Blade glanced up, squinting against the sun. The bird that hovered high above had been following them since they had left the city five days ago. They travelled along the steep, narrow trail that led through the mountains, and would reach the desert on the far side by the following day. The Queen remained oblivious to the bird, her face set in a perpetual scowl, her complaints about the rigours and the food only silenced by Blade's terse command.
As he had expected, the novelty of the adventure had worn off, and the discomforts had become too much for the young queen to bear in silence. He had borne her carping for only a few time-glasses, and she had sulked ever since he had told her to be quiet in a manner that brooked no argument. Having spent most of his life in cities, either on the streets or in taverns, he did not enjoy the hardships any more than she did. He had no idea how to cook a meal, and the fare had consisted of journey bread and dried meat purchased at the towns through which they had passed. They had spent two of the four nights at inns, but when they had been forced to camp beside the road they had endured cold, miserable nights. It reminded him of his youth, and he disliked the memories it evoked, which put him into a foul mood.
The trail ahead levelled off, and they rounded a rocky outcrop to find a sheltered grotto extending into the mountainside. A copse of large-leafed, grey-barked nahin trees filled it, and a stream gurgled from the rocks to drain away across the road. Blade guided his horse off the trail and stopped beside a well-used campsite amongst the trees, whose dense canopy of dark foliage formed a private shelter carpeted with soft leaves. This was the only place for miles around that offered a little shelter and space to get off the narrow trail. So dense was their foliage that nahin trees could even provide shelter from light rain for a few time-glasses.
Several parties could camp here, and there was grazing for the horses. Blade sighed as he slid from the saddle, stretched his legs and rubbed his posterior with a grimace. Unsaddling his mount, he removed its bridle and put a halter on it, then led it to the stream to drink. He tethered it so it could graze and walked back to his saddle to unpack some food.
Kerra tended to her steed with ill-disguised resentment, clearly missing the servants she was used to having around to do all the onerous tasks. The assassin had made it abundantly clear from the outset that he had no intention of helping her with her chores, other than to tell her how to do them. The Queen dumped her saddle on the ground and led her horse over to the stream, leaving Blade beside the ring of stones used for campfires.
The assassin glanced around for the bird, finding the sky empty. When he had first seen it, he had thought it might be a spy, but it had stayed with them ever since, and had not left to report to a human. Now he was certain of what it was, and was curious about its species. He found it perched high in a puffwood tree beside the road, but it was silhouetted against the afternoon sun, and he could make out no details. Putting away the piece of dried meat he had been chewing, he rose and headed into the woods, passing Kerra as she tethered her horse.
"I am going to find firewood," he informed her. "You find some too."
Kerra pulled a face as he turned away, but he did not bother to show that he had seen it. Her childishness amused and annoyed him in turns, but right now he was not in the mood for either. He walked deeper into the copse, gathering a bundle of dry wood. The pickings were slim, forcing him to search further afield. He did not like letting the girl out of his sight, but they had passed no other travellers on the road that day, and if he was right about the bird, she needed to be alone for a while.
When he had collected enough wood, he set the pile down and took the opportunity to do some much needed exercise. If he was forced to protect the Queen, he needed to be fitter than he had ever been, yet he had been unable to do much exercise at all. The prospect of protecting the girl irritated him. He was not a bodyguard, and his skills were not intended for anything other than self-defence. Setting aside his disgruntlement, he bent to press his forehead to his knees and stretch his tendons, easing their stiffness after the day's ride.
After loosening his joints, he performed a series of slow, precise movements that used every muscle. Soon he warmed, and stripped off his jacket, hanging it on a tree. The exercises demanded perfect balance and focus, training his muscles for the rigours of swift movements with slow ones. Many of the graceful motions were used in the Dance of Death, only in this version he never left the ground. When the sweat coursed down him, he stopped, surprised to find that he was still quite fit. He stripped off his shirt and went to the stream to wash in the icy water, emerging refreshed, his skin tingling and muscles jumping. Collecting the fire wood, he headed back to the campsite.
Blade stopped at the edge of the clearing and glanced around for the girl. He found her on the far side, gazing up into the lower branches of a spreading tree. The bird sat there, studying the young Queen in the gathering dusk with fierce, pale blue eyes. Its species surprised him, for he had been expecting a hawk or kestrel. This raptor was easily identifiable from its distinctive plumage. He leant against a tree and smiled at the young queen's tentative attempts to coax the bird down.
The beautiful, deadly direfalcon lived almost entirely on snakes. Its pure white breast contrasted with the silver-grey feathers of its back and wings, the tips of which looked as if they had been dipped in black ink. A black stripe offset its blue eyes much like a robber's mask, blending into the cruelly curved beak. Razor sharp talons tipped its long black toes, and its forked tail was tipped with black as well. The raptor's wingspan exceeded even that of the desert eagle, but it was more lightly built. In spite of this, tales of them carrying off yearling lambs abounded amongst shepherds. The direfalcon suited Kerra, Blade mused, matching her quick temper and superior ways, and he guessed that her compassion would not extend to snake kin.
Blade sauntered to the campsite and dumped the firewood into the ring of stones, making her spin around with a gasp. She raised a finger to her lips.
"Hush, you will frighten him away. Is not he beautiful?"
Blade glanced up at the bird, finding that she was right about its sex. It had the narrow red stripe across its throat that indicated that it was a male. This marking had also led to its being called the cutthroat falcon. The bird stared back at him without fear, as he had expected.
"Do not worry, he is not going to leave now." Blade squatted down to arrange the wood, noticing that Kerra had not gathered any.
"What do you mean?" she demanded.
"Are you a moron, girl? He has been following us since we left Dramali. He is your familiar."
Kerra turned to stare at the bird again, raising a hand to her mouth. "A direfalcon?"
"Indeed."
"What do I do?"
"Nothing. When he is ready he will come to you. Until then, just try to think good thoughts."
She walked closer to the tree, holding up her arms. "Come down, you beautiful creature."
Blade coughed to disguise a chuckle. "I would not advise you to do that, Kerra."
She swung to face him again. "Why not?"
"He is not a cuddly toy. He has talons like razor blades, and although he will not mean to harm you, he may. Tomorrow I will buy you a wrist guard in Faranot."
"But I want to touch him! I want to know his name!"
"All in good time. You cannot rush this. You must let him choose the time and place. It will be better that way."
Kerra gazed at the bird while Blade tried to light the fire with the tinderbox. He found it an annoying contraption, and the sparks it spat never went where he wanted them. Each time he aimed it at the tinder, it spat sparks in another direction. He cursed, wondering if he would have any flint left by the time he had lighted the fire. It pinched his finger, and he dropped it with an oath, sucked the injured appendage and glared at the wood. The direfalcon took wing and sailed away over the trees, leaving Kerra staring after it.
"You frightened him away."
"I did no such thing. It is almost dark. He is gone to find a roost for the night."
She came to sit beside the stone ring. "Why do not I feel any bond with him?"
"You have not touched him yet."
"And then I will?"
"Not straight away. It takes a little time. A few days," he added to answer her next question.
"Where did you meet your familiar?"
"In the woods."
"What happened?" She hesitated. "If you do not mind telling me."
Blade raised a brow at her. "Well, starting to learn some manners, are you?" He sighed and picked up the tinderbox. "I was six years old, and he had been watching me in the forest for several days. One day I tried to touch him, and he ran away. I followed, and soon got lost." He turned the tinderbox's wheel, spraying sparks over his boot. "Rivan came back when I started to cry. It was getting dark, and I was afraid. He led me back to my parents' house, and just before he left, he let me touch him. At that moment, I knew his name and that we would always be together. It was beautiful. The rest you know."
The tinderbox sprayed sparks to the right of the kindling, and he cursed, glancing up at the Queen, who grinned at him.
"What is so amusing?"
"I was trying to imagine you as a small, crying boy, lost in the woods. I cannot."
He smiled. "I remember you as a tiny infant with a little pink face."
"Did my mother... hold me?"
He glanced at her in surprise. "Of course. She doted on you."
"I do not remember her. I have only seen her portrait."
"She was very proud of you."
"But she left me."
"She had no choice."
Kerra frowned. "Yes she did. She chose to die."
"To end the war." He aimed the tinderbox again, and this time the sparks landed on the kindling and a tiny wisp of smoke arose. Blade knelt and blew on it, fanning the sparks to an embryonic flame.
"I would rather she had lived to raise me."
"She wanted to."
"But she did not."
Blade dropped some twigs onto the flames. "If she had not done what she did, Jashimari would have been invaded by Cotti and Contara, and you would not have been born. Your mother was a brave woman."
The girl scowled at the fire, and Blade dug in his pack for the pot he used to boil water for tea. He toyed with the idea of telling her the truth, then discarded it. If he found Minna-Satu, she could tell her daughter herself. It was her secret.
The next morning, the direfalcon returned to watch Kerra from afar as she mounted her horse, then took wing to hover high above. They arrived on the outskirts of the sprawling town of Faranot at mid-afternoon. The town had sprung up around a river that ran out of the mountains, supporting an area of verdure before it sank away into the sand. During the war, Faranot had fallen to the Cotti, and remained in disputed territory.
Blade waited until after dusk to enter the town, wary of the Cotti soldiers who thronged its streets. Under cover of darkness, they found an inn and stabled the horses, then checked in with the Cotti proprietor. Blade asked that a meal be sent to their room, and went straight upstairs, avoiding the taproom with its boisterous Cotti clientele. Being in close proximity with so many Cotti made his skin crawl, and he knew their penchant for stirring up trouble, especially with Jashimari. Although the war was over, resentment still lingered, and most Cotti liked to point out that they had won the war, even though they had never occupied the kingdom.
After dining on bland goat stew, Blade washed in the basin provided and stretched out on the bed, leaving Kerra to curl up on the floor. The Queen squirmed and tossed, trying to make herself comfortable. Raucous singing and laughter came through the floorboards, making it difficult to sleep. As she lay awake in the darkness, she pondered that in all the time she had been out in the world, she had not seen much of it. The assassin kept her close to him at all times, and avoided the company of common people.
In her role as his apprentice, she had received no more than a few incurious glances from the patrons of the various inns at which they had stayed. Blade's simple disguise of boy's clothes, black hair and dirt had proven effective. The singing and stamping, mingled with the faint strumming of a lute and loud gales of laughter, made her wonder what it would be like to sit with the men downstairs. A faint snore from the bed assured her that the assassin slept, and she sat up, rubbing her aching back. What harm could it do, to go down and listen to the entertainment for a while? She was not tired, and the noise was keeping her awake anyway. Blade, she had discovered, could sleep through anything when he was tired, as long as the noise was present when he went to sleep.
Kerra pulled on her boots and crept to the door, lifted the latch and slipped out into the corridor. These days, she slept in her clothes, since she did not use a bed. Closing the door, she walked to the top of the stairs, where she hesitated. If Blade woke and found her gone, he would be furious, and she recalled his threat of punishment if she disobeyed him again. Part of her insisted that even he would not dare lay his hands upon the Queen, however.
Throwing caution to the winds, she descended the stairs and slipped into the taproom, keeping to the back of the room, where no one would notice her. The place was packed with men, mostly Cotti, and a few serving girls braved their pinching, groping hands to serve them ale. A young Jashimari minstrel sat on a stool in the centre of the room, strumming a battered lute, and the Cotti howled the ditty at the top of their voices. Most appeared to be drunk, and some swayed together, their arms around each other's shoulders, waving tankards of ale. Kerra studied the handsome minstrel, who had pale green eyes and thick brown hair. She jumped when someone touched her arm, and turned to find a serving maid smiling at her.
"Ale for the young master?"
Kerra shook her head. "I have no money."
"Ah, that be a shame." The woman winked. "Here, have one on the house. Can't have a handsome lad like you going without, can we?"
The maid thrust a tankard into the Queen's hand and vanished into the crowd before Kerra could refuse. She sipped the beverage, finding it bitter. Leaning against the wall, she watched the minstrel play and listened to the crude ditties. The ale tasted better as she continued to sip it, and soon made her light-headed. She had finished half of it when a Cotti jumped up and attempted to dance, but tripped and spilt his ale over another, who leapt up and grabbed the offender by the throat.
In moments, the taproom's atmosphere turned violent as the crowd surged forward to surround the brawl and shout encouragement to the combatants. Kerra peered through the mass of men, trying to see what was going on. Two Cotti were locked together on the floor, punching and gouging each other, and money changed hands as spectators wagered on the outcome. She glanced around for the minstrel, who had vanished, as had the serving maids.
Just as she realised that this was a potentially dangerous situation, the pugilists broke apart, and one punched a spectator who rooted for his opponent. As if this was a signal that everyone had been waiting for, the brawl spread into the crowd, and soon the room was filled with flying fists, tankards and chairs.
Alarmed, Kerra headed for the door, ducking the missiles that flew over her head. A man stumbled backwards into her, propelled by a punch. Kerra yelped as she was thrust against the wall, her ale slopping over the front of her tunic. A flailing arm smacked her on the side of the head, and she staggered, dropping the tankard.
Someone grabbed the front of her tunic and hauled her to her feet, and she stared into a Cotti's bloodshot eyes as he drew back his fist. His savage grin revealed yellow teeth, and she ducked just in time to avoid the punch he threw at her head. His hold on the front of her jacket foiled her attempt to get free, and she bit his hand, making him howl as he released her. She fell backwards, banging her head on the wall. Stars sparkled in her vision, then someone kicked her and she yelped, fighting the urge to scream for help.
More ale splashed over her, and somebody fell over her legs with a curse. She struggled to her feet, battered by the melee of struggling brawlers. A man stepped on her foot, and she pushed him away as hard as she could, staggering back into another Cotti. He grabbed her jacket, and she bit his hand as well, making him thrust her away with a yell. She stumbled over a comatose man and fell, bruising her hip and elbow. Once again, a hand gripped the front of her tunic and dragged her to her feet. As she bent her head to bite it, a cold voice spoke in her ear.
"Bite me, and you will be sorry."
Kerra looked up into Blade's eyes and sagged with relief. He glanced around and pulled her out of the way as two Cotti staggered past, locked in combat. Transferring his grip to her arm, he pushed through the crush, dragging her after him. A swaying man confronted him, and Blade stamped on his foot, sending the Cotti hopping into the crowd, where someone else punched him.
Another man took a swing at the assassin, who ducked, then punched the Cotti in the solar plexus and left him gasping on the floor. They reached an area of relative calm just before the door, but a huge Cotti with a scarred face stepped into the assassin's path. He seemed a little more sober than his comrades, and stayed out of Blade's reach.
"Well, well, what have we here?" he sneered. "A Jashimari assassin, no less."
Blade tried to go around him, but the Cotti blocked his way, grinning. Blade kicked him in the groin, and the big man folded over with a groan. Two more turned from their opponents to note the presence of the Jashimari assassin. Their expressions became gleeful, and they moved towards him. Kerra glanced at Blade, who studied the new threat with narrowed eyes. He released her arm and held up his empty hands in a gesture of appeasement.
"I don't want trouble, just let us through."
The Cotti glanced at each other, and one sniggered. "He doesn't want trouble, lads."
His announcement caught the attention of more Cotti, who turned from their opponents. A chair flew out of the mob and bounced off one of the men, who staggered into another with an oath. Blade took Kerra's arm and started forward again, intent on escaping the taproom before he became the centre of attention. Two men stepped into his path, and one took a swing at his head.
Blade thrust the Queen aside as he ducked, sending her reeling into the wall a few feet from the door. Seeing her chance to escape the brawl, she darted towards the exit, evading the grasping hands of one man but tripping over the outstretched foot of another. She sprawled through the doorway, grazing her hands on the rough wooden floor.
Someone gripped her by her scruff and dragged her from the melee, releasing her with a curse when she grabbed his ankle and almost tripped him up. She scrambled to her feet to find the minstrel facing her, shaking his head with a wry smile. Realising that he had been trying to help her, she shot him a quick smile before turning to find out what had happened to Blade.
The assassin gazed at his opponents with bitter eyes, wondering why it was that men always wanted to pick a fight with him. Assassins were much hated by the populace, who found their trade distasteful and took every opportunity to insult, injure or inconvenience them. This had forced assassins to excel in self-defence, which in itself had become a challenge for rough men who wanted to prove themselves. That he was Jashimari made it worse, for the only thing Cotti hated more than a Cotti assassin was a Jashimari one.
Nothing would give these men more satisfaction than beating him senseless, a prospect he did not relish. The Queen had vanished through the door, and he hoped she had the sense to go to the room and wait for him there. He glanced around, raising his hands once more in a gesture of appeasement, and to show that he had not drawn his daggers. All the men in the taproom carried weapons of some sort, and to arm himself would only cause them to do the same, with deadly results. In taproom brawls, unspoken rules allowed only furniture and fists to be used as weapons, which cut down on injuries. As soon as some fool drew a weapon, the conflicts became bloody.
Blade stepped back, hoping the Cotti would lose interest and return to the brawl in the centre of the room if he made it clear that he did not wish to fight. One of the men who had first confronted him grinned at his apparent cowardice and shouted insults. Belatedly, he realised that these Cotti would not let an assassin escape a beating, whether he fought back or not. They also knew that he would be forced to defend himself. Blade had no intention of engaging these men if he could possibly avoid it, however.
Turning away, he leapt onto a table as the men charged with a roar, then swung to kick the nearest in the face, sending him crashing into those behind him and making them stagger back. Leaping onto another table, he headed towards a window in the far wall, glancing back as two Cotti scrambled onto the table and started after him. A man turned from the brawl and took a swing at his legs that would have sent him crashing into the melee, had it hit.
Blade leapt over the man's arm, landed lightly and kicked the Cotti in the face, sending him flailing into the fray. A tankard sailed past his head and smashed into the wall behind him, spraying glass as he leapt onto the next table. The Cotti who had confronted him at the door attempted to follow, but their comrades hampered them, trying to haul them down into the fracas. Two had succumbed, and fought their way back towards the tables to continue their pursuit of the assassin.
Blade teetered as a pair of struggling men collided with the table on which he stood, waving his arms to keep his balance. A Cotti climbed up beside him, but the assassin pushed him off before he could find his feet, then leapt a wider gap to the next table. Its surface was slick with spilt ale, and he skidded, lost his footing and fell backwards onto the floor. He flung out his hands to break his fall, then rolled under a table as a boot stamped down where his head had been a moment before.
Someone grabbed the back of his jacket, which he had not laced in his hurry to find the Queen, and dragged him from under the table, cracking his head on the edge of it. He was spun around to face a bald Cotti, who aimed a punch at his head. Blade grabbed the man's vest and threw himself backwards, dragging the Cotti with him and sending him headlong into the wall. Blade banged his head on the floor, and cursed foully as he sprang to his feet, shaking his head to clear it.
The assassin glanced around for his pursuers, just as one of them launched himself from a table. Blade spun aside, allowing the man to crash into the table behind him. A Cotti charged from the fray, and Blade sensed another swinging a tankard at his head from behind. He dropped into a crouch, and the charging man got the tankard in the face in a spray of glass and ale. The man who had swung the tankard picked up a chair and lifted it high, preparing to smash it down on the assassin's head. Blade swept his legs out from under him, and he fell back into the ruckus behind him.
After a quick review of his surroundings, Blade found the window and headed for it, climbing onto a table. As he rose to his feet, someone grabbed his ankle and yanked his leg from under him. He kept his balance and jerked his foot from the Cotti's hold, then kicked him in the face. The man howled and clutched his nose as he lurched back, vanishing into the mass of struggling men. Blade headed for the window again, hurdling a chair that was swung at his legs.
A few feet from the window, one of his pursuers tackled him from behind, grabbed his legs and brought him crashing down on the table. His arms broke his fall somewhat, but he was forced to turn his head at the last instant to save his nose and probably his front teeth too. The crack on the side of his head stunned him, making lights dance in his eyes. Someone gripped Blade from behind and lifted him to his feet, pinning his arms.
A man flung a pitcher of ale into Blade's face to revive him, and he raised his head, blinking the stinging liquid from his eyes. He glimpsed a fist coming at him and jerked his head aside. The punch skimmed past his cheek and cracked into the face of the man who stood behind him. The Cotti released Blade, who drove his foot into the groin of the man before him and pushed him back as he folded over.
Blade glanced around at the diminished melee that still filled the taproom. Many combatants were stretched out on the floor, providing obstacles for the weary fighters who still grappled with their opponents. In Jondar, the City Watch would have broken up the brawl long ago, but in Faranot these things were allowed to reach their conclusion.
The innkeeper had probably gone to bed already, and would count the cost in the morning, charging the reviving fighters for the damage they had done to his taproom. From the looks of it, that would be quite a hefty sum. Blade turned to the window again, unwilling to run the gauntlet of struggling men between him and the door, even though he had defeated the last of his pursuers. Unlatching the window, he flung it open, and was preparing to climb over the ledge when a man tackled him from behind. The window ledge caught him across the hips, and he was bent over it, his arms caught and twisted behind his back.
A voice that he recognised as belonging to his primary antagonist rasped in his ear, "Now I have you, assassin. You're going to pay!"
Blade struggled to wrench his arms from the Cotti's grip, but the man laughed at his efforts. When it came to brute strength, Blade was no match for a strapping warrior who topped him by a head and weighed almost twice as much. This he had learnt long ago, and he had found ways to make up for his deficiency by using his head, something he found that strapping warriors did not do much. In his current predicament, the Cotti could do little to him, for his arms were occupied holding the assassin down, but soon he would summon his fellows to take advantage of Blade's helplessness.
Pinned against the wall, he could not kick out, and bent over the ledge, he could not jerk his head back into his captor's face. He stared down at the cobbled street below, blood thrumming in his ears. The drop was not far enough to be fatal, but was potentially injurious if he should land badly. Normally he could be relied upon to land on his feet, but this was an awkward situation. He took mere moments to make up his mind, while the Cotti sniggered in his ear, acting before the man called his friends.
Blade threw himself forward, pushed off the floor and kicked the Cotti's feet out from under him. The man howled as he went over the ledge with Blade. Taken by surprise, he fell head first towards the street below. Blade jerked his arms free as the momentum of his dive turned him onto his back, his adversary beneath him. He landed on top of the Cotti, punched the wind from his opponent's lungs and smacked his head against the cobbles. Rolling off the man, Blade checked to see that he still breathed, then stood up. The Cotti would be out cold for some time, but he was not dead, which was fortunate, since he did not want to be hunted for murder. He glanced around to check that the street was empty, then strode back to the inn's front door.
Blade opened it and slipped inside, finding the Queen in the hall, peering into the taproom where the brawl still raged. She glanced around, her eyes widening at his expression, then sprinted for the stairs and galloped up them. Blade followed, arriving at the door to the room as it was slammed in his face. Twisted the handle, he set his shoulder to it and forced it open while the girl struggled to hold it closed. She released it and retreated as he pushed his way in and closed it behind him. Blade leant against it and eyed the frightened queen, who backed away, her gaze raking him.
"You are not hurt." She sounded surprised and relieved.
"Luckily for you."
"I can explain -"
"Do not trouble yourself. You disobeyed me."
She raised her hands. "I was not looking for trouble. I only wanted to see what it was like."
"I trust you had your fill."
"You are angry. I understand, I was wrong..."
Blade pushed himself away from the door and walked towards her. "No, I am not angry. I am furious. What in Damnation did you think you were doing?"
Kerra retreated, bumped into the chair and groped her way around it. "I could not sleep. I was just curious!"
"So you decided to go downstairs and join a room full of drunken Cotti. How stupid are you, exactly?"
"I was fine until the fighting started." The wall stopped her retreat, and she glanced around, licking her lips. "I will not do it again."
Blade halted when he was toe to toe with her, raised his hands and slammed them against the wall on either side of her head, making her jump. Kerra gazed up at him, biting her lip as she studied his face, noticing that sweat sheened his skin. His eyes gleamed silver in the lamplight, as hard and cold as a midwinter's frost. She fought a strong urge to touch his face and soothe the anger from his eyes with her timid caress, annoyed by her desire.
His charisma overwhelmed her at this proximity, and his faint smile told her that he knew it. She struggled to hide her reaction, knowing that she failed and cursing her traitorous emotions. He was the Regent's husband, old enough to be her father, and a eunuch, yet he made her heart flutter and her insides tremble. She jumped when he touched the side of her face, running his fingers over the red mark where she had been hit in the brawl.
"So, you got smacked, too."
His soft voice sent shivers through her, and his touch turned her knees to jelly. In that moment, she understood why Chiana adored him, even though her love was hopeless and unrequited. Although she had flirted with young lords at the palace, never before had she experienced the tumultuous emotions that coursed through her now. He leant closer, and she held her breath as his lips almost brushed her cheek.
He whispered, "I promised punishment for disobedience, girl. And your adolescent quiverings were not what I had in mind."
His hand fastened onto her hair, and she gasped as he pulled her head back, mortified that her reactions had been so obvious. He tugged her across the room and pushed her down on the bed, then released her. She gazed up at him, biting her lip.
"I believe I promised to put you over my knee," he murmured.
"You would not dare!"
"Would I not?" His brows rose. "That sounds like a challenge."
"I have promised not to do it again. It was foolish."
"It certainly was."
"How did you know I had gone? You were asleep when I left."
He turned away, shaking his head. "I heard you leave. No one sneaks around an assassin unnoticed. I thought you had gone to the outhouse, but when you did not return, I went to check on you. The latrine was empty, so I went to the taproom."
"I would have been all right."
"You think so? A Jashimari in a room full of drunken Cotti? They would have beaten you half to death, just as they tried to do to me. You escaped because I provided them with a distraction."
"Well, you are all right, so there is no harm done."
He faced her. "Oh, so you think that is the end of it?"
"Yes."
Blade sat beside her and pulled her over his knee as she flailed and kicked. To her surprise, she managed to resist his efforts, and he was forced to grab her wrists to stop her from hitting him. Her triumph vanished when she noticed his faint smile, and realised that he was only toying with her.
"So," he murmured, "you are not even going to take your punishment like a queen. Do you really think you can fight me, girl?"
"I will have a jolly good try!"
He thrust her away. "I am not in the mood for another fight tonight. I will think of another punishment for you."
"What will you make me do, sleep on the floor?"
"Maybe I will make you walk tomorrow."
"You would not dare!"
"You really should stop saying that. I dare a great many things, and I am certainly not frightened of your threats." He bent and pulled off his boots. "Now, it is time I got some sleep. And just so that there is no mistake, you are explicitly forbidden to leave this room without me, understand?"
She nodded, noticing the way he rubbed the side of his head and winced. "You did get hurt."
"A little. No one could expect to get out of that room unscathed."
"Perhaps you should teach me how to fight."
He gazed at her. "I am not a fighter. Fighters are big hairy men who wear swords and use foul language. I merely defend myself."
"I saw you kill those Cotti in the forest, and the ones you killed in the palace. If that is not fighting, then what is?"
He sighed. "Fighting is two men flailing at each other with swords, or a whole bunch of them, for that matter. Some men fight without weapons, and roll around punching and gouging each other. It is usually brutal and prolonged, resulting in one killing the other, but the outcome is uncertain. Most of the men I kill never get close to me, and those who do die quickly."
"But they could kill you."
He nodded. "Of course they could, but only if they took me by surprise, or outnumbered me. That is not a fair fight. I do not pit my brawn against them, nor do I have any use for a sword. I use tricks, speed and agility. Fighters hate assassins, and any one of them will tell you that we are deceitful, slimy bastards. Before I retired, I killed most of my victims while they slept."
"But you could teach me to defend myself like you do."
"It takes years to learn those skills, but I could teach you a few tricks. Do you think you could kill a man?"
She shivered. "Do I have to?"
"You must be prepared to, because sometimes you will have to. Either you are a non-combatant, in which case you are reasonably safe, or you are a threat, which means you must be prepared to kill or be killed."
"Surely there are ways to stop a man without killing him?"
"There are, but when you try to do that, you put yourself in greater danger. If you fail, he will probably kill you. It is easier to kill a man than to incapacitate him."
Kerra gazed at him, pondering his words. "You mean like when you throw your daggers?"
"Exactly. Remember in the alley, when I rescued the healer? I tried to stop the swordsman by hitting him in the shoulder, but it only made him angry. If I had hit him in the throat or heart he would have dropped like a stone."
"But the man you cut...."
"Yes, it worked on him. Usually the sight of so much blood does, but it is not easy to do that without it being fatal. I can do it, but I would not advise you to try it." He lay back and closed his eyes. "Now go to sleep, we have a long ride tomorrow."
"Where are we going?"
"First we have to buy supplies and new horses, then we go into Cotti."
Kerra went over to her thin mat and lay down, her mind whirling with the excitement of the night and her strange confrontation with Blade. She had seen little of his escape from the taproom, for he had vanished soon after she had fled the melee, even though she had stood at the door and peered into the fray, desperate for a glimpse of him. Her concern had surprised her, for it was not merely because he was her protector. She had not wanted him to be hurt, and the prospect that the drunken Cotti might beat him had filled her with anguish.
The fury in his eyes when he had entered through the inn's front door had sent a shaft of pure terror through her heart, and she had fled in a panic. She had expected violence when he caught up with her, and had been surprised that he had not resorted to it, even though he had threatened it. Was that because she was a queen, she wondered, or simply that he did not use violence on women, other than pulling her hair? Although he had told her that he would have killed a woman without a second thought when he had practised his trade, she also wondered about the truth of that statement.
Her reaction to his proximity, and the way he had used his charm to humiliate her, was troubling. It was as if he resented his power over women, since it served him no purpose, and used it against them as punishment for their futile desires. This seemed likely, given his inability, and her pity for Chiana grew, mixed with sorrow for the beautiful, complicated man she was only starting to know. She longed to know him better, and resolved to find out as much about him as she could, so she might help him, if it was at all possible. Gradually her eyes grew heavy with fatigue, and the lingering effect of the ale she had consumed. Silence reigned in the taproom below, and she drifted off to sleep.