Sacrifice: The Queen's Blade (20 page)

"Blade."

He stopped and looked back.

"You saved my life."

He shrugged. "So?"

"Why? If you do not care about me..."

"Jashimari needs a Regent. It was no great feat, a mere flick of the wrist, since I happened to be following them."

She swallowed, lowering her hand. "Why are you following them?"

"I want to see the fun outside the Queen's doors."

"Then you knew that she knew."

He glanced down the corridor. "I thought she would. She has plenty of spies, and the fools planned it in the barracks, probably at the top of their voices."

"Is that why you would not join them?"

He frowned. "How do you know they asked?"

"I overheard you arguing with Jayon."

"Ah. No, I merely had no interest in the venture."

"But you did not warn Jayon either, did you?"

The assassin stepped closer, his eyes pinning her. "I told him it was stupid. It is not my job to dissuade him."

"He is your friend."

"I have no friends."

She glared at him. "He saved your life."

"More fool him. I did not ask him to."

Incensed by his unfeeling attitude, she slapped him. "You bastard!"

Blade winced, scowling as he rubbed the red mark on his cheek. Chiana shrank back, fearful that he would retaliate, but he merely glowered at her, and her anger surged again.

"You felt that, did you not? It is time you felt something other than your own smugness. Other people suffer too. You are not the only one who has ever been hurt. The Queen weeps because she must die to save her people. Jayon gives his life to try to save her, but you feel nothing. You care about no one but yourself, not even the man who saved your life. You are a despicable, ungrateful, unfeeling monster!"

Blade took a step towards her, making her retreat from his hostility. "Good, now that you have realised that, you will not mourn my passing."

"You do not care if I mourn you!" she shouted as he spun on his heel and strode away. "You do not care about anything! That is why you are one of the Shunned!"

Blade stopped in mid-stride and turned to face her. Being called Shunned was the greatest insult that could be offered to a person. Few could stomach it, and it seemed the assassin was no exception. He marched back to her.

"I am not Shunned," he stated with slow deliberation. "My familiar is dead. I was bonded to a forest cat when I was just six years old. He was killed when the Cotti slew the rest of my family. He tried to defend me, and they eviscerated him in front of me. I shared his pain. I know what it feels like to have your guts torn from your living body. So do not talk to me of your pain. You do not know what pain is. You do not know what it is like to lose your familiar!"

Chiana slumped, covering her face as hot tears stung her eyes. She wished the words unsaid, but there was no way to revoke them. Losing a familiar was the single most horrible thing that could happen to a person. The bond was lifelong, and the familiar, no matter how short-lived the species may be, lived as long as the person to whom it was bonded. Once lost, a familiar was never replaced. Some people could not survive the ordeal and would take their own lives rather than live the empty existence without their companion. She gulped and lowered her hands to find him still glaring at her.

"How do I know that is the truth?" she demanded, desperate for it to be one of his many lies.

Blade smiled, a hard, bitter expression, and rolled up one sleeve. "Here is his mark."

Four thin white lines ran down his arm, each a finger's length. Chiana nodded, and he pulled his sleeve down again. The scars were clearly the claw marks of a wood cat, placed there by Blade's long-dead familiar just as every beast marked the person to whom they were bonded with a small scar. Chiana's was on the side of her neck, where Inka had pecked her one day, leaving a tiny mark. She heaved a shuddering sigh and met his gaze.

"I am sorry."

The assassin nodded, then swung away and marched down the corridor again. Realising that the sounds of the battle had ceased, Chiana hurried after him.

A great many soldiers lay sprawled outside the Queen's doors. Some lay still in pools of blood, others groaned and moved feebly. Their familiars lay dead amongst them or huddled beside their friends' bodies, while unharmed men lay still beside their dead familiars. A handful stood with hanging heads, disarmed and wounded.

Chiana averted her gaze from the dead and dying, surprised when Blade did the same, his complexion paler than usual. The Queen's men placed shackles on the prisoners and carried the wounded away to be tended by a healer. Jayon stood amongst the prisoners, the lock of hair that was forever flopping over his forehead hiding his downcast eyes. Chiana longed to go to him and offer him some words of comfort. Before she could, the prisoners were marched away, and she approached Captain Redgard instead.

"Is the Queen safe?"

He bowed. "Yes, my lady, none entered her rooms."

"What is to be done with those men?"

"The Queen has ordered them imprisoned, to be released after she has taken the Cup."

Chiana nodded. "How many were killed?"

"As you see, most of them. They had taken bestal, a herb that gives great strength and courage, but makes them a little mad. Some of these killed each other in the heat of battle, others would not stop fighting until they were mortally wounded. A lot of soldiers take the herb before battle."

Chiana shuddered, turning away. That explained the soldier's demented attack on her in the corridor. She looked around for Blade, but the assassin had vanished, and she went to his rooms in search of him. He was not there, nor in the gardens or any of his usual haunts. After a time-glass of fruitless searching, a wandering servant tipped her off, and she headed for the cellar. There she found Blade seated at a sturdy table with Lirek, both roaring drunk and singing a rollicking sea shanty. They stopped when she entered the room, and Lirek drained his tankard.

Blade glared at her. "Is nowhere safe from you? Must you track me into the very bowels of this infernal place to preach to me?"

"I did not come here to preach, only to talk."

"Same thing, with you."

Lirek burped and apologised, pouring another flagon of ale from the hogshead on the table. A guttering torch lighted the scene with a flickering radiance, and Fang slept in a corner. Chiana settled on the bench opposite them.

"I would like to talk to you alone."

Blade glanced at Lirek. "Then you'll have to wait until we're finished."

Surprisingly, although the assassin swayed to the lullaby of ale, he spoke with complete clarity, while Lirek seemed to be almost incapable of speech. Chiana eyed the empty bottles and flagons that crowded the table.

"What are you trying to do, drown yourself?"

"Not a bad idea, but actually, we're making sure there's none left for Kerrion to celebrate with."

She looked around at the echoing vastness of the Queen's cellar, a veritable warren of cool rooms stacked with barrels of ale, wine and spirits. "An army could stay drunk in here for six moons, Blade. You will not drain it in a few time-glasses."

He chuckled. "We'll have a lot of fun trying, though."

Lirek seemed to find this comment hilarious, for he guffawed and slapped the assassin on the back, almost falling off the bench. Blade grinned, drained his tankard and filled it again. Chiana watched him with a sinking heart. He obviously intended to drink himself into oblivion. She did not blame him, for he faced death tomorrow.

No matter how painless, it was not something easily confronted, as she had seen from the Queen's sorrowful demeanour. Despite his claims of not fearing it, certainly his demise would not be in the manner he would have wished. Each faced it in their own way, and while the Queen wept and sought the comfort of the High Priestess, Blade enjoyed the solace that could be found at the bottom of an ale jug. Unfortunately, his retreat into wine-sodden forgetfulness made her wish for his company all but impossible.

As she gazed at him, an idea came to her that made her smile to herself as her spirits lifted again. Rising, she walked over to one of the many shelves that lined the room and selected a dusty bottle, inspecting the label. It proved to be an elderly sherry, which had doubtless grown potent over the years. Returning to the table, she opened it and poured a little into a spare cup, using the rest to fill up Blade's and Lirek's tankards. The assassin eyed her as she raised her cup and shot him a cheerful grin.

"Drink up, My Lord. This is a vintage far worthier of you. Let us be merry, for tomorrow you die."

He scowled at her. "What are you up to now?"

"Merely aiding you in your endeavour. Is that not a wife's purpose in life, to be her husband's helper?"

Blade glanced at Lirek. "I've never heard of a wife who encouraged her husband to drink, have you?"

Lirek shook his head and took a gulp of sherry. "She's a rare un, yer wife, m'lord. A real 'reasure."

Blade turned his gaze upon Chiana again. "Indeed. Though it strikes me that she has a purpose other than she will admit. If you plan on drinking me under the table, my lady, you have a great deal of catching up to do." He squinted at the empty flagons. "I would say three flagons of ale and two bottles of wine."

Chiana settled opposite and sipped her sherry. "I am afraid you have me at a disadvantage, My Lord. Perhaps we should call it a handicap, since you are a vastly experienced drinker, and I am not. Since you appear, at this moment, to be as sober as I, you may still win the duel. Though how you can contain so much liquid is beyond me."

He chuckled, rising to his feet. "Then let us be fair. You cannot drink cups while I drink tankards."

Blade walked over to the shelf and took another bottle of sherry, then found an empty tankard on the table and filled to the brim, setting it before her. "You will have to match me, tankard for tankard. No one has ever drunk me under the table, and I doubt that you'll be the first." He sat down beside Lirek again. "And if you find yourself over full, there's a pisspot in the corner."

Chiana hid her dismay as she raised the tankard, and Blade drained half of his in a gulp. Lirek had almost finished his, and the assassin topped it up for him. The burly bodyguard related a barely intelligible account of some misfortune that had once befallen him. Chiana pretended interest, but Blade ignored him, concentrated on his drinking and watched Chiana to ensure that she did the same.

Each time he went to fetch another bottle, however, she emptied her tankard onto the floor, and once when he went to use the pisspot. The strong sherry soon made her head spin, and Blade still showed no symptoms of drunkenness, although Lirek's conversation was now utterly incomprehensible. She was starting to despair when at last Lirek, on his way back from the pisspot, keeled over with a mighty crash. Fang went to lick his friend's face, then lay down beside him. Blade grinned and raised his tankard.

"Well, my lady, you have beaten Lirek. Well done." He drained the vessel and refilled it and hers.

Chiana forced a bright smile and took another gulp of sherry, staring owlishly at her husband. "How about a knife-throwing contest, Blade?"

His brows shot up. "You can throw knives?"

"My father taught me, for the lack of a son."

"Poor man. Certainly, why not? Although I only have daggers, I'm afraid."

"I meant daggers."

Chiana got to her feet carefully, and Blade staggered a little, grabbing a shelf for support. He shook his head and walked into one of the vast aisles. At the far end, rows of barrels were stacked against the wall, and he pointed at them.

"The one in the middle, I think, second row." He drew a dagger and held it out. "Ladies first."

Chiana took the weapon and aimed, aware that her focus was not good and she swayed a little. Her first throw hit the edge of the barrel, and the assassin clapped, grinning. He walked to the barrels and retrieved the dagger, then took aim himself. His throw hit dead centre, as she had expected, and again he walked the length of the cellar to retrieve it. Her second throw was a little better than the first, halfway between the edge and the middle, but Blade's was again dead centre. Her third attempt went horribly wrong, and the dagger clattered behind the barrels, forcing Blade to crawl amongst them to retrieve it. When he returned, he smiled.

"The best of three, shall we say?"

Chiana nodded, and his throw hit dead centre for a third time. He grinned and retrieved the weapon while she tottered back to the bench. When he returned to sit opposite, he looked well pleased with himself.

"I would say that I won, my lady."

"Indeed you did. Was there any doubt?"

He chuckled. "If you knew you would lose, why challenge me?"

Chiana shrugged. "I am not as foolish as you think, My Lord. I know the effect of exercise on a drunkard."

Blade's eyes narrowed. "I see. So it was not the dagger-throwing contest you wished to win, but the drinking one?" She nodded, and he chuckled again. "I have never passed out in my life, my lady."

"There is a first time for everything, Blade."

As if her words were a prediction, the assassin's smile faded and the colour drained from his face as his eyes rolled back. He slumped, then slid under the table, as lax as a length of wet rope. She smiled down at him.

"Also, this is a particularly strong sherry, and I cheated."

Chiana skipped from the cellar, then walked to Blade's rooms, mindful of her inebriation. Arken was building a fire in the grate, and he stopped and bowed at her entry.

"My lady. Lord Conash is not here. I don't know where he is."

She smiled. "You will find him passed out in the cellar, and Lirek as well. Will you have him brought here and put to bed?"

"At once, my lady."

Chiana went to her rooms and ate a light supper, then bathed and returned to her husband's chambers as dusk darkened the sky. Gazing down at his peaceful face, she marvelled at its innocence, then shucked her gown and slid in beside him. For many time-glasses she lay awake, listening to him breathe and the beating of his heart, enjoying his closeness this one time. She stroked his cheek and fought back the sorrow that threatened to engulf her, banishing any thoughts of the next day from her mind. As the moon rose to flood the room with ghostly light, she fell asleep nestled in the crook of his arm, her head pillowed on his shoulder.