Blade's Edge

by Val Roberts

  "Blade,” Taryn said around a mouthful of stew. Leone raised an eyebrow. “They call him Blade."

  That made Leone's eyes narrow. “Interesting name for a negotiator. I wonder what we're missing?"

  Taryn shrugged. “He knows how to handle a saber, although their swords are ... strange. They're really sharp, because there were three bodies that had been cut in half, but the blades are almost paper thin, and they curve, just a little."

  "Katanas.” Leone took another sip of her wine. “A powerful tool in the hands of a professional. I find it interesting that only three of them died. These aren't your garden-variety Bariani diplomats."

  Leone's comment confirmed what Taryn had already worked out for herself. Bariani were tech people, and they traded with offworlders and flew through the skies above Timarron. Why was this group of Bariani excellent riders? Why did they fight so well with swords? And Blade with the glowing eyes, who carried the mantle of responsibility as if he held no weight on those broad shoulders—what was he when he wasn't running for his life? He wasn't an ordinary negotiator; that she knew as well as she knew the contours of her scar.

  "One had a laser pistol, Goddess knows how he got it through the customs search.” She stirred her stew. “Two of them were picked off with crossbows before the hand-to-hand started, so technically they only lost one in the fighting."

  "That's even more interesting.” Leone leaned forward and pinned her with a leer. “If I can get the Bariani Blade a little loose after supper, can you pump him for information?"

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Five

  Taryn digested the odd remark as Leone went on, a little worried about it. Interrogation wasn't one of her skills. “There's more going on here than the usual diplomatic saber-rattling. Only Barian Crown Guard can use katanas with proficiency,” Leone concluded.

  "That depends on what you mean by ‘pump,'” Taryn said. “You know I'm no good at seducing men.” The scar scared off all but the most dedicated fortune hunters, and they left her alone when they found out she didn't live like royalty.

  Leone snorted. “You're not much good at seducing women, either, although you get a coy little come-hither look when you're trying to hide your scar.” She drained her glass while Taryn thought about it. She was always self-conscious about the scar, and when she had been younger, had made attempts to hide it. But that was before she'd figured out it did her as much good as not. As her sister became more and more snotty, it was a way for people to know they were in the presence of the safe one—the one who was really only one of them.

  "If you say so,” she finally decided, and went back to her stew.

  "Eat up, kitten, and then we'll find the bottom of this brandy while I explain the concept of not fighting too hard when a gentleman is a little drunk and feeling frisky.” Taryn looked up and Leone had that lop-sided grin again. She had a feeling she was going to need the brandy for this discussion.

  * * * *

  "Oh. I thought this was going to be some state occasion,” Benedar said when he stopped in the doorway of the family dining room. Ramondar smiled at his younger son and felt something relax in the pit of his stomach. Blademir might be out in the wilderness, but the rest of his family was here, where he could protect them.

  "More of a crisis council, Dar. The dress uniform wasn't necessary.” He motioned to the table. “Now that we're all here, let's have something to eat."

  "Where's Blade?” Dar asked, pulling out a seat for his mother. Sabinet, Queen of Barian, paused in the act of sitting and glanced at her husband with an expression of slight reproach.

  "That's why I wanted everyone here,” Ramondar said as he took his own seat at the head of the table. “Blade was attacked this morning in Balsom.” The girls both gasped, though Sabi stayed as calm as ever. “Our contacts in the Zonan government say he wasn't wounded, but he's disappeared.” He frowned at his plate and considered how to phrase it. “They think a Silvergard Commander is leading the survivors out, possibly through the Jags."

  "Daddy, what was Blade doing in Zona?” Cadisan asked, as blunt as only a teenager could be. Ramon forced himself to smile at his youngest and remember she hadn't been through all this yet. Sabi motioned for the waiters to start serving while he brought everyone current on the situation.

  "Better Blade than me,” Benedar said when Ramondar was finished. “He might actually get Uncle Galen and Maris out in one piece."

  "Dar, what are you talking about?” Sabinet asked, giving her husband a chance to chew.

  Benedar shrugged. “I'm not a strategist. I can fly okay, but don't ask me where the best places are to bomb so that it does the most good with the least damage. That's Blade."

  Ramondar took another bite and considered his son's statement. Blade did have an uncanny ability to get himself out of tight situations, including some of the most devious stratagems ever devised by members of the court wanting a royal wedding. Until that moment, however, Ramondar had never considered it to be a conscious ability. It might even explain his anomalous test scores all through his education, because one of the first tricks taught in officers’ school was to have the enemy underestimate your strength.

  "But he always had such trouble in school,” Sabinet commented, although she, too, sounded thoughtful.

  Benedar actually snorted. “That's because he was either drunk off his ass or hung over for all of his final exams.” He put his fork down and frowned. “Except for that one year when he had Malthus influenza at prep school. He was coming down with it the day of his calculus final and he took the test with a fever almost high enough to boil an egg. He told me later he couldn't concentrate enough to screw anything up."

  Ramondar stopped chewing and swallowed hard. “You mean the time he blew the curve?” It had been the Crown Heir's first scandal, because he'd been sixteen and the headmaster of the private school had called the king to declare that he had cheated on an exam, and oh, by the way, he was gravely ill. The arrogant bastard had waited two days to make sure he wasn't faking it, and that was the last term any von Stassos had ever attended that school. Benedar nodded, his eyes glinting with amusement.

  "You know that paper I did for my senior thesis at university? The one everybody raved over? I basically wrote down what Blade told me one night after I said I'd been assigned a deconstruction of the Hollandeier engagement. He kept saying, ‘follow the money, follow the power.'” He shrugged again. “So I did."

  "I'll be damned,” Ramondar said under his breath. He stirred his food as Benedar laughed.

  "He gave me the only decent criticism on it, too. After it was published, he commed me and said, ‘You forgot the Brandenberg Cartel.'” Benedar shook his head slowly. “It took me two weeks of research to find out what he was talking about, but fiery hells if the Brandenberg Cartel out of Neostan Four didn't finance both sides and make a healthy profit. Blade just seemed amazed that someone had listened to him."

  "He tutored me in astrogation,” Nimashet said when Benedar stopped. “I couldn't find Dar and he was coming in from something, smelled like a horse, and asked what was wrong, so I told him. He spent the next three hours talking me through a problem that ended up as extra credit on the exam. I was the only one who got it right.” She smiled and Ramondar felt something move in his chest. “Thanks to Blade."

  Cadisan looked up from her plate, a frown creasing her forehead. “Then why does everyone think he's stupid?” She was almost sixteen years younger than her brother and didn't know him very well, Ramondar reminded himself. She was allowed to ask rude questions.

  "Because he wants them to,” Benedar said into the silence.

  Cadisan's confusion morphed into irritation. “But why?” She gestured with her fork. “All it ever does is get him into trouble."

  Benedar sighed. “Your turn, Dad."

  "If an opponent thinks you're not all that bright,” Ramondar tried to explain, “he's more likely not to spend a lot of effort on outsmarting you, and leave
much larger loopholes in his plan. That way it's easier to outmaneuver him."

  "Or her,” Sabinet put in, the first time she'd said anything since almost the beginning of the conversation. Ramondar had his mouth full, so he quirked an eyebrow at her to continue. She cleared her throat delicately and said, “Lady Tabethe, for example. Taking off all her clothes and hiding in his skimmer at the end of the Solstice celebration last year wasn't exactly a brilliant plan, Cadi."

  Benedar chuckled. “Blade's probably the only man in Barian who could have talked her back into her clothes, too. They're all after one thing, a fancy hat."

  Cadisan looked like she'd had an epiphany, and Ramondar relaxed. She hadn't been sheltered too much, after all.

  "Hang on a minute,” Benedar said then. “Aren't the Matriarch's Own all female? Who is this Silvergarder leading them out of Zona?"

  Ramondar fished in his pocket for a moment, then tossed the Zonan coin at his son. “Her name is Taryn Penthes, and she looks a lot like that, but I understand she has a knife scar on her left cheek, a couple of centimeters under her eye."

  Benedar examined the coin closely. “I think Blade could be in trouble. This woman is beautiful.” He looked up with a wicked grin. “If she's as intelligent as the Silvergarders I've come across, he could be in a lot of trouble."

  "What do you mean?” Sabinet asked. Benedar handed her the coin, and the two younger women got up from their seats to look over her shoulder at the likeness.

  "It's harder to get into the Matriarch's Own than it is to get into the Barian Crown Guard,” Benedar said. “They're all highly skilled, highly intelligent, and deadly fighters. He needs to marry a woman who could be a queen when dad retires. That's royalty if I ever saw it."

  "But she's Zonan,” Sabinet protested.

  Benedar pressed his lips together and looked at his plate.

  "The house of Penthes has ruled Zona for three hundred years, Mother,” came from Nimashet. “They're a lot more royal than we are."

  Ramondar closed his eyes, and Julesan's face was there. She had never spoken of her childhood or where she grew up, but she had refused to marry him. She had been horrified when he'd told her he was going to inherit the Barian throne. And most telling of all, she had left him and her child who would be a king, disappeared one day with only a note saying he must find a woman who could be his queen, not just his lover.

  It still felt like a stab wound every time he allowed himself to think about it. Blade must not fall in love with a Zonan, because they were ruthless, heartless people, and he couldn't bear to watch another Zonan abandon his son. He felt his hands clench into fists as he tried to restore his control over his rage, because he knew how seductive the independence of Zonan women could be, and he knew, with exacting precision, what Blade's weaknesses were. His only remedy would be to pull them apart as quickly as was humanly possible and then try to minimize the damage. If he was in time.

  If Blademir survived long enough to get home.

  Cadi cleared her throat in the uncomfortable silence. “I still want to know what could possibly take him to Zona,” she demanded.

  "Actually, that was Deg's idea,” Ramondar admitted, then started. Deg, who had been researching rumors of a second heir to the Matriarch, had thought a quiet little negotiation for more trade rights in return for food and other basic supplies would be just the thing to help Barian forget the Crown Heir's latest brush with notoriety. “Since Blademir has been researching the border incursions—” he felt his eyes narrow as his thoughts went on independently of his words, “—he seemed just the person to convince Silean her people were on the edge of starvation."

  "And what else have you just thought of, Ramon?” Sabi asked, putting her fork down.

  He sighed. Sabi had known him since childhood, and while she wasn't the great love of his life, they had grown old—well, middle-aged—and comfortable together, and she knew him entirely too well to hide anything from her.

  "Deg also had more information about Commander Penthes than a press secretary needs,” he admitted.

  "Gods and demons, you don't think Deg set up the ambush, do you?” Dar looked appalled, as well he might. Degusta Matamoss was one of the inner circle, privy to more of the von Stassos family details than any other member of the cabinet.

  "If he had anything to do with it, I'll be damned to more than one Hell,” Ramondar said into the shock. “Deg throws up at ingrown toenails.” He shrugged. “I think he was researching possible alliances, since we all know their Crown Prince is a bitch on rails."

  "And couldn't fight her way out of a cellophane bag,” Benedar added with a smirk. “Not my brother's kind of woman at all."

  "That's what I'm afraid of,” Ramondar muttered to himself, his appetite suddenly gone.

  * * * *

  Blade waited until Taryn had wobbled off before he slid into her seat. Leone had been staring owl-eyed at the table, but fixed him with a gaze that was barely impaired.

  "You're a little young to be retired military,” he commented, carefully placing both of his hands on the table, face down.

  Leone shrugged. “I saw something I shouldn't have. I either got out or I got—what's your word for it? Frigged?"

  "Fragged,” he supplied. “Frigging is ... something else.” And he wasn't about to explain what it was, either.

  She shrugged again. “I went to Krystale once, right after. I wanted to see for myself what was so evil about people who looked pretty much like us that I'd spent my entire adult life on guard against them. They were having some kind of celebration, a big parade all through the streets in carriages that moved by themselves. I had a clear line of sight on the king for almost six minutes.” She shook her head. “You people aren't evil, but you are crazy."

  "He was surrounded by an energy shield, Leone,” he explained. “We're not that crazy. Besides, it's important for the people to be able to get a look at the ruler once in a while so they can make sure he remembers who he's working for."

  That made her laugh. “You want a drink?"

  "Sure, if you've got something with a kick.” He eyed the bottle and the two empty snifters. “Brandy's such a girly drink.” Zonan brandy, of course, was as strong as Barian whiskey, but he was used to whiskey and the one time he'd finished a bottle of Ruby Blend he discovered he couldn't stand on his own and he didn't even feel drunk. The hangover had lasted for two days. Leone grinned and got up, taking the bottle with her.

  "Pity we'll never meet again, von Stassos,” she said as she put the brandy on the bar. The hair on the back of his neck tried to stand on end. How had she known? She bent and disappeared for a moment, coming back up with a familiar shape. That moment gave him time to collect himself after the shock of being called by name. “The king wasn't the only one I saw in that parade, Your Whateverness. It was your twenty-first birthday as I recall, and dark hair doesn't disguise you worth a damn. It's a good thing you washed it out.” Which made it thirteen years ago, not the ten Galen had guessed. She had snagged a pair of shot glasses on her way back to the table and sat them down with a thump before she slid back into her seat.

  "Call me Blade,” he managed. “All my friends do."

  "Am I your friend?” Leone asked as she uncorked the bottle. “Does His Royal Highness Blademir Erichsal von Stassos have friends?” She poured two shots of Northvale Twenty-Year and sat the bottle down, then stared at him.

  "You wouldn't believe the friends he has,” he answered truthfully. “Sanctuary Bishops and Malthusian hookers at the same dinner party in the same dress."

  "And tonight you'll be sharing a bed with a Zonan Silvergarder.” Leone folded her arms. “I assume that's why we're having this conversation. Goddess knows you don't care about tech smugglers."

  "Hell, I'd make them a great deal on vaccines if I thought it would do any good.” He picked up one of the shot glasses. “But, yeah, I want to know about Commander Penthes. She's hiding something, and I need to know what it is. Right now my life is in her ha
nds, and I hate relying on people with secrets."

  "Drink. You'll need it.” Leone unfolded and picked up the other shot glass. “To biology.” It was a strange toast, but after the day he'd had, anything was an excuse. He downed the shot and it burned just the way it should have, bitter smoky oak and all. “She's Silean's daughter."

  The burn cut off abruptly as he absorbed the astounding words. That was the missing puzzle piece. And Leone was right, he should have known immediately. “Younger, I presume,” he said when he could talk.

  "Silean had a lot of trouble producing an heir. When she finally got pregnant and stayed that way, the entire country rejoiced.” Leone poured two more shots. “Then the midwives started whispering that she was getting too big, too fast. They were worried that she was carrying some kind of monster, so they brought in a machine that looked inside. We had to wire a generator in the palace basement so it would run. Damnedest thing I ever saw, but it gave me the know-how when it came time to set up this place.” She gestured at the overhead light. “Anyway, it turned out she was carrying twins. Both girls and, it turned out, identical.” Picking up her glass, she finished, “Very bad luck."

  Blade felt his forehead wrinkle. “Why?"

  "For one thing, it's a high-risk pregnancy. For another, it muddies up the line of succession. It would have been okay if one had been a boy, or even fraternal sisters, but two daughters from one egg meant two Crown Princes. Mama tried to hush it up, but one of the midwives was so proud of delivering two healthy heirs that she let it slip.” Leone downed her second shot and grimaced.

  Blade followed, but was too distracted to enjoy the flavor. Identical twin sisters; Talyn and Taryn. “So Talyn was born first.” Identical twins were often mirror images—and Taryn was left-handed. And the scar, of course, so people could tell them apart. Rage bubbled up and threatened to get out. Gods damn them, they hadn't had to do that. It had to have hurt like hell, and it was much larger than necessary. His hands were fisted and he deliberately forced himself to relax.