The Queen's Blade Prequel II - God Touched

by T C Southwell

  Blade stopped beside the hearth. “So, who do you want dead?”

  She looked flustered. “Will you have some wine, while we discuss it?”

  “There's nothing to discuss. You tell me his name, address and familiar, describe him and give me the down payment. I'm not interested in anything else.”

  She shot him a coy smile. “Are you sure about that?”

  “Positive.”

  “You have not yet heard my proposition.” She strolled closer.

  Blade raked her with hard eyes, noticing that, while she appeared to be modestly attired, the blue velvet gown owned only one fastening at her waist, and a sheer white garment peeped through the gaps. He surmised that she could shed it at the drop of a hat. Her blatant coquetry angered him, as had so many before her, and he made a point of humiliating such women, who wasted his time. Yet he always came away from the situations humiliated himself, which angered him further.

  The assassin tilted his head and forced a slight smile. She stared at him, then tried to take his hand, but he stepped back, foiling her.

  “Will you come with me, so I can show you?” She gestured towards the bedroom.

  Blade followed when she headed for it, and she paused before sweeping aside the velvet curtain to reveal a lushly furnished chamber with a vast bed at its centre and no less than seven naked girls reclining on it. The girl smiled when he cast a startled glance at her, and raised her brows.

  “What do you think?” she purred, becoming more confident in the presence of her peers.

  “If you want all of them dead, that will be three hundred and fifty goldens.”

  She looked puzzled and a little shocked. “How can you say such a thing? I do not want them dead.”

  “Then what do you want with an assassin?”

  “You are the Master of the Dance, no common assassin.”

  “I assure you, I am a common assassin, just the best in my Guild.”

  She stepped closer, her hand seeking the clasp at her waist. “We are all virgins, Master Blade, and we want you to deflower us.”

  “Do you now?” He took refuge in flippancy while he recovered his aplomb, schooling his features to a bland expression.

  “Yes. Are we not beautiful?” She shrugged off the gown and let it fall, revealing a sheer white garment that did nothing to hide her nakedness. “We will pay you, naturally. Fifty goldens, I believe it was.”

  “To kill a man.” He paused, eyeing her. “Deflowering maidens is not amongst my services. You require a bully boy for that.” He named a particularly vile breed of Jondarian male who hired themselves out to rich noblewomen and were well known as rapists to boot.

  Her nose wrinkled in disgust. “We do not want a bully boy; we want the Master of the Dance, and you are handsome, doubtless as skilled a lover as you are a killer.”

  “Why, because so many noble trollops have tried to seduce me?” He cocked his head again. “Do you know how many have succeeded?”

  “Many, I am sure. Many have bragged about it, for certain.”

  “Have they? Then they are liars.”

  “You jest, surely? A man such as you must have had many conquests.”

  The girl placed a hand on his chest, tugging at the laces that bound his jacket. He knew what she wanted so much to see, and allowed her to pull open his collar. She touched the black dagger tattoo at the base of his throat, her breath quickening. Two other girls rose and approached him, and he doubted that any of them were maidens, from their bold looks and shameless nakedness. They made him extremely uncomfortable, however, since he was sure he was the only virgin in the room. How ironic that so many beautiful noblewomen longed to seduce him. A eunuch. For the first time, he admitted what he was to himself, and his anger rose in a black tide that he had not experienced since his late teens.

  Blade smiled and raised his hands to cup her face, and she returned it, her eyes sparkling.

  “You will not tempt me, little slut,” he said. “I am immune to your kind, no matter how much you flaunt yourself. I sell death, not... what you want.”

  Her eyes widened. “How can you spurn us?”

  “Easily.”

  His fingers slid down to the edge of her jaw and then to her throat, and tightened. She slumped senseless to the floor, banging her head on it quite hard. The rest of the girls twittered and retreated when he advanced upon them.

  “Who else would like to die this night?” he enquired.

  They backed away, shaking their heads.

  “When you hire an assassin, in particular me, beware. I sell nothing but death. I am a killer. Is that what you want?” He snorted. “And yet I see that it is. You are disgusting little harlots.”

  “Why do you refuse?” a raven-haired beauty with limpid dark eyes demanded. “We are beautiful. Is it that fat whore with the broken face who was with you in the filthy taproom where you reside? She is uglier than a pig's rear end.”

  Blade considered her. “Insults now? She is worth ten of you, for she must sell herself to live, while you think you can buy anything you want.” He turned his head and spat. “Get yourselves a bully boy if you have a yen to poke a commoner.”

  She glanced down at her friend. “If you have harmed her, you will answer to the Watch, and our fathers will see to it that you pay.”

  “Your fathers should lock you up until they find husbands to satisfy you. She may have a sore head, nothing more.”

  Blade swung away and quit the room with its cloying perfume and naked girls, his anger growing. On the way back to the brothel, he thought about the name he had given himself at last. The truth. He was a eunuch, deprived of the pleasures of the flesh, or perhaps above them. There was a measure of comfort and pride in that. He wished he was not as he was, and able to take what they offered. That wish was futile, he knew, although it had taken him a decade to admit it, all hope was gone now. The black tide threatened to engulf him, and he glanced sideways as he marched along the street, almost certain that a black cat walked beside him. Was his madness returning? Yet Lilu had seen Rivan, too.

  By the time Blade reached the brothel, he wanted to kill someone. Anyone. All his old urges rushed back to fill the void of his self-esteem and stolen manhood, and he found himself outside Lilu's door, not even sure how he had got there. He pushed it open and marched in, intending to fling himself onto the bed and rest for a while, until he calmed down. Glimpsing moving shapes in the gloom, he swung away with a curse, slamming the door behind him.

  Out on the street again, he strode along, not caring where he went. A Maiden Moon sank towards the rooftops, seeming to mock him further. A desperate voice called his name, and he glanced back. Lilu ran after him, clasping a robe around her. He swore and walked faster. She called his name again and again, refusing to give up, her bare feet slapping on the dirt. Why did she not leave him alone? The black tide nibbled at his sanity, and a shadow seemed to follow him, sleek, swift and silent. He wanted to be alone. It was his natural state of being. He would always be alone. Except for the ugly whore who was stupid enough to crave his friendship, and would probably pay for it with her life one day.

  Blade stopped and swung around, becoming aware that he stood beside one of the filthy parks that were found in the slums. Whatever trees had once populated it had long since been chopped down to feed paupers' fires, and beggars slept in it, fouling it with their excrement and dirty bodies. Blade hated this stinking city. Lilu ran up to him and stopped, gazing at him intently.

  “What's wrong?”

  “Bugger off.”

  “It's those girls, isn't it? They tried to seduce you.”

  “It's none of your damned business.”

  “Blade...” She stepped closer, reaching for him, but he took a pace back.

  “It doesn't concern you.”

  “Don't push me away, too. I've done nothing wrong. Hate them, not me.”

  His lip curled, and his hand caressed the hilt of a dagger in his belt. “You disgust me, too.”

&
nbsp; “No, you’re angry with them, and you have a right to be. I tried to warn you.” She reached for him again, but he backed away, shaking his head.

  “All right,” she said, “just talk to me, please. Tell me what's wrong. What happened?”

  Blade turned his head to gaze down the street. How could he tell her the truth? How could he tell anyone what he truly was? The Jondarian Master of the Dance was not even a real man. He was just a killer, useless for anything else. Why was he even alive? Why did people keep saving him? Especially this broken-nosed, gap-toothed whore.

  Why had he fallen into a fever after he had killed the rogue assassin? Was it to do with what the Watch commander had told him those bits of shrivelled flesh were that the rogue had collected and made into a macabre necklace? It was the closest thing to evil he had encountered since he had left the Cotti camp. He became aware that Lilu stood close to him, her hand raised. The black tide surged, and he found his daggers in his hands, poised beside her neck.

  She shook her head. “You don't want to kill me.”

  “No one will miss you,” he said.

  “You will.”

  He pressed the flat of a blade to her skin, making her shiver. “They offered me fifty goldens to deflower eight of them.”

  “They were not maidens.”

  Blade imagined the blood that would flow if he drew the weapon across the pulsing vein in her throat. The thought did not thrill him. It never did. Killing held no joy. Nothing did. She raised a hand and gripped the blade, and he frowned, wondering if she was stupid enough to slice her fingers. He met her eyes, which pleaded, dark and moist in the moonlight. Glittering trails ran down her cheeks. Why did she weep? He had not harmed her.

  “I love you,” she whispered.

  Blade released the daggers and stepped back, turning away. One weapon clattered to the cobblestones, the other remained in her hand. She bent to pick up the fallen one. He raised his hands and stared at them. He still wanted to kill someone, and there was only one person he loathed more than any other. Himself. She stepped in front of him, annoying him with her persistence. She should run from him. Anyone with an iota of intelligence would, in his current mood. She had seen Rivan; she knew the ghost that haunted him. The cold hilts of his daggers filled his palms as she pressed them into his hands. She stepped closer, playing with ice, he mused. Tempting fate. The anger had drained out of him, leaving him empty. Frozen. He had always been frozen, it seemed.

  Lilu slid her arms around him and pressed her cheek to his chest. No one had the right to trust him that much. He was not trustworthy. Why did she cling to a killer? He returned the daggers to their belt sheaths with soft snicks and shoved her away, breaking her hold and making her stagger back. She hugged herself, shivering.

  “Go home, Lilu. Go back to your lover. I want to be alone.”

  She shook her head. “I don't think –”

  “I don't care what you think. Stop following me.”

  Blade strode away, annoyed when she pattered after him again. She was liable to catch a cold, or be attacked by thugs, half dressed as she was. He wanted to wash off the cloying scent of the girl's perfume, which seemed to have soaked into his clothes, and assailed his nose from time to time, but he could not return to his rooms with Lilu in tow. He stopped and swung around again.

  “Go home!”

  She stumbled to a halt. “Where are you going?”

  “To my rooms.”

  “Are you all right?”

  He spread his arms. “Wonderful, now bugger off.”

  She glanced around with a shiver. “It's a long way back to the brothel. Can I stay with you tonight?”

  “You shouldn't have followed me.”

  “I was worried about –”

  “I don't need you worrying about me. Gods!” He swung away, running a hand over his hair.

  “Yes you do. You need someone to care about you, because you hate yourself so much. And you shouldn't. You did nothing wrong. Why did you come to my room, if not to speak to me? What did you want to talk to me about?”

  “Nothing.” He shook his head.

  “Then we don't need to talk, just let me stay with you tonight. I'll sleep on the floor,” she added quickly. “I won't be any trouble.”

  “Why do you persist?”

  “You know why.” She walked nearer. “You push everyone away, but for some reason you've allowed me to get closer to you than most, and I'm glad. Tonight you need someone. I know you do, and I won't abandon you now just because you're in a foul mood. I've weathered your storms before and I'm still here, unscathed. Even now, you won't leave me here alone. You could if you wished, I know. Of course, you'll never admit to caring about anyone, but I know you do. What sort of friend would I be if I left you alone now?”

  “You're not my friend.”

  “But you are mine. Whether you like it or not.”

  Blade studied her ugly face and wondered why her presence, bothersome though it was, seemed to have drained the anger out of him. The black tide had receded, leaving only the cold emptiness that he had come to know so well. It defined him. He cast his mind back to the time when he had lain injured in her bed, and how he had kept returning after he had recovered, as if drawn to her. Gratitude, perhaps, at first, but it had grown into something more. An attachment. The only one he had, tenuous though it was.

  Lilu cherished him, and he was still cat kin, after all. He liked to be cherished. No matter how much he pushed her away, she clung to him and spoke the words he longed, deep down, to hear, much as he denied it. He was an empty man with a horrific past and a bleak future, yet she would not let him go. She knew what he was, some of it, at least, but more than any other, and perhaps all that he wished anyone to ever know. He had grown a little gentler from knowing her, and she chased the black rage away.

  He held out his hand. “Come, then.”

  Lilu looked startled, but slipped her hand into his with an uncertain smile, and he wondered if his unexpected action unnerved her. Quite possibly. It did not matter. The darkness had left his soul... for now.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Blade stared into his wine cup, fed up with the tolling of the great golden bell that echoed through the city. For the first day of mourning, the populace of Jondar had vented its grief in singing, prostration towards the distant palace and visits to temples to light flames and pour water for the dying Queen. Tashi-Mansa had reached her fiftieth year, and taken the Queen's Cup. The initial fervour had died down, and an air of desolation hung over the city. Blade found it odd, since Jashimari queens were distant, invisible women whom commoners were lucky if they saw once in their lifetimes. That was when the newly crowned Queen stood upon the Plinth of Power outside her gold-plated palace and pledged herself to her people and the Endless War.

  That happened every five and twenty years, when the Elder Queen drank poison and died. As traditions went, it was pretty macabre, he thought, but served to ensure that Jashimari queens did not live long enough to become senile and dangerous, as had happened once, ages ago. The great golden bell in its tower tolled for three days, by the end of which the Elder Queen was dead. Her daughter was crowned mere time-glasses after the old Queen took the poison, however. The coronation took place within the palace, unseen by commoners, who packed the streets around it to glimpse the young Queen when she emerged and ascended the Plinth to make her pledge.

  Curiosity had driven Blade to a rooftop not far from the palace gates, which gave him an excellent view of the Plinth. The gates had swung open at the appointed time, just as Queen Minna-Satu had emerged from the palace's arched doorway and paced down the long, tree-lined avenue that led to the Plinth. Blade recalled the mighty golden sand cat that had walked at her side, a jewelled collar around her throat. The Queen's familiar. He had used his spy-glass to gain a better view of the young Queen in her sweeping turquoise gown and sheath of golden chain mail. Twenty handmaidens had carried the fur-lined train that stretched behind her, and curled white pl
umes had bobbed in her hair.

  From his vantage, he had watched her ascend the steps that ran up the back of the Plinth to the top, where attendants waited to hand her a six-foot sceptre. Her small stature had surprised him. She had waited for the golden bell to peal, and, as the sound faded, she had spread her arms and cried the brief pledge before the next peal sounded.

  “I pledge myself to you, Jashimari! From this day forth, for five and twenty years, I am your queen. I shall defend Jashimari. I shall uplift its people and uphold your honour. I shall end the Endless War!”

  The crowd had cheered and trumpets blared, then the golden bell had drowned them all out. Queen Minna-Satu had turned and descended the Plinth, her duty done, and Blade had frowned at her proclamation. It puzzled him still. End the Endless War? How was that possible? Why would she wish it? By the time the young Queen had re-entered the palace, he had shrugged it off. Certainly it made no difference to him what she vowed to do.

  Three days later, the city seemed to hold its breath while it waited for the last peal of the bell that it would not hear again for another five and twenty years.

  Blade sipped his wine and glanced at Rendal, who polished cups behind the counter. The taproom was empty apart from him and Lilu, who dozed on a bench in the corner, her mouth open. Most chose not to drink, and some did not eat either, during the Elder Queen's three dying days, out of respect. Blade had not changed his habits, however. He had no interest in queens, dying or otherwise. Ironically, tomorrow would be a day of manic celebrations, and the taproom would no doubt be packed. The assassin did not plan to partake in that, either.