Lilu sat back and folded her arms. “Maybe she will.”
He snorted. “And maybe potpigs will fly.”
“If you don't –”
Blade banged his goblet down, slopping wine. “Enough now!”
The whore glowered at him, then jumped up and flounced away, this time genuinely angry. He sat back and sipped his wine, trying not to think about Lilu's suggestion and its pitfalls. It was a foolish idea, and she was wrong. As for sneaking into Minna-Satu's bedchamber to speak to her, that was ridiculous, and a recipe for parting his head from his shoulders. He shrugged it off. Perhaps Minna-Satu's soldiers would succeed.
Two moons later, Blade relaxed on Lilu's bed while she was in the taproom collecting another bottle of wine. Mid-afternoon sunshine crept in through chinks in the dirty curtains to spot the rumpled sheets with flecks of gold. He was glad that Lilu washed her bed sheets regularly, so, although old and grey, they were clean. He had just returned from practicing on his platform outside the city, and drying sweat prickled his skin. He would have gone to his rooms to bathe, but his exertions had given him a thirst that he wanted to slake first. The whore was taking a long time to fetch the wine, however.
Just as he was about to go in search of her, she entered, locking the door behind her. He eyed her when she sat on the chair beside the bed, wondering why she had locked the door. She poured two cups of wine and handed one to him, and he noted the excited sparkle in her eyes.
“I've just heard that all the soldiers the Queen sent to Cotti failed to kill the King,” she said. “Two dozen men.”
He sipped the wine. “What of it?”
“You should go, and…”
He raised a finger and wagged it. “I've already told you I'm not going to ask for an audience, and why. Don't nag.”
She frowned at him, her excitement fading. “I'm not nagging; I'm just saying that you could do it if you wished. Not only kill the Cotti King, your enemy, but also earn huge wealth and honours. All for the small risk of being arrested if the palace guards find out you're an assassin.”
“Not to mention the far greater risk of being caught in Shandor's camp and eviscerated. That's what they do, you know. They stake you out on the sand and slice open your belly, then the crows peck out your eyes, and –”
“Enough, Blade!” She looked sick.
“It's true. Is that what you want to happen to me?”
“It won't. You're too good at what you do, and you know it.”
“You don't know how I do what I do, so how do you know it will work in Cotti?”
Her brows rose. “Why wouldn't it? Sneaking about will work anywhere.”
“Maybe. But I'm still not doing it. I have a good life here. Why would I want to ride all the way to Shandor's camp to kill him, then drag his undoubtedly annoying son back to Jondar? I don't like riding, and I like camping in forests even less.”
“Wouldn't it be worth it, to kill the Cotti King? Don't you want vengeance for what they did to you?”
Blade glowered at her. Her words struck a raw nerve and sent a twinge of vengeful lust through him, stronger than he had experienced for many years. It was impossible, however, and he shook his head. “No matter how much I'd like to kill that bastard, it's impossible. Now leave it alone or I'll go back to my rooms.”
Lilu sighed, but changed the subject. Blade listened to her prattle about the other whores and their problems with half an ear while he thought about the prospect of using his hated trade to finally exact vengeance upon the Cotti. It almost seemed as if fate had given him the chance to repay them for the atrocities they had committed upon him. Perhaps it was. He was almost at the age when assassins usually retired, and while he did not think his speed or agility had suffered yet, they probably would in the not too distant future, no matter how hard he trained. Then all he had to look forward to was empty years of teaching foolish youngsters and drowning his bitterness with wine. Even if he died in his attempt to kill the Cotti King, it was a worthy endeavour, and would guarantee his reputation in the Guild forever. If he succeeded, not only would he have his vengeance, he would gain unassailable fame in the Guild.
Then there was the reward the Queen offered, which was tempting, too. He would have more to do after his retirement if he had an estate to run, and he would have to teach fewer apprentices. The Guild required him to pass on his skills, but it did not specify how many boys he had to train. Most elders had no choice in the matter, since they needed the income the young assassins were obliged to give them. Mostly, however, the possibility of slaying the Cotti King, and probably a few soldiers, tempted him. Humiliating the Prince also had its attractions. Even if the Queen did not grant him an audience, he could go to Cotti and do the deed, or try, and if he returned with the Prince as his captive she would have to give him the reward. He did not require any help from her, although he did need a client. Then again, the fact that she wanted Shandor dead, and had offered to pay for it, meant that he could claim her as his client. It met all the Guild’s requirements.
Blade sat back and sipped his wine, watching golden speckles of sunlight wander around the dirty floor as a breeze swayed the moth-eaten curtains. His existence remained tawdry, for all his deadly reputation and high standing in the Guild. The money he had amassed was enough to ensure a comfortable life, but he was not a wealthy man by any measure. There was simply not enough work, even in a big city like Jondar, and only the rich could afford his services now. Would the skills he had honed to such a high calibre over the years be enough to ensure his success? His eyes drifted to the darkest corner of the shabby room, where he suspected the ghost of a black cat sat, watching him. More than anything, he wanted revenge for Rivan’s death.
The Cotti had made a lifelong enemy out of him on the day they had slit his familiar’s throat, yet all his hatred was futile if he never put it into action. Perhaps this was his destiny. Perhaps everything he had suffered had been leading him along this path, to this juncture, where he must decide to make it all worthwhile and kill the king of the barbarians who had stolen his life from him. If he failed, his death was assured. There would be no wandering whores or elder assassins to save him in the desert. It would be a painful demise, though, and that gave him pause. If he went to Shandor’s camp in a female disguise, however, his chances of being caught where slim.
The desert warriors scorned women, and treated them as servants or worse. He had witnessed their ill treatment of the whores in the Cotti camp when he had been their prisoner. Even though some soldiers would see a woman with the King just before he was killed, they would never believe she was capable of slaying a man, never mind their warrior King. They would probably blame Prince Kerrion for it, especially if he vanished afterwards. The thought almost made Blade smile. If the Queen tried to negotiate peace with Kerrion, and sent him back to his people afterwards, Blade was sure the Prince’s brothers would accuse him of killing Shandor. That would make his triumph even sweeter. If he returned triumphant, he would not only add a king to his tally, but be instrumental in the downfall of a crown prince, too. The more he thought about it, the more appealing the idea became, although he was still unsure of whether or not he would do it.
Chapter Sixteen
Blade gazed up at the trees that overhung the palace wall. On the outside, a gnarled puffwood sent spindly limbs over the obstacle, on the inside, a fire tree's spreading branches mingled with the puffwood's. A tenday had passed since Lilu had told him about the failure of the Queen's men, and he had spent much of it considering her suggestion while he sipped wine in his gloomy corner. He had pondered many ways of gaining access to the Queen and discarded most.
A message would not reach her, and whoever read it would undoubtedly discard it. Disguising himself as a noble was fraught with pitfalls, since those who frequented the palace were well known, and a stranger would not be granted a private audience. Similarly, the palace servants were known to the guards, and most dwelt in the palace's vast servants' quarters. Lilu
's idea of sneaking into the Queen's bedchamber was ridiculous, and would undoubtedly result in his death if she was left alive.
The only option that had any chance of success was for him to request an audience. He had little confidence that it would work, but, as Lilu had said, he would never know if he did not try. He had not told her that he was even considering it. In truth, he was still not sure he wanted to risk his life attempting to gain an audience with the Queen. The prospect of killing Shandor goaded him, however. That was something he wanted more than anything. The bonus of wealth and lands also tempted him. He could kill the Cotti King. Even if he was thrown into the palace dungeons or handed over to the Watch, he had to try to speak to Minna-Satu.
Attempting to gain entry through the front gate, however, was foolish. He would not get past the guards. If he reached the palace, he stood a better chance of being taken seriously, but that also had its pitfalls. His mind made up, he glanced around to ensure that no one was watching him, then jumped up and grabbed a branch, swinging himself up the puffwood tree. He was fresh from a hot bath and had donned clean clothes, just in case he did, by some miracle, gain an audience. It was more likely a junior advisor would see him, if anyone did.
Atop the wall, he paused to survey the vast expanse of manicured gardens on the other side, marvelling at their beauty and size, large enough to contain two small forests. Fish ponds and fountains nestled amongst the greenery; stone benches offered places to rest for those who wandered the paved pathways. Nobles strolled in the distance, and, closer at hand, a pair of dog soldiers patrolled. Entering the gardens would have been much easier at night, but then he would have no chance of seeing the Queen and a better chance of being killed.
Dusk crept across the land, sending questing fingers of shadow to stripe the velvet lawns, where hosts of flowering shrubs, plants and creepers put out sweet-scented blooms. The gathering gloom helped to hide him as he climbed down the fire tree and dropped to the ground, glancing around. The dog soldiers walked away, engrossed in a conversation, and they were downwind. He spent a few minutes finding somewhere to secret most of his daggers, stowing four in a tree hollow. That left only the two in his wrist sheaths. He did not want to appear too well-armed when the soldiers searched him, but he wanted to be fully armed on his way home afterwards.
Blade trotted towards the palace, using any available cover and sprinting across open areas. Arriving at the wall, he made his way along it to a side gate, possibly used by servants or soldiers, where two guards leant on their spears. He paused, loath to go against his training and instincts and reveal himself, but he had no choice. If he went any further without declaring himself, he would be seen as a threat. Straightening his jacket and brushing a bit of tree bark from his sleeve, he stepped away from the wall and strolled towards the guards.
They looked up at his approach, at first with mild curiosity, then growing suspicion when they failed to recognise him. They straightened and scowled, and one man stepped forward and lowered his spear. Blade stopped and spread his hands.
“Greetings.”
“Who in Damnation are you?” the guard demanded.
“A petitioner. I request an audience with Queen Minna-Satu.”
“Oh you do, do you?” The guard glanced at his cohort, who chuckled.
“He's a got a pair of brass ones.”
Blade smiled. “I'm sure this seems outlandish, but it's important that I see the Queen. I'm here to offer my help, and she'll be glad of it.”
“Will she now?” The belligerent guard sniggered. “She has enough consorts, methinks.”
“That's not why I'm here.”
“She won't see you.”
“Oh, I think she will.”
“Why?”
Blade shrugged. “She needs my help.”
“With what?”
“I can't say.”
“How did you get in here? The gate guards sure didn't let you in.”
“No, they didn't. How I got in is why she needs my help. Let me see an advisor, at least.”
The belligerent guard raised his spear and stepped closer. “Oh, someone will see you, but it won't be the Queen or one of her advisors. It'll be our captain, who'll doubtless have you arrested and handed over to the Watch.”
“That would be a grave mistake.”
“Would it now? Well, that's up to him, isn't it?”
The other guard opened the gate behind him and vanished through it, leaving his bellicose comrade to watch Blade. Several minutes later, four stern-faced soldiers appeared through a larger gate further down the wall. The sentry who accompanied them indicated Blade, and the men surrounded him. Two gripped his arms and steered him back towards big gate. Inside, they marched him along several echoing corridors and into a fair-sized office with banner-hung grey walls and a spear rack in one corner.
A middle-aged man looked up from the papers on his desk. His gold-trimmed, dark green uniform had a broad, peacock-blue stripe running down the right hand side of it. His sharp green eyes were set in a narrow, clever face topped with a shock of short red hair. A man of foxes, the assassin guessed. The officer's gaze flicked to the foremost of Blade's guards.
“Who is this?”
“An intruder, Captain. We found him outside the Gardeners' Gate.”
“In the gardens?” The captain's brows rose. “How did he get in?”
“We don't know, sir.”
The captain stood up and approached Blade. “How did you get into the palace gardens?”
“Over the wall.”
“I see. And why are you here?”
“Your men brought me here,” Blade replied.
“Why were you in the gardens?”
“Ah, well, I've come to request an audience with the Queen.”
The captain's lips twitched. “Have you now? What for?”
“That's between the Queen and me.”
“Oh, so it's a private audience you want?”
“It is.”
“And what makes you think the Queen will grant you one, when the queens so rarely do, for commoners?”
Blade tried to free his arms, but the men tightened their grip. “I have something she needs.”
“And what might that be?”
“I’ll only tell her that.”
“So she does not know she needs it, then?”
“Not yet.”
The captain raised his brows. “But she will, when you tell her, I assume.”
“I hope so.”
“She won't grant an audience to a commoner without an excellent reason, and thus far you have not given me one.”
Blade cocked his head. “And how often do commoners request an audience?”
“Hardly ever, because they know they won't get one.”
“Yet some have.”
“Only if they had an excellent reason.”
The assassin smiled. “But I do. Shouldn't the Queen at least be asked if she wants to grant me an audience? Doesn't she have the right to choose?”
“Of course she does, but why would she want to?”
“It's important. The fate of her kingdom depends upon it.”
The captain frowned. “How can you affect the fate of the kingdom?”
“That, I'll only tell the Queen.”
“But you think you can.”
“I know it.”
“Do you have a name?”
“I do, but not one I'll tell you.”
The captain snorted and returned to his chair, considering the assassin with hard eyes. He looked amused, but also intrigued, and his gaze held a hint of suspicion. After several minutes of contemplation, he addressed the guards.
“Take him to the audience chamber and inform the chief advisor of his request.”
The soldiers marched Blade out of the captain’s office and back down the corridor, then along a sumptuous passage that led into a vast, gold-plated room. Several torches made the walls glimmer and, at the far end, three shallow steps led up to a marble
dais upon which a golden bench stood. Behind it, a massive, bright blue silk banner hung against the wall, a golden cat with emerald eyes embroidered upon it. Deep blue velvet curtains framed the dais, beyond which, two doors led off either side of it. Occasional silver designs that looked like leaves and flowers embellished the golden walls, and in other places lines of cursive writing were engraved on them. High above him, the arched ceiling appeared to be inlaid with alabaster, forming scenes of earthly and celestial battles.
The guards halted in the centre of the black marble floor, released his arms and grounded their spears, becoming motionless. Blade brushed his sleeves and clasped his hands behind his back, studying the opulence. Several minutes passed before quick, light footsteps came from behind him, and he sensed a new presence enter the room. As the footsteps drew near, he turned to face a young woman with bright chestnut hair and soft, dark grey eyes. Her youth and beauty surprised Blade, who had expected an elderly man. The sight of him seemed to startle her, and he wondered why. After a moment of hesitation, she glanced at the nearest guard.
“Who is this and why is he here?”
“He wants an audience with the Queen, Chief Advisor. He won't give his name.”
“Does Captain Redgard think he deserves an audience?”
The soldier shrugged. “He sent him here and informed you, so I reckon he does.”
“On what grounds, since he does not know his name or, I assume, what he wants?”
“I don't know, Chief Advisor.”
Blade wondered how long she would act as if he was not there.
She turned to him. “What is your name?”
The assassin shook his head. “I will only tell the Queen that.”
“Why should she grant an audience to a man who will not even give his name?”
“I will, to her.”
“Why do you want an audience?”
He hesitated, lowering his gaze to the floor. “It is an important matter, but I will only discuss it with the Queen.”
The Queen's Blade Prequel II - God Touched Page 21