The Queen looked up from her breakfast when Chiana knocked and entered, signalling her to rise from her prostration. The advisor looked a little pale, and her soft eyes had a hunted look.
"What is it?" Minna asked.
"I have a report from Captain Redgard. Lord Mordon was assassinated last night."
"Really?" Minna nibbled on a cake. "So soon."
"You knew of it, then."
"I ordered it."
"And you sent Blade."
Minna's brows rose at Chiana's bold tone. "Who else?"
Chiana frowned down at her clasped hands, and the Queen pushed aside her plate. "You are upset, Chiana. Why?"
"You did not consult with me on this matter, My Queen. I am your chief advisor, and I would have advised you not to take this course of action."
"You know about the attempt on Prince Kerrion's life?"
Chiana nodded.
"Lord Mordon hired the assassin who was killed in the Prince's room. His act was treasonous, and had he gone to trial, he would have been executed anyway."
"Then you should have had him arrested, not assassinated."
"Come, come, Chiana. For trying to kill an enemy Prince? The people would have said that he was doing us all a favour." Minna frowned. "Are you so upset because I did not confide in you?"
"No, not entirely. I wish you had, but the choice is yours. I thought Lord Conash was to retire."
"Ah." Queen Minna-Satu smiled and sat back. "I see. You like him, and you fear for his safety."
"I hardly know him, My Queen."
"That is of no account, I know exactly how you feel."
"Do you?" Chiana raised her eyes in a bold glance. "There are angry mutterings amongst the lords and advisors. Everyone knows who did it. Lord Mordon was found cold in his bed beside his wife this morning. He was killed without even waking her or his familiar, and the guards saw no one. He was stabbed under the left armpit."
"What of it? Blade is my assassin, and I sanctioned his actions. He is also under my protection, as a lord of my realm."
"They will want to know why, My Queen."
"He was plotting treason; that is all they need to know."
"Then he should have been arrested."
The Queen waved it away. "I shall deal with things the way I see fit, let any objectors do so to my face. Bring me Blade."
Chiana knocked on Blade's door and opened it, startled to find the assassin asleep in the vast four-poster bed. He sat up with a jerk, a dagger glinting in his fist, then slumped back with a grunt. He brushed the tangled hair from his face and yawned, knuckling his eyes.
"What is it?" He eyed her with some displeasure.
"The Queen wishes to see you."
Blade glanced at the sunlight slanting in through the windows and winced. Swinging his legs off the bed, he banged the dagger down on the side table and used both hands to rub his face. Chiana stepped back as he rose and stretched. He wore only a pair of baggy grey flannel shorts, which hung incongruously on his lean body and seemed in danger of falling down at any moment. He shot her a scathing look.
"I do not bite."
"Unless you are paid to."
He looked a little startled, and wandered over to the basin of water, where he splashed and dried his face before turning to her again. "Even then, I do not bite." She glanced at the dagger, and he followed her gaze. "Do not worry, I have washed the blood off it."
Chiana shuddered, looking away.
Minna-Satu looked up from her tea and beckoned Blade closer. He bowed, his eyes a little bloodshot, his glossy hair showing signs of a rough finger combing.
"My Queen."
"My Lord Conash. Sit."
Blade sank down on the cushions with a sigh, sparing a wry glance for the slumbering sand cat. "Does she only ever sleep?"
Minna smiled at her familiar. "Sand cats are nocturnal."
"Ah."
"I hear that you have completed your task."
"As you wished."
She nodded. "I was surprised that it was done so quickly. Was it very easy?"
"Reasonably so. I saw no point in wasting time."
"You are unhurt?"
"Yes."
She made a derisive sound. "Of course you are, no one even saw you. At least you did not trip over the rug."
Blade's smile pierced her heart its poignant sweetness. "No, My Queen, I never trip over rugs."
She looked away, flustered. "Chiana tells me that there are angry rumblings at court. Everyone knows that you did the deed."
"And therefore that you ordered it."
"Yes, well, I am above censure."
"And I am not?"
She shook her head. "You are under my protection, but since they cannot touch me, their anger is directed at you."
"And you fear for my life?"
"Chiana certainly does, and I share her worry."
His brows rose. "Chiana?"
"She is protecting my assets."
"Ah."
"In view of this, perhaps it would be wise to stay in the palace for a while. You are safe here, but in the city I cannot protect you."
Blade's eyes narrowed. "I will not be kept caged like Kerrion, My Queen. I have seen how it eats at him, and I will like it no better."
"It is for your safety, My Lord."
He stifled a yawn. "Do not concern yourself, My Queen, I have had many years of dodging the angry relatives of my victims."
"And once it almost cost you your life."
"More than once, but I am still here."
"These are not commoners who seek revenge. They are powerful men, lords and advisors."
Blade looked away. "I do not fear death."
"What about pain?"
He grimaced. "I am not partial to it."
"Then stay in the palace, at least until this all dies down."
"I doubt that it will, My Queen. Rather, I think that you will find more work for me, and the hatred of me will grow."
"I shall be sending Kerrion back soon, then there will be no call for attempts on his life."
"But the traitors will still be afoot. If they seek to thwart your wish for peace, they will find other ways of doing so."
"How?" she demanded. "They cannot threaten me."
"Not you, but your loyal advisors and lords. They will undoubtedly try to turn the tide against you by lessening your support."
"I have already stamped out a rash of assassinations by sending the guilty ones to the front. They will not try that again."
Blade raised a hand to cover a yawn. "If not assassinations, then perhaps threats and blackmail will suffice."
"I have many spies. I will find them out and punish them. Nor will I need you to do it. I shall be able to do it through the courts. Protecting the Prince may seem a reprehensible act to my people, but political intrigue has ever been punished with their approval."
His eyes drooped. "I would recommend that you find the traitors now and execute them before they can foment more trouble."
"I have only suspicions, it is not enough to convict them." Blade stifled another yawn, his jaw cracking, and the Queen demanded, "Am I boring you, My Lord?"
His gaze sharpened a little. "I have had no sleep, My Queen."
"Very well, we shall continue this discussion another time, then."
"What is there to discuss? You will do as you wish, no matter what anyone says."
Minna smiled. "You are even more impertinent when you are tired. It is as well that I am fond of you, or I would punish such insults."
"I am usually very grumpy when I am this tired, and I had thought to pay you a compliment."
"That I am unswerving?"
"As a Queen should be."
Her brows rose. "I did not think you a flatterer."
"I tell the truth occasionally, and this is one such occasion."
"Are you a good liar?"
The assassin shrugged, struggling not to yawn again. "I have spun many a good yarn, it is sometimes necessary in my profession."
"When you pretend to be a Cotti whore, for instance."
He frowned. "So he told you. I came very close to killing him. Perhaps I should have."
"No, your secret is safe with me. I admire your abilities, and the way you have turned a disadvantage into an advantage."
"You admire a killer?"
Minna pulled a face. "You are an assassin."
"What is the difference?"
"You told me yourself, a murderer is one who kills for no good reason, perhaps even for the pleasure of it. You take no pleasure in it, but supply a service for others. Am I a killer when I order an execution, or send thousands of men to war? Is the executioner a killer when he decapitates a man?"
"Perhaps. But you do not have to wash the blood off your hands afterwards."
The Queen stared past him at a tapestry on the far wall, lost in thought. Blade rubbed his gritty eyes and stifled another yawn, squinting at the sunlight that streamed in through the window. She noticed his discomfort and smiled. "Go and sleep, My Lord."
He rose and bowed. "My Queen."
Blade had almost reached his room when someone called his name, and he turned to find Chiana hurrying after him. He groaned and carried on towards his door.
"Wait, I must speak to you, Blade."
He entered his room, leaving the door open. "So speak."
Chiana hesitated on the threshold, looking wary. He noted her expression and smiled, making her blush. "Do not worry, I have no orders to kill you, and no other designs on you."
She advanced and closed the door behind her. "Would you?"
"Would I what?"
"Kill me?"
His gaze raked her. "I have never killed a woman, believe it or not, but there is a first time for everything."
"Why have you never killed a woman?"
"I have never been hired to. Generally when a man wishes to be rid of his wife or lover, he kills her himself and claims it to be an accident. Women are easy to kill. No one needs an assassin to do it."
She shivered, glancing at the door. Blade sat on the bed and pulled off his boots. "So what did you want to speak to me about?"
"What? Oh, yes. You should leave here, go to your estate. The Queen courts danger by using you to assassinate her enemies. They will plot to kill you."
He shrugged. "I cannot disobey the Queen."
"She would not punish you, she is too fond of you for that. I thought that you planned to retire after your elevation."
"I had, but what would I do? Plant fray flowers? Take up needlepoint, perhaps? Killing is all I am good at."
"Then kill if you must, but not for the Queen. Her enemies are powerful, they will kill you."
He looked up at her in surprise. "Such concern. Tell me, what have I done to deserve it?"
"Nothing," she snapped. "My concern is for the Queen, not you. Who would worry about a cold-blooded killer?"
"Who indeed? But why do you fear for the Queen? She is in no danger."
"She makes more enemies with these tactics. Those who support her will turn against her."
He started to unlace his tunic, his eyes crossing with fatigue. "Then you should speak to her about it, not me."
"I have tried, it does no good."
"I am in her employ, I have no choice." He took off the tunic and flung it at the rack, missing.
"Are you a lapdog who obeys her every whim?"
He glared at her. "No, but I have lived too long in the gutter to risk losing my hard won rank and privileges."
"I see."
"I doubt it. Now, if you do not mind, Advisor Chiana, I would like to get some sleep."
Chiana opened her mouth to protest his casual dismissal, then remembered his rank and bowed. "My Lord."
Three days later, deep in the bowels of the palace, the remaining conspirators met in a heated argument, angry and afraid. Mendal had to raise his hands and shout to bring order before someone got hurt. When the three lords had subsided to angry muttering, he glared at them.
"Mordon made a mistake. We do not know what, but he gave himself away. That the rest of us are still alive proves that the Queen does not know about us."
"Or she has not given the order yet," Lord Durlan muttered. Lord Javare and Bellcamp nodded, glaring at Mendal.
"Why would she wait?" Mendal snorted. "No, she does not know about us, I am certain. Mordon was sloppy, and paid the price."
"And now you want us to risk our necks too," Javare said.
"Would you rather face ruin?" Mendal stroked the serpent that coiled around his wrist. "The fact that Prince Kerrion is so well defended only confirms our suspicions. The Queen seeks to make peace with the Cotti. We cannot allow that."
"Then advise her, Mendal, that is your job." Durlan mopped his face.
Javare moved away from the fat man. "Let us get this over with, the stench of pigs is sickening me."
Durlan glowered at his antagonist, and Mendal distracted their attention. "Yes, we must strike again. The Prince must die. The Queen will not heed my advice, she listens only to that doltish girl Chiana and a few others."
"How can we kill the Prince?" Bellcamp enquired. "The secret passage is blocked and guarded, a soldier sits in his room with him at all times. It is impossible."
"Blade could do it," Javare muttered.
Mendal nodded. "Doubtless he could, but he is not in our employ."
"His services have always been for hire, and I am sure he would like to kill the Prince. All he needs is a client who pays him for it," Lord Javare asserted, glaring at Mendal.
"He is a lord now, so he is no longer for hire.
"What does he know about being a lord?" Bellcamp demanded. "He is an upstart commoner elevated to the rank. He has no notion of what it entails."
"I would say that he has been educated, Bellcamp. The Queen would not allow him to embarrass her with ill-considered acts, I am sure." Mendal shook his head, pondering the problem while the three lords shifted in the tomb's dusty confines. "No, approaching Lord Conash would put all of our heads on the block, for he would go straight to the Queen." He raised a knobbly finger. "But we could get rid of him, then find a way to kill Kerrion."
"What is the point?" Bellcamp asked. "Blade is not the one we truly wish to kill. Why bother?"
"Because with Blade out of the way, the Queen will not be able to kill any of us, should she find out. She will then have to go through the courts, which will be damaging. She will be forced to reveal her intentions towards Prince Kerrion, and you know how unpopular that will be. Also, we will have our revenge and remove a powerful supporter of the Queen."
Durlan looked unhappy. "That smacks of treason."
"It happens all the time," the advisor said. "Blade is not protected as Kerrion is. In the palace he is relatively safe, but he goes into the city alone and usually on foot. To ambush him would be easy, and we could hire ordinary men to do the job, not expensive assassins. Once he is out of the way, we can concentrate on Kerrion."
"We kill Lord Conash?" Javare asked.
"Not necessarily. He might be of more use to us alive. I am convinced that he knows the Queen's plans. If he could be persuaded to talk, we would find out much from him, I think."
Javare nodded, mollified. "Yes, indeed, a good plan."
"When we are finished with him, he dies," Mendal added, and Lord Javare frowned.
"I dislike the notion of killing a fellow lord, upstart or not. He was elevated for slaying King Shandor and delivering the Prince, honourable deeds. Let us not forget that our forefathers earned their titles in this fashion, and our ancestors were as common as his. In fact, his earning the rank puts him above us, in my opinion, for we merely inherited ours."
"That is only your opinion, Javare," Durlan sneered.
"I doubt you could do any great deed to earn your title, Durlan. You cannot even sit a horse without breaking the beast's back."
"Lords have always plotted against each other, Javare." Bellcamp interjected. "One less will not be remarked upon."
"Speak for yourself," Javare retorted.
Mendal raised his hands. "Let us not squabble, My Lords." He turned to Javare. "We cannot allow him to live, if he knows who we are."
"There is no reason for him to know our identities."
"True." Mendal shrugged. "Very well, we shall make it our intention to spare him, but we may have to kill him."
Javare inclined his head. "I can abide that."
Mendal rose from his hard seat atop a tomb. "Then we are agreed."
Blade went into the city two days later, just to get out and stretch his legs. The day before, Lord Mordon had been buried, and he, as a fellow lord, had been obliged to attend. It was the first time that he had been to the funeral of one of his victims, and he had found the experience discomfiting. Not only the sight of the weeping widow and four bereft children, all older than fifteen, but the angry, hate-filled glances of the mourners had unsettled him. Queen Minna-Satu stood beside the grave in regal splendour, daring anyone to accuse her of wrong doing. Although she had not accused Lord Mordon of treason, her lack of mourning spoke volumes for all to see.
At the funeral feast, Lady Mordon had tried to approach Minna, but the Queen had turned her back on the unfortunate woman. The guests had noticed her rejection, and many remarked upon it as the widow turned away. Lord Mordon's eldest son, a pimply youth of eighteen, had looked cowed and uncertain, his dog familiar following him with tail tucked. His eldest daughter, however, held her head high and dared any to speak ill of her father, her eyes bright with challenge. She was a handsome girl of twenty, and Blade admired her courage. Strangely, despite the matriarchal nature of the monarchy, the title passed to Lord Mordon's son. His eldest daughter would inherit the title of marchioness, but when she married her husband would remain untitled, and she would retain hers.
Lost in his thoughts, Blade took little notice of the dark figure that followed him into the city, keeping well behind and ducking out of sight whenever the assassin glanced around. Discounting it as one of Minna's spies, sent to watch over him or spy on him, he paid it no heed. The Queen's warning made him a little more alert than usual, and he kept a wary eye on side streets and alleys. Making his way through the more affluent parts of the city, he headed for a middle class area, where honest merchants lived and plied their trade. It was not as grand as the suburbs where the nobility lived, nor as squalid as the slums on the outskirts of the city.
At his favourite inn, he chose a table in a corner and imbibed several tankards of good ale, relaxing and enjoying the atmosphere. The taproom had a welcoming air to it, with clean rushes on the floor and well-worn, but comfortable furniture. The innkeeper was an honest fellow with a merry disposition, who owned a well-stocked cellar and had a plump wife who cooked a wonderful rabbit stew. Horse brasses adorned the walls, and polished pots hung over a massive fireplace on the far side of the room, where often a sheep carcass turned to provide meat for the hungry patrons.
Just before dusk, Blade started back towards the palace, filled with the warm glow of beer. His time at the inn had calmed him and relaxed his vigilance, for nothing untoward seemed imminent. When a figure strode out of an alley beside him and collided with him, he recoiled with a startled oath. Alarm penetrated his ale-soaked brain when the man gripped his arm and gave it a powerful tug that yanked him off balance and sent him stumbling into the side street. Before he could regain his balance, someone grabbed his arm again and swung him into the wall, knocked the wind out of him and made bright stars dance in his eyes. His knees buckled, and he slid down the wall, too stunned to offer any resistance as boots thudded into him from all sides.
The alcohol in his blood slowed him further, and all he could do was throw up his arms to protect his face as the men kicked him, punching the air from his lungs and bruising his ribs with savage blows. After several minutes, they dragged him upright, twisting his arms behind his back. He shook his head, trying to clear it as he was pushed back against a wall. Blood spattered his chest, running from his nose in a crimson stream, and he wondered dimly if it was broken.
Four brutish men stood around him, their faces wreathed in sneers and gleeful grins. Two held his arms, and a third drew back his fist to punch the assassin in the face. Blade ducked, and the thug's fist slammed into the wall. The man howled, clutching his broken hand as he hopped and cursed foully. Blade struggled to free his arms, but the men held him. The fourth roughneck stepped up and drove his fist into Blade's stomach. The assassin doubled over with a groan, coughing. The man gripped Blade's hair and pulled him upright, punching him in the jaw. The assassin spat blood, jerking his hair from the thug's grip. Before the man could renew his hold, Blade kicked his attacker in the crotch. The thug screamed and collapsed in a tangle of arms and legs, curling into a foetal ball on the cobbles.
The sight of his whimpering comrade apparently angered another of Blade's captors, who swung a fist. The assassin jerked free and ducked, butting the man in the stomach. The thug went down with a grunt, and Blade almost fell on top of him as his legs wobbled. He struggled to free himself from the thug who held his other arm, but the man punched Blade in the side of the face as the assassin lashed out with his free hand. The winded man, seeing the assassin on the brink of escaping, drew a knife and charged. The weapon skittered off Blade's chain mail and impaled his biceps.
Blade grunted and swung on his assailant as he released a dagger from its wrist sheath and let it slide into his hand. With a swift slash, he opened a wound across the man's chest from shoulder to hip. The thug howled and dropped his knife to clutch the wound. The last man whipped an arm around the assassin's neck, and a dagger sank into his hip just below the chain mail. Blade grunted and tried to twist free, but the man's arm tightened, crushing his windpipe. Before his vision darkened, Blade flipped his dagger over, gripped it point down and thrust it into the thug's belly. The man released him with a coughing grunt, doubling over to clutch the wound.
Blade staggered away, one leg dragging from the wound in his hip, shock and alcohol slowing him further. The dark alley swam in and out of focus as he tried to get his bearings. The two thugs who were not bleeding hobbled after him. He tried to increase his pace, his breath hissing through his bruised throat. Before he reached the main street where people might see the struggle and call the Watch, one of his pursuers tackled him, bringing him down hard enough to punch the wind from his lungs, and the dagger clattered away.
The second man pinned his arms and twisted them behind his back, and between them, they dragged him back into the alley. Blade struggled, shouting for help, but they held him fast and bound his hands with coarse rope. A dirty rag was stuffed into his mouth and tied around his head. They dragged him further down the alley, along two dim side streets and down a flight of stone steps into a musty cellar. There he was flung onto a bed of damp straw, and the thugs slammed the door and barred it as they left, enveloping him in darkness.
For a while he twisted and tugged to try to loosen the ropes on his wrists, but to no avail. When his skin grew raw from the chafing, he slumped back on the straw, his wounds throbbing and his head aching. The ropes bound his remaining dagger to his wrist, and he could not free it. The stench of damp and mildew, mixed with something fouler, made him fight the urge to vomit. Inwardly he cursed whoever was responsible for this, and wondered what horrors lay ahead.