Blade gazed up at the trees that overhung the palace wall. On the outside, a gnarled puffwood sent spindly limbs over the obstacle, on the inside, a fire tree's spreading branches mingled with the puffwood's. A tenday had passed since Lilu had told him about the failure of the Queen's men, and he had spent much of it considering her suggestion while he sipped wine in his gloomy corner. He had pondered many ways of gaining access to the Queen and discarded most.
A message would not reach her, and whoever read it would undoubtedly discard it. Disguising himself as a noble was fraught with pitfalls, since those who frequented the palace were well known, and a stranger would not be granted a private audience. Similarly, the palace servants were known to the guards, and most dwelt in the palace's vast servants' quarters. Lilu's idea of sneaking into the Queen's bedchamber was ridiculous, and would undoubtedly result in his death if she was left alive.
The only option that had any chance of success was for him to request an audience. He had little confidence that it would work, but, as Lilu had said, he would never know if he did not try. He had not told her that he was even considering it. In truth, he was still not sure he wanted to risk his life attempting to gain an audience with the Queen. The prospect of killing Shandor goaded him, however. That was something he wanted more than anything. The bonus of wealth and lands also tempted him. He could kill the Cotti King. Even if he was thrown into the palace dungeons or handed over to the Watch, he had to try to speak to Minna-Satu.
Attempting to gain entry through the front gate, however, was foolish. He would not get past the guards. If he reached the palace, he stood a better chance of being taken seriously, but that also had its pitfalls. His mind made up, he glanced around to ensure that no one was watching him, then jumped up and grabbed a branch, swinging himself up the puffwood tree. He was fresh from a hot bath and had donned clean clothes, just in case he did, by some miracle, gain an audience. It was more likely a junior advisor would see him, if anyone did.
Atop the wall, he paused to survey the vast expanse of manicured gardens on the other side, marvelling at their beauty and size, large enough to contain two small forests. Fish ponds and fountains nestled amongst the greenery; stone benches offered places to rest for those who wandered the paved pathways. Nobles strolled in the distance, and, closer at hand, a pair of dog soldiers patrolled. Entering the gardens would have been much easier at night, but then he would have no chance of seeing the Queen and a better chance of being killed.
Dusk crept across the land, sending questing fingers of shadow to stripe the velvet lawns, where hosts of flowering shrubs, plants and creepers put out sweet-scented blooms. The gathering gloom helped to hide him as he climbed down the fire tree and dropped to the ground, glancing around. The dog soldiers walked away, engrossed in a conversation, and they were downwind. He spent a few minutes finding somewhere to secret most of his daggers, stowing four in a tree hollow. That left only the two in his wrist sheaths. He did not want to appear too well-armed when the soldiers searched him, but he wanted to be fully armed on his way home afterwards.
Blade trotted towards the palace, using any available cover and sprinting across open areas. Arriving at the wall, he made his way along it to a side gate, possibly used by servants or soldiers, where two guards leant on their spears. He paused, loath to go against his training and instincts and reveal himself, but he had no choice. If he went any further without declaring himself, he would be seen as a threat. Straightening his jacket and brushing a bit of tree bark from his sleeve, he stepped away from the wall and strolled towards the guards.
They looked up at his approach, at first with mild curiosity, then growing suspicion when they failed to recognise him. They straightened and scowled, and one man stepped forward and lowered his spear. Blade stopped and spread his hands.
“Greetings.”
“Who in Damnation are you?” the guard demanded.
“A petitioner. I request an audience with Queen Minna-Satu.”
“Oh you do, do you?” The guard glanced at his cohort, who chuckled.
“He's a got a pair of brass ones.”
Blade smiled. “I'm sure this seems outlandish, but it's important that I see the Queen. I'm here to offer my help, and she'll be glad of it.”
“Will she now?” The belligerent guard sniggered. “She has enough consorts, methinks.”
“That's not why I'm here.”
“She won't see you.”
“Oh, I think she will.”
“Why?”
Blade shrugged. “She needs my help.”
“With what?”
“I can't say.”
“How did you get in here? The gate guards sure didn't let you in.”
“No, they didn't. How I got in is why she needs my help. Let me see an advisor, at least.”
The belligerent guard raised his spear and stepped closer. “Oh, someone will see you, but it won't be the Queen or one of her advisors. It'll be our captain, who'll doubtless have you arrested and handed over to the Watch.”
“That would be a grave mistake.”
“Would it now? Well, that's up to him, isn't it?”
The other guard opened the gate behind him and vanished through it, leaving his bellicose comrade to watch Blade. Several minutes later, four stern-faced soldiers appeared through a larger gate further down the wall. The sentry who accompanied them indicated Blade, and the men surrounded him. Two gripped his arms and steered him back towards big gate. Inside, they marched him along several echoing corridors and into a fair-sized office with banner-hung grey walls and a spear rack in one corner.
A middle-aged man looked up from the papers on his desk. His gold-trimmed, dark green uniform had a broad, peacock-blue stripe running down the right hand side of it. His sharp green eyes were set in a narrow, clever face topped with a shock of short red hair. A man of foxes, the assassin guessed. The officer's gaze flicked to the foremost of Blade's guards.
“Who is this?”
“An intruder, Captain. We found him outside the Gardeners' Gate.”
“In the gardens?” The captain's brows rose. “How did he get in?”
“We don't know, sir.”
The captain stood up and approached Blade. “How did you get into the palace gardens?”
“Over the wall.”
“I see. And why are you here?”
“Your men brought me here,” Blade replied.
“Why were you in the gardens?”
“Ah, well, I've come to request an audience with the Queen.”
The captain's lips twitched. “Have you now? What for?”
“That's between the Queen and me.”
“Oh, so it's a private audience you want?”
“It is.”
“And what makes you think the Queen will grant you one, when the queens so rarely do, for commoners?”
Blade tried to free his arms, but the men tightened their grip. “I have something she needs.”
“And what might that be?”
“I’ll only tell her that.”
“So she does not know she needs it, then?”
“Not yet.”
The captain raised his brows. “But she will, when you tell her, I assume.”
“I hope so.”
“She won't grant an audience to a commoner without an excellent reason, and thus far you have not given me one.”
Blade cocked his head. “And how often do commoners request an audience?”
“Hardly ever, because they know they won't get one.”
“Yet some have.”
“Only if they had an excellent reason.”
The assassin smiled. “But I do. Shouldn't the Queen at least be asked if she wants to grant me an audience? Doesn't she have the right to choose?”
“Of course she does, but why would she want to?”
“It's important. The fate of her kingdom depends upon it.”
The captain frowned. “How can you affect the fate of the kingdom?”
“That, I'll only tell the Queen.”
“But you think you can.”
“I know it.”
“Do you have a name?”
“I do, but not one I'll tell you.”
The captain snorted and returned to his chair, considering the assassin with hard eyes. He looked amused, but also intrigued, and his gaze held a hint of suspicion. After several minutes of contemplation, he addressed the guards.
“Take him to the audience chamber and inform the chief advisor of his request.”
The soldiers marched Blade out of the captain’s office and back down the corridor, then along a sumptuous passage that led into a vast, gold-plated room. Several torches made the walls glimmer and, at the far end, three shallow steps led up to a marble dais upon which a golden bench stood. Behind it, a massive, bright blue silk banner hung against the wall, a golden cat with emerald eyes embroidered upon it. Deep blue velvet curtains framed the dais, beyond which, two doors led off either side of it. Occasional silver designs that looked like leaves and flowers embellished the golden walls, and in other places lines of cursive writing were engraved on them. High above him, the arched ceiling appeared to be inlaid with alabaster, forming scenes of earthly and celestial battles.
The guards halted in the centre of the black marble floor, released his arms and grounded their spears, becoming motionless. Blade brushed his sleeves and clasped his hands behind his back, studying the opulence. Several minutes passed before quick, light footsteps came from behind him, and he sensed a new presence enter the room. As the footsteps drew near, he turned to face a young woman with bright chestnut hair and soft, dark grey eyes. Her youth and beauty surprised Blade, who had expected an elderly man. The sight of him seemed to startle her, and he wondered why. After a moment of hesitation, she glanced at the nearest guard.
“Who is this and why is he here?”
“He wants an audience with the Queen, Chief Advisor. He won't give his name.”
“Does Captain Redgard think he deserves an audience?”
The soldier shrugged. “He sent him here and informed you, so I reckon he does.”
“On what grounds, since he does not know his name or, I assume, what he wants?”
“I don't know, Chief Advisor.”
Blade wondered how long she would act as if he was not there.
She turned to him. “What is your name?”
The assassin shook his head. “I will only tell the Queen that.”
“Why should she grant an audience to a man who will not even give his name?”
“I will, to her.”
“Why do you want an audience?”
He hesitated, lowering his gaze to the floor. “It is an important matter, but I will only discuss it with the Queen.”
“I am hardly inclined to pass on your request if you will not even tell me the reason for it.”
Blade looked up. “Only the Queen may judge whether or not she will grant me an audience, so my reasons for asking do not concern you.”
She raised her chin. “I am her chief advisor.”
“But you are not the Queen. Hence, you have no authority to deny my request. Only the Queen may do that.”
“She will not see you without knowing the reason for it.”
“You speak for her?”
She hesitated. “I know how she will react.”
“Queen Minna-Satu took power only three moons ago; therefore you have not been her chief advisor for longer than that. That being the case, how can you know her mind so well?”
“Why would she grant you an audience without knowing the reason for it?”
“That is for her to decide, is it not?” He had slipped into the noble manner of speech without even thinking about it, he realised.
The chief advisor frowned and addressed the guards. “Lock him up.”
They gripped his arms again and marched him out, leaving her gazing after him in a puzzled manner. He expected to be thrown into the dungeons, but instead, the soldiers took him to a room that appeared to be a chambermaid's lodgings and shoved him inside, locking the door. Blade paced the cramped room, which boasted only a hard narrow bed with a table beside it, a chair, a pitcher of water and a basin on another table in the corner, and barred window with a view of a puffwood tree. The situation disturbed him, and he wondered what was in store next.
After pacing the room for a couple of time-glasses, he settled on the bed and tried to relax. He thought about what he would say to the Queen if he was granted an audience. A manservant in a gravy spotted apron brought him a bowl of stew and a jug of cheap wine, and locked the door again when he left. Evidently strange commoners were not allowed to roam the palace, despite its overabundance of guards. A wise precaution, Blade mused, since some commoners were inclined to be dangerous, especially those dressed in black.
It struck him as odd that no one had realised the significance of his sable garb, which, while not exclusive to assassins, certainly should have raised some suspicions. He had considered purchasing other clothes for this venture, but, since he would have to reveal his trade to the Queen, should he be granted an audience, a disguise would only arouse more misgivings at that stage. Far better to be himself as far as possible, while not volunteering the information. He lay down and stared at the ceiling, wondering what the next day would bring. He had formulated a reasonably good, though somewhat brief explanation of what he intended to offer the Queen by the time he fell asleep.
The rattle of a key in the lock woke him, and he sat up, swinging his legs off the bed. Two guards marched in, gripped his arms and hauled him to his feet. Their newfound roughness surprised him only a little, although he wondered at the cause of it. One man undid Blade's jacket and pulled it open while the other watched with a hand on his sword hilt. The first soldier paused when he spotted the trademark at the base of the assassin's throat.
His scowl grew thunderous. “He's a god damned assassin,” he told his cohort, whose scowl also blackened. “The Queen has agreed to meet a filthy, murdering night crawler.”
The soldier punched Blade in the solar plexus, doubling him over with a grunt. The assassin straightened, amazed to learn that his request had been granted. The soldier hit him in the face, sending him staggering into the bed, and pain flamed from his nose and top lip. As he raised a hand to finger his throbbing nose, the soldier gripped his jacket and hauled him to his feet again, then punched him in the jaw. Blade sprawled across the bed a second time, wondering if the man intended to beat him senseless before dragging him to the Queen and dumping him at her feet. The soldier loomed over him, and he quelled his instinctive urge to lash out in defence. Instead, he allowed the guard to drag him upright once more, and his inaction seemed to incense the man, who punched him in the ribs.
“Stinking killer,” the soldier said. “Take off your jacket.” Blade shucked the garment, but the guard still glowered. “And the shirt.”
The assassin removed his black shirt and dropped it on the bed beside the jacket, then stripped off his leather vest, knowing it would be next on the list. Apparently the Queen had ordered him stripped and searched, a sensible precaution. The soldier stepped closer to remove Blade’s daggers from the wrist sheaths, but tugged to no avail until the assassin pressed the triggers that released them. The man passed them to his comrade and turned to glare at Blade again, then jerked his head at the door.
“Get going.”
Blade headed for the doorway, and the guard who stood in it stepped aside while the other one picked up Blade's jacket. As the assassin exited the room, the guard gave him a shove that sent him staggering into the wall. The soldier moved past to lead the way down the passage, his cohort falling in behind Blade. He got the impression that they would have liked to beat him further, and refrained only because he was about to meet the Queen. Doubtless they would blame him for the abuse they had meted out, although it was worth a few bruises to speak to the Queen.
The corridors became more opulent as they made their way through the palace, going from dressed stone to grey-streaked white marble. They passed rooms furnished with gilt chairs and carved tables, the walls hung with vast paintings of battles, forests and queens. Servants hurried past on errands, and groups of gossiping men in rich robes gathered in a glass-roofed atrium filled with warm light and greenery.
As they drew closer to the Queen's chambers, they passed noblemen clad in velvet and satin and powdered ladies adorned with gold and jewels. Many of the nobles turned to stare at Blade with deep disapproval, some even wrinkling their noses in disgust, while the ladies whispered to their friends behind fans, and some giggled. Blade recognised two or three noblewomen who had propositioned him, and now turned away as he was escorted past. Except for the lack of chains, he might have been a prisoner.
The soldiers took Blade to a pair of tall, cream doors inlaid and trimmed with gold, where two white-plumed guards in golden armour stood, staring ahead with stern expressions. The chief advisor waited beside them, looking impatient, and turned with a frown when the assassin approached. Blade folded his arms, disliking his shirtless state. She raked him with a startled glance, clearly displeased about something.
“The Queen has agreed to meet you,” she said. “That does not mean she will grant you an audience. First she wishes to see you, and then she will decide. You will enter behind me, and when I step aside you will make your prostration. You will not arise until she orders you to. You will not speak unless she addresses you, and you may not sit unless she invites you to do so. You will show her the utmost respect at all times, which means you will not raise your eyes to her face. Is that understood?”
“So I must address her feet?”
“Yes.”
“I see. And am I to meet her without the benefit of clothing?”
The girl raised her chin. “The Queen ordered that you be stripped to the waist, to ensure that you carry no weapons.” She glanced at his guards. “Did he have any?”
“Only these, Chief Advisor.” The belligerent guard retrieved Blade's daggers from his cohort and held them out, hilt first.
The girl took them as if they were dipped in dung, her nose wrinkling.
“Careful,” Blade murmured. “Those are sharp.”
“I am not a buffoon.”
He smiled. “I am so glad you cleared that up for me.”
The girl glared at him, then snorted and swung away. As the gold-armoured guards pushed open the doors, Blade discovered that his mind had gone blank, and he had no idea what he was going to say. Then again, he mused, the chances were good that he would not be allowed to say anything, and the Queen merely wished to satisfy her curiosity about the impertinent commoner who had demanded an audience. Warm light flooded out of a room whose white marble floors gleamed and golden furnishings glinted. The chief advisor entered, and Blade followed.
***