At first, he had found Chiana's rejection amusing, a new ploy intended, no doubt, to bring a reaction from him, some sign that he cared about her. After a few days, the amusement had given way to resentment at her callous treatment of him. He had, after all, avenged Endor's abuse and saved her life, and she had not even thanked him. What was more, the fight had left him with an injury that seemed destined to linger for many moons, and was not only extremely annoying, but had prevented him from leaving the safety of the palace.
Now that he had regained some use of his arm, and did not look so handicapped, the lure of the city grew strong. Although the blizzards that swept across the land prevented him from seeking out Shamsara until the spring, the city offered distractions such as gambling and troubadours, who entertained the masses during the cold winter moons. Such pastimes were available in the palace too, but he had no wish to share them with primping courtiers and conceited lords who cast him arrogant looks when they thought he would not notice.
His mind made up, he pulled his bag from the wardrobe and stuffed some clothes into it, donned his cloak and quit the splendid room with its roaring fire and soft bed without a moment's regret. Chiana's refusal to see him had removed the last obstacle to his departure, freeing him from the concern for her health that Kerra had succeeded in planting in his mind. If she did not want his company, she could hardly be devastated by his leaving.
Blade strode down the long, cold halls towards the main doors, ignoring the guards who snapped to attention and the servants who bowed. At the huge doors, he paused and glanced back down the hall, wondering if he would ever return. A wave of fresh bitterness and resentment washed over him, mixed with a dull anger at Chiana's betrayal. At the same time, he wondered why it bothered him. He was gaining the freedom he had always craved, and he did not want her company or gratitude.
Blade turned to the doors, and the guards opened the small door to let him out into the freezing wind, bowing low as he passed.
Chiana picked at the succulent fowl bathed in rich, spicy sauce that may as well have been wood shavings and water, for she did not taste it. As usual, she ate alone in a cosy alcove in her rooms, where gilt-edged velvet curtains of deep royal blue kept out draughts and the roaring fire in the sitting room provided warmth. Alabaster platters and golden cutlery glinted in the torchlight, and the soft strains of a harp drifted from lounge where a minstrel sat plucking it. Silk-clad maidens stood behind her, ready to leap into action at her slightest whim.
A soft knock at the sitting room door preceded its opening, and Redgard entered, bowed and approached her. "Regent, you asked me to inform you when your husband left the palace."
She nodded, toying with her food. "I expect he has gone to visit a taproom again."
"This time he took some of his belongings in a bag."
Chiana sat back and signalled to her maidens, who removed the plate with its half-eaten contents. Her stomach knotted, and when a girl placed the next course before her, a cherry tart smothered with whipped cream, she thought she would be sick. Rising, she walked over to the window and stared out, turning her back on Redgard to hide the tears that brimmed in her eyes, then overflowed and ran down her cheeks.
"Send my best spies after him. I want to know everything he does, and where he goes. They must also be able to protect him if he gets into trouble."
"My lady, it will be very difficult to follow him without being spotted."
"I know that," she retorted. "Just do it."
Redgard bowed. "Yes, Regent."
When the door closed behind him, Chiana ordered her maidens to clear away the dishes and leave her alone. Only then did she return to sink down on the pile of cushions and weep. Nothing would ever touch Blade's frozen heart, and that he had chosen to vanish into the winter snows only convinced her that this time she had lost him forever.
*****
The tale continues in Book VI, Lord Protector. Then get two prequels, Dead Son and God Touched.
About the author
T. C. Southwell was born in Sri Lanka and moved to the Seychelles when she was a baby. She spent her formative years exploring the islands – mostly alone. Naturally, her imagination flourished and she developed a keen love of other worlds. The family travelled through Europe and Africa and, after the death of her father, settled in South Africa.
T. C. Southwell has written over twenty novels and five screenplays. Her hobbies include motorcycling, horse riding and art, and she earns a living in the IT industry.
All illustrations and cover designs by the author.
Contact the author at [email protected]
Acknowledgements
Mike Baum and Janet Longman, former employers, for their support, encouragement, and help. My mother, without whose financial support I could not have dedicated myself to writing for ten years. Isabel Cooke, former agent, whose encouragement and enthusiasm led to many more books being written, including this one. Suzanne Stephan, former agent, who has helped me so much over the past six years, and Vanessa Finaughty, good friend and business partner, for her support, encouragement and editing skills.
The Queen's Blade V - Master of the Dance Page 40