Master of the Dance (34 page)

Chiana looked up at him, her eyes dark with sorrow. "Let me go."

"No."

"I do not want to live without her."

"You must." He grunted as the balustrade dug into his ribs.

"I cannot."

"I will not let you die."

"Why not?" Two tears ran down her cheeks. "You do not love me. You never will. What do I have to live for?"

"A lot." Blade groaned, his hand aching from the strain. He tried to reach her wrist with his other hand, but it was too far away. "Give me your other hand."

"No. I want to die. There is no reason to go on."

"There is. Damn it, Chiana, give me your hand!"

She flexed her wrist, weakening his hold. It slipped, and despair washed through him. If she died, he would be Regent for another ten years.

"Do not leave me, Chiana."

Her eyes filled with surprise and doubt. "You do not love me."

"You do not know that."

"You have told me many times."

"How do you know it was true?"

"How do I know you are not lying now?"

"You do not." Blade struggled to cling to her, sweat dewing his brow. "But I could be telling the truth."

Those behind him tried to pull him back, but her weight held him over the railing, and the angle of his arm made retreat impossible. They could not reach her, and her life depended solely upon his weakening hold on her wrist. Men ran about below, staring up at them, some pointing and exclaiming in horror.

"Then say it, Blade."

He gritted his teeth at the pain of the stone digging into his chest. "Take my hand, and I will."

"No. Say it now."

"I cannot hold on much longer."

"Then say it, before it is too late."

"Damn you." Blade grimaced, gasping as her weight bent him cruelly over the railing.

Chiana twisted her wrist, and his hand slipped. He was no longer certain that he could save her, even if she co-operated, yet still the words stuck in his throat. It was just another lie, a meaningless platitude to save her and free him from the onerous office of regent. He groaned, biting his lip as he tried to pull her up so he could reach her with his other hand, but his grip on her wrist was not strong enough to withstand the change of angle that it entailed. Blade gasped, gazing down at her, certain that at any moment he would be forced to watch her fall to the paving stones far below. This would have to be the most convincing lie he ever told, or she would ensure that she fell, he knew.

Blade met her sorrowful, despairing eyes, which begged for the one thing he could not give, and without which she would die.

"I love you, Chiana."

Her eyes closed, and she seemed to savour the words he knew she had never expected to hear. When she opened them again, fresh tears streamed from them, but a slight smile curved her mouth. Her hand closed around his wrist with surprising strength, gripping the dagger sheath strapped there, which provided excellent purchase.

Blade pulled her up, his arm trembling with the strain. She reached up with her other hand, taking his when he stretched it down to her. With both her hands in his grasp, he lifted her far enough for Insash to lean over and grab her arm, and between them they pulled her over the railing. As soon as she was on the balcony, Blade flopped down on his back and clasped his arm, which burnt and throbbed. Verdan fussed over Chiana, and between him and the maidens, they tugged her inside. Insash squatted beside the railing, studying the assassin with newfound respect.

"That was the most amazing thing I have ever seen. You caught her in mid-air. And to be able to hold onto her like that..." The advisor shook his head. "Few men would have such strength."

Blade flexed his aching hand. "Assassins need strong hands. We sometimes use them to break men's necks."

Insash recoiled from Blade's harsh words, as he had intended. A rush of fresh bitterness filled him, a deep anger at being forced to utter the words he had vowed never to speak. Somehow their utterance had diminished him, robbing him of the cold aloofness he treasured so much, and he resented it. Insash held out a hand to help him up, but he ignored it and rose to his feet unaided. He entered the room and headed for the door, longing for the solitude of his rooms.

"Blade, wait."

The assassin turned, his hard eyes lashing the pale woman who sat on the bed, surrounded by her handmaidens. She made a curt gesture, which included Verdan and Insash.

"Leave us."

They filed out and closed the door. Chiana rose and approached him, her eyes gentle and sorrowful.

"I will live for you. So long as you never rescind those words, even if they were a lie. Inka is gone and can never return, now only you can fill my heart and bring me joy."

His resentment flared at her assumption. "How do you know that they were a lie?"

She smiled, stopping before him. "I do not. Why could you not let me die?"

"I do not want to be Regent."

"Ah. A good answer. And true, I would wager. But your words were not a lie, were they?"

He gazed at her, longing to deny them. "No."

Her smile widened, and raw adoration blazed in her eyes. She reached for his hands, but he clasped them behind his back.

"This changes nothing."

"It changes everything. I did not think I would know joy again until you spoke those words."

"I shall leave in the morning."

"No!" Her smile vanished, and she stepped closer, reaching up to grip the lapels of his jacket as if she intended to physically prevent him from leaving. "You cannot leave me now."

"You cannot stop me. I am going to kill Endor."

"No. I forbid it. Killing him will not bring Inka back, but he may take you from me also, and that I could not bear."

"I swore to avenge you."

She shook her head. "I am not dead."

"He killed a part of you, and, had I not been here to prevent it, you would have died too."

"But you are as good at saving lives as you are at taking them." She released him and walked over to the table to pour herself a cup of wine. "If he kills you, I shall have no reason to live."

"He will not kill me."

"Bolt and Lance failed, and are probably dead. Clearly he is well prepared and protected."

"That will do him no good. Lance was my apprentice, and a good assassin, but he was not me. He made a mistake. I will not."

She took a gulp of wine. "Because you are the legendary Queen's Blade, I suppose?"

"Yes."

"You are not invincible. You retired fifteen years ago, and should not have renounced it."

"I had to, there were Cotti princes who needed killing."

"And now you have killed them." Chiana returned to stand before him. "Have you not had your fill of death yet?"

"Long since, but my need for vengeance remains."

"Why do you feel the need to avenge my suffering?"

"You are my wife. The insults and torments he inflicted upon you are an insult to me, as he intended. That is why he did it."

Blade went to the table and poured himself a cup of wine, draining it in two gulps. "This is why assassins do not marry, and few have families even out of wedlock. Their womenfolk are vulnerable to vengeance seekers, or those who hate assassins. His death is my payment for hiding Kerra. I am going to kill that bastard, and nothing you can do or say will stop me."

She bowed her head, gazing down at the wine in her cup. "Then at least wait a few days. I am not yet ready to take up my office again."

He sighed. "Two days then, no more."

She raised her head and walked over to him. "And will you promise to return?"

"No."

"You must!" Chiana put down her cup, gazing at him. "Please do not disappear again. I need you with me now more than ever."

"I am not your pawn, to be commanded. I please myself, and I hate this place."

"I am not commanding you. I am begging you."

"No." He put down his cup and spun on his heel, heading for the door.

"If you do not return, I shall kill myself."

Blade turned in the doorway, his eyes chips of grey ice. "You are trying to blackmail me?"

"Do you care enough for it to work?"

Once again he longed to deny it, but could not. "I certainly resent it enough to make you regret it."

"I would never regret it, no matter how cruel or unpleasant you are."

Blade turned and walked out, closing the door. Chiana stared at it, her emotions a confused, conflicting melee. Grief sat like a cold stone in her heart, constant and heavy, making her eyes burn with unshed tears. Around it, like a gossamer veil, was the joy that Blade's words had brought, fragile and flickering, cushioning the awful pain of her loss and making her continued existence bearable. Mixed with them were strange new feelings of hatred and bitterness, a deep, burning loathing for the man who had slain her familiar, and a strange exultation at the prospect of his death at the hands of her husband.

In addition, there was a hot, passionate terror that he may fail, and suffer the same fate as Lance and Bolt, a prospect she could not bear to contemplate. She was not certain she would be able to carry on without him. Her love for him, and the precious words he had spoken to save her, were all she had to cling to now. They echoed in her mind, bringing a soft stab of joy each time. How often had she dreamt of hearing those words from him? A thousand, perhaps. Now she had a memory to cherish, one that was burnt into her mind forever.

Verdan glanced around as the doors to Chiana's suite opened. The assassin emerged, looking angry. Insash waited beside the healer, along with a bevy of servants laden with trays of food, which they took in to Chiana's room at a nod from Insash. Verdan stepped into Blade's path when he would have walked past them without pause.

"Will she be all right now?"

"Yes."

The healer sagged with relief. "Thank you, Lord Conash."

"There is no need to thank me for saving my own wife, Verdan. I did not do it for you."

"But we have great need of her, as Regent."

"As do I."

Blade stepped around Verdan and walked away, leaving the two men gazing after him.

"Strange man," Insash commented.

"Very," Verdan agreed. "But with all that he has been through, it is not surprising. He is, of course, deeply disturbed."

"Mad, you mean?"

"On the brink of it, I would say."

Insash's brows rose. "And this is the man you wanted to rule Jashimari?"

"He did it, and he saved the Regent. His kind of madness is not the sort that leads to rash acts. I only mean that he is capable of many things that you and I are not, yet he is incapable of a great many things that most men take for granted."

"Like love."

Verdan shook his head. "Oh no, I think he is capable of feeling that. He is just not able to show it."

The next day, Chiana sought out her husband, and found him sitting under a tree in the garden. He shot her an irritated look when she sank down on the grass before him, uncaring of her rich satin dress. She had made a special effort with her appearance, and her maids had spent time-glasses dressing her hair in a fetching pile of ringlets, curls and plaits sprinkled with jewelled pins. A little rouge brightened her cheeks and berry juice reddened her lips. Kohl, newly imported from Cotti, darkened her eyes.

Blade frowned when she wriggled closer to his outstretched legs and placed a hand on his knee. Her eyes roamed over his face, coming to rest on the pale pink scar that ran along his cheekbone. Shocked, she reached out and touched it without thinking. He did not recoil from her caress, but merely watched her with arctic eyes.

"How did you get this?"

"A fight."

"Tell me about it, please. I long to hear everything that happened to you in Cotti."

He tilted his head. "Why?"

"Because I was not there to share it with you, silly."

His eyes roamed over her face. "You look like a tart."

"There is not pleasing you, is there? When I dress drably, you say I am dowdy. When I try to look nice, you call me a tart."

"I did not call you a tart; I said you look like one."

"It is the same thing."

"No, it is not. That muck does not become you, Chiana."

She smiled. "Do you care what I look like?"

"Not particularly."

"Then why do you comment on it?"

He sighed, shaking his head. "Because you are doing it to try to please me, and it does not."

"I see. Then I shall wash it off. Now will you tell me what happened to you in Cotti?"

Blade's eyes flicked past her, and he stared into space as he related the tale in some detail. It was not merely the story that fascinated her, but the soft timbre of his voice and the fact that she was able to study him while he spoke without appearing to stare. The story ended with his arrival at the palace to find her in a coma, and himself the Regent.

"Was that when you realised what you felt for me?"

He looked at her. "No."

"When did you then?"

"I am not going to discuss my feelings with you. The subject is closed."

Her eyes stung, and she lowered them to his hands. "You cannot continue to be so cold towards me now that you have revealed your feelings."

"Watch me."

Two tears overflowed and ran down her cheeks, making him snort and frown. She murmured, "I thought you professed not to be a cruel man."

"I am not," he retorted. "It is you who torment yourself with dreams of what can never be."

"You do not know what I dream, but it is not the dreams that torment me, only your refusal to offer me even the smallest amount of comfort."

He rested his head against the tree. "I can never be what you want."

"You do not know what I want."

"I have a fair idea."

"Are you incapable of a kind word or a soft glance? Is it too much to ask for an occasional embrace, a few chaste kisses?"

"Yes."

"No." She brushed the tears from her cheeks and frowned at him. "It is not that you cannot, but that you will not."

"I cannot. Such things are alien to me now. I would not know how to do them, and I have no wish to learn."