Lord Protector (15 page)

He shrugged. "Go ahead. If you think I fear the Cotti King, you are much mistaken."

"You are arrogant, Blade."

"No, I merely know him better than you, and I know your mother too."

Kerra glared at him, unable to refute this, and, lacking a scathing rejoinder, flounced out. Moments later, Chiana emerged from the bathing chamber, wrapped in a silken robe.

"Who was just here?"

"Kerra. I sent her away."

Chiana sighed. "Poor girl. I am sure she meant well."

"Undoubtedly. Did you wish to see her?"

"No." She sank down on her dressing stool, and the maidens brushed her hair. "Do you intend to stay, My Lord?"

"Yes."

"Whether I wish it or not?"

"Yes."

Chiana studied him in the mirror, and he returned to his platter of food, which he picked at once more. When the maidens had finished brushing and plaiting Chiana's hair, they left, casting speculative looks at Blade. Chiana turned to her husband.

"I am sorry for what I said the other night. I was hurt and angry."

He popped a grape into his mouth. "It is forgotten."

"Will you still do as you said?"

"Yes."

She looked down. "I am afraid to ask why."

"Then do not."

"You think I am suicidal."

"You are."

She rose, smoothing the silk robe. "I am tired."

Chiana went into the bedroom, and Blade finished his wine in a gulp and followed. Shedding the robe, she climbed into her bed in her nightdress. The assassin wandered over to a velvet couch, loosening the ties of his jacket. Chiana watched him strip off his jacket, belt, wrist sheaths and boots, then sat up when he lay down on the couch.

"You intend to sleep there?"

He nodded. "It is comfortable enough."

"The bed is more so."

"I am accustomed to sleeping alone. Your presence will keep me awake."

"You have shared my bed before."

"Only when extremely drunk."

She eyed him. "I may throw myself out of the window in the night."

"I will wake before you do."

"You said that you intended to be more of what I wished for. I wish you to sleep beside me."

Blade sighed, then rose and approached the bed. Chiana lay back and watched him strip down to the comical pair of baggy grey flannel shorts. The number of new scars on him shocked her. Some looked quite recent. He lay down beside her, and she moved closer to trace a pink scar on his arm.

"How did you get this?"

"The Cotti assassin."

"Tell me what happened."

"I thought you were tired."

"I am. You may stop when I fall asleep."

Blade sighed again and related the tale. Chiana slid her arms around him and rested her head on his shoulder while she listened to his soft voice detailing a man's death. Being so close to him was bliss, secure in his presence, the joy of it dulling her pain. She fell asleep before the end of his story.

The next morning when Chiana woke, she sensed Blade's presence beside her. She opened her eyes and raised her head to study him. The pain of her loss burnt like a hot coal in her heart, but a cloud of joy blanketed it, dulling its heat. Just as he had eased the pain of Inka's loss with the rare gift of his presence, so he did now. Why would a man who claimed to be heartless do such a thing, she mused. Merely because he did not wish to be Regent? Unlike when Inka had died, she had no longing to end her life, but if she told him that, he would leave. Was she becoming a liar too, in order to keep him at her side? She longed to touch him, but hesitated, afraid he would lash out if startled awake. As she vacillated, a faint smile curled his lips.

"You are awake," she accused.

"Of course."

"Did you sleep?"

"A little."

"I did not have the nightmare."

He opened his eyes. "I know."

"It is because you were here."

"Nothing like a monster to keep other monsters at bay."

"You are not a monster." She slid her arms around him and rested her cheek on his chest.

Chapter Eleven

Chiana ordered that her father's body be brought to the palace for her to view, then interred in a lavish funeral, which was held in the graveyard reserved for members of court. Funerals were the only events that regents and queens were allowed to leave the palace to attend, surrounded by a military presence that was almost an army. Blade remained at her side all through it, and she leant on his arm as she accepted the court's condolences. Mourning flags decked the city, and the temples flew skeins of grey and black dreamsilk from their poles. The funeral feast took place in the great hall, and went on for most of the afternoon. Blade drank a great deal of strong wine and encouraged her to do the same, so that by the time it was over he had to help her to her rooms.

For the next three days, Blade remained at her side most of the time, leaving only to exercise in the gardens. At her request, he related the tales of some of his exploits, and she learnt more about her enigmatic husband. So fascinating were his stories that she had a scribe write them down, much to Blade's disgruntlement. When she was forced to attend to urgent duties, Blade sat nearby and read, which tended to make visiting dignitaries and messengers quite nervous. She found that studying people's reaction to him told her a great deal about their character. Those who were arrogant or deceitful became hostile in his presence, while he intimidated good men. She found this to be useful in her dealings with strangers, and all Blade had to do was sit nearby and read a book.

The nights beside him were blissful, and free from the horrible nightmare that had plagued her since Inka's death. Her only worry was that this wonderful state of affairs would not last, and one day, when he was convinced she no longer needed him, he would leave. She decided not to try to stop him, but to make the most of his presence while he remained. Kerra seemed to have given up her hopeless infatuation, and relations between them became cordial once more. The only people who aroused open hostility from the assassin were the Cotti advisors, whom he glared at whenever he encountered them. Consequently, their irritating visits to complain about Kerra's upbringing became rarer, to her relief.

Blade found the time spent with his wife only a little trying. Her interest in his past was irritating, for he disliked dredging up memories he considered best forgotten. At times, however, she could be an entertaining companion and interesting conversationalist, especially when the topic was not her father or her husband's past, about which she was far too curious for his liking. At first, her appetite for his proximity was discomfiting and annoying, for he disliked contact with others and usually avoided it.

Chiana's manner in this regard was hesitant. Often, she would reach for his hand and then glance at him as if unsure of his reaction. The meaningless gestures of affection he schooled himself to show her brought joyful reactions, which he found oddly touching. They brought back warm, hazy memories of sitting on his father's knee playing with his beard, or helping his mother bathe his younger sisters. Then there had been many hugs and kisses, pats on the head and ruffled hair, warm biscuits from the oven and wooden toys carved by his father's rough hands.

A wall of ice had surrounded his heart when he had lost his family, separating the joy from the sorrow, the good from the bad, and nothing had sullied it until now. Others had tried to show him affection in the past, but he had always rejected it, preserving the purity of his hatred of the world. Now he was forced to accept it from Chiana, and he found it strangely uplifting and depressing, reminding him of his childhood.

As Shamsara had predicted, he did find her happiness pleasing, and that it took so little effort on his part to bring her this joy was fascinating. His heart remained untouched, however. His emotions were as frozen as ever and his every gesture of affection was false. He did find himself more inclined to share his secrets with her, and on the third afternoon he showed her the belt he had won from Storm.

Chiana fingered the soft black leather, tracing the intricate patterns of silver that covered it, then raised her eyes to meet his.

"So you are once more the Master of the Dance."

He nodded. "Until I retire again."

"And when do you plan to do that?"

"I do not know."

"Shamsara's blood keeps you young. I shall grow old, while you do not."

"Does that trouble you?"

She smiled. "Only if you seek the bed of a younger woman."

He chuckled. "I have never sought a woman's bed."

"Did you ever try -"

"No."

"I am sorry." Chiana looked away, clearly contrite. "I should not have asked such a stupid question."

"The answer is self-evident, I would have thought."

"Not necessarily, but still, it was thoughtless of me." She smiled again. "But it is comforting to know you have not enjoyed another woman's embrace."

"And never will. At least one of us finds that a good thing."

She handed the belt back. "This conversation is fraught with pitfalls. I am glad you have reclaimed your belt. It is beautiful."

Blade put it away. "There is nothing to tell on that subject. I have lived the life of a monk."

Chiana nodded and turned away, declining to enquire further. He sensed that the conversation was more discomfiting for her than it was for him, although, he reflected with some amusement, they were equally innocent in that regard.

Over the course of the three nights, Blade grew accustomed to her presence, and snatched several time-glasses of sleep. Whenever she moved he woke, but soon fell asleep again. On the third night, when she had fallen asleep, he moved away and dozed off, his tiredness enabling him to find the deep embrace of oblivion.

Blade sat outside his father's house, a child once more. He was Conash, but his family called him Ash. He held the belt of ribbons and bells he was braiding for his sister Shinda's eighth birthday. His brother Orcal, who was ten, had carved a tiny horse for her, and dyed it red and yellow like the sorrel filly who had recently become her familiar. Little Ryana, only six, had made a hair clip with their father's help and decorated it with her humming bird's bright feathers. Alenstra, almost grown at fourteen, had sewn a frilly dress for her tomboy sister, and Rykar, nearly a man at sixteen, had bought her a silver necklace.

Conash glanced at the cat who lay in the shade of a nearby tree, his black coat gleaming. He smiled as Rivan swatted at a fly, his tail twitching. Today was Conash's day to tend the goats, and he had just returned from the high pasture where they grazed. Orcal cleaned the pens and Rykar hoed weeds in the vegetable patch with his father, Jarren. His sisters and mother had gone down to the stream to wash clothes, so he was enjoying the peace and quiet. The land slumbered in the late summer sun's warm rays, its soil furred with greenery. The distant sound of goat bells came from the slopes all around, where each family's herds nibbled the velvet grass.

A hawk's scream shattered the peace, and Rivan sat up as if someone had stuck a pin in him, his ears swivelling. Conash glanced up at the bird that hovered like a cross in the sky, wondering what had upset Keal, Alenstra's familiar. The bird folded his wings and stooped, plummeting to earth like a comet, then spread his wings at the last moment and glided to perch on the fence. He screamed again, his crest raised, and Conash glanced at Rivan. The cat's ears swivelled and his nose twitched as he sniffed the breeze. Curious, Conash sent an enquiring thought to him, surprised when he received an urgent image in reply. Danger.

Conash tucked the belt into his pocket and stood up, peering down the path that led to the stream. Had something happened to his mother and sisters? Rivan was unsure, but Keal took flight, heading for the vegetable garden. Conash ran after him, arriving as his father and Rykar dropped their hoes and ran towards the house. Jarren grabbed Conash's arm and dragged him along so fast his feet barely touched the ground.

"What is it?" Conash cried, alarmed.

"Cotti!"

Conash's stomach knotted with dread, and he glanced down the valley at the village. Beyond it, a mass of yellow and blue, glinting with silver, moved through the fields. Faint plumes of smoke rose beyond it, and running figures fled the village in its path. Reaching the house, his father released him and turned to Rykar.

"Go and fetch your mother and sisters. Run!"

Rykar raced down the path towards the stream, and Conash gripped the hem of his father's coat, staring at the approaching horde.

"What do we do, Papa?"

His father shook his head. "Pray that the border garrison reaches us before they do. Someone will have alerted them by now."

"We could hide in the forest."

"They'll hunt us down like deer. Go fetch Orcal."

Conash ran to the goat shed, his heart hammering with terror. The Cotti army approached at a gallop, spreading out as it stopped to burn and kill. Some soldiers chased fleeing villagers, but still more continued to advance. The thunder of hooves reached him, mingled with distant screams and the clash of steel. As he dragged Orcal from the goat shed, he knew they were all going to die. They reached the house as Rykar arrived with the panting women, little Ryana weeping and clinging to her mother's skirts. Shinda stayed close to her mother too, paying no heed to her familiar's whinnying and cavorting as Cavat tried to persuade her to climb on her back and flee.

Conash's father went to the shed and emerged with two pitchforks, handing one to Rykar. They exchanged a meaningful glance, alike in temperament though not in animal kin or looks. Rykar had inherited his mother's black hair and grey eyes, like Conash and his sisters. Only Orcal had his father's green eyes and brown hair. Conash longed to run, and watched the Cotti advance with a lump of terror blocking his throat. It seemed to take only minutes for them to reach the farm, and a group of five split from the rest in search of booty.

Alenstra ran into the house and emerged armed with a kitchen knife, her eyes bright with defiance. The bronze-skinned soldiers galloped around the house, shot burning arrows into the thatch and set it ablaze, driving the family from the shelter of its walls. Jarren lunged at a rider with his pitchfork, forcing the man to rein his horse aside. Conash's mother, Misha, lifted Ryana onto her hip and clutched Shinda close to her skirts as she watched the circling men with wide, terrified eyes.