The Queen's Blade VI - Lord Protector

by T C Southwell

  Lord Brenthal stepped closer, looking confused. "You do speak like a noble."

  "It is a talent of mine, which I discovered during my career as an assassin."

  "If you are who you claim, I am duty bound to help you."

  Blade raised a hand. "Please, do not trouble yourself. You have done enough. I would consider the loan of a horse an added boon, however."

  "How did you die?"

  Blade's brows rose. "I have no idea, since I am not dead."

  "Then you do not know that the Cotti prince, Dravis, claimed to have killed you."

  "No, I did not, although it does not surprise me. I killed the lying worm."

  Brenthal stepped closer, looking excited. "Yes, he is dead. If you are who you say you are, I am honoured."

  "Well then, you had best make up your mind about whether or not you believe me."

  Brenthal glanced at Blade's tattoo and bowed. "It is a great honour to have you in my house, My Lord. I shall send a message to your wife at once."

  "No, do not."

  "Why not?"

  Blade sighed. "She probably will not believe you, and, as I said, I wish to spend some time on my estate. If she does believe you, she will most likely send a battalion to fetch me. I wish to have some peace and quiet before I return to Jondar."

  Brenthal hesitated, clearly torn between earning the Regent's favour and the Lord Protector's. "Of course, My Lord, as you wish. I shall send up some breakfast at once. Would you like the healer to see you again? You have some grave injuries."

  "No, just breakfast will be fine. I will leave tomorrow or the day after."

  The lord's face fell. "But My Lord, you need to recover."

  "I shall do so on my estate, where I will be more comfortable. How far is it from here?"

  "Six days' ride."

  "Excellent."

  Brenthal's expression clouded with doubt. "How is it that you do not know where your estate is?"

  "I do, I just do not know where I am. I have just walked all the way from Andrango Prison in Contara, Lord Brenthal."

  "That is incredible, My Lord. I apologise for my distrust."

  Blade waved a hand. "Think nothing of it."

  Brenthal left to order breakfast, and Blade relaxed with a sigh. As he had hoped, his numerous useless titles earned him the best possible care after that, and he dined on lyrebirds' tongues and grilled sunfish washed down with musky red wine that night. Lady Brenthal came to introduce herself, bowing low and blushing like a girl. Blade knew it was only a matter of time before the lord brought his friends to see his prize, and swore the nobleman to secrecy. Lady Jillina visited him often to prattle about court, which he listened to with half an ear.

  On the third day, when some of his strength had returned, he asked for clothes and a horse. Brenthal presented him with a smart black leather outfit that was almost an exact replica of the clothes Blade had worn upon his arrival. The lord also gave him six excellent black-hilted daggers, which pleased Blade no end.

  On the day of his departure, however, he rejected the snorting stallion that was led up for him to mount and chose a calm bay horse from the stables, claiming his injury as the reason for it. Brenthal lamented his lack of consideration, and the entire family came out to wave as Blade rode away.

  When his estate came into sight six days later, Blade rode through the muddy village and up the paved road to the castle at a trot, eager for a hot meal, warm bath and soft bed.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Lilu wielded the rolling pin in broad strokes, flattening pastry for a pie crust. Arjath had returned from a hunt with several fat rabbits, supplementing the chickens and pigs that were their usual fare. Not that they had any cause for complaint. A heavy purse arrived each moon to pay for their keep and run the estate. The estate manager paid her a comfortable wage from it, although he always looked a little sour when he handed over the money. Clearly he thought she was overpaid, but he was an honest man. Then again, she mused, few would dare to be dishonest when their employer was the Jashimari Regent. She would never forget the terrible day when the missive had arrived from the palace, informing them of Blade's death.

  Lilu still found it hard to believe, and Symbell did not believe it at all. Nonetheless, the estate had passed to his wife. No one really knew how Blade had died. The Cotti princes had had something to do with it, certainly. Prince Dravis had been assassinated, perhaps by Blade, but he had not been seen since, and his wife had received a half-rotted head that was supposed to be his. After three years, it seemed that the tales may be true, although Blade had vanished for fifteen years before this.

  Life had been good since she had moved to Blade's estate, apart from the hardships she had endured during the Contara invasion. Her thoughts turned, as they often did, to her former benefactor. She still missed him terribly, and every day she hoped and prayed that the tales were false and he was alive. The news of his death had crushed her utterly, and it had taken her moons to stop weeping every time she thought of him. He had given her life meaning, and could do no wrong in her eyes. The certainty that he had borne her some affection had sustained her over the years, and his accomplishments still filled her with pride. She pondered the strange man she loved so much as she rolled the pastry, smiling at the memories.

  The first time she had seen him, lying battered and bloody in a gutter, she had thought he was dead. It had surprised her to find that he still breathed in shallow gasps. He had been no more than two and twenty then, and inexperienced at his trade. Nursing him back to health had been a trial, but she treasured the memories. Although at first she had been afraid of him, she had grown to love him in just a few days, despite his ill temper and cutting remarks. Saving his life was her proudest accomplishment, and she had been fiercely protective and possessive of him ever since.

  Sensing a presence behind her, she swung around, the rolling pin ready. A black-clad man leant against the doorframe, watching her with a slight smile. Lilu gaped at him, unable to believe her eyes. It had taken her three years to come to terms with his death, yet there was no mistaking the icy grey eyes that met hers, or his fine features. Dropping the rolling pin with a shriek of joy, she ran to embrace him. He straightened, looking a little alarmed, as he always did when confronted by her enthusiastic welcome. She foiled his attempts to fend her off and engulfed him in a powerful hug, and he grunted as she squeezed the air out of him.

  "Stop it, Lilu," he said. "That hurts." He pushed her away before she could kiss him.

  Lilu gazed at him, a lump blocking her throat. She gulped, and her eyes overflowed. "You're alive."

  "Evidently." Blade clasped his ribs, and his gauntness and pallor horrified her. Sweat beaded his brow, and shadows lurked under his eyes.

  "You're hurt!"

  "A little." He brushed at the smudges of flour on his jacket, looked annoyed and sniffed his sleeve. "God, what do you stink of this time?"

  "Probably lonions." She frowned. "What have you done to yourself?"

  Blade snorted and limped over to the table, eyeing the pastry and bowls of raw ingredients on it. Lilu followed, studying him as he sank into a chair, holding his ribs.

  "I didn't do it to myself."

  "Let me see."

  "There's nothing you can do."

  "I'll be the judge of that." She knelt beside his chair and unlaced his jacket, ignoring his glare.

  "I need a drink before you start prodding me."

  Lilu fetched a bottle and goblet, pouring it for him. Returning to her task while he gulped the wine, she stripped off his jacket, discovering the strip of linen that bound his chest. She unwound it, biting her lip as a broad line of dark bruises was revealed, just under his pectorals. Sweat sheened his torso, and when she laid a hand on his skin, she found it hot.

  "You're burning up. What happened?"

  "Someone clobbered me."

  Lilu probed the bruised area gently, and he grunted, scowling. "You've got at least three cracked ribs," she informed him
.

  "That many, huh?"

  "At least. How could you ride all the way here injured like this?"

  "I didn't have much choice, although I walked most of the way. I didn't want to stay in Contara and be hunted."

  "What were you doing in Contara?"

  "Long story." He gulped his wine.

  "I have time."

  Lilu rose and went to a cupboard, digging in it until she found the rolls of bandages she had stored there for her often-injured lord. He winced and grimaced when she bound his ribs, tighter and more expertly than he had done.

  "I have to breathe, you know," he said.

  "You will. But these won't heal unless you keep them still. How long ago did it happen?"

  He shrugged. "It must have been about a tenday ago now."

  "And you have given it no rest since then. No wonder it hasn't healed." She recalled his limp. "What have you done to your leg?"

  "I broke my ankle too."

  "Blade! How did you do that?"

  "I fell off a cliff."

  "You are such a fool!"

  He scowled at her. "I didn't do it on purpose. It was climb the cliff or drown in a river."

  "Then you were right to climb it." Lilu finished binding his chest and bent to examine his ankle, ignoring his grunts and hisses as she removed his boot and probed the swollen joint, discovering suppurating puncture wounds in it and his calf.

  "You've made this worse by using it while it's broken."

  "I didn't have much choice."

  "I thought you didn't like pain."

  "I don't."

  Lilu re-bandaged his ankle and looked up him. "I'll send for the healer to set this properly and give you a draught for the fever. The bites are infected. Then you'll stay in bed for at least a tenday."

  "Nag, nag, nag." He sipped his wine.

  "Why didn't you find a healer on the way here, or go straight to the palace?"

  "A healer treated me eight days ago, and this is a lot closer to Contara than the palace."

  "I suppose so."

  Lilu stood up and studied him again. He looked thinner, and exhausted. She would soon fix that. The urge to mother him grew stronger every time she saw him, which was far too rarely. Now that he was injured again, it was overwhelming. Especially after she had half believed he was dead for three years. She shouted for Arjath and sent the young man running to the village to fetch the healer, then turned to Blade again. She blinked, her eyes stinging. He always looked so sad. She had noticed it when he had first woken in her bed, all those years ago. Many mistook his frequent frowns and caustic tongue for ill temper, and indeed, his mood was often surly, but she knew that a deep sadness caused his moodiness. Her scrutiny sharpened, for something about him had changed. The air of lonely desolation had lessened to almost nonexistence, despite his sour expression.

  "What else has happened to you?" she asked.

  Blade indicated that she should have some wine, and she poured herself a cup, still studying him. A smudge of flour powdered his cheek, and she leant closer to brush it off, resisting the urge to pounce on him and hug him half to death. There was a time when he would have flinched from her touch, but now he merely gazed at her, and it seemed that his eyes had thawed a little.

  "You've lost weight," he commented.

  She grinned, surprised and pleased that he had noticed. "I was getting too fat."

  "I agree." He sipped his wine.

  "How long will you stay?"

  He shrugged. "Until I decide to leave."

  "You look half-starved again. Don't you ever eat?"

  "Occasionally."

  Lilu's eyes roamed over his face, trying to discern what it was about him that had changed, but unable to pin it down. Time still seemed to have barely touched him, despite the toll of exhaustion and deprivation. She noticed that the mark of his retirement was still covered, and wondered why he chose to remain an active assassin.

  "What have you been doing for the past three years?" she enquired. "Everyone thinks you're dead."

  "I killed a few people."

  "Anyone special?"

  "Another Cotti prince."

  "Haven't you run out of Cotti princes yet?"

  He shook his head and sipped his wine. "I'm more than halfway through the brood, though." He looked away, his eyes bleak. "They almost killed me this time. I've spent the past three years in a Contara prison."

  Lilu gaped at him. "You escaped?"

  He nodded. "By a stroke of good fortune, or else I would have died there."

  "What happened? How did you escape?"

  Blade polished off the bottle of wine while he recounted an amazing tale in clipped sentences, leaving out a lot, she sensed. Even so, what he had suffered shocked her, considering how much he had already endured. It seemed unfair that one man should have to go through so many trials and tribulations, especially painful ones. He was not strong, she knew, and his constant flirtation with death seemed likely to doom him in the end. She could still hardly believe he was here, alive. The part of her that had refused to accept his death swelled with vindication, while the rest of her wallowed in the joy of his incredible return.

  She rubbed her eyes. "Something has happened to you, hasn't it? Something good."

  Blade inclined his head, and his eyes focussed on something behind her. She turned to find a wood cat seated in the doorway, surveying the room with a superior air. From its confident demeanour and the intelligent glint in its eyes, she knew it was a familiar. Had Blade brought someone with him? If so, where was he? She glanced at the assassin.

  "Who's this?"

  "This is Rivan." He paused, and a slight smile curved his lips. "My familiar."

  Lilu's mouth fell open, and she stared at him in disbelief, then glanced at the wood cat again. Rivan yawned and stretched out next to the wall, starting a bath.

  "But... wasn't your familiar killed when you were a child?"

  "Yes."

  "Then how...?"

  "He was reborn four years ago." Blade sipped his wine, watching her. "He kept me alive in that accursed place."

  "How is that possible? I didn't think..." She shook her head. "It was Shamsara, wasn't it? You did something for him."

  The assassin nodded, and she turned to gaze at the wood cat again, amazed and joyful. Blade's terse replies did not satisfy her curiosity, but it did not matter. She faced him again, and the yearning to hold him overwhelmed her. He leapt up and retreated, wagging a finger at her.

  "No. Lilu..."

  Lilu followed him until he backed into the wall, whereupon she hugged him again, mindful of his injuries. He groaned and cursed, jerking away when she kissed his cheek, but she ignored his reluctance and held him for as long as she dared. When she released him, he brushed the flour from his jacket once more, frowning.

  She wiped her eyes. "I'm so glad. You deserve such a wonderful reward. To be so blessed by Shamsara is truly a miracle."

  Blade returned to his chair and picked up his wine cup. Lilu resumed her seat, her eyes straying often to the black cat. Shamsara's gift was a miracle, and she marvelled at it. She wished the healer would hurry, but he was an old man, and, even with Arjath to speed his steps, it would take some time for him to reach the castle. Fortunately he was quite skilled, for she was extremely concerned about Blade. He tried to hide his weakness, but his pallor and sweating told her that he was gravely ill.

  Blade gazed at the plaque, remembering the boy who lay in the cold soil beneath it. Jayon, who had given his life trying to protect Blade from the Cotti prince who had almost killed him. He sank to one knee and laid his hand on the stone, trying to summon some grief into his heart. Rivan wandered over and rubbed against Blade's thigh, then flopped down on the gravestone. The assassin stroked the cat, his heart warming, as it always did in Rivan's presence. Could he only feel anything when Rivan was close by? He studied the gravestone, noticing the tiny carving of a dragon beneath Jayon's name.

  A pang of sorrow shot through hi
m, and he bowed his head. He had not known that Jayon was dragon kin. The realisation brought a rush of regret for the youth's sacrifice, and he allowed the feeling to burgeon, welcoming it. He wanted to feel again. He had been frozen inside for far too long. The ice still chilled him when he allowed it to, and it was a constant battle to prevent it from consuming him again. Rivan held it at bay, but the bond between them remained weak, due to their separation, and because he was unable to show the cat much affection.

  Blade read the tombstone again, translating the second name upon it. Ranelyrin. Lightsong, or Lightsinger, the title of a kin of the dragon, highest of the beast kin. Why had Jayon tried to save a lowly assassin, a mere kin of the cat? He must have known that, as dragon kin, his life was sacrosanct. The Cotti would have spared him if he had only cried that word. Lightsinger. Instead he had died, and with him, his radiant dragon.

  A vase of shay flowers stood beside the grave, and he wondered who mourned the young officer. Probably Lilu. She had liked Jayon. She was also, in all likelihood, the one who had seen to Jayon's burial, and placed the gravestone here. It should have been him. He wondered how they had buried Jayon's body, after his dragon had joined him in death.

  A soft pop made him look up. A scintillating light appeared above him, and he sat back with a start. A radiant dragon hovered over the grave, waves of glorious colour running through its skin, its wings a blur of movement. Rivan rose and sat beside Blade, watching the dragon with wide eyes. The radiant drifted down and alighted on the stone, its wings becoming transparent as they ceased to beat. Its white claws ticked on the rock, and its sinuous neck arched as it gazed down at it. Blade stared at it, wondering if it could read the words there. How intelligent were radiants, and why did this one visit Jayon's grave? Perhaps it was his familiar's mate.

  The radiant raised its head and trilled, its glowing skin shimmering. It radiated waves of intense cold, yet the sight of it filled him with a strange warmth. It was no larger than a dove, its tail as long as its neck, its cold fire obscuring the details of its patterns. Blade stretched out his hand, longing to touch the tiny, beautiful creature. It trilled again, turning its head to gaze past him, and he turned slowly, not wanting to alarm it.