! I cannot believe the judges are sucking up your ridiculous tales."

  Lerton raised his chin. "They are better than yours, and perhaps they want a king like Shandor, not a weakling like you. You talk about downgrading the war. You freed the Jashimari captives."

  "Children! We do not make slaves of children. The Cotti have more pride."

  "They will grow up to fight in the Jashimari witch's army."

  Kerrion controlled the urge to punch his brother, spinning away to pace up and down. When he had calmed down somewhat, he stopped and faced Lerton again. "Do you know what the Jashimari Queen's most potent weapon is? A man who was once one of those slaves. One who escaped, and, because of his treatment and mutilation, because he saw his family tortured and murdered in slavery, hates the Cotti more than I would have thought possible."

  Lerton shrugged. "So?"

  "He is the one who killed our father!"

  "That is your story. I do not believe he exists."

  Kerrion growled in frustration. "Our father's death warrant was signed the day Blade escaped from the camp. Not only does he know how to look like one of us, he also speaks like us. He can blend in perfectly and go anywhere in Cotti lands he pleases."

  "This is the one who is also a woman?"

  "Looks like a woman when he chooses. There is a big difference."

  "He is a figment of your imagination. I have made a good deal with Prince Verone, one that our father should have made."

  "Did you stop to wonder why he did not?"

  Lerton smirked. "He did not think of it."

  "He was not that stupid!"

  "In a few days, you will be on the gallows, so you should not worry about affairs of state, brother."

  "I would not be so sure of that."

  Lerton laughed. "The only way you can save yourself now is if you can produce this fictitious assassin as a witness, and I do not see that happening."

  "Before you usurp me, remember that there is a nest of little vipers just waiting for their turn to do the same to you. Once I am gone, you will be the next target, and they are just as devious and scheming as you. I do not see you remaining King for very long."

  Kerrion left Lerton agape and stormed back to his apartments, ordering the doors closed to all visitors. The trial had dragged on for almost a moon phase now, and he could sense the judges leaning in Lerton's direction, attentive to his tales and the witnesses he had produced, their pockets jingling with newfound wealth.

  The Maiden Moon waned and the Warrior started to show his face, boding well for battles just as the war had begun to escalate beyond all recognition. He sat at his desk and stared at Kiara on her perch, his mind filled with the memory of a pale face, which had haunted all his waking moments since his return and invaded his dreams at night. Jashimari's imminent fall filled him with fear for Minna's life, yet he could do nothing to help her until he was King. If Lerton succeeded in his endeavour to usurp Kerrion and condemn him for his father’s death, she and her kingdom were doomed.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Blade arrived at the border tired and cold. The raw chill of the four-tenday journey that had brought him here through deep snow on frozen roads seemed to have invaded his bones. The horses had to be changed frequently, since the heavy going sapped their strength, and it had taken all of the Queen's resources to make the journey possible in the harsh winter conditions. A tenday before they reached the mountains, the snow had lessened and the pace quickened.

  Here no snow lay on the ground, but the air was freezing and the wind nipped at any bare skin it found, reddening his nose and chapping his lips. After one night of comfort in a border camp tent, he was introduced to the Cotti spy who would take him to Jadaya. Valda was a man of crows, with a beaky nose and darting black eyes under a thatch of straw-like hair. He grumbled constantly, finding no end of complaints, and his raucous familiar annoyed the assassin. Blade bore his company in silence as they set off on two desert horses across the sea of sand.

  No winter lay siege to Jadaya, and at the end of the two-tenday journey that brought him to the city, the days were hot enough to cook a man's brains. Disguised in the flowing, pale turquoise robes of the desert people, which covered almost every inch of him, Blade entered Jadaya with his face covered, forgoing the skin dyes until it was necessary. His annoying companion took him to the desert King's palace and left him outside the walls with directions to Prince Kerrion's rooms, then hastened away.

  Kerrion sat slumped behind his desk, a cup of warm wine in one hand. Tomorrow the judges would give their verdict, and he knew what it would be. Lerton had convinced them, he was certain of it, and his spies could tell him nothing to refute it. Lerton took great pleasure in scorning every argument that Kerrion put forward, painting a graphic picture of power-hungry, hateful son whom Shandor disliked and who was determined to be rid of him. The worst part was that many of the accusations were true. Kerrion had never been close to his father, harbouring a deep resentment born of the fact that he was an unwanted son. He had not plotted to kill King Shandor, however, only to try to stay alive.

  It seemed ironic that Lerton, so long in collusion with his father to rid themselves of Kerrion, would achieve that aim through Shandor's death. He sighed and sipped the wine, grimacing at the sour taste. So deep was he in his morbid thoughts that he had not noticed the time-glasses passing, or the wine warming in his cup. Only the arrival of servants to light the lamps and torches alerted him to the fact that night had fallen. He waved away the offer of supper, lacking an appetite and wishing only to be left alone to think. The servants filed out, leaving him to his solitary gloom, the newly lighted torches hissing and spluttering.

  A movement amongst the curtains caught his eye, and he frowned at it, annoyed. His mother had visited him several times over the tendays, voicing her concern and offering advice that he did not want. Her visits irritated him, breaking his solitude and quiet reveries. She often waited behind the curtains for the optimum moment to show herself, usually just when he had managed to relax.

  "Come out, mother."

  A man dressed in black strolled from behind the curtains, the fine silver mail that clad his chest glinting in the torchlight. A faint smile curled his sensuous mouth, and his grey eyes pinned the prince with an arctic stare.

  "Mother? I did not know you were so fond of me, Kerrion."

  Kerrion's jaw dropped. "Blade!"

  "The one and only."

  The Prince jumped up, slopping his wine. "What are you doing here? How did you get in? What do you want?"

  Blade cocked his head, considering. "To the first, I am here to save your worthless hide from the gallows. To the second, up the wall and through the balcony doors, and to the third, nothing really."

  Kerrion reached for the bell pull that would summon a servant, but Blade raised a hand. A dagger glinted in it, held by the blade.

  "Do not touch that."

  Kerrion hesitated, then lowered his hand. He was unarmed, defenceless against the assassin. "What do you want? Were you sent to kill me?"

  "No, unfortunately. And as I have said, I do not want anything, but you do."

  "What?"

  Blade lowered the dagger and strolled closer. "You need me to save you from the gallows, do you not?"

  Kerrion glared at him, hating to admit to needing the assassin's help. "Why would you want to help me?"

  "I do not." Blade smiled. "But the Queen does."


  "Why?"

  The assassin shrugged, picked up a paper from the prince's desk and studied it. "Probably because she does not want Lerton on the throne."

  "So she sent you here to testify?"

  "That is right."

  "But you would rather kill me."

  Blade raised his eyes to meet the prince's. "Of course. But if I had been sent to kill you, you would already be dead. I have no client, Kerrion, remember my code."

  The Prince did not doubt that he only lived now at the Jashimari Queen's behest, but still found the situation hard to believe. "So you came all this way just to testify? To save me?"

  Blade's lip curled. "No. She asked me to, but I would not. I am an assassin, not an informant."

  "So you came to kill someone."

  "Yes."

  "Who?"

  Blade dropped the paper and glared at the prince. "In return for saving your worthless life, you will see to it that I am unharmed."

  Kerrion stepped back, stunned by this demand. "How? The moment you admit that you killed my father, you will be sentenced to death."

  "I know, but the moment I clear you of the charge, you will be the King."

  "If I set you free, I will be guilty of treason."

  "No, you will not, because by testifying, I shall be saving your life." Blade wandered away to study a woodland tapestry. "I realised this on the way here. You see, they are just about to lynch you for murdering your father, a crime you did not commit. That would make them the murderers of their king. You tell them I am testifying under total amnesty. In return for clearing you, I get a pardon."

  Kerrion pondered this, then nodded. "It may work."

  Blade turned, looking scornful. "It had better, because if they try to arrest me, you will die."

  "You will not get close to me, assassin."

  Blade's hand jerked up, and the dagger imbedded itself in the picture frame behind Kerrion's head. The prince stared at it, then turned back to the assassin. Blade smiled, another dagger in his hand. "I kill in many ways, I just have my favourites. Cross me, and you will pay the price."

  "What about your code?"

  "I am allowed to kill in my defence."

  "It will not save you," Kerrion pointed out.

  "No, but it will give me a great deal of satisfaction. I am sure I will manage to take a few others with me, too."

  "What about the wishes of your queen?"

  Blade shrugged. "They will not concern me, once I am dead."

  "I had no intention of breaking my word."

  "Good."

  "Who were you sent to kill?"

  "Someone you will not miss at all."

  Kerrion sank back into his chair. "Lerton."

  "Indeed."

  "He is my brother."

  "How touching. He is trying to send you to the gallows."

  Kerrion frowned as he watched Blade walk behind him to retrieve the dagger. "What does your Queen want in return for this help?"

  Blade shrugged, studying the portrait of King Shandor. "An end to the war."

  "I cannot do that."

  Blade leant over the prince's shoulder, making Kerrion stiffen at his proximity. "Try," he whispered, then straightened and sauntered to the front of the desk again. "It will end soon anyway. Shamsara has predicted it, and even now, the Queen has the solution."

  "What is that?"

  "In the spring, she will give birth to the next Jashimari Queen." Kerrion looked down, frowning, and Blade continued, "That is, of course, if the Contara have not overrun and murdered us."

  "Why would that end the Eternal War?"

  "Because, Prince Kerrion…" Blade paused to test the dagger's edge, making Kerrion fume with impatience. "Because the next Jashimari Queen will be your daughter."

  Kerrion's jaw dropped, and he stared at the assassin, speechless.

  Blade smiled at the Prince's shock. "Amazing, is it not? Shamsara says that you will not wage war on your own flesh and blood, even your people will not wish it. Is that true?"

  "That is not possible! I never…"

  "You did. Remember the red-haired handmaiden who came to your room one night?"

  "That was…?" The Prince was stunned, then wondering, and finally joy stole into his heart. "I thought -"

  "You were meant to. You refused to be her consort, so she was forced to make other plans. I should know, I helped her."

  "You!" Kerrion glowered at him. "How do I know that you are not lying? You are very good at it, I have heard."

  Blade flipped the dagger in the air and caught it by the hilt. "Ask the Queen."

  The Prince could still hardly believe that the Jashimari assassin stood in his room, so relaxed and confident, as if he belonged there. "That will be difficult. How did Minna know about my trial? She has a spy in my palace?"

  "Several."

  Kerrion pondered the new information, watching the assassin flip the dagger into the air and catch it again. "You know, just testifying to the judges will not be enough, you will have to prove that you killed my father."

  "I know."

  "You will have to wear the same disguise."

  "Obviously."

  "I thought you hated it."

  Blade paused in his dagger flipping to stare into space. "I do."

  "Then why are you doing this?" Kerrion gestured, confused. "You claim to care about nothing and no one. Why would you put yourself through this humiliation for the Queen? You told me yourself that you would kill her if someone paid you. Yet you travel into Cotti lands, knowing, I am sure, that you have little chance of leaving them alive, even with my help. Why?"

  Blade toyed with the dagger, appearing unconcerned. "I do not care if I die. Have you not realised that yet? I might have been discovered in your father's camp the night I killed him. I have spent my life courting death, yet it will not have me.

  "The danger of my situation does not bother me, only saving you sticks in my craw. But the life of a Cotti prince will be apt reward for saving one, do you not think? Perhaps this time death will take me, who knows? What do I have to look forward to? A long happy life with a devoted wife, cared for in my dotage by my sons and daughters? The Cotti stole my future, and I will take as many of their futures as possible."

  "Vengeance."

  "It is a sweet cup with bitter dregs, but I have grown accustomed to it. I have drunk my fill of it, yet it is never empty." Blade walked over to the window and stared into the darkness, where lights twinkled in the streets below. "I am the empty one."

  "You are a strange man. There are people who care about you, yet you shun them."

  Blade turned to sweep the Prince with a hard glance. "I tire of this conversation. Your morbid fascination for prying into my life annoys me."

  "I am trying to understand you is all."

  "So that you may find my weakness?" Blade gave a snort of laughter. "I have none." He started towards the curtains through which he had appeared.

  Kerrion jumped up. "Where are you going?"

  "I have to sleep."

  "Stay here if you wish."

  Blade paused, raising a mocking brow. "And awake in chains? I think not."

  "What good would that do me? I need your testimony."

  "True. But if you expect me to trust a Cotti, you are sadly mistaken." Blade vanished through the curtains.

  "I will see you tomorrow then, at dawn!" Kerrion called after him.

  The Prince sank back in his chair and poured a fresh goblet of wine. He pondered the sudden and unexpected turn of events as he sipped it. The impossible presence of the Jashimari assassin in his city, in his palace, and even, unnervingly, in his room, still stunned him a little. Blade's stealth was extraordinary, and he wondered how the assassin had avoided the many guards around and in the palace.

  Kerrion's mother, coming from the harem, was able to use secret passages to gain admittance, but Blade had come from outside. He had eluded scores of guards to enter the Prince's room. His respect for the assassin grew as he
considered this remarkable feat, long thought to be impossible. Blade's presence and mission brought fresh hope to brighten the Prince's gloomy thoughts, pushing aside the despair that had been taking hold of him.

  The amazing news of the child Minna carried also brought a surge of wonder and fresh tenderness for the Jashimari Queen. The night of passion he had spent with the red-haired maiden, though wine fogged and strangely muddled, had stayed with him ever since. His lack of self-control had baffled him, and he had woken alone and guilt ridden the next day. Now many pieces of the puzzle fell into place, and he experienced a wry admiration for her high-handed manipulation of events.

  It seemed that Minna-Satu liked to have her own way, and usually did. Even he could not gainsay her, and he wondered if Blade was the only one who could. He did not doubt for a moment that the assassin was immune to the Queen's blandishments, but did her will solely because he wished to do it. That she had succeeded in gaining his co-operation in this venture was admirable, but the price was Lerton's life, for which he doubted that she would otherwise have asked. Gravely he raised his glass towards the northern wall, smiling.

  "My thanks, Minna."

  Setting aside the cup, he pulled out a sheet of parchment and dipped his quill into the ink well, pausing to ponder the words he must set down to ensure Blade's safety. The task galled him. He would rather see the assassin lynched for killing his father, but his word had been given and Blade's threat was not an empty one, he knew. After a moment of contemplation, he began to write.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Blade rose at dawn and brushed the straw from his clothes, then stretched and yawned. The night spent in the palace stables had been peaceful, and the deep bed of straw had provided a pleasant resting place. Digging out the bag he had secreted there the night before, he consumed a frugal breakfast of biscuits and water before dampening a cloth and beginning the long transformation he hated so much. This time, however, he donned the female clothes over his own, and applied the skin dye only to those parts of him that were exposed.

  After he had applied the kohl to his eyes and berry juice to his lips, he forced the earrings through the long-unused holes in his earlobes with a grimace. He studied the disguise in his mirror, brushed the blond wig and tucked away errant strands of jet hair, then donned jingling bangles and a cheap necklace. Satisfied, he reburied his bag and rose to brush straw from his skirts, checking the daggers strapped to his wrists inside his sleeves. Covering his hair with a rippling length of blue silk, he wandered from the barn with a woman's graceful, swaying gait.