Master of the Dance (50 page)

"I'll wager she did. Did she tell you I'm your father?"

Endel shook his head, shooting Blade a hopeful, puppyish look. "No, I came to that conclusion myself. Why else would you take such care of her?"

"She helped me once."

"But you knew her before I was born. And she always told us to be grateful to you, and respect you. That's why I took up your trade, to be like you. And I'm cat kin, same as you. I'm a good assassin, too."

Blade studied him with narrowed eyes. "You're not my son."

Endel shifted. "I know my mother was a whore, but... She speaks so highly of you. She loves you. And she wanted me to be like you."

"That doesn't mean..." Blade sighed. "Look, boy, I know you're not my son because I can't have children. I'm a Knight of the Veil. You know what that is, don't you?"

"Yes, but you only became a Knight fifteen years ago. I'm twenty-one."

Blade smiled and sipped his ale. "Believe me, I didn't let them butcher me."

"What do you mean?"

"It happened when I was a child."

Endel gazed at Blade, opened his mouth as if to argue, then closed it. The hope and pride drained from his expression, leaving him despondent. He lowered his eyes to his tankard and stared at it. Blade could only imagine the intense disappointment he experienced, after hoping all his life that he was the son of the legendary Queen's Blade. He had probably wanted to receive confirmation of his claim, or at least acceptance, only to have it refuted.

Blade cast a quick glance at the assassin who was supposed to be watching him, finding the man still engrossed in the whore. Endel was not a threat, of that Blade was now certain. His theory that the Contara assassin may have invented the story was wrong, but his presence at the inn could have attracted the interest of his foreign foe, as well as this deluded youth. Was Endel the rogue?

Blade leant forward. "Did you think that murdering whores would impress me?"

Endel's head jerked up, his eyes wide with surprise. Blade's hackles rose again, and all his internal alarms jangled. He glanced around as a dark figure detached itself from the shadows and moved towards him with silent, deadly swiftness, a glint of steel catching the lamplight. Blade threw himself sideways as a dagger hissed through the air where he had been a moment before. He yanked a dagger from his belt as he hit the ground and rolled, agony shooting from his shoulder when he instinctively tried to use his right arm. His chair crashed to the floor as the Contara assassin fell over it in his eagerness to reach his target, and he collided with the table, upsetting it too. Blade jerked up his legs and kicked the man who loomed over him in the stomach, sending him reeling backwards.

The taproom erupted with screams and shouts, furniture crashing to the floor as patrons scrambled to escape the fracas. Most knew that a fight between two assassins was not a spectator sport. The swift violence of the combat, combined with the deadliness of its participants and their disregard for any who got in the way, had led to injuries amongst foolish bystanders in the past.

Blade rolled to his feet and faced his foe. Endel flung off his brown coat and jerked two daggers from his belt. Beneath the nondescript cloak he wore an assassin's traditional garb, which moulded a well-built physique. The Contara assassin, intent upon his target, leapt from the shattered remains of the chair on which he had landed and closed with Blade.

As Blade spun aside, Endel attacked the Contara assassin, lashing out with his daggers. The stranger dodged and swung away, but Endel followed with all the zest of inexperience and overconfidence. The two made contact in a clash of flashing blades and sinuous, graceful strokes, and Blade knew the youth was doomed. Blood sprayed in tiny scarlet fountains, and Endel lurched back, gripping his gut.

One of his daggers was embedded in the Contara assassin's shoulder, but it hampered him only a little. He lunged at Blade, who leapt and kicked, his foot skimming past the man's cheek as he jerked back. At the same moment, Endel stepped forward and plunged his dagger into the Contara assassin's side. He hissed and swung around, his weapon slicing across Endel's chest as the young assassin failed to dodge quickly enough.

Blade had lost his balance when he landed from his leap, his strapped arm robbing him of his usual poise. Recovering, he lunged, ducking as the Contara assassin slashed at him, and stabbed the man in the gut before he could recoil. As the Contara assassin doubled over, Blade jerked the dagger free and sliced open his throat.

The Contara assassin tottered away, dropping his weapons to clutch his neck in a desperate, futile bid to staunch the bleeding. He reeled into a table, upset it and sent tankards crashing to the floor, then fell over a chair, smashing it. Blade watched him writhe in the scarlet pool that spread around him, then turned to Endel. The youth studied the dark blood that oozed from his belly, plucking at his jacket.

Blade stepped closer and slipped his dagger under the thongs that bound Endel's jacket, slicing through them. The wound seemed insignificant, but the blood that stained the youth's skin was almost black. Blade shook his head, wiped his dagger on the dying assassin's coat and sheathed it. Just then, the guild assassin appeared, after apparently fighting his way through the stampeding crowd. Endel glanced up at Blade, looking puzzled.

"It doesn't hurt."

"It will."

"I think I need a healer."

"You need a priestess, boy."

Endel looked down at the wound again, paling with shock. Blade pulled a chair closer and pushed the youth onto it. Endel raised his gaze to Blade's impassive face, his eyes filled with desperate pleading.

"It's only a small wound..."

"That's all it takes, when an expert inflicts it. Press on it to slow the bleeding; you'll live a little longer."

"Am I dying?"

Blade pulled up a chair and sat, studying the youth. "Why did you interfere? It wasn't your fight."

"I don't know. He was going to kill you... I couldn't let him. Even after what you told me, I... wanted to help you. All my life, I've admired you for your kindness to my mother, and because I thought you were my father."

Blade nodded. "You should have stayed out of it. You would have lived a little longer. Although not much. Why did you turn rogue, boy?"

"I didn't..." Endel met Blade's eyes and flinched at the disbelief in them, his face twisting with grief and shame. "They were suffering as my mother did... I could end it for them, so I did."

"Don't lie to me. I'm too good a liar myself to believe you."

Endel's face twisted further, becoming hateful, and Blade marvelled at the range of false expressions the boy was capable of displaying with such consummate ease. He was a good liar. Most would have believed him, except for a master of lies. "They deserved to die," he grated. "They're filth, born and raised in the gutter."

"Ah." Blade glanced at the Guild's assassin. "It seems we've found your rogue, and he's already received his punishment."

Blade stood up, and Endel raised a hand in a pleading gesture. "Please, don't go."

"Why should I stay? I've watched enough people die, and, unlike you, I don't enjoy it."

"Then why... did you become an assassin?"

"I had to eat, and it was a living."

Endel clutched the wound and groaned as the pain started. "I saved your life. The least you can do is grant me a last wish."

"You didn't save my life, boy, only threw away your own."

"Please visit my mother. She longs to see you again, but don't tell her what I've done."

Blade's brows rose. "You didn't kill her?"

"She's my mother!"

"And some of those women you killed had children, I'll wager."

"So did most of the men you killed."

Blade shrugged. "True, but I didn't kill them just for the fun of it, and they have their mothers. The children of whores don't know who their fathers are, as you know. What was it about killing that you enjoyed so much? The blood? The death rattle? Did you kill them slowly and watch them writhe in pain?"

Endel grimaced and hung his head. "The power."

"I see. And now you're going to find out what it's like to die, as we all will one day."

Endel gazed at him with a mixture of puzzlement and pleading. "Does it mean nothing to you that I tried to save your life?"

"Why should it? I didn't ask you to."

The Guild's assassin sniggered, and Blade swung and slapped him, making him recoil with a yelp. He retreated out of reach, nursing his cheek, and Blade glared at him. "You'll be reprimanded for your ineptitude, I'll see to that. You have the attention span of a chicken and about as much brains as a tadpole."

The assassin growled, "You're not an elder."

"I have friends in high places."

Blade turned to face Endel once more, noting the youth's increasing pallor and the shivers that racked him. The situation was distasteful, and the presence of a corpse and the scent of blood made him queasy.

"I always wondered about your mother's intelligence, boy, but to raise a child to admire a killer is sheer lunacy. If I ever see her again, I'll tell her the truth."

"No... Please don't," Endel groaned. "You couldn't be so heartless."

"You don't know me, any more than Lilu does. No one does."

Blade turned and strode away, ignoring Endel's pleas for him to stay. It would take the boy a few time-glasses to die, and he had no intention of staying to watch it. Outside, the fresh air settled his stomach, and he set off towards the palace, following dark streets along which groups of people still sauntered. How ironic it was, he mused, that an ugly, broken-nosed whore had raised her son to admire a cold-blooded killer she had found dying in the gutter, and turned him into a murderer.

Chapter Thirty Three

For another three days, Blade continued his solitary existence. He spent his time exercising, reading or drinking, as his fancy took him. Arken tried to entertain him by challenging him to a popular board game, but stopped after Blade had fleeced him of several tendays' wages. Verdan visited to examine his arm, unstrapping it in order to do so. Blade could hardly move it, and attempting to do so brought intense pain, so the healer replaced the bindings.

On the fourth day, Blade decided to find out why his wife was avoiding him, and inform her of his plans to seek out Shamsara. Kerra's warnings of the consequences of him leaving the palace bothered him, as did Chiana's strange behaviour.

When he arrived outside her door, the guards' reaction surprised him. They shifted nervously, and barred the door with crossed spears.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded.

"Beg pardon, High Lord. Orders from the Regent. She will not see you."

"Indeed?" Blade's brows shot up, and he smiled. "Well, this a novel turn of events." He chuckled as he sauntered away.

Chiana looked up from the papers she was reading when the guard pushed open the door and entered, bowing.

"Regent. Lord Conash was just here, asking to see you. You asked us to tell you when he did."

She nodded. "Thank you."

The man bowed and left, and, as the door closed, she put down the papers and leant back in her chair. Her throat grew tight and her eyes burnt as she struggled to quell the impulse to leap up and run after Blade, drawing on all her newfound strength. The last tenday had been a constant battle to stick to her resolve. The fact that he had been outside her door, asking to see her, brought fresh emotional torment. She longed to visit him, to thank him for saving her life and spend time in his presence, to listen to the account of Endor's death and marvel at his skills.

Chiana could no longer bear the cold emptiness of his eyes, however, which so belied the words he had spoken on the day he had stopped her from taking her life. She had thought that he had discovered his true feelings in the instant when he knew he would lose her forever, but he had not. Those wonderful words that still echoed in her mind had been a lie, but when he had spoken them, she had believed him, so great had been her longing for it to be true.

Without Inka, her life was almost entirely empty. Only Kerra's affection and her own unrequited love sustained her. The cold void inside her, so briefly filled with joy, was becoming a tight, chill knot. From it she drew her strength, and found a boundless font of bitterness and resentment to draw on, which flowed from the wound that had once been the warm presence of her familiar. Now she understood that Blade's bitterness stemmed from a similar emotional wound, one that was deeper than hers, and would never heal.

Blade had lost far more than she, all in one terrible day, and, although she could now understand his pain, she could only imagine its depth. The fruit of this bitter tree of wisdom that had sprouted in her heart was acrid indeed, for she now knew why Blade could not love anyone, and never would. Her love for him would not die, but its futility sparked a deeper tide of bitterness from which she drew the strength to reject him.

A soft tapping at the door made her heart leap with foolish hope that Blade had returned and forced the guards to let him pass, since they would not dare to prevent him physically. Instead, Verdan entered and bowed, his expression becoming concerned when he noticed the way she sagged at the sight of him.

"Are you all right, Regent?"

Chiana nodded and rose to pour herself a cup of wine from the bottle that stood on a table.

Verdan approached. "I heard about Blade's visit."

"You have good spies."

"The best. How did he react?"

She shrugged. "He walked away, what do you think?"

"He did not want to know why?"

"I am sure he does not care."

"And how do you feel?"

Chiana sipped the wine and gazed out of the window. "Empty. Sad. What do you expect?"

"Angry?"

"What would be the point? That would be like raging at the wind for blowing down your house, or cursing the rain for falling. And just as futile."

"But you have a right to expect -"