Chapter Eleven

 

Blade woke with a start, instantly alert. Whenever he jerked awake, there was always something wrong, and he listened for an alien sound. It came sooner than he expected; the soft, stealthy rustle of a footstep. Someone or something was creeping up on them. He rolled onto his stomach to watch the horses. Their ears were keener than his, and they could scent a predator's approach. They stood with their heads raised, but relaxed, each with one hind leg resting on the tip of its hoof. Not a predator then, which only left men. The horses' ears were pricked, and they had turned to face the noise, which gave him a better idea of where it had come from.

The Knights, if they had survived, would not creep around, and whoever it was knew where they were. That meant they had been tracked here, and that only left dog men. He groped for his crossbow, which was loaded and within reach, then crawled towards the nearest tree and set his back against it. The rustle came again, and he was able to get a more accurate direction. Closing his eyes to block out the distraction of the moon-dappled forest, he concentrated on the noise, finding its location. They were still some distance away, and he pondered his next move, wondering what to do about the Queen. If she awoke to a sudden ruckus, she may well scream or run about in a panic, getting in his way.

Easing himself away from the tree, he crossed the short distance to her huddled form and clamped a hand over her mouth. She woke with a gasp, and he leant down to whisper, "Be silent. Move slowly."

Blade pulled her to her feet and led her to the horses, hoping the sound of her footsteps would be interpreted as the horses shifting around. The horses obliged by stamping and snorting, which might be perceived as a disturbance or merely a normal part of their sleep cycle. He tightened their girths, then untied the reins and pressed them into her hands. She gazed at him, her eyes wide with trepidation. All she had to do was prevent the beasts from bolting, for there was no point in her fleeing if he was captured or killed.

Leaving her shivering, he crept back to the campsite and stood against the tree again, blending into the shadowy trunk. He strained his ears to make out the soldiers' location, finding them a little closer. They proceeded with extreme caution, hoping to surprise their quarry, but sneaking up on an assassin was impossible, especially for heavy footed soldiers. He would have sensed their presence even if they had made no sound at all.

A faint panting whispered in the hush, and he orientated himself on the sound. The crossbow was good for only one shot, since it took too long to reload, so he had to make it count. He waited for the shadowy form to reveal itself, the crossbow aimed at the source of the sounds. It seemed like an age that he stood motionless, his finger poised on the trigger. He had learnt patience in the first year of his training, however, and the wait did not impair his concentration.

When the first glimpse of movement broke the gloomy stillness, his eyes followed it, and he squeezed the trigger. The twang of the crossbow's string was followed by a brief hiss and a thud. A harsh grunt broke the forest's hush, and the darkness disgorged its secrets in a rush of thudding feet and growling dogs. Blade dropped the crossbow and drew the daggers from his belt, his hands cocked to throw. As soon as a running form became visible, he flicked a dagger at it, and it collapsed with a grunt.

Another man fell to his second dagger, and he drew the two from his boots, hurling them at the soldiers who ran towards him with drawn swords. Two more fell, one rolling and howling, impaled in the gut. Blade drew his last two daggers from the wrist sheaths as the four remaining attackers flung themselves at him. A dog sprang at his thigh, and he sent it rolling with a kick. A man lunged at him, his sword outstretched, and Blade swayed aside, slashing open the Cotti's throat. The soldier staggered past, blood pumping from his severed jugular, and Blade faced the one who was already upon him. The Cotti's sword scythed towards the assassin's neck, and his dog leapt at Blade's midriff.

Blade ducked, lunging under the man's arm to plunge a dagger into his ribs, and stabbed the dog in the neck with the weapon in his left hand. The animal fell yelping, and Cotti recoiled with a cry, dropping his sword. The last pair halted and eyed him, swords ready. A brace of growling war dogs stood behind them, ears pricked. The other dogs lay beside their dead bondsmen, whined and tried to rouse them by licking their faces or tugging at their clothes, pawing at them pitifully.

The men sidled away from each other, trying to flank the assassin, and he stepped back against the tree once more. These two now knew he was not easy prey, and took the time to plan their attack. Cotti usually employed a mass attack strategy, overpowering their foes through sheer force of numbers, but it had not been effective against him because he had thinned their numbers so drastically before they had reached him.

Since they were not waiting for reinforcements, he deduced that this was the last of them. It became difficult to keep them both in sight. He had to turn his head from side to side, and he knew that one would attack in the moment when his head was turned. The dogs crouched in front of him, ready to spring, but he concentrated on the greater threat of the men. One of the dogs charged, and he whipped around to slash the beast across the chest. It recoiled, yelping, as the soldiers attacked, and the remaining dog rushed at him.

Blade dropped into a crouch to avoid the sword that should have taken off his head. The weapon chopped into the ironwood tree behind him, and its owner tugged at it in vain. He lunged for the man's gut, but the dog crashed into him, its jaws closing on his throat. His dagger slashed the soldier's leg as he was thrust aside, then the other man's sword descended in a flashing arc. Blade stabbed the dog in the chest and rolled over to try to use it as a shield. Its weight hampered him, and the sword bounced off his chain mail, making him grunt.

The wounded man gave up trying to tug his weapon free and picked up a fallen sword, returning to the fray as Blade struggled to dislodge the dog that worried at his throat. The animal's teeth could not penetrate the reinforced leather of his high collar, but the strength of its jaws crushed his windpipe. He stabbed it repeatedly with both daggers, and its bondsman grunted each time his blades struck home. The other man raised his sword for a killing stroke, and Blade prepared to drag the dog into the path of the descending blade with the last of his waning strength.

A length of steel emerged from the soldier's belly, and he coughed and fell to his knees, his sword dropping from lax fingers. The dog released Blade's throat and collapsed. Gasping and shaking his head to clear the spots from his eyes, the assassin rolled away. Rising to his knees, he turned to face the last Cotti. The man fought a Knight of the Veil who staggered with exhaustion, and Blade stared at him in surprise. The Knight retreated from the Cotti's stronger strokes, barely holding his own against the younger, fresher man.

Blade cocked his arm, waited for an opportune moment, and flung the dagger. The soldier staggered sideways as the blade impaled him through the throat, dropping his sword to clutch his neck. The Knight stepped forward and ran him through, although he was already dead, but for a little coughing and gurgling. The soldier's wounded dog whimpered and thrashed in the leaves as it died. The others continued to whine and paw at their dead companions, save for one, which lay with its muzzle resting on its friend's chest, watching him die.

Blade sat back on his haunches and clasped his bruised ribs, where the Cotti's sword had glanced off his chain mail. The Knight sank to his knees, using his sword as a prop, then sat down and eased his legs out beside him. For a minute, they gasped clouds of steam into the bitter air. Blade raised his head to study his rescuer, whose white tabard was soaked with blood. Sir Raylin met the assassin's gaze, and his mouth twisted in a wry smile.

"You fight well, for an assassin."

Blade grimaced and coughed, rubbing his throat. "How many did you kill?"

"Four. Five, including that one."

"Where is Sir Favan?"

Raylin shook his head. "He did not survive. We injured two of their dogs, so eight of them came after us, and we killed them all. Then I came after you."

Blade noted Raylin's hunched posture and the rasp of pain in his voice. Rising to his feet, the assassin winced and rubbed his ribs. The dying Cotti's dog whimpered beside its friend, the man he had impaled in the belly. Wiping his dagger on a Cotti's tabard, he retrieved the others and cleaned them before putting them back in their sheaths. He stopped beside the dying soldier, who would live for some time yet, and saw no reason to let the dog suffer more than necessary.

Picking up a fallen sword, he stood over the Cotti, and the dog lifted its muzzle to gaze up at him with soft, imploring brown eyes. Blade thrust the sword through the man's heart, turning away as the dog yelped and whimpered pitifully, licking the dead soldier's face. At least the pain it shared with its dying friend had ended, and only its grief remained.

Blade walked over to Sir Raylin and called out to Kerra, who emerged from the darkness, averting her gaze from the bodies. Sir Raylin looked up at her with adoring eyes.

"My Queen. Forgive me, I am unable to bow to you."

"No need," Blade said. "Kerra, find some wood for a fire."

She turned away, and he knelt beside the Knight.

Sir Raylin gazed after her. "If I had known..."

"You would have given her identity away."

"Perhaps." Raylin sighed.

Blade eyed the Knight's bloody tabard. "Is that your blood?"

Sir Raylin glanced down. "It is. I am dying, Sir Conash. A sword through the belly."

"Ah."

Sir Raylin eased himself onto his side and relaxed with a sigh. "I gave Favan his last rites. I hope you will do the same for me."

"Your ascension into the Everlasting is assured."

"Even so."

Blade inclined his head. "Of course. But you will require a mercy stroke as well, or you will suffer for many days."

"I am certain you will administer it expertly, Sir Conash."

A faint smile curled the assassin's lips. "I shall endeavour to."

"I have always wondered what you were like, but never thought to meet you. It was indeed a privilege, and you have honoured our order with your deeds and lofty status."

"I am a killer, nothing more. There is little to admire in that."

"No, you are more than that. Even now, you protect the Queen from her enemies."

Blade tilted his head, studying the dying Knight. "I am not doing it for her sake, but so the Regent will order the deaths of several Cotti princes. Why do people always credit me with a semblance of nobility when there is none? I care nothing for the girl. I protect her because if I do not, those princes will not die."

"That is what you tell yourself, and all who ask, but I know the truth."

"Indeed?"

Raylin nodded. "Once you have lost everything that is precious to you, all that matters is helping those who need you. Even as an assassin, you helped others, and now you have found a far greater calling. When I lost everything, I wanted to die, but then I thought; why not make my death mean something, and use it to help others?"

"You are mistaken. I have no such lofty ideals."

"I will not argue with you, brother. I know what it is to lose a familiar."

Blade glanced around at a rustle of footsteps, and found Kerra dragging a branch towards them. "I did not only lose my familiar, and unlike you, my neutering was not my choice."

"I know. You have suffered far more, but still, I know some of your pain."

"I think I preferred your silence to your insights."

"I understand."

Blade glared at the man, annoyed by his insistence, then rose and took the branch from the struggling queen. He broke it into pieces and built a warm blaze, since there were no more Cotti hunting them. Kerra squatted close to it and held out her hands to the warmth, while Sir Raylin lay back and closed his eyes with a sigh. Blade took out a dagger and sharpened it, longing to leave the scene of the carnage. Although the darkness hid the blood, the distinctive smell of death hung over the area, souring his stomach.

The dogs lay quietly beside their dead friends now, where they would remain until long after the bodies had become cold and stiff. Eventually they would accept the death of their bondsmen and move on, most to become strays in a city, where they could scavenge a living in the garbage. A few might find homes and become pets, since familiars that had lost their friends retained their uncanny intelligence and made good companions. Wild familiars returned to their former lives in the wilderness, but domesticated ones faced a more uncertain fate. Only if an animal had already outlived its natural life span would it die when its friend did, and the soldiers were young, so their canine friends still had a few years left to live alone.

Sir Raylin no longer had the strength to walk. His brief sword fight with the last of Blade's opponents had made his wound worse. That he had ridden after them when he was so badly injured amazed Blade. The loyalty and bravery of the Knights of the Veil was legendary, and Sir Raylin had proven the tales of their courage to be true. The Knight asked for water in a croaking voice, and Blade helped him to sit up and drink from a water skin. When he had slaked his thirst, which the assassin knew would continue to rage because he was bleeding inside, he gazed up at Blade, his ashen skin beaded with sweat.

"It is almost time, brother. The pain grows worse, and dawn is near. You must take the Queen to safety."

Blade nodded, glancing at the girl's hunched form. She stared into the fire with an anguished expression, chewing her lip. Sir Raylin plucked at his sleeve.

"Do you know the rites of death?"

"I have been given them many times, but unfortunately I was always unconscious at the time. I am sure I can think of something suitable."

"Just ask for his blessing. I do not need to be absolved of earthly sins, that was done when I was ordained."

Blade nodded, and Sir Raylin grimaced, his hands gripping his bloody tabard in a futile attempt to stop the pain. Dawn's faint glow brightened the sky above the trees, and Blade gave Kerra a push. She caught herself as she toppled over, and turned to glare at him.

"It is getting light," Blade said, "go and see if you can find the Cotti's horses, and bring them here."

Her scowl deepened. "Blade, I have vowed to obey you, but I draw the line at being your servant."

He shrugged. "Fine, stay here and watch then. Perhaps you should get used to seeing men die."

Kerra glanced around with a shudder. "I have seen plenty already."

Blade had to agree, and admired the girl's strong stomach. "Those were enemies."

She looked at Sir Raylin. "Is he going to die?"

"Yes. He has asked me to end his suffering."

She paled. "You are going to kill him?"

"It is his wish, and a wise decision."

"But -"

"If you do not want to watch, then go for a walk. It will only take a moment."

Kerra cast the Knight a pitying look before she jumped up and walked away, vanishing amongst the trees. Sir Raylin watched her leave, forcing a brittle smile that turned into a grimace.

"She is brave. Take good care of her, brother."

"I will."

Sir Raylin closed his eyes. "I am ready."

Blade cleared his throat and hunted for the right words, wishing he could remember those that the High Priestess had spoken over him on the day when he should have died.

Deciding to keep it short and simple, he said, "At this, the time of your death, let Tinsharon look down upon you and bless you. May he welcome you into the Everlasting, where you will dwell for all eternity. Go in peace, Sir Raylin."

Sir Raylin smiled, his expression becoming serene, as if the words that were so meaningless to the assassin had lifted a great load from the Knight's shoulders. Blade wondered what it was like to have such faith in a god whose existence was unproven. Perhaps the only good he did was to comfort the dying with the promise of everlasting life instead of oblivion, for few would accept death so easily if there was no such hope. He placed his hands around the Knight's neck, his fingers finding the correct positions with well-practised ease.

Sir Raylin went limp, and Blade lifted the Knight's bloody tabard to clear the way for his mercy stroke. The great gash in the Knight's belly oozed dark blood, and the stench left no doubt as to its severity. Several mighty blows had severed the chain mail that should have saved him from the sword thrust, leaving a gaping rent.

Blade pushed aside the tattered mail to expose the Knight's chest, placing his fingers on the correct spot above Raylin's heart. He did not pause to consider what he did, but kept his mind cold and clear as he pushed the dagger into the dying man's chest. Sir Raylin gasped when his heart burst, then his head lolled to the side and the air left his lungs in a sigh. Blade pulled the dagger out and wiped it on the Knight's tabard, rose and strode into the forest.

After a few minutes of searching, he found the Cotti's horses and Sir Raylin's charger tethered not far away. He stripped them of their harness before releasing them, and returned to the campsite. Kerra huddled beside the fire again, her eyes averted from Sir Raylin's body, nibbling a crust of journey bread. Blade stamped out the fire and went over to the horses, waiting for her to join him so he could help her to mount. She seemed as eager to leave as he was, and he set off through the forest at a brisk trot.

The day passed in silence, and he was glad that the Queen did not wish to talk, for he had no wish to himself. It had been fifteen years since he had ended a man's life in that manner. Although it did not disturb him any more now than it had then, it brought back many unwelcome memories. Since his retirement, he had been forced to kill a couple of would-be robbers who had accosted him in dark alleys, but now his tally of kills was once more accruing at an amazing rate. It seemed that being in a queen's employ led to a lot of killing. At least Kerra had a strong stomach, and had behaved well so far, but he had a feeling that it was not going to last. When the novelty of the adventure wore off, and it became simply uncomfortable and arduous, he was certain she would complain.

Late in the afternoon, they reached the end of the forest, and Blade stopped his horse to gaze at the vista before them, well pleased. Beyond a goodly spread of fields and pastures lay the most hated and reviled city in all of Jashimari, just the sort of place he needed. Kerra glanced at him.

"What city is that?"

"The perfect one for us. It is Dramali, also known as Thieves’ Haven or the Crooked City. Its citizens are all crooks. Well, most of them are crooks, or the families of crooks. We are further south than I thought."

"It sounds dangerous."

"It is, especially for any representatives of government, such as soldiers, and in particular, Cotti."

Kerra frowned at the town. "If it is full of crooks, there must be informers amongst them, and spies."

"Certainly, which is why it is time you became my apprentice."

"What do you mean?"

Blade turned his horse and rode back into the forest a short way, then stopped and dismounted. Kerra joined him, and he took a small black bottle from his saddlebag, shaking it.

She scowled at him. "You are going to dye my hair."

"Yes. And you will have to lose that highborn manner of speech, too. From now on, you will be Kess, my apprentice, and the observer will determine your sex. If they think you are a boy, all the better."

"But I do not look like a boy."

"Not yet." He gestured for her to sit before him, and used his fingers to comb the last of the ringlets from her hair. It hung in a rippling veil to her hips, and she bit her lip while he used his sharpest dagger to hack it off. She gathered the fallen tresses and stroked them, blinking away tears. When her hair was shoulder length, he poured the black dye over it and rubbed it in.

"Chiana said you disguised my mother once."

"Yes. So you could be conceived."

Kerra blushed, reminding him of her youth. He plaited her hair, then washed his hands with the contents of a water skin. The riding habit bothered him, being too feminine and expensive, even though now well worn. He used two spare thongs from his saddlebag to bind the split skirt into trousers while she stood rigid with embarrassment. Hiding a smile, he picked up a handful of soil and rubbed it into the fabric, then smeared a little on her cheeks. She glared at him.

"You are far too clean for an assassin's apprentice," he explained.

"Must they all be filthy urchins?"

"To be believable, yes. Since you know nothing of my trade, you will have to be a new apprentice, and they are fresh out of the gutter."

The Queen frowned. "I trust this will change shortly."

"Only if you learn to act and fight like an assassin."

"That would be preferable."

"But not really feasible."

"Why not? If I am to pretend to be your apprentice, you should train me, or people will wonder why you do not."

Blade nodded. "True." He took her hands and rubbed dirt on them, pushing it under her fingernails. "Try to use shorter words, or better still, be silent. Your highborn accent is a dead give-away. When we are in the city, listen to the way the common people talk, and then if you must speak, imitate them."

"Chiana has spent years reprimanding me for talking like the servants, and now I must."

"Even worse." He stepped back to study her. "Not bad. I will improve it once we are in the city. Now listen carefully. That is a rough place, so stay close to me always. If someone picks on you, or grabs you, call me. Do not get into any arguments, and do not wander off. If anything happens to me, go to the temple and ask for sanctuary. There is one even in that city. Understand?"

She lifted her chin. "I am not a fool, Blade."

"Ah, yes, my name is not Blade from now on, it is Claw, but you must call me 'master'. And I may have to be rough with you, it is expected."

"Rough?"

He smiled. "I will try not to break any bones."

"How comforting."

"Do not use that tone with me, or anyone else. Let's go."

 

Blade mounted his horse and headed for the city, leaving Kerra to catch up. She eyed his back with deep misgivings, wondering at the wisdom of Chiana's choice of caretaker. His only redeeming feature seemed to be his ability to kill with such consummate ease. Perhaps that was all the qualification he required, in the Regent's eyes, but then, Chiana adored him. Kerra had known the reason for Chiana's infatuation from the moment she had clapped eyes on him. Part of it was his handsomeness, but also the air of subdued menace he exuded, which she found exciting and strangely alluring.

A high, weathered grey stone wall surrounded the city, and Blade headed for the rutted road that led to the tall, scarred gates. They rode through the unguarded portal without attracting many curious glances from the sly looking miscreants who loitered there, their eyes darting. Assassins were not considered criminals, but their profession was scorned in law abiding towns. She wondered if there was much work for hired killers in Dramali. White-washed buildings lined the road, run down and crumbling from lack of repair, many with sagging, patched roofs. Potholes pocked the dung-splattered streets, and aged harridans watched them pass from doorways, sucked pipes and swapped gossip. Dramali lacked the bustle of Jondar, owning a more subdued and less populated air.

Blade stopped at the first inn and gave their horses to the man at the livery next door. Kerra followed him into a dim taproom with soot-stained walls and filthy, mildewed rushes covering its floor. Men sat and drank at rough-hewn tables in dark groups, most bearded and beady eyed. Buxom serving girls evaded groping hands with long-practiced ease as they delivered fresh flagons to crowded tables. The rumble of voices lessened at Blade's entrance, and patrons glanced up at the new arrivals without great interest.

As Blade went to the counter and waited to be served, she noticed a black-clad man rise from his seat and leave the inn. When the innkeeper came over, Blade ordered a room for the night, then led the way to an empty table, where Kerra almost fell off the rickety chair when it wobbled. She blushed and settled more cautiously on the treacherous furniture, shooting the assassin a covert glance. He ignored her blunder and flagged down a passing serving wench.

 

After they had each consumed a plate of greasy rabbit stew and a cup of watered tar berry wine, Blade led Kerra up the creaking stairs to a pokey room with peeling walls, a sagging bed and wobbly stool. He sank down on the bed with a sigh, unlaced his jacket and shirt and rubbed his aching throat. Red welts marked it where the dog's teeth had striven to pierce his collar's tough leather. If not for its protection, his throat would have been torn out. Stripping off his jacket, he inspected the damage to the collar, straightening the metal strips that had been bent in the struggle.

A couple of strands of chain mail had been sheered through by the sword stroke that should have hacked open his rib cage, and he made a mental note to have it repaired the next day. The wound in his shoulder throbbed, adding its discomfort to his growing medley of injuries. Dropping the jacket on the bed beside him, he opened his shirt to examine the red mark on his ribs, probed them and winced. It seemed that he had a couple of cracked ribs, which would make life difficult for a while. He had pondered the battle all day, going over each move and counter move, as well as all the mistakes he had made.

The encounter had been a poor one, and, if not for the Cotti's reluctance to send in their dogs, he might not have survived it. That, he had to admit, was due to the Knights injuring two of the familiars at the outset, making the Cotti leery of using their precious dogs against him. He had underestimated the dogs' courage and strength, however, and their three-pronged attack had surprised him. Although he would have won even without Sir Raylin's timely arrival, his injuries proved that he was not performing at his peak.

Blade did not consider himself to be a fighter, and avoided conflict whenever possible, but all assassins were skilled in self-defence, since men who hated their kind sometimes attacked them. An assassin who could not protect himself against an unexpected attack, or evade capture by his victim's guards, would not have a long career. He had thought that his constant exercise and practice was enough, but the fight had proven that he needed to hone his skills if he was to protect the Queen.

More strength and speed were required, which had been lacking in his fighting, and had almost cost him his life. He recalled the sight of the Cotti's sword whistling down at him, and being unable to avoid it. He rubbed his ribs, grateful that they were only cracked. The Cotti's heavy swords required little skill to use, but, when wielded with the considerable strength required to do so, could almost chop a man in half.

 

Kerra perched on the wobbly stool and watched the assassin. After inspecting his injuries and the damage to his jacket, he became lost in thought, staring at the floor for several minutes. He rubbed his eyes and yawned, reminding her of her own fatigue. She wondered what he was thinking, and how much the bruises hurt. Once she had fallen on a slippery floor and banged her knee, but, although it had hurt, it had not changed colour, and the maid who had polished the floor had been dismissed.

Kerra remembered the pain, and how furious she had been, but, compared to the battering Blade had taken, it was trifling. Even the scratches the branches had inflicted were trivial, yet a few days ago she would have thrown a fit if she had been injured in such a manner. While her tolerance over the last few days surprised her, now she ached, and her clothes stank of horse sweat. Her scalp itched from the dye he had rubbed into her hair, and her eyes burnt with fatigue. When he continued to gaze into space, rubbing his neck, she broke into his reverie.

"I would like a bath."

His pale eyes focussed on her, narrowing. "Would you now?"

"Would you not?"

"Indeed I would. This inn does not offer bathing facilities, however. Are you going to come to the public bathhouse with me then?"

"Why not?"

"Would you bathe in front of other women?"

Kerra snorted. "I have been bathed by maids all my life. Why would I not?"

"You will have to bathe yourself."

"I shall manage. And a change of clothes would be nice."

He stroked his throat, his eyes raking her outfit. "Hmm. Tomorrow you shall have both."

"Not now?" The thought of going to bed without bathing for two days disgusted her, but she caught the hard glint in his eyes and added, "Very well. Then I shall go to sleep."

"Good." He pulled off his boots and stretched out on the bed with a sigh. Kerra stared at him in confusion. In previous inns, he had rented rooms with two beds, but now there was only one. Her tolerance came to an end, and anger bubbled up in her breast.

"You will have to sleep on the floor," she announced.

He smiled. "Will I?"

"Of course!"

"Make me."

She stared at him, speechless, then jumped up and strode over to the bed. "I am not sleeping on the floor!"

"Yes, you are."

"I am the Queen!"

He closed his eyes. "Why do you not shout it a little louder? I do not think that the cutthroats downstairs heard you."

She lowered her voice with an effort. "You cannot do this."

"Yes I can."

Her hand itched to slap his face, but, remembering Chiana's words, she controlled the urge, clenching it instead. "I agreed to obey you in matters pertaining to my safety, and I have honoured that vow, but this is too much. I will not sleep on the floor."

"You did in Jondar."

"You were hurt, and the bed was not much better than the floor then. Now I want the bed."

He opened his eyes a slit and gazed at her. "You have always got everything you wanted, not so?"

"Yes!"

"Well, now you are out of luck. Apprentices sleep on the floor."

"Then rent a room with two beds."

"This was the last one."

Kerra glared at him. "If you do not get off the bed, I will drag you out of it."

"Will you?" He smiled. "This should be amusing."

"You think I will not? You think I am afraid of you because you are an assassin?"

"No. I just know you will not succeed."

"Do not wager on it."

His smile broadened. "Come on then, try."

Goaded beyond endurance, she grabbed his shirt and tried to haul him from the bed. Blade chuckled, then his hands flashed up and gripped her wrists in a crushing hold, making her gasp and try to wrench free. He pulled her closer, forcing her to kneel beside the bed, her hands going numb. His expression became grim.

"Now listen to me carefully, you spoilt little savage. There are certain things I will not tolerate, and one of them is a girl trying to bully me. I know how your mind works, and how you expect chivalry and gentleness from men. I know how you think your prettiness earns you safety and privilege, to say nothing of your being a queen. So let us get this straight now. It does not work on me. One of the reasons Chiana entrusted you to me is that female wiles are wasted on me, and I think you know why."

She gritted her teeth. "Let go of me!"

"When I am finished. You vowed to obey me, and that means in all things. So when I say you sleep on the floor, that is what you do. I shall endeavour to be as pleasant as I can, which is not easy for a man like me. So far, I think I have done remarkably well."

"You have dragged me around like a dog."

"Doubtless I shall do worse than that in the future, to ensure your safety. As long as you are in my care, I will do whatever I think necessary, and you will go along with it, understand?"

"Let go!"

"Understand?" His grip tightened, and she hissed with pain.

"Yes!"

"Good." He slackened his hold, allowing the blood to resume its flow to her hands, but did not release her. "Now, let us get one more thing quite clear right now. It is extremely dangerous to attack an assassin, as you may have noticed."

"You would not dare -"

"It is not a case of daring, Kerra, it is a case of training. This time I was expecting it, so I chose to teach the lesson now, while it is safe. I have reflexes learnt over more years than you have lived, that you never want to see."

"What do you mean?" she asked, her curiosity aroused.

"I mean do not hit me, and do not try to give me a fright. No childish pranks and no bullying, or you will be sorry."

"When we get back to Jondar, you will be sorry."

"For this?" He released her and smiled. "By that time you will have many more grudges, if you are inclined to hold them. But beware of what you threaten, it may return to haunt you. Here are a couple of good lessons for you. Never pick on someone stronger than you, and never make threats you cannot keep."

Kerra sat back and rubbed her wrists, which now bore red marks. "Who says I cannot keep them?"

"I do. Until you become Queen in fact as well as name, you cannot do anything to me, and by then I will be too old to care. And as far as I am concerned, what I do to teach you lessons and keep you safe is for your own good, so if you are too stupid to see that, I pity you."

He gazed at her, his expression shuttered. "Perhaps I should remind you that if not for me, you would have died as an infant at the hands of your other half uncle, Armin."

She lowered her gaze. "I know. But you had to. I am the Queen."

He gave a bark of laughter. "You think that entitles you to my protection?"

"You are the Lord Protector."

"I see. Chiana again, I suppose. Do not tell me she painted you some silly romantic picture of me as a knight in shining armour."

Kerra massaged her wrists, which still smarted almost as much as her bruised ego. A part of her longed to rebuke him further and refuse to engage in what seemed to be developing into a friendly discussion, but the assassin's unusual loquaciousness promised answers to some of her questions.

Shrugging off the urge to sulk, she studied him, her eyes lingering on the marks on his neck. It looked painful, and he still rubbed his throat from time to time. The sounds she had heard from her hiding place had been savage and frightening, and his survival still amazed her. She recalled Chiana's many stories about her mysterious husband, and answered Blade's question with her usual brutal honesty.

"Actually, she said you were a cold-hearted bastard who was probably lying drunk in a gutter somewhere."

His faint smile vanished, then returned, broader. "Did she now? That must have been when she was angry with me for leaving her."

"Why did you leave?"

He shrugged. "There was nothing for me in the palace. I would have gone mad with boredom. She knew it, that is why she did not try to stop me."

"You could have written."

"I was too busy lying drunk in gutters. Besides, I am a cold-hearted bastard. She is right."

Kerra recalled the tears she had often glimpsed in the Regent's eyes, and had to agree with him. "Why did you marry her then?"

"She did not tell you? Your mother ordered it."

"You could have refused."

"I tried."

"Apparently you did not try hard enough."

He glanced at her, surprised by the accusation in her voice. "And do you think she would have felt any less, had I not agreed to wed her?"

"She might have met someone else, instead of pining for you."

"It was her choice, Kerra. She and Minna plotted behind my back, using the pretext of her low status to persuade me. I agreed merely to curtail the argument. She got what she wanted, and she knew what she was getting."

Kerra's brows rose. "I am surprised you allowed two women to bully you into doing something you did not want."

"So was I. Of course, one of them was the Queen." He shot her a dark look. "The real Queen, not a child. And your mother had a way about her that I found hard to resist. She understood me a little better than most. When I first went to the palace, I did not even think I would be granted an audience, yet look at what I ended up with. More than I bargained for. All I wanted was to kill your grandfather."

"You went to Jadaya. What is it like?"

"Hot."

"But is the palace beautiful?"

He snorted. "I suppose so, if you like marble."

"Did you love my mother?"

Blade hesitated. "I liked her."

"But she was your queen, and you did so much for her."

"That does not mean I loved her." He shot her an amused glance. "She was a strong woman in many ways. She would not have complained, like you do."

"You would not have made her sleep on the floor."

He smiled. "No, probably not. But then, she was not a child, either."

Kerra studied her wrists, finding that the redness had vanished. "I will wager you would not have hurt her."

"I almost hit her once."

"But you did not."

"Chiana stopped me." He sighed. "Enough questions now, I am tired."

Rolling off the bed in a lithe movement, he stripped the blanket from it and tossed it to her. "Here, now go to sleep."

Kerra pouted, but he blew out the lamp and lay down on the bed, turning his back on her. She spread the blanket and settled on the floor, tossing and turning for a while before sleep claimed her.