Chapter Twenty

 

Blade cursed the morning sunlight that streamed in through the inn's window and pulled the blankets over his head. The journey from Jadaya had been long and arduous. Two tendays of riding through the burning desert accompanied by Kerrion's guide, then a further three tendays of travel through Jashimari's lush countryside. Although he was glad to be back in the cool green hills of his homeland, he could have done without the three days of soaking rain. Yesterday he had arrived at this town tired and wet, aching from long time-glasses in the saddle. A hot bath had eased his stiff muscles and washed away the hated grime, but a good night's sleep had been required for a full recovery. He burrowed deeper into the blankets, longing for a few more time-glasses of sleep.

The growing hubbub from the street outside made even dozing impossible, and Blade sat up and swung his legs off the bed, reaching for his clothes. He was only a day's ride from Jondar, and already regretted his promise to Minna-Satu. The lure of Shamsara's reward pulled him to the north, where the Idol's secluded cave was reputed to be located on the side of a steep, hostile mountain. There he would find the answer to his question about the truth of the Idol's promise, something he was eager to learn. Shamsara's stipulation that he must obey the Elder Queen bothered him, however, for if he failed to obey this last request, would the Idol honour his part of the deal? The slightest possibility that he may jeopardise it worried him, and Minna's request had been specific.

With a sigh, he dressed in the morning chill and packed his few possessions into a bag, then went downstairs to settle his bill with the innkeeper.

Blade arrived at the Queen's palace as the sky reddened with the onset of dusk, once more tired and aching from his ride, although the horse he had purchased for the journey was tractable. A crowd had gathered outside the gates, employed in a strange vigil, many of them holding candles and praying. A contingent of priestesses led the ceremony, encouraging the crowd to pray fervently or face Tinsharon's retribution. He wondered what had happened to spark this sudden gush of religious fervour, but was not sufficiently curious to enquire. Doubtless he would discover the reason once he had entered the palace. He headed for the nearest livery stable, where he sold his horse and tack for a few silver coins.

Carrying his bag, he returned to the palace wall and found his usual entry point, where a tree overhung it. Lamp lighters lighted the street lamps as night stole through the city. He threw his bag over the wall, then, with a prodigious leap, caught the top of it and pulled himself over. In the gardens, he was forced to wait for several minutes to avoid a confrontation with a pair of patrolling guards, then continued to the palace.

Entering it through a ground floor window, he made his way to his rooms, threw down his pack and sat on the bed, contemplating his situation. All he needed now was a hot bath and a square meal, for which he would have to summon Arken, his manservant. He tugged the bell-pull, wondering if anyone would come, since he was not supposed to be here. Arken arrived after only a few minutes, however, and was patently delighted to find Blade waiting in his rooms. After the assassin had sworn Arken to silence, he arranged the meal and bath, and was setting out clean clothes on the bed when Blade emerged from the steaming tub.

The assassin frowned at the rather ornate jacket and trousers, whose sleeves and thighs were embroidered with patterns of silver embroidery. Ignoring Arken's hopeful look, he selected a plain black jacket and trousers from the wardrobe and flung them on the bed. Arken's face fell, but he knew better than to argue, and his attempts to help the assassin dress were slapped away. He persisted, however, tugging and smoothing the jacket, brushing imaginary lint from the shoulders. Blade slid his six daggers into their various sheaths, then made his way to Chiana's rooms. The guards pushed open the doors for him, and he entered the suite's sitting room, making his way to the bedroom when he found it empty.

 

Insash sat with Verdan in the Regent's bed chamber, sharing a bottle of wine. The day had been a tiring one, beginning with a heated debate amongst his peers, which, as he had expected, had brought no solution to the problem. Most had railed against his decision to announce the regency of Lord Conash, made without consulting them. During the day, various lords had visited him to vent their displeasure and tell him why they would be the best choice as regent.

Insash had sought sanctuary at the quiet vigil in the Regent's boudoir, discussing the events of the day with the old healer. Four maidens sat on a mound of cushions beside the bed, murmuring amongst themselves. For some time now, Insash had stared into his wine, lost in thought. He looked up when the girls fell silent, and followed their gazes to the door, where a slender black-clad man stood. The man walked over to the bed and frowned down at Chiana's pale face. Verdan gasped and rose to his feet, his face lighting with a broad smile.

"My Lord!"

Insash rose too, glancing at Verdan, who bowed to the assassin. Blade turned his frown upon the old healer.

"What has happened? What is wrong with her?"

Verdan walked over to him. "You have not heard? Endor has killed her familiar."

Blade closed his eyes for a moment, a fleeting expression of pain crossing his features. "When?"

"Just yesterday, My Lord."

The assassin glanced at Insash. "Who is this?"

Verdan turned. "Chief Advisor Insash. Insash, this is Lord Conash, Lord Protector and sacred Knight of the Veil, husband of the Regent."

"My Lord." Insash bowed.

Blade studied him. "So who is in charge now? You?"

The advisor's eyes widened. "Why, you are the Regent now, My Lord."

"You jest."

Insash stared at him, shaking his head. "No, My Lord, I am in earnest."

"Indeed?" Blade smiled, then chuckled. "I have never heard of anything more idiotic. Was it your idea?"

"No, it was Verdan's."

Blade raised a brow at the old healer, who smiled.

"You were the only choice, My Lord. You are, after all, the Lord Protector, most senior after the Regent herself."

"Maybe, but it is still a ridiculous idea, and I will not do it. Find someone else."

Verdan shook his head. "There is no one else. Only you outrank the other lords. The appointment of one of them would lead to infighting and assassinations. They would vie for the post, even if it is only for a tenday. The Regent holds the power to better him or herself, and will always have the legacy of the rank, no matter how short its duration."

"I do not care. If they want it, give it to one of them. I have no interest in running this kingdom, even for a few days. I have other business to take care of, since my former apprentice has clearly failed."

"You intend to go after Prince Endor in Contara?"

"I intend to end his miserable existence, yes."

Verdan stepped closer, looking concerned. "But My Lord, he has already killed or captured your apprentice. It is too dangerous."

"You are needed here," Insash added. "Your regency has already been announced."

Verdan went on before Blade could reply, "And your wife will need your support when she wakes. She will be terribly upset."

Blade frowned at them. "I am not going to be the bloody Regent, and I am well aware of what my wife will go through when she wakes. Upset does not begin to describe it, I can assure you."

"Then you must stay to comfort her -"

"And to prevent uprisings, bloodshed and protests. The populace will not accept one of the other lords," Insash interjected.

Blade growled, "Chiana does not require my comfort, and you will have to find another puppet. I am not going to be the goddamned Regent."

"You already are, Regent," Verdan murmured.

The assassin glared at the old healer. "Verdan -"

"It is only for a few days, My Lord. Endor can wait."

 

Blade looked around as Captain Redgard entered, followed by a tall, dark-haired man with a raven perched on his shoulder. They bowed, then Redgard approached, smiling.

"My Lord Conash. Thank God! I was informed of your arrival, and mightily pleased to hear of it."

Insash turned to the guard captain. "He is refusing to take the post."

"What?" Redgard's face fell. "But you must, My Lord."

"I am not a damned politician."

"I would advise you, naturally," Insash offered.

"Then why do you not do it yourself?"

"I do not have the rank. I am only an advisor, My Lord."

The man with the raven stepped forward. "By the laws of this land, you are Regent by right of succession, Lord Conash."

Blade glared at him. "And who in Damnation are you?"

"Advisor Armelin, expert on Cotti matters," Verdan supplied.

The assassin turned to study his sleeping wife. "You cannot force me to do this, nor can you stop me from leaving."

"Already the news of your arrival has spread into the city," Redgard stated. "The crowd at the gates is dispersing, their prayers answered. You represent the stability and rank they require. You were elevated by Queen Minna-Satu, and as such, hold added prestige. Also, you are Regent Chiana's husband, and they are calling your arrival an act of God, coming as it does just when you are most needed."

"These are the same people who spit at assassins," Blade muttered. "Now they want one for their regent?"

"You are retired, My Lord."

"I have renounced my retirement, or have you not heard?"

"It does not matter what you are," Insash declared. "You are their regent now, whether you like it or not."

"I do not like it, and should I choose to leave, none of you can stop me."

Verdan stepped forward. "My Lord, it is only for a few days, and Insash will do the bulk of the work. Lady Chiana will have great need of you when she wakes. You need only sign a few papers when Insash requires it, nothing more." He glanced at the chief advisor. "Not so, Insash?"

"Of course."

Blade shook his head. "What happens if she does not recover?"

"She will," Verdan assured him.

"She will not be the same person, and she may choose not to continue her existence."

Blade glimpsed a meaningful look pass between Insash and Verdan, then the chief advisor said, "That is why it is important for you to be here when she wakes, My Lord. If she chooses to end her life, you will automatically be Regent until Queen Kerra takes power in ten years’ time."

"And you assume I will do that? You also assume that I can prevent her from killing herself?"

"I believe you can," Verdan said. "You are the most important person in her life. If she was able, she would ask you to stay."

"Oh, I know she would," Blade agreed. "And this is still the most idiotic idea I have ever heard. Jashimari has never been ruled by a man, let alone an assassin."

"It is only for a few days."

"So you keep reminding me, Verdan."

"My Lord, if Queen Minna-Satu, God rest her soul, was alive today, she would wish you to be regent," Insash pointed out rather piously. "She held you in the highest esteem."

Blade frowned at him. "Do not presume to know the thoughts of Minna-Satu, advisor. I was merely her assassin."

"And her advisor."

Redgard shot Insash a brief glare, then turned to Blade. "My Lord -"

"Enough!" Blade raised his hands. "I shall stay until Chiana recovers; the rest is up to you. As long as I do no more than sign a few documents."

"And preside over two audiences," Insash murmured.

"This is ridiculous. What do I know about giving audiences?"

"You must. You are the Regent."

Blade turned away. "Leave me. Verdan, you stay."

Insash opened his mouth to protest, but closed it when Redgard poked him in the ribs, and the three men left.

Blade turned to Verdan. "How long will she sleep?"

"A tenday, perhaps a little longer."

"Endor will pay for this. I have never wanted to make a man suffer before, but I do now."

Verdan failed to hide a shiver, his eyes flicking away from the assassin's gaze. "If ever a man deserved your wrath, it is he, Regent."

"Do not call me that. It is her title, not mine."

"As you wish, My Lord."

 

Blade did little for the next three days. The unrest in the city died down, and Insash took care of the business of running the kingdom. Each afternoon, he brought pertinent documents for Blade to sign, which he did without bothering to read them. Insash tried to explain what they contained, but Blade waved it away and demanded a quill. He did not visit Chiana, but spent his time sampling the palace wines or strolling in the gardens. Wherever he went, he found lords and dignitaries trying to accost him, calling out some grievance or plea. The guards kept them at bay, and he ignored him.

On the morning of the fourth day, he woke to find Arken bustling around his room, humming. The assassin sat up and frowned at the servant, who laid out a set of his most ornate clothes, made for him when he had dwelt here in Minna-Satu's day. The white jacket was ornamented on the sleeves and collar with curling patterns of gold embroidery and the pair of black cloth trousers was similarly adorned on the thighs and waistband. Blade raked back his tousled hair.

"What in Damnation are you doing, Arken?"

"You are giving an audience today, My Lord."

"I am not."

"Already the lords are arriving."

"Then they can go home again." Blade flopped back and pulled the blankets over his head.

"Insash instructed me to dress you as a regent."

"Insash can go and stick his head in a furnace."

"It's your duty, My Lord."

Blade pulled the covers off his face. "You know, for once, I outrank everyone, and I do not have to do anything."

"Insash will argue with that. So will Redgard and Verdan, and Armelin too, when word gets out."

The assassin frowned. "I am sure they will."

"Just think, My Lord. All those nobles will have to bend their knee to you now. Will that not give you some satisfaction?"

Blade's frown faded. "It would at that. It will certainly put their noses out of joint." His brows drew together again. "But I am not wearing that."

Arken hesitated. "Perhaps the blue jacket with the gold trim?"

"No."

"My Lord, if you go amongst those peacocks in your plain black, they will mock you. They will say that you dress like a common assassin, not a regent, and therefore are not worthy of their respect. Your appointment is not popular, and they will pounce upon any reason to denigrate you. You should not allow them to do that."

Blade studied the servant morosely. "You mean, if I do not look like a damned peacock, I will get pecked to death."

"Precisely, My Lord."

"I would like to see them try."

"They will talk behind your back. They always do."

Blade sighed. "I do not care."

Arken straightened from patting the clothes he loved so much, and gazed at the assassin. "My Lord, you are a common man who has attained high rank through his skills, a rare occurrence. I am a common man, and I am proud of you, as are many of the populace. It would make us even prouder if you showed those court dandies and lords that a common man can comport himself with just as much..." He frowned as he hunted for the right word.

"Distinction?" Blade suggested.

"Exactly."

"Commoners are not allowed in the audience chamber."

"They will hear of it."

The assassin sat up. "Why in Damnation should I care what they think?"

"I do not know, My Lord."

Blade waved a weary hand. "Very well then, the blue jacket. I do not really care, but I hate white. Cotti kings wear it."

"An excellent choice, My Lord." Arken whipped out the blue jacket, smoothing it lovingly.

When Blade entered the vast golden audience chamber, he was aware of hundreds of eyes studying him, raking his outfit and weighing the worth of the man who wore it. He found it annoying and uncomfortable, and it soured his mood. His irritation was assuaged somewhat when the entire court sank down in homage to his new rank as the court herald announced his entry in ringing tones.

"His grace, Lord Conash, Lord Protector and Regent of Jashimari."

The lords bowed, while advisors and courtiers sank down on one knee, as was required in the presence of a regent. For the Queen, the courtiers would have been on both knees, their foreheads pressed to the floor. Only when he reached the ornate chair before the throne did he signal for them to arise. No one but the Queen was allowed to occupy the throne. Four gold-armoured officers stood around the chair, and Insash waited in the court's front row.

Blade settled on the chair as an attendant presented him with the six-foot golden sceptre, which he raised and brought down with a dull clink to signal the beginning of the audience. As he handed it back to the attendant, a greying, portly lord stepped forward.

The court herald cried, "Lord Fothal, of the western state of Maresh!"

Fothal drew himself up and tried to suck in his gut. "Regent Conash, I protest your appointment. It is an affront to the court, and I demand that you step down so another can be elected."

"Indeed?" Blade leant forward. "And who do you suggest, yourself?"

"I would be a better choice."

A roar of condemnation came from the ranks of lords behind him, which quieted to a surly rumble when Blade raised his hand. "It seems you lack support, My Lord. But tell me, why do you think it is an affront?"

"You are a commoner raised to the rank of lord by the late Queen Minna-Satu, out of gratitude for the services you rendered her. You lack the education or social standing."

"I see. So you object to the fact that I have earned my rank, while you did nothing to deserve yours other than being born to a noble family?"

"I was trained for high office, while you were raised by a poor family, then resorted to a deadly trade."

Blade's eyes narrowed. "And do you think it wise to insult me?"

"I am simply stating the facts," Fothal spluttered.

"I am perfectly well aware of who and what I am. But as Queen Minna-Satu once said, do not stand amongst my enemies, lest I mistake you for one." The assassin sat back. "My rule will be short, but it could also be bloody, should I, in my ignorant peasant way, decide to send you to the gallows for treason."

"I have done nothing treasonous!"

"You speak against me. Dissenters may be tolerated, but I am not a tolerant man, Lord Fothal. The subject is closed, in any event. I have accepted the post reluctantly, and shall fill it until my wife awakens. If you have no other business, return to your peers."

"I protest!"

Blade's glare made Fothal step back. "I have no interest in your protests, your opinions, or your demands in this matter. I have no interest in this post either, but apparently it is my duty to perform it until my wife recovers. I can assure you, I like it even less than you. I did not come here to listen to the idle prating of fat, pompous, primping lordlings. I have neither the stomach nor the patience for such worthless pursuits, upon which you have doubtless been raised. You waste my time."

 

Blade jumped up, startling everyone, and took the sceptre from the stunned attendant, raising it to signal the end of the audience. Tossing it back to the surprised man, he strode from the chamber so swiftly that he left the court gaping at the empty door through which he had just exited. After several moments of stunned silence, the lords grumbled and Insash shook himself from his stupor to hurry after Blade.

The advisor caught up with him in the corridor, and tried to match his long strides. "Regent -"

"Do not call me that."

"Lord Conash, the audience."

"I have given an audience. No one said how long it had to be."

"But My Lord -"

Blade stopped and swung to face Insash, who stumbled to a halt. "This situation is not to my liking, as you well know, nor is it of my making. I will not sit there and listen to their insults, nor endure the scorn of those fat, worthless men and women. You and Verdan got me into this mess; you go and listen to their complaints about it."

"You should not make enemies of them."

"They are already my enemies. They hate me for what I am, and nothing I do or say will change that."

Insash spread his hands. "You could prove them wrong."

"But they are right. I am just a peasant who was raised on a goat farm and then in the gutter. I am not ashamed of it, but I do not need to be scorned for it either, especially by them."

Blade marched away before Insash could reply, and the advisor stared after him until he vanished around a corner, then returned to the audience chamber to try to soothe the lords. To his surprise, he found that although a good many were irate, particularly Lord Fothal, a number seemed to have found a grudging respect for the assassin.

 

Five days later, Blade's second audience went far better. Lord Fothal was conspicuously absent, and the rest seemed subdued. In fact, for several minutes after Blade had raised the sceptre, silence reigned. When a lord did step forward, it was to request supplies for the barracks situated on his estate, which Blade granted, after glancing at Insash. Since there were no major problems to debate, none of the advisors had anything to say, and after settling a few requests and one petty dispute, Blade ended the audience.

 

Nine days after Chiana fell into the coma, Verdan became edgy. He hardly left her bedside, unlike the assassin, who had not visited her at all. This bothered the old healer, and, on one of his rare breaks from his vigil, he went in search of the elusive assassin-regent. He found him in the garden, seated under a fire tree. Blade leant against it, a book open on his lap and his eyes closed, apparently asleep, but he opened his eyes as Verdan walked up. The healer stopped before him, hesitant, although Blade gazed into the distance.

"My Lord..."

"Is she awake?"

"No. I came to request your presence at her bedside, however. She will wake soon."

Blade turned his head to look at the old healer. "And you cannot understand why I am not sitting there now, holding her hand."

"In truth I cannot. Your feelings, or lack of them, are your own affair, but she is your wife."

"Indeed, but I did not want her. Already I have put myself out to play regent and court fop for this kingdom, an onerous duty, which I despise. Do not expect me to play the dutiful husband as well."

Verdan studied the assassin, who looked paler than usual, and thinner, his sculpted features almost delicate. His silver-ornamented black jacket was unlaced, revealing a grey silk shirt tucked into the high waistband of similarly patterned trousers. His hair, cut short during his visit to Cotti, had grown long enough to flop over his brow, and contrasted starkly with his pale skin. The new scar that ran along his cheekbone had sparked much debate about its infliction amongst the palace populace. Although Blade had always been intensely aloof, his loneliness now held a hint of sorrow, as if he had lost something. Verdan lowered himself to the grass, mindful of his old bones.

"I know you care for her."

"Then you know more than I."

"Of what are you afraid?"

"Only death. But I feel that will claim me soon, and it will be welcome."

Verdan shook his head, fighting a rush of frustration. "You do not fear death. It is life that terrifies you. That is why you court death. You fear your feelings for Chiana because they can hold you to life, and you are too bitter to allow yourself to enjoy it."

Blade rested his head against the tree and gazed at the sky. "I have no feelings for Chiana."

"For God's sake, stop lying to yourself. When she awakes, she will need you desperately. She will need your support, and, at the very least, your affection."

"No, you are wrong. She will hate me."

"She loves you."

The assassin lowered his wintry gaze to Verdan's face. "Your familiar is alive and well, is it not?"

"Of course."

"Then do not presume to know what Chiana will feel when she awakes. I know. I have been there. I am still there, in the cold solitude of the Bereft."

Blade jumped up and strode away, leaving Verdan stunned by the revelation of his curt words. Unless he was mistaken, Blade had just allowed him a brief glimpse into the workings of his mind.

 

Chiana slept through the tenth day, and the eleventh and twelfth, until it seemed that Blade would be forced to endure another audience. Verdan began to feed her potions designed to wake the unconscious from the deepest slumber, but still she slept on. Verdan's concern grew, and he visited Blade in his rooms on the thirteenth day, finding the assassin sharpening his daggers. The healer eyed the weapons as he approached the table at which Blade sat, stropping a dagger to razor keenness on a length of leather.

Straightening from his bow, Verdan demanded, "Why does Chiana not wake up? You have been through this, as you pointed out the other day, so tell me."

The assassin shrugged. "She does not wish to."

"But she must."

"She does not care."

"You mean..." Verdan stared at Blade, horrified. "She has become like you?"

Blade chuckled, wiping the dagger. "No, she will never be like me. Nor will she ever again be like herself."

"How can I wake her?"

"You cannot. She will wake, never fear."

"You could help."

Blade shook his head. "No. I could, but I will not."

"How long did you sleep?"

"I do not recall."

"Tell me what is happening to her. I must try to help her."

"You cannot." Blade put down the dagger and leant back in his chair. "She is with her familiar's spirit, which lingers. She is reliving Inka's death, over and over again. The longer a person is bonded, the longer it takes to awaken from the death they share. Soon the spirit will leave, and she will wake. Let her have her time with Inka, it is her last."

"I see." Verdan bowed his head, and left the assassin to sharpen his daggers in peace.