The Queen's Blade Prequel II - God Touched (17 page)

“
How else would you prove it?”

She tugged at
her bodice's laces, her eyes bright with glee.

Blade's scowl
deepened. “Stop that.”

“
Why? A man wouldn't object unless he found it
embarrassing.”

“
Or if he didn't want to see.”

“
Why wouldn't he?”

He sat up.
“Stop it. All of it. The teasing, the taunting and especially the
flaunting. I'm tired of it, and if you persist I'll change my
haunt, understand?”

She nodded,
looking sad. “It was just a bit of fun.”

“
I don't find it funny.”

“
I can tell.”

He swung his
legs off the bed and tried to stand up, but she grabbed his
arm.

“
Please don't go. I'm sorry.”

“
Let go of me.”

Blade glared
at her, thoroughly annoyed with her antics, which constantly
reminded him of the lack he tried so hard to forget. He sometimes
wondered why he did not tell her. That would certainly put an end
to any ambitions she might have to seduce him, but he could not
bring himself to reveal his secret. It was too painful, and too
humiliating. Yet her constant flirting was also humiliating, he
found, since he could do nothing to end it save reprimand her, and
that did not work. He often wondered why she persisted when, as a
two-copper whore, she did not lack men in her bed.

Probably
because she found his reaction amusing, and knew he would never
want her no matter how much she flirted with him. He wondered what
she would do if he pretended to take her up on her offer, but,
knowing Lilu, she would be delighted, since she claimed to love him
so much. He jerked free of her and headed back to the common room
for another cup of wine.

Chapter Nine

Blade gazed up
at the sweeping marble arches and ornate gabled roof of the
Peacock's Nest, one of Jondar's most affluent inns. The missive he
had received earlier told him to meet his potential new client
here, and gave the room number, but he was not about to walk in and
knock on her door. Many exotic trees grew around the inn, and he
chose a scarlet-leafed fire tree that gave access to a balcony on
the second floor. With no guards to hamper him and an easy tree to
climb, he arrived on the balcony in silence and without much
effort. Picking the locked doors that led inside, he entered a
plush corridor with a polished wooden floor and drab still-life
paintings on the cream walls. Busts stood on pedestals between the
many doors that led off it, and he found the one marked with the
right number, picked the lock and slipped inside.

Viscountess
Treblane sat in an upholstered gilt chair in front of a fireplace
whose cosy blaze warmed the room. Rich brown velvet curtains framed
the windows, and dull paintings graced the walls. A carved
four-poster bed stood against the wall on his left, and finely
woven rugs softened the floor. Blade walked towards her, his boots
silent on the rugs, and she looked up with a gasp when he stepped
into her view. Her hand clasped her chest, then she relaxed and
smiled.

“
You surprised me, sir.”

He wandered
over to the fireplace. “Sneaking about is my trade, madam. I'm good
at it.”

“
So it would seem. Thank you for coming.”

“
So, you want your husband dead. Tell me about him.”

“
Right to the point. How professional of you, sir. Please, sit.
Would you care for some wine?”

Blade sat on
the settee beside her chair and accepted a cup of rich, musky red
wine.

“
My husband is a pig,” she said. “I cannot abide him. It was an
arranged marriage, you see. My father –”

“
I didn't mean the story of your misfortune. I meant his looks,
his habits and his familiar.”

“
Oh, I see. He is a man of the boar, of course, and ugly. Fat
and hirsute, as all such men are. He turns my stomach. His
touch...” She coughed. “Well, he has brown hair and eyes, and he
spends most of his day with his noble friends, carousing, hunting,
gaming and the like.”

“
When does he come and go from his dwelling.”

“
That depends on what time he wakes up, and what he chooses to
do. Some days he does not go out, but stays at home and inflicts
his unwanted attentions...” She hesitated. “He is always at home in
the evenings, after he returns from his debauchery.”

Blade sighed,
sipping his wine. He hated unpredictable targets, they usually cost
him a lot of time stalking them. “What about guards?”

“
Only two men in the garden at night.”

“
What sort of men?”

“
Guards.”

He smiled,
shaking his head. “What familiars do they have?”

“
Oh. Well, that depends on which ones they are. There are four
of them, to alternate between shifts and days. I am not certain of
their beasts, although one, I am certain, is a man of
crows.”

Blade studied
her, wondering what kind of woman she was. The mystery was solved
when an emerald snake slithered from her hair to twine around her
neck. Its jewel-like golden eyes and triangular head told him it
was a tree adder, able to inflict a painful bite and give a man a
bad headache. He had never liked snake kin, however. Her
information was inadequate, and meant that he would have to spend
more time watching the house.

The
viscountess leant closer, her gaze intent. “When will you do
it?”

Her assumption
annoyed him further, as did her eagerness, and he shook his head.
“I have not yet agreed to do it, Viscountess.”

“
Marilda, please. But you will, surely? I will pay whatever you
demand.”

“
Your husband's money, I assume?”

“
No, my father's.”

“
Ah, who arranged this marriage. Clearly he finds no fault with
your husband.”

“
He does not have to rut with him!” Her voice grew shrill, and
she restrained herself with an obvious effort. “I cannot stand it.
You must help me. How much will it cost?”

Blade frowned
at his wine, pondering the many reasons he had been given, over the
years, for his clients' wish to slay their victims. Even though he
never asked them, they always seemed driven to tell him, as if it
somehow vindicated them. Hers was no better than most, and poorer
than many, but that did not matter.

He glanced at
her. “Fifty goldens.”

The sum was
outlandish, but she had annoyed him, so she must pay.

Marilda did
not as much as blink. “How do I pay you?”

“
Half now, half when the job's done. And I have a few more
questions.”

“
Ask.”

“
Your address, for one thing. When would be the best time to do
it, and do you want it to be quick or slow?”

Her eyes
gleamed. “You could do it slowly?”

“
Yes, but that will double the price.”

Her eagerness
faded. “I see. I suppose it does not need to be slow.”

Blade drained
his cup and rose to his feet. “You have the money?”

“
Yes.” She drew a pouch from a hidden pocket in her skirt and
counted out twenty-five goldens onto the table, which left the bag
still heavy with more. Blade swept the money into his pouch and
tied it to his belt while she gave him an address in the poshest
part of the wealthy district.

She looked
eager again. “I could make it very easy for you. If I leave the
postern gate and kitchen door unlocked, you have only to slip past
the guards, who, I am sure, will be asleep after midnight anyway. I
will light a lamp in the window when my husband is asleep, so you
will know when to come. Will you do it tomorrow night?”

He eyed her.
That certainly made it easy, and well worth the fifty goldens. “I
could, in that case, yes.”

“
Excellent.” She all but clapped her hands. “And I want to
watch.”

“
Do you now?”

“
Yes, most assuredly.”

“
Have you ever seen a man killed, Viscountess? It's not a
pretty thing.”

“
As a matter of fact, I have. I want to see him die. I will pay
more for the privilege if you demand it.”

Blade wondered
why she was so keen to pay him more, although she had baulked at
doubling the fee for a slow death. Her unhealthy interest disgusted
him, so at odds with her fragile beauty. He took no pleasure from
killing, yet, judging by the way her eyes sparkled and she licked
her lips, she would.

“
If you are present and awake at the time, I cannot prevent you
from watching. Presumably you will be sharing the bed with him, so
you will have a particularly good view, I will wager.” Blade
realised that he had picked up her manner of speech without even
trying.

She patted her
hands together. “Wonderful. I shall ensure that I am awake,
then.”

The assassin
swung away. “I shall be there tomorrow night. Be sure the gate and
door are unlocked.”

“
I shall. But please, do not hurry off. Have some more
wine.”

He paused by
the door. “I think not, Viscountess.”

“
Marilda, please.”

Blade let
himself out and walked to the balcony to shinny down the tree,
trying to blot out her eager, lovely face. He compared her to Lilu,
disliking what he found. For all the whore's ugliness, she had a
good heart, while Marilda's beauty belied her cold viciousness. She
did not require the services of the Dance Master, either. Any
second-rate assassin could perform such an easy kill, and he almost
found it insulting. She had turned him into little more than an
executioner, but death was his trade, and the fee was good. Her
friendliness was disconcerting too, he found. Why would she wish to
spend time and share wine with a lowly assassin, especially one she
had hired to kill her husband? By the time he reached his rooms, he
was no less disgusted, but somewhat resigned to it.

Blade paused
at the postern gate of the address the viscountess had given him,
glancing up at the almost full Tree Moon. Too bright for his
liking, but that could not be helped. He unlatched the gate and
opened it a crack, peering in. For several minutes, he could find
no sign of the two sentries, and waited a bit longer before
slipping into the garden and closing the gate. He trotted into a
patch of shadow under a tree and paused there to scan the garden
again. The sentries were propped up against the garden wall, chins
on chests. Whatever Viscount Treblane was paying his guards, it was
too much.

Leaving the
shadow, he walked up the paved path to the mansion's kitchen door
and pushed it open, strolling within. A scent of warm bread
pervaded the air, mingled with soot and lonions. In the hall, he
found a sweeping marble staircase that led to the upper floor and
mounted it on silent feet. A corridor stretched away, at the end of
which a line of light shone under a door. Blade paused with his
hand on the latch and listened, detecting a rasping snore and
wheezing grunts. Opening the door just enough, he scanned the room
within. The lamp in the window cast a sullen light over a plush bed
chamber crowded with too much dull furniture, its walls populated
with stiff-faced portraits.

Viscount
Treblane formed a vast mound in a massive four-poster bed hung with
dark blue velvet. A hairy, tusked black boar slept at the foot of
it, the source of the wheezing grunts. Blade paused to wonder how
old the viscount was, and whether his familiar would perish soon
after him or survive to try to avenge its friend's death. He did
not want to have to deal with the enraged animal, and cursed his
lack of forethought in not asking his client where the boar slept.
That was something he would normally have discovered by spying on
his victim.

The
viscountess lay beside her husband, her cheek propped in her hand,
her eyes drooping. The stench of pig made the still air rank, and
he wrinkled his nose as he approached the bed. The size of his
intended victim gave him pause, and he reconsidered his strategy.
Like all boar kin, Viscount Treblane owned a big-boned frame buried
under layers of fat. So much so that Blade doubted his dagger would
be long enough to reach the nobleman's heart from his flank. A
chest strike had more chance of success, but the viscount lay on
his side, facing his wife and exposing the back of his neck. This
was not a method that Blade had employed very often, but he knew
it.

Reaching the
side of the bed, he drew two daggers with a soft slither of steel
and considered his target. Moving closer with infinite caution, he
raised a weapon and held it poised, ensuring that his aim was true.
The viscountess opened her eyes, which widened and brightened with
morbid anticipation and delight. Blade swallowed bile and turned
his attention back to his target. The tip of the dagger almost
brushed the viscount's skin at the base of his skull. Blade thrust
it in with a powerful jab, and it scraped past bone to penetrate
brain tissue. The man stiffened, his eyelids fluttering, and went
limp.

Blade pulled
the weapon out and placed his fingers on the nobleman's neck,
detecting a faint, fading flutter. Hardly a drop of blood oozed
from the wound, and the assassin straightened, glancing at the boar
when the beast squealed and thrashed. It tried to rise to its feet
and failed, its limbs stiffening as it died. The viscountess stared
at her husband, then at Blade, licking her lips as she sat up.

“
That is it? He is dead?”