The Queen's Blade Prequel II - God Touched

by T C Southwell

  “How will your wife feel if you bring him home?” Lilu demanded, clutching at straws. “The son of a whore!”

  “My thon! She doethn't need to know who hith mother ith. She'll accept him, or I'll beat her until she doeth.”

  “And she'll beat and starve him in turn.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “I'll hire a woman to care for him. A wet-nurse, if needth be. Duth he need a wet-nurse?”

  “You're not taking him!”

  “You can't thtop me,” he sneered. “If you fight, he might get hurt.”

  “You'd hurt your son?”

  He glanced at Dorron. “No. I won't have to. Hand him over or your other children will thuffer.”

  Lilu went cold with shock, and the dirty alley spun. She did not doubt that he would make good on his threat. She knew from bitter experience just how brutal he was, and he would think nothing of harming her children. The beefy drover stepped closer and gripped Endel's arm, dragging him from her arms, and the boy shrieked. Tromar gripped him too tightly, making him cry and squirm.

  “Don't hurt him!” Lilu shouted, reaching for Endel, who held out his arms to her.

  “I'll not hurt my thon,” Tromar said, clutching the boy to him. “But I'll gladly kill you if you make trouble.”

  Lilu sobbed with helpless terror and fury as Tromar strode away, Endel shrieking in his arms.

  Dorron tugged at her skirts. “Mama? Where's Endel going? Who's that man?”

  She wiped her eyes. “It's all right, sweetie. That's Endel's papa. He's going to look after Endel.”

  “But Endel's crying, Mama.”

  “He'll be all right. Come on.” Lilu swept up Estra and followed Tromar at a distance. His bear trailed behind him, allowing her to stay out of sight. Tromar led her to the poor district, better than the slums, but not by much. Endel's screams lured her on, even if the bear had not given Tromar away. Lilu hid behind a corner and watched the bear enter a dilapidated house, longing to call the Watch. That would do her no good, however. The guards did not interfere, generally, in family disputes, and they would probably think that Endel was better off with his father. Lilu knew better. Tromar would end up beating the boy, just as he did his wife and the whores he used. He was a bully; it was in his nature.

  By the time she returned the children to Nelta and explained Endel's absence, her limbs were leaden. Her pregnancy was an unwanted burden, sapping her strength, and she plodded to the whorehouse with heavy feet, utterly drained. Blade was not there, and she flung herself down on her bed and wept.

  When Blade arrived, she had been weeping for three time-glasses, and her eyes were slits. He studied her with a frown as he sat on the chair.

  “What's wrong?”

  Fresh sobs racked her, and he sighed and folded his arms, gazing at the wall until she gulped and blew her nose on a rag.

  “It's Tromar,” she husked. “He's taken Endel.”

  “Tromar's his father, then?”

  “Yes.”

  He looked puzzled, cocking his head. “And you want him back?”

  “Of course I want him back, he's my son!”

  “And Tromar's.”

  “That man is a brute! He'll beat Endel for sure! Besides, he's my son!” Her voice rose. “Tromar almost beat me to death. He almost killed Endel then, next time he will!”

  The assassin winced and rubbed his ear, frowning. “I'm not deaf, Lilu.”

  She lowered her voice. “Will you help me?”

  His brows shot up. “How?”

  “Kill him!”

  “You have ten goldens?”

  She sagged, wiping her nose. “You know I don't.”

  “Do you have two goldens?”

  “You'd do it for two?”

  He shook his head. “But doubtless the second-rate assassin who shares my haunt will.”

  “I don't have two goldens!” she wailed.

  “Then I don't –”

  “Damn you, Blade, you owe me!”

  He frowned. “This is why assassins don't have friends, and I don't appreciate your demands.”

  She tried to see beyond his bland, inscrutable expression. “What if it didn't involve killing?”

  “What would it involve?”

  “Endel looks just like you. Come with me and claim to be his father. If we can convince Tromar that he's not Endel's father, he'll give him back.”

  He snorted. “Or slit his throat.”

  “The Watch takes a dim view of child killers.”

  “If Tromar is so desperate for a son, trotting out another potential father won't convince him. You have no proof, and we both know full well that I'm not.”

  “Please help me.” Fresh tears stung her gritty eyes.

  He cocked his head. “Why should I?”

  “Because I asked you to?” She dug in her purse and took out the fourteen silvers, holding them out. “This is all I have.”

  “You insult me.”

  “Do I?” She studied him again, wishing her tears did not blur her vision so much. She did not understand him, she realised, much as she thought she did. Offering him so little money was an insult, especially since he had given it to her in the first place, but she did not know what else to do. He wanted something else from her, and she wished she knew what it was.

  “What do you want?” she asked. “You can't pretend not to care, this time, and do it behind my back. I know you made this your haunt so I could trade here. I know you ruined Tromar's face for what he did to me, and carried me to my room when he beat me.”

  His scowl deepened. “Do you?”

  “Yes. And you know I love you. I would do anything to help you and anything you asked of me. Just like I know you'll help me.”

  “Indeed? And how do you know that?”

  She leant forward. “You want to know? You want to know why I saved you in that alley, carried you home and nursed you for three tendays? You want to know why I chased off those thugs and stitched you up when they almost killed you? I'll tell you. You're God Touched.”

  The assassin recoiled as if she had slapped him, paling. His reaction astonished Lilu. He knew. She crept closer to kneel before him, placing a hand on his knee in a timid gesture, terrified that he would leap up and leave.

  “I know. It shines from you in a white light. I know something else, too. I know a cat follows you. A dead cat.”

  His face was so ashen she thought he was about to pass out. He stared at her as if she had reached into his chest and plucked out his heart.

  “What is his name?” he whispered.

  “Rivan.”

  He looked away. “You have no right to know that.”

  “But I do.”

  “How?”

  “I... I can't tell you that.”

  “Are you a witch?”

  “No!”

  He glared at the wall, his mouth a grim line.

  Lilu shifted a little closer. “You knew it, didn't you? You know you're God Touched.”

  His eyes flicked down to her, as frigid as a blizzard. “My father called me that.”

  “Then he knew it too.”

  “I don't even know what it is.”

  “Legend says that it means Tinsharon has touched you,” she said. “When you were born, you died, and he restored you. Now he guides you. That makes you God Touched.”

  “He has brought me nothing but pain.”

  “No. He saved you. Through me, and others too, doubtless.”

  His frosty gaze made her shiver. “How do you know about Rivan?”

  “I've seen him. He follows you still, and watches. He's waiting for you to die.”

  “Yet you saved me.”

  “You have a destiny to fulfil. That's all I know.”

  “How do you know?”

  She shook her head. “I can't say.”

  “You will never speak of this again.” He glowered at the wall. “I can't kill without a client, and you can't pay me. Fourteen silvers isn't enough.”

  “B
ut you will help me.”

  Blade rose, jerking his knee from her grip. “I'll consider it.”

  Lilu sagged as the door banged shut. Crawling back onto the bed, she stared at the mildewed ceiling.

  “I know you will,” she whispered, and a trill of soft laughter echoed in her mind.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Blade crouched atop a steep, brown-tiled roof that overlooked the house where the drover, Tromar, dwelt, watching the windows and doors. Its white-washed walls had not seen a fresh coat for decades, and soot streaked them. The grey slate roof sagged in places, and several window panes were cracked. Washing lines spanned the gap to its neighbour, an equally rundown brick house with a red-tiled roof. The street was cobbled, since this area was not part of the slums, and several houses on it boasted stables with skinny inmates. Late afternoon sunlight gilded the shabby neighbourhood, and birds sought roosts for the night.

  A child's high-pitched wails echoed down the street, coming from within Tromar's house, and raised voices, a man shouting and a woman weeping, mingled with them. Apparently Tromar's son was causing trouble already. A crash of breaking pottery cut through the man's angry bellows, followed by a shriek of pain and the crack of leather on flesh. Blade wondered who Tromar was beating, his wife or his son. Probably the former, he mused, since he had only found his son a few time-glasses earlier. Dusk crept through the city on gloomy feet, filling the streets with shadow.

  Lilu's habit of bearing her customers' children caused plenty of trouble, it seemed, and a part of Blade was glad he would never have that problem. He had resigned himself to it over the years, and, while the thought of a son had a great deal of appeal, he knew it would never be. Tromar was a vicious bully who did not deserve a son, and divesting him of his precious offspring would be satisfying. It did not fit into any of the compartments that Blade had created in his mind to justify his actions, however.

  It was not his trade, nor was it vengeance, nor could he accept it as repayment for Lilu's aid. He had repaid that plenty already, and assassins were not supposed to have friends. She was not his friend, though, he told himself often, and now she knew too much. Her words had shocked him to the core, and he wanted to know how she knew. He returned his attention to the house as the shrieks rose to a crescendo, then died away to broken sobs. The child continued to scream, and a man emerged from the dilapidated dwelling, slammed the door behind him and stormed away up the street, probably heading for the closest taproom. Blade recognised Tromar from his swaggering gait and stocky build, and the big brown bear that shambled after him. He considered the house again, weighing his plan.

  Tromar's exit had left the front door unlocked, but there was still a woman inside. Her weeping came from a room on the top floor, however, and the child's screams came from downstairs. Blade glanced up and down the street to assure himself of its emptiness, then slid from the roof to land on the cobbles with a soft thud. With silent strides he reached the door and yanked it open, the boy's shrieks assaulting his ears. They emanated from the lounge, where two shabby brown sofas faced an empty hearth. On one, a boy wrapped in a grey blanket sat and screamed, tears running down his cheeks and snot oozing from his nose. Blade went over to him and bent to press his fingertips to the child's soft throat, silencing him. Scooping up the limp boy, he left the house and trotted up the street.

  Blade stopped in a dim alley to check the toddler, his nose wrinkling at the foul stench that came from the boy's nether regions. Disgusted, he loped towards the slums, where a frantic mother doubtless wept for her malodourous offspring. The Master of the Dance, reduced to child snatching. Lilu would owe him for this for the rest of her life, especially if it caused more trouble with Tromar. He considered stashing the child somewhere until Tromar had visited Lilu and discovered that she did not have his son, but the drover would, in all likelihood, kill her.

  What was more, the boy would wake soon and resume his shrieks, drawing attention from far and wide. The thought of handing him over to Lilu, and thereby doing exactly what she had asked of him, rankled. He was not a pawn to be manipulated by tears, pleas or demands. Yet here he was, heading for his haunt with her smelly son. It would set a bad precedent, and she might think she could make similar demands in the future. He considered tossing the boy in the river, but that was an assassination and he had no client. Snatching the child had been easy; finding a way to give him back without appearing to do so was a far tougher problem.

  By the time he arrived at the whorehouse, he had failed to come up with a solution, and the child was on the brink of waking. Banging into the whore's room, he marched over to the bed where a plump form huddled and kicked the frame.

  “Lilu, wake up.”

  The whore sat up, rubbing her eyes, and he thrust the child into her arms, swinging away when she gave a shriek of joy and clutched the boy to her breast. He slammed the door so hard on his way out that it almost bounced off its hinges. Angrily he sniffed his sleeves as he entered the taproom, ensuring that none of the child's stink had rubbed off on him. Banging on the counter to summon the barkeep, he demanded a bottle of wine and retreated to his shadowy corner with it, thoroughly fed up. When wails came from the back room, the brothel keeper looked around with a scowl. Children were not allowed in the whorehouse. The keeper headed for the whores' rooms, but Blade caught his eye and raised a finger, wagging it. Rendal returned to the bar, looking sour.

  Within minutes, the wails faded, and Blade tried not to imagine how Lilu had stopped the boy's crying. After a time-glass of silence, during which he drained the bottle of dry red wine, curiosity got the better of him and he went to Lilu's room. It was empty, and he flopped down on the bed with a sigh, closing his eyes. His hip still ached sometimes, and the wine made him sleepy.

  The creak of the door woke him, and he sat up in darkness. His keen eyes made out Lilu groping to the table to light a candle with the tinderbox. He squinted in the illumination, frowning. She spotted him and gasped, squealed and rushed at him. Blade raised his hands to ward her off, but she pounced on him, flattening him under her bulk. She stank of sweat and what he suspected was milk or something just as revolting.

  “Get off me, Lilu!” He tried to push her away, but she wound her arms around his neck and hung on.

  “I knew you'd get him back,” she mumbled into the side of his neck.

  “Get off!”

  “No.” She raised her head to gaze down at him, her eyes shimmering. “Thank you.”

  He glared at her, his nose wrinkled. “You stink as bad as that damned brat.”

  She giggled. “There's nothing you can say that will offend me now. I love you so much.”

  “I almost tossed the bloody little shitter in the river.”

  “No you didn't.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Liar.” She stroked his cheek, and he jerked his head to the side.

  “Quit pawing me and get off.”

  She smiled and kissed his cheek. “You're so soft. Now that I have you at my mercy, I think I'll enjoy it for a bit.”

  “Oh, you think so?”

  “I do.” She nodded. “I've wanted to get my hands on you for a long time, but you're usually as slippery as an eel. Did you have too much wine tonight?”

  “It would seem so.”

  “You're not blushing for a change, but apart from telling me to get off, you don't know what to say, do you?”

  He turned his head to glower at her, immensely uncomfortable with her proximity and striving not to show it. “You stink.”

  “Ah, that won't work either, I'm afraid. I probably do, but I don't care if it offends you.”

  “This is the thanks I get?”

  “Yes, actually, it is.” She hugged him, ignoring his shudder. “If you really wanted me gone,” she murmured, “I know you could do it.”

  “I'd have to find a new haunt after killing a whore.”

  “No you wouldn't. Rendal would be happy to be rid of me.”

  He sighed. “I
'm not enjoying this, Lilu.”

  “But I am. I won't let you boss me around. I need a hug sometimes, you know, and I think you do too.”

  “No I don't.”

  She raised her head to study him again, tracing his lips with a finger. “Is Tromar dead?”

  “No. I don't kill without a client.”

  Her eyes filled with dread. “He'll come after me. He'll kill me to get Endel back.”

  “Probably.”

  “Will you let him?”

  “If you don't get off me, I might.”

  She smiled and shook her head. “It's a good thing I don't believe your lies any more. There was a time when I did, but I know you better now.”

  “Not well enough to predict me.”

  “Perhaps not, but I know I'm right about this. You need me. Where else will you go when you're hurt?”

  He snorted, shifting. “Assassins have managed without helpful whores for centuries.”

  “And yet, without me, you'd have died twice... no, three times already. You court death more than most, and one day it's going to take you.”

  “Good.” He averted his eyes. “You're mistaken if you think I fear it.”

  “And yet you seek me out when you're hurt. Why is that then?”

  “It's painful.”

  “Ah. So it's the pain you fear?”

  “I'm not fond of it, no.”

  Lilu gripped his chin and forced him to look at her. “Don't you dare throw your life away. It's more precious than you know, especially to me.”

  “Because I've helped you a little in the past? Don't count on any more, it may not be forthcoming.”

  “You hate anyone knowing that you're a good man, but I already do, so there's not need to try to hide it from me any longer.”

  Blade raised a hand to take hers in a soft hold that made her glance down at it in surprise. His fingers tightened on her middle finger, and he yanked back on it. Lilu recoiled with a yelp, sliding off to land on the floor with a grunt. He sat up and frowned at her.