The sand cat raised her head and cast her friend a disbelieving glance, her ears twitching.
“Come on,” Minna insisted, “sit by me.”
Had the cat been able to talk, she might have pointed out that it was hard to sit beside someone who was pacing the room. Instead, she flopped back with a sigh. Minna flung a cushion at her, then turned, patting her hair, as the doors opened. Chiana prostrated herself, and rose at the Queen’s gesture.
“They wait outside, My Queen. Shall I show them in?”
“Yes. At once.”
The chief advisor reopened the doors and stood aside. Blade entered, towing a dishevelled man by a leather thong. Four soldiers hesitated on the threshold, and Minna waved them away, refusing them entry. Chiana closed the doors and stood with her back to them, watching the men.
The assassin approached to within a few paces, dropped to one knee and bowed his head. “My Queen.”
“Get up.” Minna glared past him at the dirty man who stared at her with a scornful expression.
The assassin rose, took hold of his prisoner’s bound wrists and yanked his arms up, forcing him to his knees with a grunt of pain. Blade pushed his head down until his forehead touched the floor.
“You will bow to the Queen, Cotti.”
Minna watched the Prince’s struggles for a moment, then nodded. “Let him up.”
Blade stepped back, and Kerrion jumped up, flushed and scowling. “This is an outrage! I am no common criminal to be treated in such a fashion!”
Blade punched the Prince in the solar plexus, making him double over with a grunt.
Minna wound a string of pearls around her finger as she studied the captive. Kerrion glared first at the assassin, then at her with equal ferocity. His hair hung in dirty locks around his bearded visage, and his gold-embroidered velvet and satin clothes were torn and smeared with mud.
“That is enough, Blade,” Minna remonstrated. “He is a prince, although he does not look, or smell like one.” She wrinkled her nose.
“I should have been treated better than this,” Kerrion growled. “I should have been allowed to wash before meeting you, Queen Minna-Satu. I have not been accorded the right of my rank.”
Blade said, “You have no permission to speak, prisoner.”
“And rightly so,” Minna assured the Prince. “You are my prisoner, and subject to my whims. Do you think I would have been content to wait while you bathed? Do you have no idea of protocol?”
“Then I make no apology for my state. I have been kidnapped from my father’s camp and dragged through your land for three tendays without once being offered a bath or clean clothes. Even though we are enemies and I am your prisoner, I deserve to be treated according to my rank. If it was you who were my prisoner, rest assured, I would not insult you in this fashion.”
The ferocity of his outburst surprised Minna-Satu, and Shista stood up and wandered over. She rubbed against Blade’s legs and purred, then sniffed Kerrion, her purr fading. Wrinkling her nose, she gave a huge sneeze, then studied him with her tail twitching before returning to her cushions and flopping down amongst them.
Minna signalled to Chiana. “Take the prisoner away and have him washed and given clean clothes. I will speak to the assassin alone.”
Chiana went to the doors and ordered two guards to bring the Prince, following as they marched him away. As soon as the doors closed behind them, the Queen sat down and motioned for Blade to do the same. A maiden entered with a tray of aromatic tea and sweet cakes, leaving the moment she had deposited her burden.
Minna leant forward to take a cup. “Have some.”
The assassin took a cup and sipped from it. Although he hid his dislike behind a bland expression, she had the impression that he was not partial to this variety of tea, or perhaps tea in general.
The Queen considered him through the steam that rose from her cup. “You have done well. I am extremely pleased.”
The assassin inclined his head.
“Was the task a challenge, or not?”
He shrugged. “It was not beyond my abilities.”
“King Shandor is dead?”
“As you wished.”
She took a sticky cake. “Good. You are unharmed?”
“Not a scratch.”
“And the Prince?”
He smiled wryly. “A few bruises and cuts, nothing serious.”
“I cannot imagine how you succeeded when all my men failed. They were the best I had, seasoned warriors who had distinguished themselves in battle. Yet you….” She shook her head. “But no, I will not berate you, for you have done me a great service and I am most grateful.”
“Killing King Shandor gave me a great deal of satisfaction. I am well compensated already.”
“You did not need my sanction to assassinate the King. Had you truly wished it, you could have done so at any time, for you did not need my help either.”
Blade’s lips curved in a gentle smile. “The Guild of Assassins forbids me to kill without a client; otherwise we would be nothing more than common murderers.”
She nibbled the cake. “I see. A sensible rule, for you are right, that is the only difference between assassins and murderers. Your profession places the blame on your client, not you. So, how many did I murder, other than the King?”
“Only two soldiers.”
She eyed him. “I enquired about you, as you advised. Your reputation is certainly unequalled, it would appear. Four hundred is an impressive tally.”
“It is a gross exaggeration. I do not keep count, but I have not killed that many men.” He sipped his tea, keeping his gaze lowered.
“You have my sympathy for the loss of your family, Conash.”
He glanced up. “It seems your enquiries were quite thorough.”
“They usually are. I found the details interesting, but full of mystery. Is it true that you were once beaten and left for dead in the streets?”
He frowned at his tea. “Yes.”
“And will you tell me how you survived?”
He raised his eyes in a bold look that warned her of his dislike of the topic. “A whore from a nearby brothel took me in and nursed me back to health.”
The Queen smiled. “A kind lady.”
“Yes.” Blade looked away, expressionless.
Minna knew that his rescue had had little to do with kindness, and wondered if the unfortunate woman had ever discovered the futility of her hopes. Aware of his discomfiture, she changed the subject. “Your reward shall be as I stated. Your elevation of rank will take place at a ceremony tomorrow in the audience chamber. It must, of necessity, take place before the entire court. The witnesses make it official.”
“Then I would rather forgo the title. The lands and riches will be sufficient reward.”
The Queen shook her head, smiling at his reaction, which she had predicted. Blade, like all assassins, had learnt to shun publicity, and being the centre of attention in the royal court did not appeal to him. “I am afraid you must take the title. I insist.”
He shot her an accusing look. “Would you turn my reward into an ordeal?”
“Come now, you are to retire soon. You need not hide from the public any longer. If you are afraid of retribution, your new rank will protect you, and having the Queen’s favour ensures your safety.”
“I have your favour?”
“But of course; as well as my ear and high regard.”
“Then will you tell me what you intend for the Prince?”
“Alas, I cannot just yet. But he is not destined for the gallows.”
“A pity,” Blade said. “I would volunteer to kill him for nothing.”
“You have grown to dislike him?”
“No. He is a far better man than his father was, but he is Cotti.”
Minna-Satu nodded. “You have more to hate them for than the death of your family, do you not?”
“Yes.” Blade put down his cup and rose to his feet, startling her.
She s
tood up, annoyed. “Your manners have not improved. It is customary to wait for my permission to leave before doing so.”
“I will try to remember. For the moment, I am tired and hungry.”
She waved a hand. “Very well, you may go.”
He dropped to one knee and bowed his head. “My Queen.”
Blade went to the doors and opened them, revealing Chiana waiting outside. As he passed her, she glanced at Minna, and, at the Queen’s nod, turned to show him to his quarters.
The rooms Chiana led Blade to bore no resemblance to the one in which he had stayed for the first tenday. Whereas that had been a servant’s room, these boasted all the comforts the palace could provide, including a trained manservant. Hangings woven by master craftsmen graced the walls, some of which were panelled with polished bloodwood whose fine-grained veneer glowed deep crimson in the lamplight, seamed and knotted with black. Embroidered black velvet curtains framed lead-paned windows that gave a view of a garden where a grove of smoke trees’ gauzy foliage blended into the mist.
The sitting area had numerous cushions and poufs scattered on woollen rugs, and a fire crackled in a jade hearth. Paintings of hounds and horses, probably the familiars of long-dead nobles, relieved the plethora of tapestries depicting hunting scenes. A vast four-poster bed dominated the bed chamber, hung with silk and velvet and covered with a snow cat fur spread. An ironwood wardrobe stood against one wall, its doors chiselled with crude designs.
To achieve even such slight patterns in ironwood was a great feat, since the wood was legendary for its hardness. Only young ironwood trees could be felled without blunting numberless axes and exhausting armies of men. Once the tree had been chopped down, it had to be sawn into planks and carved before the wood dried, or else there was no hope of doing so. Legend had it that there had been a time, in an Age of Trees, when swords had been made from it.
A curtained washing alcove housed a brass tub and an ironwood table with a basin and pitcher of water upon it, as well as a selection of soft towels, scented soaps and sponges.
Chiana left him to return to the Queen, and the servant came forward to offer his services. Blade ordered a meal and a bath, and found the former already awaiting him in an adjoining dining room furnished with a jade-topped smokewood table. The service and accommodations made him wonder to what rank he was being elevated, and he wished he had asked the Queen. Tomorrow he would find out.
Kerrion surveyed his room, which was almost devoid of furnishings. Two cream-coloured linen cushions lay in the centre of the sitting area, next to a low glass-topped puffwood table. A narrow bed stood in the far corner, a plain chest of drawers beside it. Within a curtained alcove was a brass tub, a rough towel and a table with a basin and pitcher of water on it. A solitary, rather threadbare tapestry covered one wall, and another had two lead-paned windows in it, a puffwood tree blocking the view.
The room was either that of a servant that had been refurnished for him, or a junior advisor’s quarters. The implication was obvious. He was, at best, an unwelcome guest, at worst, little more than a prisoner.
Two guards stood outside the door, and a sullen manservant obeyed him with grudging tardiness. Once bathed, he dressed in the clothes provided, which, although quite fine, did not come up to his standards. The pale fawn linen shirt hung below his hips in the Jashimari fashion, a silver-studded belt clasped his waist, and velvet leggings tucked into brown leather calf-boots. All that remained to show his princely status was his silver circlet, which the servant polished with great reluctance. After a simple meal of grilled butter fish and dellbeans with capelot greens, he was told to await the Queen’s pleasure, which he did for most of the afternoon, fuming with impatience.
Finally, a liveried manservant showed him into the Queen’s presence once more, the guards dogging his footsteps. The soldiers returned to their post outside the huge double doors, and the servant opened them and stood aside. Minna-Satu reclined on her cushions, and set aside a parchment when he halted in front of her. Kerrion hesitated, unsure of what to do, then accorded her a stiff bow, as he would his father.
The Queen gestured to a pile of cushions. “Sit.”
Kerrion found it a little awkward, since the Cotti used chairs, and he was unused to lounging about on a plethora of cushions.
Minna studied him, and the intelligence in her eyes and her proud demeanour struck him. “I trust you are now comfortable, Prince Kerrion?”
He nodded. “The room is adequate.”
“Good. I regret the death of your father. It was necessary, I am afraid. I ordered it to put you on the throne, thereby giving our people a chance for peace.”
“Kidnapping me will only escalate the war, Queen Minna-Satu, and elevate my brother Lerton to the throne.”
“I know that. You will regain your power when you return to the desert, once we have made our peace.”
“So, you do wish to negotiate a treaty then?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“But you must know that neither of our peoples will allow it. After so many generations of war, they will not want to simply walk away and return to their homes. The men know nothing but soldiering, and our nobles profit from it. We may be the rulers of our realms, but to announce an end to the war may well spark a revolt.”
Minna raised a hand. “I am aware of all this. Please do not mistake me for a fool. My plan has many conditions. My changes will be sweeping and final. When I am finished, my people and yours will have no choice but to accept peace.”
“You sound certain. How do you intend to achieve this? I have not agreed to anything, yet you speak as if the deed is done. How do you know that I want peace?”
The Queen shook her head. “Your wishes are irrelevant, but your co-operation would be beneficial. As yet, it is too early to divulge my plans to you. I wish to know you better first.”
“What bearing can that have? It matters not whether we know each other. We need not be friends to negotiate a treaty.”
“Then you would be willing to?”
“If the lands your people have stolen are returned to the Cotti, perhaps an agreement can be reached.”
Minna’s brows rose. “What lands are those?”
“The lands between the Endine Mountains and the Lelgara River, which was the border before your ancestors invaded them.”
A slight smile tugged at her lips, and Kerrion admired her poise. Unlike dusky Cotti maidens, the Queen had a pale, delicate beauty, which he likened to that of an orchid, as opposed to a bright daisy.
“We stole no lands from you,” she said. “According to our records, the Cotti kings tried to invade Jashimari lands, and we have been defending them ever since.”
“Then your records lie, and we will never have an end to this war if we cannot even agree on what started it.”
“No, the reason for its beginning has no bearing on its end. We have only to agree to end it, and it is over.”
“That will not satisfy my people,” Kerrion stated. “They have not fought so long and hard to gain nothing for their sacrifice in the end.”
“Nor will mine be content to give away the soil they have striven to defend for generations.”
“Then we are already at an impasse.”
“Do you wish to end the war?”
Kerrion shrugged, meeting her gaze with amusement in his eyes. Minna-Satu frowned, clearly unused to such bold glances. From what he knew of Jashimari culture, the men were spineless cowards. Her subjects rarely met her eyes, and even her most senior lords did not dare to stare her down in such a fashion.
The Prince smiled. “It is not something to which I have given much thought. My kingdom thrives on war and my people prosper from it. Without the war, many powerful men would lose their livelihood; arms merchants and mine owners, armourers who have spent years crafting fine weapons and inventing new ones. What use could they put their skills to, if there was no demand for their products?”
“What about the cost? The t
housands of lives lost every year in battle, the bereaved families and destitute widows?”
“You speak of a woman’s concerns. The men are proud of their sons’ glorious achievements and honourable death in battle. Widows are compensated for the loss of their husbands and sons. They would be poorer if their menfolk lived than if they die.”
“And what of the cripples?” Minna asked. “Men without arms or legs or sight?”
“They too are compensated. No Cotti war veteran starves or is without a home. Those who have profited from the war pay huge taxes to support the less fortunate. Farmers grow rich feeding the army. The economy booms.”
“Yes, so it is here, too. Yet the war is evil, and I would end it.”
“Then surrender. You will receive good treatment. Your people will not be enslaved, and your wish will be granted.”
“Never.” Her eyes glinted. “How dare you make such a presumption, when it is you who are my prisoner?”
“Imprisoning me does you no good. It will only enrage my people and goad them to greater ferocity. If you execute me, my brother Lerton will inherit, and he is much like my father.”
Minna-Satu sat back and glanced at the dozing sand cat. “So you have said. Let us not discuss it further today. Tell me of your family. I believe it is large.”
Kerrion obliged, her tactics confusing him a little. For the remainder of the afternoon and over dinner, they discussed their lives and relatives. The Queen was pleasant and talkative, although she smiled rarely, and he longed to know the reason for the distant sadness in her eyes. Her beauty seemed too fragile for the burdens of her high office, and there was no triumph for him in denying her the peace she craved. He thought it was unfair to have to deal with such a lovely woman, against whom any victory would inevitably be tinged with regret.
That night he lay awake, thinking about her and wondering at the mysterious plans she claimed to have. By the time he fell asleep, he was no wiser for his time-glasses of pondering.
Chapter Eight
The door opening woke Blade the next morning, and he became instantly alert, in the usual manner of assassins. He relaxed when the manservant came in carrying a pile of bright, luxurious clothes. The man hung the garments on a smokewood rack, brushing and straightening them with obvious pride. Blade sat up and eyed the deep crimson silk shirt and tailored, brushed black velvet tunic with silver patterns embroidered on the shoulders and sleeves. Next to these was a pair of matching trousers and a silver-studded belt. A short cloak completed the outfit, and the servant placed a pair of narrow, polished black boots on the floor under the rack.