Master of the Dance (7 page)

The servant muttered, "I still reckon I could flatten you."

"I wouldn't advise you to try."

"Only reason I don't is 'cause the King told me to treat you nice."

Blade picked up the green tunic. "I want you to take a message to Trelath, and tell him it is from Dravis."

Olan scowled. "I don't serve Dravis."

"I don't care... Ah. You mean it would be suspicious."

"Very."

"Then could you leave a note in his rooms?"

The servant nodded, and Blade dropped the tunic, turning to the desk that contained writing implements. A minute later, he handed Olan a brief, scrawled missive that he hoped looked like Dravis had written in a hurry. Even if it did not, it should make Trelath curious enough to do as it asked, or he may assume that Dravis' scribe had written it.

Olan took it and left, and Blade started the long process of donning the necessary disguise. First he glued the shoulder-length blond wig in place, brushing it to a high shine. He used the golden oil to darken the skin of his hands, neck and face, rubbing it into his brows to lighten them to brown. Since Dravis was larger than him, he donned the tunic and trousers over his clothes, padding them with rags. Finally he put on the rings and hung the gold chains around his neck. He studied the result in the mirror, changing his expression to one that gave the impression of youthfulness, raising his brows and curling his lips in a slight smile. As he was practising it, Olan returned, stopping dead when he entered the room. He stared at Blade, his startled expression changing to one of amazement.

"That's damned uncanny, assassin."

"Do I look like Dravis?"

"You could almost be his twin. But the brows are wrong. His are thicker, and arched."

Blade turned back to the mirror and picked up a pot of golden powder, which he used to cover the ends of his brows. He then mixed the powder with soot to form a brown colour, with which he drew arched brows. Olan studied the result and nodded.

"Now you're the spitting image."

"Good. You delivered the note?"

"Of course."

"Did anyone see you?"

Olan shook his head. "Trelath was out. There was no one there. But I saw him returning just after I left."

"Excellent." Blade glanced at the window. "Another time-glass until sunset. He was probably making arrangements for his protection tonight."

Olan leant against the wall and eyed the assassin. "What if he doesn't come?"

"Then I hope this disguise is as good as you say it is."

"I wouldn't mind seeing you caught and executed, assassin, but you'd probably drag my king down with you, and I don't want that."

"Because you would end up back on the gallows."

"Exactly."

Blade checked the daggers in his wrist sheaths. "You have mellowed since last we met."

Olan shrugged. "I'm getting old." He pushed himself away from the wall. "If you don't want anything else, I'll go."

The assassin nodded and wandered over to the window to gaze out of it as the servant left. He considered his plan, looking for flaws. By the time the sun sank into the desert in a display of fiery glory, he was calm and prepared. He left his rooms and took a roundabout route to the place where he had asked Trelath to meet him, avoiding guard patrols. Arriving at the enclosed back garden, he strolled past the pair of soldiers at the entrance, who snapped to attention.

Blade wandered along the paved path to the spot he had selected earlier, where several bushes blocked the guards' view. Many mingled, flowery fragrances spiced the air, as pale night blooms opened in the gathering darkness. This garden was particularly overgrown, deliberately so, he assumed, since all the others were so well kept. Branches encroached on the paths and creepers scaled the trees, trailing flowering tendrils. Benches hid in secret niches, and moss-covered statues of beasts and children posed amid beds of blooms.

Arriving at the appointed place, he waited while the gloom deepened. Nocturnal insects began to sing, replacing the birds that had fallen silent in the gathering dusk. Frogs croaked in a nearby pond and a fountain added its splashing to the evening chorus. Just as he was starting to wonder if Trelath would come, footsteps made him turn. The Prince walked towards him alone, as he had stipulated in his note. He knew Trelath would not find his request suspicious, since plotting against the King had to be carried out in secret. Even the most trusted guards or servants could be the King's spies.

Blade changed his expression to a guileless, youthful one, as he waited for the right moment to strike. He did not expect his disguise to fool Trelath upon close inspection, but the closer he came, the easier it would be. The Prince, however, seemed too preoccupied to pay close attention to the man he took to be his brother, glancing instead at the bushes that bordered the path. He came within a few paces before he turned his gaze on Blade.

"What is the problem, Dravis?" Trelath frowned, peering at the assassin and coming closer still. "I do not like being here, so make it quick."

Pleased that his disguise was as good as Olan had said, Blade murmured, "Afraid of the assassin?"

"No, I just do not like these bloody gardens. I thought you knew that."

Blade was curious to see if Trelath would realise his mistake, but the Prince merely looked peeved, stopping a pace away. Blade crossed his hands, gripped the hilts of the daggers in his sleeves and stepped closer. As Trelath opened his mouth to speak, Blade whipped his weapons out and slammed them into the Prince's chest. Trelath gaped, a soft mewl escaping his quivering lips as his eyes stretched wide in surprise and horror.

The Prince sank to his knees, and Blade leant closer to whisper, "It is nice to meet you at last, Trelath. I am the Queen's Blade, and this is for your ill treatment of my queen."

Trelath's mouth worked as he strived to call the guards, but the daggers lodged in his heart and lungs robbed him of the power of speech. Blade watched him die, only pulling the daggers out when Trelath's eyes glazed and he slumped to the ground. Since he could not wipe them on his victim's clothes as he usually did, he sheathed them and drew Dravis' weapon from his belt. He pushed the ornate dagger into one of the wounds and checked himself for blood, wiping a little off his fingers with his handkerchief.

Satisfied, he walked back along the path and past the guards, who bowed. As he retraced his steps to his rooms, he reflected that it was fortunate Cotti soldiers held their princes in such high regard. It might be time-glasses before the men plucked up the courage to see why Trelath was still in the garden.

Back in his rooms, he summoned Olan and ordered a bath, then stripped off the disguise. When the servant returned with drudges laden with hot water, Blade gave him the clothes and ordered him to return them to Dravis' rooms. The servant looked doubtful, but left with the items. Lying back in the tub of hot water, Blade experienced the euphoria that usually followed a successful assassination, which the extreme tension of his escape had denied him the night before.

Kerrion was eating supper with Minna and Kerra in his private quarters when Jadar brought him the news of Trelath's death. The elderly advisor looked upset, wringing his hands. Kerrion glanced at his wife, who picked at her roast fowl without expression, then at Kerra, who met his glance before turning her attention back to her grilled fish. The King assumed a suitably shocked and tragic aspect when he turned to Jadar again.

"Was it another assassination?"

"No, Sire. It seems that Prince Dravis is to blame this time. He was seen meeting Prince Trelath in the gardens, shortly before the Prince's body was discovered."

Kerrion frowned. "That does not mean that Dravis killed him. The assassin could have done it after he left."

"His dagger was found in Prince Trelath's body, Sire."

"I see." Kerrion wiped his mouth with his napkin. "That was exceedingly stupid of him."

"Indeed, Sire. Perhaps he panicked."

"Maybe. I suppose they could have argued, and Dravis killed his brother in a fit of rage."

"The guards heard no argument."

Kerrion glanced at the advisor. "You suspect something else?"

"It is possible that the dagger was left there to place the blame on Prince Dravis."

"By someone who looked exactly like Dravis, I suppose."

"Possibly, Sire."

"It seems more likely to me that Dravis was responsible. Is there enough evidence to convict him?"

Jadar nodded. "Yes, Sire. Unless Prince Dravis can prove that he was elsewhere at the time."

"Then question him, Jadar. You have my permission."

Jadar bowed. "As you wish, My King."

The advisor left, and Kerrion dismissed the hovering servants and turned to Minna. "Even if Dravis has an alibi, which I doubt, he is going to have a job refuting the evidence against him. Until Blade came here, this time and last, getting rid of my brothers was an impossible dream, but he makes it ridiculously easy."

She smiled. "That is because he is the best."

"I will not argue with that, my love. Now all I have to do is gather my remaining brothers and tell them what I want in return for their lives."

"Then it becomes more dangerous. If one of them should call your bluff..."

Kerrion shook his head. "I doubt that. Apart from Dravis and Endor, all the ambitious ones are dead. And if one of them does pluck up the courage to defy me, he will die before he can testify."

"Which will make the courts doubly suspicious."

"But lacking a witness."

"Dravis will accuse you," she pointed out.

"True, but his credibility will be suspect. The judges will think he is trying to blame me for his crime, and I will make my other brothers testify in my favour, if necessary."

Minna smiled and raised her wine cup. "Let us drink to our success, My Lord."

He picked up his goblet. "I have never been so glad that I saved that bastard's life as I am now. But I have a feeling he is going to become difficult."

"Oh yes, now he will want to return to Jashimari and claim his reward from Shamsara."

"He will have to wait until the laws are passed, in case I need him again."

Kerra lifted her cup. "To his continued success and safety."

Chapter Five

Dravis had no alibi for the time of Trelath's death. He claimed to have been alone in his bath, which only Kerrion knew to be the truth. Fortunately Jadar, who had been the first to question the young Prince, had not informed him of the reason for his enquiry as to Dravis' whereabouts. Otherwise, Kerrion was certain that Dravis would have claimed to have been elsewhere or to have had company in his tub, and bribed the necessary people to back him up. Jadar reported the Prince's admission to the judges, and, as a senior advisor, his word was not questioned. Dravis protested his innocence when the judges questioned him, blamed Kerrion for Trelath's and Chaymin's deaths, and claimed that he was being framed for the crime.

Dravis produced two cowering servants to attest to the fact that they had filled the Prince's tub, but the judges dismissed this as inconsequential, since the fact that the Prince's tub had been filled did not necessarily mean he had used it straight away. Dravis argued that he would have ensured that he had an iron-clad alibi, had he been responsible for Trelath's death. His brother's demise had already been judged to be an impulsive action, however, and the other evidence was damning. The court placed him in custody until a trial could be arranged, and he was sent to the palace dungeons to languish in a cell filled with all the comforts of home.

Kerrion ordered his other half-brothers to a meeting in his audience chamber, whose pale marble walls were resplendent with the war banners, shields and coats-of-arms of the many lords who had sworn fealty to him. Silver-trimmed, midnight blue curtains framed the tall windows that graced the length of the room, allowing in a flood of light to pattern the obsidian floor. Golden sconces held fresh torches, ready to be lighted at a moment's notice, should the King require the chamber after dusk.

As soon as all his brothers were present, Kerrion dismissed the servants and guards. The Princes glanced at each other as the doors closed, then turned to the King with varying expressions of wariness, annoyance and suspicion. Kerrion settled upon the ornate golden chair whose velvet cushions matched the curtains, which stood upon a rose quartz dais, and scanned their uneasy faces.

Prince Jovan stepped forward with an air of blustering indignation. "What is this about, Kerrion? We have other matters to attend to."

The King studied his half-brother, trying to recall the man's ancestry. He was the second son of Shandor's third wife, brother of Rigal and Dravis, and only five years younger than the King. That made him the eldest of Kerrion's surviving brothers, and fourth in the line of succession. Jovan's portly figure resulted from his propensity to overindulge in rich foods and his passion for scholarly pursuits.

Jovan spent most his time in the palace library, poring over old volumes and collating ancient parchments, as well as writing books of horrible poetry over which favour-currying courtiers enthused. His receding hair revealed a shiny pate, and a well-trimmed beard strived to hide the double chin that bulged from his collar. His familiar, a large ape, spent its days sunning itself and eating copious amounts of fruit, much like its human companion, although Jovan spent his slothful time-glasses acquiring knowledge. Unlike his power seeking brothers, he had fared poorly in the combat training forced upon all the princes, and had never had any interest in the throne.

Kerrion met Jovan's hostile brown eyes. "As you know, your brother Dravis has been accused of killing Trelath."

"He did not do it," Jovan spluttered.

"I know."

Jovan's jaw dropped. "What are you saying?"

"Trelath was killed by an extremely skilled assassin, one who has earned a considerable reputation from his talents. I trust you have all heard of the Queen's Blade, who killed our father and now seven of our brothers?"