Lord Protector (34 page)

The thug roared, and the plank caught Blade across the ribs, punched the air from his lungs and sent him rolling down the street. He lay gasping, the pain paralysing him. The cutthroat swung at the cat, who let go and leapt away with a scritch of claws on stone. The man looked like bull kin, so his familiar was unlikely to join the fray. Blade rolled onto his hands and knees and tried to climb to his feet, his ribs grating. He was becoming too old for this, he reflected. The thug advanced, raising the plank for a killing blow.

"You! Halt!" A voice rang out from further down the alley.

The man hesitated, glancing past Blade, then turned and trotted off, tossing the plank into the gutter with a clatter.

"That's him!" a girl's voice cried, and Blade blessed the proclivity of females to revere rescuers, even reluctant ones. He slumped, rolling onto his back. Several people clustered around him, muttering, then many hands lifted him and carried him to a coach in the next street, where he was laid on the seat. He closed his eyes as a perfumed person joined him, and a soft hand touched his brow. The carriage rumbled through the streets and stopped before a brightly lighted mansion, where the same strong hands carried him inside and upstairs to lay him on a soft, sweet-scented bed.

Muttering voices reached him, and he caught snatches of the heated debate going on in the corner of the room.

"...Gods, he stinks!"

"He saved me, Papa, we must..."

"...He's just a stinking vagabond, I say..."

There was a thud, which Blade assumed was the girl's jewel-slippered foot hitting the floor.

"I want you to help him!" Her shriek made Blade's head ring.

Shushing sounds followed. "All right, my dear..."

The assassin sighed as people clustered around him again, servants, he assumed, who peeled off his soggy, half-rotten clothes with sounds of disgust. Soft hands washed him with scented water, and the sight of his trademark brought shocked gasps and exclamations. Later, a healer poked his injuries and strapped his chest and ankle, smeared ointment on his bite wounds and bandaged them. Someone lifted his head and poured a bitter potion into his mouth, and then he slept.

A presence close by woke Blade, and he opened his eyes a slit. Morning sun streamed in through tall windows draped with deep blue curtains to stripe a polished wooden floor sprinkled with expensive, shaggy drev hide rugs. A floral canopy hung above him, and a dainty, carved table with two chairs stood under the window. A freckle-faced girl of about sixteen, with fiery locks and a snub nose, sat beside him on the bed, her brown eyes bright with mischief and curiosity. He discovered that he was naked beneath the sheets, which covered him to his armpits. The girl grinned.

"Hello."

"Good morning," he murmured.

She flinched when she met his eyes, her grin fading. "You helped me last night."

"I recall."

"Who are you?"

He smiled. "You would not believe me."

"I know you are an assassin. Papa wanted to toss you out into the street when he found out. I stopped him."

"I am grateful to you."

She cocked her head. "You speak like a noble."

"I am one."

"You have an assassin's mark."

"I know."

She leant closer. "I am Lady Jillina."

"I am High Lord Conash, Lord Protector of Jashimari, sacred Knight of the Veil and former Regent. Oh, and husband of Regent Chiana. I'm also known as the Queen's Blade."

Jillina looked stunned, as well she may, Blade mused, but that had been his intention.

"You cannot be," she said.

"Why not?"

"You were dressed in rags."

"Ah, well, I have had a spot of trouble."

Jillina frowned, then jumped up and ran out, curls bouncing. Blade wondered how long it would take her father to arrive. About two minutes, as it turned out. A florid man with bushy red sideburns and sharp green eyes, clad in a white silk shirt, blue velvet jacket and matching trousers, stopped at the end of the bed.

"My daughter claims that you told her you are the Regent's husband."

Blade wondered why he had chosen that title. "I am."

The man walked closer. "Even if I was inclined to believe you despite your state when you arrived here last night, everyone knows that High Lord Conash is dead."

"Am I?" Blade frowned. "Then it appears I am the only one who does not know that. Fortunately, I would say."

"It is a preposterous claim. Anyone can see you are a commoner, probably a beggar, judging by your former attire."

"I was a commoner before Queen Minna-Satu elevated me, and I have just spent the last three years incarcerated in a Contara prison. Hence my poor attire. I would guess that the tale of my death started at about that time, did it not?"

The nobleman hesitated. "Something everyone knows."

Blade sighed. "You do not have to believe me. I am grateful for your help, and only ask for a little food and some fresh clothes, then I shall be on my way. Since your daughter introduced herself as a lady, I must assume you are a lord. Do you have a name?"

"Brenthal."

"Well, Lord Brenthal, I shall inform my wife of your hospitality upon my return to the palace in Jondar, and I am sure she will see fit to commend you. I shall do so myself, naturally. Of course, I do intend to go to my estate first, to rest."

Lord Brenthal stepped closer, looking confused. "You do speak like a noble."

"It is a talent of mine, which I discovered during my career as an assassin."

"If you are who you claim, I am duty bound to help you."

Blade raised a hand. "Please, do not trouble yourself. You have done enough. I would consider the loan of a horse an added boon, however."

"How did you die?"

Blade's brows rose. "I have no idea, since I am not dead."

"Then you do not know that the Cotti prince, Dravis, claimed to have killed you."

"No, I did not, although it does not surprise me. I killed the lying worm."

Brenthal stepped closer, looking excited. "Yes, he is dead. If you are who you say you are, I am honoured."

"Well then, you had best make up your mind about whether or not you believe me."

Brenthal glanced at Blade's tattoo and bowed. "It is a great honour to have you in my house, My Lord. I shall send a message to your wife at once."

"No, do not."

"Why not?"

Blade sighed. "She probably will not believe you, and, as I said, I wish to spend some time on my estate. If she does believe you, she will most likely send a battalion to fetch me. I wish to have some peace and quiet before I return to Jondar."

Brenthal hesitated, clearly torn between earning the Regent's favour and the Lord Protector's. "Of course, My Lord, as you wish. I shall send up some breakfast at once. Would you like the healer to see you again? You have some grave injuries."

"No, just breakfast will be fine. I will leave tomorrow or the day after."

The lord's face fell. "But My Lord, you need to recover."

"I shall do so on my estate, where I will be more comfortable. How far is it from here?"

"Six days' ride."

"Excellent."

Brenthal's expression clouded with doubt. "How is it that you do not know where your estate is?"

"I do, I just do not know where I am. I have just walked all the way from Andrango Prison in Contara, Lord Brenthal."

"That is incredible, My Lord. I apologise for my distrust."

Blade waved a hand. "Think nothing of it."

Brenthal left to order breakfast, and Blade relaxed with a sigh. As he had hoped, his numerous useless titles earned him the best possible care after that, and he dined on lyrebirds' tongues and grilled sunfish washed down with musky red wine that night. Lady Brenthal came to introduce herself, bowing low and blushing like a girl. Blade knew it was only a matter of time before the lord brought his friends to see his prize, and swore the nobleman to secrecy. Lady Jillina visited him often to prattle about court, which he listened to with half an ear.

On the third day, when some of his strength had returned, he asked for clothes and a horse. Brenthal presented him with a smart black leather outfit that was almost an exact replica of the clothes Blade had worn upon his arrival. The lord also gave him six excellent black-hilted daggers, which pleased Blade no end.

On the day of his departure, however, he rejected the snorting stallion that was led up for him to mount and chose a calm bay horse from the stables, claiming his injury as the reason for it. Brenthal lamented his lack of consideration, and the entire family came out to wave as Blade rode away.

When his estate came into sight six days later, Blade rode through the muddy village and up the paved road to the castle at a trot, eager for a hot meal, warm bath and soft bed.

Chapter Twenty Three

Lilu wielded the rolling pin in broad strokes, flattening pastry for a pie crust. Arjath had returned from a hunt with several fat rabbits, supplementing the chickens and pigs that were their usual fare. Not that they had any cause for complaint. A heavy purse arrived each moon to pay for their keep and run the estate. The estate manager paid her a comfortable wage from it, although he always looked a little sour when he handed over the money. Clearly he thought she was overpaid, but he was an honest man. Then again, she mused, few would dare to be dishonest when their employer was the Jashimari Regent. She would never forget the terrible day when the missive had arrived from the palace, informing them of Blade's death.

Lilu still found it hard to believe, and Symbell did not believe it at all. Nonetheless, the estate had passed to his wife. No one really knew how Blade had died. The Cotti princes had had something to do with it, certainly. Prince Dravis had been assassinated, perhaps by Blade, but he had not been seen since, and his wife had received a half-rotted head that was supposed to be his. After three years, it seemed that the tales may be true, although Blade had vanished for fifteen years before this.

Life had been good since she had moved to Blade's estate, apart from the hardships she had endured during the Contara invasion. Her thoughts turned, as they often did, to her former benefactor. She still missed him terribly, and every day she hoped and prayed that the tales were false and he was alive. The news of his death had crushed her utterly, and it had taken her moons to stop weeping every time she thought of him. He had given her life meaning, and could do no wrong in her eyes. The certainty that he had borne her some affection had sustained her over the years, and his accomplishments still filled her with pride. She pondered the strange man she loved so much as she rolled the pastry, smiling at the memories.

The first time she had seen him, lying battered and bloody in a gutter, she had thought he was dead. It had surprised her to find that he still breathed in shallow gasps. He had been no more than two and twenty then, and inexperienced at his trade. Nursing him back to health had been a trial, but she treasured the memories. Although at first she had been afraid of him, she had grown to love him in just a few days, despite his ill temper and cutting remarks. Saving his life was her proudest accomplishment, and she had been fiercely protective and possessive of him ever since.

Sensing a presence behind her, she swung around, the rolling pin ready. A black-clad man leant against the doorframe, watching her with a slight smile. Lilu gaped at him, unable to believe her eyes. It had taken her three years to come to terms with his death, yet there was no mistaking the icy grey eyes that met hers, or his fine features. Dropping the rolling pin with a shriek of joy, she ran to embrace him. He straightened, looking a little alarmed, as he always did when confronted by her enthusiastic welcome. She foiled his attempts to fend her off and engulfed him in a powerful hug, and he grunted as she squeezed the air out of him.

"Stop it, Lilu," he said. "That hurts." He pushed her away before she could kiss him.

Lilu gazed at him, a lump blocking her throat. She gulped, and her eyes overflowed. "You're alive."

"Evidently." Blade clasped his ribs, and his gauntness and pallor horrified her. Sweat beaded his brow, and shadows lurked under his eyes.

"You're hurt!"

"A little." He brushed at the smudges of flour on his jacket, looked annoyed and sniffed his sleeve. "God, what do you stink of this time?"

"Probably lonions." She frowned. "What have you done to yourself?"

Blade snorted and limped over to the table, eyeing the pastry and bowls of raw ingredients on it. Lilu followed, studying him as he sank into a chair, holding his ribs.

"I didn't do it to myself."

"Let me see."

"There's nothing you can do."

"I'll be the judge of that." She knelt beside his chair and unlaced his jacket, ignoring his glare.

"I need a drink before you start prodding me."

Lilu fetched a bottle and goblet, pouring it for him. Returning to her task while he gulped the wine, she stripped off his jacket, discovering the strip of linen that bound his chest. She unwound it, biting her lip as a broad line of dark bruises was revealed, just under his pectorals. Sweat sheened his torso, and when she laid a hand on his skin, she found it hot.

"You're burning up. What happened?"

"Someone clobbered me."

Lilu probed the bruised area gently, and he grunted, scowling. "You've got at least three cracked ribs," she informed him.

"That many, huh?"

"At least. How could you ride all the way here injured like this?"

"I didn't have much choice, although I walked most of the way. I didn't want to stay in Contara and be hunted."

"What were you doing in Contara?"

"Long story." He gulped his wine.

"I have time."

Lilu rose and went to a cupboard, digging in it until she found the rolls of bandages she had stored there for her often-injured lord. He winced and grimaced when she bound his ribs, tighter and more expertly than he had done.

"I have to breathe, you know," he said.

"You will. But these won't heal unless you keep them still. How long ago did it happen?"