The Queen's Blade

  Kerrion pondered this, then nodded. “It may work.”

  Blade turned, looking scornful. “It had better, because if they try to arrest me, you will die.”

  “You will not get close to me, assassin.”

  Blade’s hand jerked up, and the dagger imbedded itself in the picture frame behind Kerrion’s head. The prince stared at it, then turned back to the assassin. Blade smiled, another dagger in his hand. “I kill in many ways, I just have my favourites. Cross me, and you will pay the price.”

  “What about your code?”

  “I am allowed to kill in my defence.”

  “It will not save you,” Kerrion pointed out.

  “No, but it will give me a great deal of satisfaction. I am sure I will manage to take a few others with me, too.”

  “What about the wishes of your queen?”

  Blade shrugged. “They will not concern me, once I am dead.”

  “I had no intention of breaking my word.”

  “Good.”

  “Who were you sent to kill?”

  “Someone you will not miss at all.”

  Kerrion sank back onto his chair. “Lerton.”

  “Indeed.”

  “He is my brother.”

  “How touching. He is trying to send you to the gallows.”

  Kerrion watched Blade walk behind him to retrieve the dagger. “What does your queen want in return for this help?”

  Blade shrugged, studying the portrait of King Shandor. “An end to the war.”

  “I cannot do that.”

  Blade leant over the Prince’s shoulder, making him tense. “Try,” he whispered, then straightened and strolled to the front of the desk again. “It will end soon anyway. Shamsara has predicted it, and even now, the Queen has the solution.”

  “What is that?”

  “In the spring, she will give birth to the next Jashimari Queen.” Kerrion looked down, frowning, and Blade continued, “That is, of course, if the Contarans have not overrun and murdered us.”

  “Why would that end the Eternal War?”

  “Because, Prince Kerrion….” Blade paused to test the dagger’s edge, making Kerrion fume with impatience. “Because the next Jashimari Queen will be your daughter.”

  Kerrion stared at the assassin, dumbfounded.

  Blade smiled. “Amazing, is it not? Shamsara says that you will not wage war on your own flesh and blood. Even your people will not wish it. Is that true?”

  “That is not possible! I never....”

  “You did. Remember the red-haired handmaiden who came to your room one night?”

  “That was...?” The Prince was amazed, then wondering, and finally joy stole into his heart. “I thought -”

  “You were meant to. You refused to be her consort, so she was forced to make other plans. I should know. I helped her.”

  “You!” Kerrion glowered at him. “How do I know you are not lying? You are very good at it, I have heard.”

  Blade flipped the dagger into the air and caught it by the hilt. “Ask the Queen.”

  The Prince could still hardly believe that the Jashimari assassin stood in his room, so relaxed and confident, as if he belonged there. “That will be difficult. How did Minna know about my trial? She has a spy in my palace?”

  “Several.”

  Kerrion pondered the new information, watching the assassin flip and catch the dagger. “You know, just testifying to the judges will not be enough, you will have to prove that you killed my father.”

  “I know.”

  “You will have to wear the same disguise.”

  “Obviously.”

  “I thought you hated it.”

  Blade paused in his dagger flipping to stare into space. “I do.”

  “Then why are you doing this?” Kerrion gestured, confused. “You claim to care about nothing and no one. Why would you put yourself through this humiliation for the Queen? You told me yourself that you would kill her if someone paid you. Yet you travel into Cotti lands, knowing, I am sure, that you have little chance of leaving them alive, even with my help. Why?”

  Blade toyed with the dagger, appearing unconcerned. “I do not care if I die. Have you not realised that yet? I might have been discovered in your father’s camp the night I killed him. I have spent my life courting death, yet it will not have me.

  “The danger of my situation does not bother me. Only saving you sticks in my craw. But the life of a Cotti prince will be apt reward for saving one, do you not think? Perhaps this time death will take me. Who knows? What do I have to look forward to? A long happy life with a devoted wife, cared for in my dotage by my sons and daughters? The Cotti stole my future, and I will take as many of their futures as possible.”

  “Vengeance,” Kerrion murmured.

  “It is a sweet cup with bitter dregs, but I have grown accustomed to it. I have drunk my fill of it, yet it is never empty.” Blade went over to the window and stared into the darkness, where lights twinkled in the streets below. “I am the empty one.”

  “You are a strange man. There are people who care about you, yet you shun them.”

  Blade turned to sweep the Prince with a hard glance. “I tire of this conversation. Your morbid fascination for prying into my life annoys me.”

  “I am trying to understand you, is all.”

  “So you may find my weakness?” Blade gave a snort of laughter. “I have none.” He started towards the curtains through which he had appeared.

  Kerrion jumped up. “Where are you going?”

  “I have to sleep.”

  “Stay here if you wish.”

  Blade paused, raising a mocking brow. “And awake in chains? I think not.”

  “What good would that do me? I need your testimony.”

  “True. But if you expect me to trust a Cotti, you are sadly mistaken.” Blade vanished through the curtains.

  “I will see you tomorrow then, at dawn!” Kerrion called after him.

  The Prince sank back on his chair and poured a fresh goblet of wine. He pondered the sudden and unexpected turn of events as he sipped it. The impossible presence of the Jashimari assassin in his city, in his palace, and even, unnervingly, in his room, still stunned him a little. Blade’s stealth was extraordinary, and he wondered how the assassin had avoided the many guards around and in the palace.

  Kerrion’s mother, coming from the harem, was able to use secret passages to gain admittance, but Blade had come from outside. He had eluded scores of guards to enter the Prince’s room. His respect for the assassin grew as he considered this remarkable feat, long thought to be impossible. Blade’s presence and mission brought fresh hope to brighten the Prince’s gloomy thoughts, pushing aside the despair that had been taking hold of him.

  The amazing news of the child Minna carried also brought a surge of wonder and fresh tenderness for the Jashimari Queen. The night of passion he had spent with the red-haired maiden, although wine fogged and strangely muddled, had stayed with him ever since. His lack of self-control had baffled him, and he had woken alone and guilt ridden the next day. Now many pieces of the puzzle fell into place, and he experienced a wry admiration for her high-handed manipulation of events.

  It seemed that Minna-Satu liked to have her own way, and usually did. Even he could not gainsay her, and he wondered if Blade was the only one who could. He did not doubt for a moment that the assassin was immune to the Queen’s blandishments, but did her will solely because he wished to do it. That she had succeeded in gaining his co-operation in this venture was admirable, but the price was Lerton’s life, for which he doubted she would otherwise have asked. Gravely, he raised his goblet towards the northern wall, smiling.

  “My thanks, Minna.”

  Setting aside the cup, he drew a blank sheet of parchment from the pile on his desk and dipped his quill into the inkwell, pausing to ponder the words he must set down to ensure Blade’s safety. The task galled him. He would rather see the assassin lynched for killing his father, but his
word had been given and Blade’s threat was not an empty one, he knew. After a moment of contemplation, he began to write.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Blade rose at dawn and brushed the straw from his clothes, then stretched and yawned. The night spent in the palace stables had been peaceful, and the deep bed of straw had provided a pleasant resting place. Digging out the bag he had secreted there the night before, he consumed a frugal breakfast of biscuits and water before wetting a cloth and beginning the long transformation he hated so much. This time, however, he donned the female clothes over his own, and applied the skin dye only to those parts of him that were exposed.

  After he had applied the kohl to his eyes and berry juice to his lips, he forced the earrings through the long-unused holes in his earlobes with a grimace. He studied the disguise in his mirror, brushed the blond wig and tucked away errant strands of jet hair, then donned jingling bangles and a cheap necklace. Satisfied, he reburied his bag and rose to brush straw from his skirts, checking the daggers strapped to his wrists inside his sleeves. Covering his hair with a rippling length of blue silk, he wandered from the barn with a woman’s graceful, swaying gait.

  Several of the guards he passed on his way to Kerrion’s rooms winked and leered, and one tried to pinch his bottom. Along the way, he pilfered a bottle of wine, then walked to Kerrion’s door and knocked. The guards who stood outside it grinned at him, and Blade smiled and lowered his eyes. A gruff command to enter made a guard open the door, and Blade strolled into the Crown Prince’s boudoir. Kerrion sat on the rumpled bed with his hair still tangled from sleep, and looked up from lacing his boots. He scowled when Blade thumped the wine bottle down on the table.

  “What is this? I did not order wine. Get out.”

  Blade spoke in his own voice. “So it is true that Cotti men treat their women like slaves. No wonder you do it to Jashimari children too.”

  Kerrion grimaced. “Blade. The guards let you in?”

  “Naturally. All they saw was a serving maid with a bottle of wine.”

  The prince straightened and studied the assassin. “No wonder you fool everyone. I did not have the opportunity to appreciate the perfection of your disguise on the night you abducted me.”

  “I did not come here for you to admire me. Let us get on with this.”

  Kerrion picked up an embroidered white tunic and shrugged it on. “I was starting to wonder if you had lost your nerve.”

  Blade glared at him. “You should learn to curb your tongue. Antagonising me is not a good idea.”

  Kerrion completed his ablutions before summoning his familiar from her perch, and the guards snapped to attention as the Prince marched past with the eagle perched on his shoulder, Blade following. The assassin found the walk through the palace educational, noting the corridors and rooms they passed through with keen interest. Its echoing emptiness struck him as amusing, but the décor’s sheer opulence more than compensated for the lack of furnishings.

  The desert mines were rich in many things besides metal, and, in some rooms, rows of quartz pillars glimmered in the warm light, streaked with shades of pink or blue. Quartz statues glowed with translucent beauty, and, in one vast room, a circular skylight let in shafts of pale pink radiance. The Prince seemed oblivious, striding past the breath-taking scenery without a glance at it.

  Arriving at a pair of massive brass-studded doors, Kerrion said, “Wait here until you are called. I have to convince them to grant you a pardon first.”

  Blade nodded. “Lerton will help.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You will see.”

  Kerrion gazed at the assassin in puzzlement, then headed for the doors, which the guards opened for him. As they closed behind him, Blade moved closer to the wall and stood with his head bowed, pulling the blue silk over his face to foil curious stares.

  Kerrion entered the immense audience room where the trial was being held, aware that dozens of hostile eyes followed his progress. Lerton, who sat with his brothers, smirked and waved. The judges stood in a row behind a long, polished palm wood table, watching him with hard, glittering eyes that belied their reverent bows.

  The lords who filled the rest of the hall kept their expressions neutral, awaiting the outcome before they committed themselves to either side. Familiars sat beside them or perched on their shoulders, those that were not twined around their necks or resident in the palace stables. The group of officers from King Shandor’s camp, whom Lerton had called as witnesses, whispered amongst themselves, their eyes darting. Three male sand cats lolled at their feet, one snoring.

  Kerrion stopped before the most senior of the seven judges and addressed him. “My Lord, before we continue with this farcical trial, I have one more witness to call.”

  The judge frowned, clearly displeased by the delay. “The time for witnesses is over, Prince Kerrion.”

  “I am aware of that, but this person can clear me of these ridiculous charges.”

  The judge raised his brows and glanced at his comrades, who nodded or shrugged as they seated themselves. “Very well.”

  “Before I do, My Lord, I must insist that this court grant amnesty to this witness, or the person will not come forward. By clearing me of the crime, the witness will be implicated, and I have promised that there will be no punishment.”

  “That is unheard-of,” the judge declared. “If this person is guilty of some part in your father’s death, he must be punished.”

  “My Lord, by testifying for me, this witness is saving my life.” Kerrion pulled the speech he had written the night before from his tunic and began to read. “In such an instance, where a witness comes forward to save the life of an innocent, and when that innocent is the future king, any means should be used to procure their co-operation.

  “By saving the heir’s life, the witness performs such a great service for the kingdom that no reward is too much. Surely the court must agree that the granting of amnesty is a small price to pay for the truth? By saving the court from the massive blunder of executing their future king, an act of high treason, the witness in question, even if guilty of the crime with which I am charged, must be protected in order to facilitate their testimony.”

  The judge leant forward, the grey owl on his shoulder shuffling to keep its balance. “Are you saying that this witness is the true murderer?”

  “That is for the witness to admit, or not, as the case may be. I ask that you grant this witness a pardon, no matter to what he or she may confess.”

  “We have not given our verdict yet, Prince Kerrion,” another judge pointed out. “How do you know we have found you guilty?”

  “I do not. Have you found me innocent?”

  The judges glanced at each other, shifting in their hard, high-backed chairs.

  Kerrion nodded. “As I thought.”

  “Let him call his witness,” Lerton shouted from his seat in the gallery. “It is just another of his fabrications. His lies will not fool us.”

  “But My Prince, if this person is indeed guilty….” the senior judge protested.

  “How can he be, when Kerrion is the true murderer? It is a futile attempt to save his neck, nothing more. Grant the amnesty. You will be pardoning nothing more than a petty liar my brother has hired to take the blame for his crime.”

  The judges conferred, then the senior man nodded to Kerrion. “Very well, My Prince. We will pardon your witness for whatever crime he has committed, or will commit here by perjuring himself. Since your accuser has no objection to this, we do not either. What is your witness’ name?”

  “I would rather the witness remained nameless for now, My Lord. The reason will become clear soon enough. There is no one else outside, I assure you.”

  The judge addressed the guards who stood by the doors. “Call the next witness.”

  Kerrion flashed a triumphant smile at Lerton. “Thank you, brother.”

  Lerton looked smug, stroking the golden snake that hung around his neck. “Do not mention
it. Doubtless this will be entertaining.”

  “I am certain of it,” Kerrion agreed as the guards pulled open the doors and bellowed into the corridor for the next witness.

  Blade entered with gliding, graceful steps, pausing to bow to the judges before facing the officers from King Shandor’s camp, who erupted with excited shouts.

  “That is the whore from the camp!”

  “She was the one who went with the King!”

  Blade pushed back the blue silk to reveal the wig’s long golden tresses and let them have a good look at him.

  Kerrion asked the officers, “You are certain?”

  “Absolutely,” a young officer stated, and Kerrion recognised the man who had kept Blade company for most of that evening while the King had dined. The Prince had noticed the attractive whore long before his father had. The other officers nodded. Two of the sand cats roused sufficiently to yawn and stretch before flopping down again.

  Kerrion pointed at Blade. “This is the woman who was with King Shandor on the night he died. You all agree?”

  The officers nodded one by one as the Prince’s gaze rested upon them, and when the last had assented, Kerrion faced the judges.

  The senior judge inclined his head. “So noted.”

  Lerton chuckled. “My Lords, she is his partner in this heinous deed, naturally she would come forward to exonerate him now that he has procured a pardon for her. This only proves my case.”

  “Either that, or she is a harlot who looks like the woman these good officers saw, whom I have hired to lie on my behalf, eh, Lerton?” Kerrion suggested with a smile.

  “Exactly!” Lerton crowed. “And doubtless she will admit to murdering the King, a preposterous claim!”

  Kerrion swung back to the judges. “Is there any doubt in your minds that this is a woman, My Lords?”

  The senior judge leant forward, scrutinising the assassin. “Let her speak. What has she to say?”

  Blade spoke in a sweet, whispery voice. “I killed King Shandor.”

  “You see!” howled Lerton, thumping the railing in his glee. “Exactly as I said! My Lords, this is either Kerrion’s partner in crime or some cheap harlot hired to speak those words.”