“Make good my escape?” He raised his eyebrows. “From a Cotti courtroom where I have just testified to assassinating King Shandor? I will be slaughtered on the spot.”
“Perhaps Kerrion will help you to escape.”
“Kerrion hates me, and if he did, he would be accused of treason again.”
“You refuse?”
He sighed, looking out at the sky once more, where a flock of robber ravens drifted on the cold wind. “I am an assassin, My Queen. I have always said that I care about nothing, therein lies my strength. If you would send me to Kerrion’s city, let it be for the reason of my trade, not to save him from the gallows. At least give me the honour of dying as an assassin, not as a helpless pawn caught in the machinations of two rulers. Order Lerton’s death, and I will leave for Jadaya tonight.”
Her smile was sorrowful. “I am sacrificing a priceless weapon. I need you here to aid me when the time comes, and those who wish to thwart my plans will pit themselves against me. But this is even more important. Killing Lerton alone will not save Kerrion. You must testify as well. But yes, I order Lerton’s death.”
“Then you shall have it. What will my payment be, should I survive to collect it?”
“Name your price.”
Blade smiled, and she flinched as if it stabbed her heart like a silver dagger of pain. “I will think on it. Do you wish his death to be quick or slow?”
“I leave that to you.”
“Very well.”
“I have one more task for you, Blade.” She hesitated, biting her lip. “I order you to return when you have assassinated Prince Lerton.”
His smile broadened. “A tall order indeed. If at all possible, I shall, My Queen.”
“Good.” Minna returned his smile, her expression hopeful, as if her worries dropped from her shoulders like autumn leaves. She rose, and Blade stood up, awaiting his dismissal.
To his surprise, she took his hand, raised it and turned it palm up. She studied his smooth palm and slender fingers, which bore the scars of his dagger. A slight frown wrinkled her brow as she pressed a black vial into his hand, closing his fingers over it.
“A poison,” she said. “If they are to torture you, take it for a painless death. Before you go, I shall have the high priestess wash your sins away in the sacred river and anoint you a sacred Knight of the Veil.”
“I am not a religious -”
“But I am. Do this for me also. If I am sending you to your death, let it be with the assurance that you will be granted entry into the Everlasting. Do not burden me with your damnation also.”
He frowned, disliking the idea. “What is it to you? You order thousands of men to their deaths.”
Her stern glance rebuked him. “Do not be impudent. I am your queen. Do as I say.” She released his hand, and he stepped back.
“My Queen.” He bowed.
“Lord Conash.”
Blade left, already thinking about Lerton’s assassination. Next to Shandor, it would be his greatest triumph, yet he wished the target was Kerrion as well. Chiana waited in his rooms, and rose from a cushion when he glared at her.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“She ordered you to Jadaya, did she not?”
Blade shrugged. “Ask her.”
“You will be killed.”
Sighing, he started to pull off his tunic, his clothes still damp underneath. He longed for a hot bath and dry clothes, and lacked the patience to deal with more questions. “That seems a forgone conclusion.”
Chiana grabbed his arm as he headed past her towards the clothes rack, surprising and hampering him, since his arms were tangled in the tunic he strived to tug off.
“This is madness. You are needed here,” she said.
“A little while ago, you were urging me to leave. Now you want me to stay?”
“Sending you to Jadaya is folly. It will accomplish nothing. Kerrion will not make peace with us, even if we help him.”
Blade jerked his arm from her grasp and shucked the tunic, throwing it on the rack. “She still has not told you, then?”
“Told me what?”
He loosened the ties of his shirt. “Ask her. It is her secret.”
Chiana seemed to wilt, the fire going out of her. “She does not confide in me. I could offer no advice on the war with Contara. The situation is hopeless.”
“Well, if it is any consolation, nor could I.” He sat on the bed and began to pull off his boots.
“You must not go.”
He looked up at her, noting the agitated twisting of her hands. “Why not?”
Chiana swung away, frowning. “It will accomplish nothing. I have told you.”
“You do not know that. The Queen has a secret agenda.”
“But you will not survive.”
He shrugged, struggling with a reluctant boot. “That is no great loss to society.”
She turned to face him. “I do not want you to go.”
The boot came free, surprising Blade, so distracted was he by this unexpected statement. Since he had been tugging so hard at it, it hit him on the chin with some force. He cursed and flung the offending footwear across the room. Rubbing his jaw, he frowned at her. “Why?”
She looked away. “I.... It will accomplish nothing.”
“You have already said that a dozen times. If you want to stop this, you will have to speak to the Queen.”
“She will not heed me.”
He started on the other boot. “Then I cannot help you.”
“And nor will you heed me.”
“Apparently not.”
“You think me foolish.”
He snorted in exasperation, tugging at the boot. “I make no judgements without hearing all the arguments, and so far you have put forward none better than that you think it will accomplish nothing, yet you do not even know what I am to do in Jadaya.”
“Testify for Prince Kerrion.”
“And assassinate Lerton.”
Chiana gasped. “She has lost her mind!”
“It was my idea.” The boot came free and flew across the room with a bang. Blade sighed and flexed his toes, bending to remove his wet socks. Chiana came closer, so the hem of her gown brushed his feet, and he looked up at her.
“If I asked you to stay, what would you say?” she enquired.
“No.”
She blinked. “You are a selfish brute.”
“Insults now? How novel.”
“You do not understand.”
“So enlighten me.”
“No.”
Blade stood up, growing impatient, and found himself toe-to-toe with her. Chiana raised her chin, daring him, he guessed, to push past her. He smiled, gripped her waist and moved her aside, stepping past. Going over to the curtained alcove where a steaming bath awaited him, he paused with a hand on the curtain and glanced back, wondering why she lingered and intending to order her out. A tear ran down her face, and he frowned, opening his mouth to ask the reason for it, but she turned away and left, banging the door. Evidently his refusal to be swayed upset her, and he wondered why.
Kerrion looked up from the report he had just read at the two senior advisors who stood before him, their expressions guarded. They waited on the far side of his carved milkwood desk, their bald heads gleaming with sweat despite their cool attire. Over their knee-length cotton shifts, they wore swathes of heavy, gold-trimmed linen wrapped around their hips and draped over one shoulder.
“Lerton ordered this?” Kerrion asked.
The elder advisor inclined his head. “Yes, My Prince.”
Kerrion left his chair in a bound, the crumpled parchment clenched in one fist. The advisors bowed as he stormed past and yanked open the door, slamming it behind him. He arrived in Lerton’s rooms still burning with rage. Sunlight streamed in through the doors that opened into the gardens. Sienna rugs were scattered on the marble floors and cream curtains billowed in the breeze that blew in through the doors. His brother rose from a gilded cou
ch, pushing away a concubine who fed him grapes from the bowl of fruit on the low table beside him, where a bottle of wine and a goblet also rested. The concubine fled, and Lerton faced his taller brother, his expression wary and defiant. Kerrion shook the parchment under Lerton’s nose.
“This is your doing!”
“What might that be?”
“You aided that upstart Verone to overthrow King Jan-Durval!”
Lerton nodded. “Indeed I did. A stroke of genius, I would say.”
“Well I would not! He has invaded Jashimari!”
“That was the whole point, brother. With his help, we will overrun Jashimari before the spring.”
Kerrion gritted his teeth. “Imbecile! He will ransack the place! There will be nothing left but burnt ruins and trampled fields. Then we will have to fight him.”
“No. He is our ally. He has signed a treaty.”
“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. When he calmed down somewhat, he 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 that 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 stormed back to his quarters and ordered 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 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, remembering the face that 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 their 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 there 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 irritating guide took him to the 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 Kerrion put forward, painting a graphic picture of a power-hungry, hateful son whom Shandor had disliked and who had been 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. His mother had visited him several times over the tendays, voicing her concern and offering advice he did not want. Her visits irritated him, disturbing 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 mouth, and his pale 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? H
ow did you get in? What do you want?”
Blade cocked his head. “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 sauntered closer. “You need me to save you from the gallows, do you not?”
Kerrion scowled, hating to admit to needing the assassin’s aid. “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 shook his head, astounded. “How? The moment you admit to killing 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 will 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.”
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