Sacred Knight of the Veil (19 page)

A high, weathered grey stone wall surrounded the city, and Blade headed for the rutted road that led to the tall, scarred gates. They rode through the unguarded portal without attracting many curious glances from the sly looking miscreants who loitered there, their eyes darting. Assassins were not considered criminals, but their profession was scorned in law abiding towns. She wondered if there was much work for hired killers in Dramali. White-washed buildings lined the road, run down and crumbling from lack of repair, many with sagging, patched roofs. Potholes pocked the dung-splattered streets, and aged harridans watched them pass from doorways, sucked pipes and swapped gossip. Dramali lacked the bustle of Jondar, owning a more subdued and less populated air.

Blade stopped at the first inn and gave their horses to the man at the livery next door. Kerra followed him into a dim taproom with soot-stained walls and filthy, mildewed rushes covering its floor. Men sat and drank at rough-hewn tables in dark groups, most bearded and beady eyed. Buxom serving girls evaded groping hands with long-practiced ease as they delivered fresh flagons to crowded tables. The rumble of voices lessened at Blade's entrance, and patrons glanced up at the new arrivals without great interest.

As Blade went to the counter and waited to be served, she noticed a black-clad man rise from his seat and leave the inn. When the innkeeper came over, Blade ordered a room for the night, then led the way to an empty table, where Kerra almost fell off the rickety chair when it wobbled. She blushed and settled more cautiously on the treacherous furniture, shooting the assassin a covert glance. He ignored her blunder and flagged down a passing serving wench.

After they had each consumed a plate of greasy rabbit stew and a cup of watered tar berry wine, Blade led Kerra up the creaking stairs to a pokey room with peeling walls, a sagging bed and wobbly stool. He sank down on the bed with a sigh, unlaced his jacket and shirt and rubbed his aching throat. Red welts marked it where the dog's teeth had striven to pierce his collar's tough leather. If not for its protection, his throat would have been torn out. Stripping off his jacket, he inspected the damage to the collar, straightening the metal strips that had been bent in the struggle.

A couple of strands of chain mail had been sheered through by the sword stroke that should have hacked open his rib cage, and he made a mental note to have it repaired the next day. The wound in his shoulder throbbed, adding its discomfort to his growing medley of injuries. Dropping the jacket on the bed beside him, he opened his shirt to examine the red mark on his ribs, probed them and winced. It seemed that he had a couple of cracked ribs, which would make life difficult for a while. He had pondered the battle all day, going over each move and counter move, as well as all the mistakes he had made.

The encounter had been a poor one, and, if not for the Cotti's reluctance to send in their dogs, he might not have survived it. That, he had to admit, was due to the Knights injuring two of the familiars at the outset, making the Cotti leery of using their precious dogs against him. He had underestimated the dogs' courage and strength, however, and their three-pronged attack had surprised him. Although he would have won even without Sir Raylin's timely arrival, his injuries proved that he was not performing at his peak.

Blade did not consider himself to be a fighter, and avoided conflict whenever possible, but all assassins were skilled in self-defence, since men who hated their kind sometimes attacked them. An assassin who could not protect himself against an unexpected attack, or evade capture by his victim's guards, would not have a long career. He had thought that his constant exercise and practice was enough, but the fight had proven that he needed to hone his skills if he was to protect the Queen.

More strength and speed were required, which had been lacking in his fighting, and had almost cost him his life. He recalled the sight of the Cotti's sword whistling down at him, and being unable to avoid it. He rubbed his ribs, grateful that they were only cracked. The Cotti's heavy swords required little skill to use, but, when wielded with the considerable strength required to do so, could almost chop a man in half.

Kerra perched on the wobbly stool and watched the assassin. After inspecting his injuries and the damage to his jacket, he became lost in thought, staring at the floor for several minutes. He rubbed his eyes and yawned, reminding her of her own fatigue. She wondered what he was thinking, and how much the bruises hurt. Once she had fallen on a slippery floor and banged her knee, but, although it had hurt, it had not changed colour, and the maid who had polished the floor had been dismissed.

Kerra remembered the pain, and how furious she had been, but, compared to the battering Blade had taken, it was trifling. Even the scratches the branches had inflicted were trivial, yet a few days ago she would have thrown a fit if she had been injured in such a manner. While her tolerance over the last few days surprised her, now she ached, and her clothes stank of horse sweat. Her scalp itched from the dye he had rubbed into her hair, and her eyes burnt with fatigue. When he continued to gaze into space, rubbing his neck, she broke into his reverie.

"I would like a bath."

His pale eyes focussed on her, narrowing. "Would you now?"

"Would you not?"

"Indeed I would. This inn does not offer bathing facilities, however. Are you going to come to the public bathhouse with me then?"

"Why not?"

"Would you bathe in front of other women?"

Kerra snorted. "I have been bathed by maids all my life. Why would I not?"

"You will have to bathe yourself."

"I shall manage. And a change of clothes would be nice."

He stroked his throat, his eyes raking her outfit. "Hmm. Tomorrow you shall have both."

"Not now?" The thought of going to bed without bathing for two days disgusted her, but she caught the hard glint in his eyes and added, "Very well. Then I shall go to sleep."

"Good." He pulled off his boots and stretched out on the bed with a sigh. Kerra stared at him in confusion. In previous inns, he had rented rooms with two beds, but now there was only one. Her tolerance came to an end, and anger bubbled up in her breast.

"You will have to sleep on the floor," she announced.

He smiled. "Will I?"

"Of course!"

"Make me."

She stared at him, speechless, then jumped up and strode over to the bed. "I am not sleeping on the floor!"

"Yes, you are."

"I am the Queen!"

He closed his eyes. "Why do you not shout it a little louder? I do not think that the cutthroats downstairs heard you."

She lowered her voice with an effort. "You cannot do this."

"Yes I can."

Her hand itched to slap his face, but, remembering Chiana's words, she controlled the urge, clenching it instead. "I agreed to obey you in matters pertaining to my safety, and I have honoured that vow, but this is too much. I will not sleep on the floor."

"You did in Jondar."

"You were hurt, and the bed was not much better than the floor then. Now I want the bed."

He opened his eyes a slit and gazed at her. "You have always got everything you wanted, not so?"

"Yes!"

"Well, now you are out of luck. Apprentices sleep on the floor."

"Then rent a room with two beds."

"This was the last one."

Kerra glared at him. "If you do not get off the bed, I will drag you out of it."

"Will you?" He smiled. "This should be amusing."

"You think I will not? You think I am afraid of you because you are an assassin?"

"No. I just know you will not succeed."

"Do not wager on it."

His smile broadened. "Come on then, try."

Goaded beyond endurance, she grabbed his shirt and tried to haul him from the bed. Blade chuckled, then his hands flashed up and gripped her wrists in a crushing hold, making her gasp and try to wrench free. He pulled her closer, forcing her to kneel beside the bed, her hands going numb. His expression became grim.

"Now listen to me carefully, you spoilt little savage. There are certain things I will not tolerate, and one of them is a girl trying to bully me. I know how your mind works, and how you expect chivalry and gentleness from men. I know how you think your prettiness earns you safety and privilege, to say nothing of your being a queen. So let us get this straight now. It does not work on me. One of the reasons Chiana entrusted you to me is that female wiles are wasted on me, and I think you know why."

She gritted her teeth. "Let go of me!"

"When I am finished. You vowed to obey me, and that means in all things. So when I say you sleep on the floor, that is what you do. I shall endeavour to be as pleasant as I can, which is not easy for a man like me. So far, I think I have done remarkably well."

"You have dragged me around like a dog."

"Doubtless I shall do worse than that in the future, to ensure your safety. As long as you are in my care, I will do whatever I think necessary, and you will go along with it, understand?"

"Let go!"

"Understand?" His grip tightened, and she hissed with pain.

"Yes!"

"Good." He slackened his hold, allowing the blood to resume its flow to her hands, but did not release her. "Now, let us get one more thing quite clear right now. It is extremely dangerous to attack an assassin, as you may have noticed."

"You would not dare -"

"It is not a case of daring, Kerra, it is a case of training. This time I was expecting it, so I chose to teach the lesson now, while it is safe. I have reflexes learnt over more years than you have lived, that you never want to see."

"What do you mean?" she asked, her curiosity aroused.

"I mean do not hit me, and do not try to give me a fright. No childish pranks and no bullying, or you will be sorry."

"When we get back to Jondar, you will be sorry."

"For this?" He released her and smiled. "By that time you will have many more grudges, if you are inclined to hold them. But beware of what you threaten, it may return to haunt you. Here are a couple of good lessons for you. Never pick on someone stronger than you, and never make threats you cannot keep."

Kerra sat back and rubbed her wrists, which now bore red marks. "Who says I cannot keep them?"

"I do. Until you become Queen in fact as well as name, you cannot do anything to me, and by then I will be too old to care. And as far as I am concerned, what I do to teach you lessons and keep you safe is for your own good, so if you are too stupid to see that, I pity you."

He gazed at her, his expression shuttered. "Perhaps I should remind you that if not for me, you would have died as an infant at the hands of your other half uncle, Armin."

She lowered her gaze. "I know. But you had to. I am the Queen."

He gave a bark of laughter. "You think that entitles you to my protection?"

"You are the Lord Protector."

"I see. Chiana again, I suppose. Do not tell me she painted you some silly romantic picture of me as a knight in shining armour."

Kerra massaged her wrists, which still smarted almost as much as her bruised ego. A part of her longed to rebuke him further and refuse to engage in what seemed to be developing into a friendly discussion, but the assassin's unusual loquaciousness promised answers to some of her questions.

Shrugging off the urge to sulk, she studied him, her eyes lingering on the marks on his neck. It looked painful, and he still rubbed his throat from time to time. The sounds she had heard from her hiding place had been savage and frightening, and his survival still amazed her. She recalled Chiana's many stories about her mysterious husband, and answered Blade's question with her usual brutal honesty.

"Actually, she said you were a cold-hearted bastard who was probably lying drunk in a gutter somewhere."

His faint smile vanished, then returned, broader. "Did she now? That must have been when she was angry with me for leaving her."

"Why did you leave?"

He shrugged. "There was nothing for me in the palace. I would have gone mad with boredom. She knew it, that is why she did not try to stop me."

"You could have written."

"I was too busy lying drunk in gutters. Besides, I am a cold-hearted bastard. She is right."

Kerra recalled the tears she had often glimpsed in the Regent's eyes, and had to agree with him. "Why did you marry her then?"

"She did not tell you? Your mother ordered it."

"You could have refused."

"I tried."

"Apparently you did not try hard enough."

He glanced at her, surprised by the accusation in her voice. "And do you think she would have felt any less, had I not agreed to wed her?"

"She might have met someone else, instead of pining for you."

"It was her choice, Kerra. She and Minna plotted behind my back, using the pretext of her low status to persuade me. I agreed merely to curtail the argument. She got what she wanted, and she knew what she was getting."

Kerra's brows rose. "I am surprised you allowed two women to bully you into doing something you did not want."

"So was I. Of course, one of them was the Queen." He shot her a dark look. "The real Queen, not a child. And your mother had a way about her that I found hard to resist. She understood me a little better than most. When I first went to the palace, I did not even think I would be granted an audience, yet look at what I ended up with. More than I bargained for. All I wanted was to kill your grandfather."

"You went to Jadaya. What is it like?"

"Hot."

"But is the palace beautiful?"

He snorted. "I suppose so, if you like marble."

"Did you love my mother?"

Blade hesitated. "I liked her."

"But she was your queen, and you did so much for her."

"That does not mean I loved her." He shot her an amused glance. "She was a strong woman in many ways. She would not have complained, like you do."

"You would not have made her sleep on the floor."

He smiled. "No, probably not. But then, she was not a child, either."