Blade's Edge

by Val Roberts

  "We were at university together.” He smiled, his eyes glinting. “He gave me my first Zonan object, a wooden goblet. Can you imagine?” He sighed, looking off into the distance. “I still have it, and it is as simple and beautiful as ever."

  Dear Goddess, it was the faraway stare of a true believer. He really was crazy about Zonan artifacts and she would have to handle him with kid gloves. “Well, at least I can set your mind to rest about your friend, Lord Tanaka. He returned to Barian yesterday afternoon."

  "How delightful.” The smile faded, replaced by a slightly apprehensive look. “Now all I need to do is find Crown Prince Talyn. I had an appointment with her this morning to discuss a possible tour of a craft guild, but I can't seem to find her anywhere. Have you seen her, Your Majesty?"

  Silean stood straighter. “She was not in her office?"

  He shook his head. “She hasn't been anywhere I've looked, and no one I have asked can remember seeing her leave the palace, either."

  Silean's heart started to beat faster, fear threatening to overwhelm her. She couldn't lose two daughters in three days. “Could you come with me, Lord Tanaka? I believe the Captain of Silvergard will want to hear about this."

  He hesitated just a little too long and Silean felt her eyes narrow. He was hiding something, but what? Almost all of his story was easy enough to check out, especially given his bizarre appearance, so lying wouldn't have afforded him any advantage. “I only hope this won't delay beginning a search outside the palace, Your Majesty,” he said finally, meeting her eyes head-on. Which meant he knew more about Talyn's disappearance than he was willing to say to her mother in a hallway.

  "Then we'd best get started immediately.” She took his arm and led him into Auran's outer office, noting that he didn't drag his feet in reluctance.

  * * * *

  Blade was still thinking when they trotted into the small valley that formed the main entrance to the Enclave. He had barely swung his sore backside out of the saddle and onto solid ground when the small door in the large gate opened and Llamass came out.

  "Hello, Blade. What brings you back to the Enclave so soon?” Llamass asked as he pulled him into one of those full-body hugs that had become increasingly disturbing over the years. They had always greeted each other that way, and it wasn't as if a truthtester, of all people, was suddenly going to try something embarrassing and tacky with an audience of six. “And with such interesting company,” Llamass murmured in his ear before thumping his back and letting him go.

  "There's an interesting story to go with it,” Blade said, being careful to look his oldest friend directly in the eyes as he did. “I need a favor."

  "No, you need several favors,” Llamass corrected with a serene smile. “I was just about to water the courtyard. Come and talk to me while I do.” He gestured to the small door and Blade preceded him back into the Enclave, throwing a look to Galen, who nodded.

  "I know this looks bad,” Blade started when the door swung shut behind them.

  Llamass picked up a large watering can and walked toward a rose bush just beginning to leaf out. “On the contrary,” he interrupted, “from my perspective it looks quite favorable, if you're willing to do the right thing.” He paused and poured. “The rumor is that she's been kidnapped, you know."

  Blade stopped short. “Kidnapped? Vi—Taryn?” He knew Sanctuarians had a communication network probably better than the official intelligence service, fueled by a reputation as unstoppable gossips, but he hadn't known Llamass's reach extended into Zona.

  "Oh, yes, and by an envoy whose description would fit the Bariani Crown Heir to a freckle if it weren't for the hair color.” Llamass moved on to the next bush, one Blade couldn't identify. “Although I would hardly be expected to believe the redoubtable commander could be taken alive and relatively unscathed by a mere dozen Bariani, even led by you, old friend.” Amusement colored his voice. “A lover with a temper to match yours and the skills to back it up is not an easy thing to come by anywhere on Timarron, though Zona is by far the social and geographical terrain most suited to produce such a female."

  "She's not—” Blade started to protest, stopping when he realized he was lying and Llamass was a truthtester. It might have started out as a political gambit, but what had happened in the cave had been about mutual pleasure, and maybe the beginning of trust. They weren't exactly lovers—yet—but if it kept on, they would be. And his very presence here meant he wanted it to keep going. He finished up with a sullen, “It wasn't my idea."

  "Whose idea was it?” The water can tipped again.

  "There's this clandestine inn at the foot of the Jags run by a woman with a pet cougar.” The water can came back upright and Llamass turned to regard him with the closest thing to astonishment Blade had seen on his face since he'd joined the order.

  "Leone came up with this?"

  "So you know her.” Blade couldn't hide his own grin and wouldn't have tried if he could, because it was obvious Llamass didn't know Leone as well as he thought he did.

  Llamass frowned. “This doesn't sound like Leone. She sees Taryn almost as a little sister, not someone she would feed to the Bariani to protect her business.” He shook his head. “She would never go yenta on Taryn with a Bariani, and especially not you, even if she didn't know. You're hardly the sort of person one looks at and says, ‘perfect for my sister.'” He puffed out his cheeks in what might have been a sigh.

  Blade forced the irritation down and tried to focus on the subject of the conversation before Llamass had turned it to his own failings. “Thank you so much. She fed Her Highness half a bottle of brandy and then told me exactly what to do about it. She even discussed Zonan fertility cycles."

  The astounded look changed to pensive. “Why?” He went back to watering.

  "Because she recognized me and thought it was the only way to save Taryn's life.” Llamass didn't react to that statement, just went on watering. The silence stretched through three more bushes, then he put down the watering can as if he'd come to some kind of decision.

  "I see. Talyn has finally decided to end the rumors of rebellion."

  "Taryn isn't a rebel."

  "Isn't she?” Llamass moved to a sand pit with a pattern raked in it and some sort of construction on the edge, the rake lying next to it. “What do you think she is, Blade?"

  That wasn't an easy question, because she was a lot of things. He thought back to his first impression, the day they'd landed outside Balsom, the way she had neatly turned aside his gentle probes, killed four men to keep him alive, then absolutely refused to leave Zona by telling him the suggestion was stupid.

  "She is the most stubborn, pig-headed, uncooperative ... witch I've ever tried to work with,” he said. It was true, but she was also beautiful, sensual, and gentle in her own way, strange and strong and absolutely beguiling. She fit in his arms like the other half of him, and she didn't take any nonsense from him, either.

  "Not surprising,” Llamass said as he sprinkled blue sand over the top of the construction. “I'm sure her description of you would be similar, but for the use of terms like arrogant, overbearing, or possibly gorilla.” He looked up and his eyes twinkled. “Common adjectives for the von Stassos family among ladies, I understand."

  "Yeah, whatever.” Blade toed the rake, though not hard enough to make it flip up and smack him. “I'm talking about her life, Llamass."

  "You're trying to run her life, Blade. I'm sure she hates that. She's been a soldier for, what, ten years? More? And one day something awful happens, her sister sets up a trap so that she's dishonored no matter what she does. Either she allows the foreigner she's guarding to be killed or she kills the heir consort, no other options. Very neat.” His forehead creased. “Neater than Talyn's usual intrigue, in fact.” Llamass shrugged. “But Taryn makes her choice for the honor of the Silvergard, as I would expect her to. And then,” he grinned at Blade, “this arrogant, overbearing gorilla, whose life she has just sacrificed her own for, starts telling her wh
at to do and demanding sex every time she turns around, making her job that much more difficult."

  Which was almost exactly what had happened, in the most unflattering terms. Blade felt the back of his neck heat up.

  "I'm surprised she's still speaking to you,” Llamass continued without seeming to notice. “Although I have to say it's about time you met someone who wouldn't let you dominate her the way you usually do, and under circumstances that wouldn't let you play the fool to keep her at arms’ length. Watch yourself, old friend, or you'll be following her around like a lovesick puppy in short order."

  Blade thought of the night before and how he'd heard the whine in his voice when he was trying to coax her back inside. “Too late,” he muttered. Sometimes Llamass had a little too much perception for comfort. The truthtester in question watered another shrub and said nothing. “You heard what happened in Balsom a couple of days ago."

  Llamass straightened and looked at him. “Everyone has heard about it. It looked like the consort's own guard had turned on him, except that four of them had been killed with a laser, and there were two Bariani pinned to a wagon with crossbow bolts. According to my information, that's when Prince Taryn was ‘abducted.'” The smirk betrayed Llamass's disbelief of official events.

  "We were attacked, and he was leading them. Taryn killed him to keep him from killing me,” Blade said, watching for his reaction.

  Llamass put down the watering can and folded his hands inside the long sleeves.

  "And you want your version of events on record with Sanctuary.” He nodded. “That can be arranged, though I'll have to bring in another truthtester."

  "I want her version of events on record with Sanctuary,” Blade corrected. “Whatever I say would be suspect regardless of who verified it."

  "Ah.” Llamass smiled, an incongruous expression given the nature of the conversation. “I would be pleased to take the Zonan prince's testimony after the new moon celebration tonight. She may stay in the penitentiary for that time, and the rest of your escort may stay in the Enclave proper."

  "What?” Separated during the exact time they most needed to be together? Panic loomed, with fury not far behind. “She hasn't done anything to require penance."

  "Yes, but the Enclave cannot have a woman in it for the new moon right, and I trust her by herself,” Lamass told him, sounding really serious for the first time. “She's a commander of the Silvergard, which means she thinks of nothing but honor. You I wouldn't trust any farther than I could throw you."

  "What are you talking about?” Blade felt himself frown. “I'm honorable."

  "Blade, do you love this woman?” Llamass's calm question actually made him take a step back, because it was the question. The one he kept shying away from in his own mind, the one he told himself it was too soon to ask.

  "I've only known her for three days, including today. How am I supposed to know if I love her?” He tried to rake a hand through his hair and discovered it was matted. This was just getting better and better; separated from Taryn, trying to talk sense to Llamass when he was as ragged as a miner, and having the question—that question—asked by a truthtester.

  "Ask yourself.” Llamass said in that tone he'd never had before he entered the Enclave. “When you have an answer, you will understand why I can't trust you to leave Her Highness Taryn Astaren Penthes alone tonight.” He picked up the can and walked off, the words clearly a dismissal.

  "Hey,” Blade called after him in helpless frustration. Llamass looked over his shoulder without stopping. “She's waiting outside the gates. What do I tell her?"

  "You don't tell her anything. I'll send someone to bring your party inside and settle them in their respective quarters.” He opened and gate and was gone, leaving Blade alone in the courtyard that wasn't peaceful, no matter what it looked like.

  He slumped on a stone bench and let his face fall into his hands. Ask yourself. So he did, out loud. “Well, Blade, do you love her?” He thought of the way she had kept fingering her scar and watching him, always wary, always waiting for the universe to turn on her. He thought of the feel of her body against his that first time, firm muscle under skin softer than anything he'd ever felt before in his life, the shock and the incredible high of being inside her.

  That memory brought a faint smile, and he closed his eyes to try to capture the feeling again. What he saw behind his eyelids was the smoldering look he'd seen so often when she was irritated with him, and then it morphed into the mask she'd worn when she was killing people she respected, fighting not only for her own life but also those of half a dozen strangers she had pledged to protect. And he felt the helpless, gut-churning panic again, exactly as he had when the band of Silvergard had surrounded her in the canyon and he couldn't get to her, couldn't protect her the way she deserved. The way he wanted to protect her.

  But he didn't just want to keep other people from killing her. He wanted to protect her from everything bad, everything that would wipe that smoky glow from her eyes or make her smile fade. Something in his chest started to ache and he rubbed it absently without opening his eyes, because the next memory was her face just before he had turned out the lamp the night before: relaxed into innocence, soft and trusting. Trusting him. Yes, that was what he wanted, along with the warm glow of contentment that only came after really good sex with the woman you loved.

  His eyes popped open and he sat up as straight as if he'd just been tasered. “I'll be damned,” he whispered. Apparently three days was long enough to know if he just bothered to ask.

  * * * *

  "I don't believe this,” Ramondar growled as he slammed the door on his bodyguards. Sabinet started, sloshing tea over a bone china saucer and causing a stab of guilt. “Sorry, dear, but there's still no word from Blade. He crossed the border more than a day ago, and he has to know we're all worried. Why hasn't he commed?"

  "Maybe he's been busy,” she responded, sounding a little absent. He glanced away from the window to see her mopping up the spill, her hands unsteady. Yet again, he felt unworthy. “Degusta stopped by a few minutes ago, looking for you.” She nodded at the table. “He left those."

  Ramondar strode over and patted her shoulder, then picked up the folder. Inside were printouts of more satellite imagery. More overhead shots of people on horses, though the dead body had been removed. Thank all the gods Sabinet hadn't seen that.

  "He said it looked like they were riding north,” she supplied as she tried to pour again. “What's north of the cave that Blade might think was more important to get to than calling home, Rammy?"

  "I have no idea.” Frustration had turned his voice into another growl. “It's something to do with that damned Zonan, though. It has to be."

  He was still staring at the pictures when the teapot clunked back onto the tray.

  "Ramondar von Stassos,” his queen said in a voice that might have been chipped from a glacier, “you are an ass.” Then it was his turn to jump. He stared at her, the printouts forgotten. “The Sanctuary Enclave is a day's horseback ride from the cave in good weather. If I were a man deeply in need of cementing a political alliance through an unbreakable bond, getting it done would be at least an order of magnitude more important than calling daddy. He's not six years old anymore.” He was astonished enough that his mouth fell open, though he had nothing to say. Sabinet sniffed and picked up her teacup. “Get over it, already,” she threw at him before taking a dainty sip.

  "Sab-Sabinet,” he tried, almost wincing to hear himself stutter, “you don't understand. The political ramifications—"

  "Are perfectly obvious to anyone with brains, which Blademir has never lacked,” she finished, overriding his protest. “And you're ready to execute the poor girl because she had the bad luck to be born on the wrong side of an entirely artificial border. If you can stop thinking with your genitals, you'll notice there's no difference between Zonans and Bariani, aside from a disturbing tendency among Barian men to underestimate women. All women.” The look she gave hi
m was a frosty glare. “If you hadn't underestimated Julesan, we wouldn't be having this conversation, because she would be queen of Barian and I would be somewhere else. Thirty years of this nonsense is enough.” She paused for another sip.

  "But Zonans aren't like us, Sabinet."

  "Thank the gods for that,” she practically snorted. Then she did something he never would have expected in his wildest dreams. She kicked off her high-heeled shoes and hiked up her full skirt to sit cross-legged on the settee. “I'm tired of leading you to the obvious conclusions by asking questions anyone with an average education and normal intelligence would find insulting, and I'm not doing it anymore. Now get over here so I can rub the tension out of your neck and shoulders before you give yourself a stroke, you big idiot.” The last was delivered in a tone of exasperated affection, accompanied by a glare that could have come from Julesan's eyes.

  He let the folder and printouts slide from his numb fingers as he complied.

  "Blademir is a good man and he'll make an excellent king,” Sabinet said when she had him on the floor in front of the settee and was kneading his shoulders. “I couldn't love him more if I'd given birth to him myself, and this Zonan soldier of his is exactly what Barian needs on the throne if we're going to herd every political unit of Timarron into a common economic and legal policy in the next fifty years."

  "You really think so?” he heard himself ask in a faint voice, as if they'd discussed the political situation every day since forever when he'd always tried to shelter her from the more unsavory aspects of his job. He grimaced when she found a particularly tense spot.

  "The intelligence on her is a bit thin,” she said, sounding thoughtful, “and I absolutely refuse to leave that scar intact no matter how attached to it she is, but she understands power and command. Of course, it helps that she's beautiful, too.” She ran her fingers into his hair and began rubbing his scalp. “Maybe she can start a fashion craze for comfortable shoes while she's at it. These heels are only bearable with orthopedic inserts."