Invisible Assassin (34 page)

Chiana murmured to Blade in a choked voice, telling him of her love while there was still a chance he might hear her. His hold on life was slipping away, his breaths quickening in the final struggle as he slid towards the dark abyss of death.

The great double doors at the far end of the throne room flew open with a bang, almost unhinged by the force of the blow that propelled them. Two guards stumbled in ahead of a white-bearded man who strode past them without pause, his eyes sweeping the room before coming to rest on the kneeling Regent. A grey wolf followed him, and a hawk swooped through the doors after him, alighting on the throne with a piercing cry. Redgard turned to gape at him, and the soldiers inside the doors belatedly bowed. The clutch of priestesses fell to their knees. Chiana looked up, tears blurring her vision. The old man came to Blade's side and knelt, his eyes raking the assassin's pale countenance.

Chiana gasped. "Shamsara!"

The Idol of the Beasts frowned with deep concern. "This is wrong. He cannot die. He must not."

"What do you mean?"

Shamsara closed his eyes, grimacing as if in pain. "Blood. I see nothing but blood in the future if he dies. He is the instrument, and his course is not yet run. His destiny is not fulfilled."

"Can you save him?"

He hesitated, his frown knotting his seamed features. "Yes, he must be saved, or Jashimari is doomed." His hands fluttered above the assassin. "But there is too little time. I have no other choice." He glanced up at the ceiling and made the sign of Tinsharon, muttering, "Forgive me."

Shamsara drew a knife from his robes and pricked one of the fingers of his left hand, then leant forward to press it to Blade's wound, bowing his head. The contact lasted just long enough for his blood to mingle with Blade's, then he sat back. Chiana gazed at her husband, expecting to witness a miraculous recovery, but the assassin appeared unchanged. He still struggled to breathe, his visage ashen, a cold sweat beading his brow. Shamsara bowed his head again, and when he raised it, his expression had cleared, a look of relief brightening his eyes.

"He will not die. The blood is gone, the future safe."

Joy filled Chiana, and fresh tears coursed down her cheeks.

Shamsara placed a hand on her shoulder. "Weep not, child. All is now well."

Chiana cradled Blade, wiping the blood from his face with trembling fingers. "What have you done?"

"The right thing, I pray."

Shamsara stood, and Verdan came forward to stare down at the assassin with confused, disbelieving eyes. "His wound is mortal."

The Idol shook his head. "He will live. Do your best for him. He will be ill for a very long time. The wound is grave indeed, and should have killed him. Fortunately I arrived in time to save him."

"Thank God," Chiana whispered.

"Indeed."

She gazed at him, puzzled by his unhappy tone. "What is wrong?"

Shamsara sighed. "In order to save him, I have given him many years of my life. I doubt that he will thank me for it. Best that you do not tell him, I think. I fear his reaction will be adverse."

"How did you get here in time?"

"I saw the future change many days ago. I made all speed here to avert it."

She stroked Blade's cheek. "Thank you."

Chapter Seventeen

Shamsara returned to his cave the following day, refusing Chiana's offer of hospitality with a sad smile. For a tenday Verdan held vigil at the assassin's bedside, on hand to tend to his slightest need. He kept Blade drugged, not allowing him to awaken fully until the pain of his injuries was less intense. In this state, the healer's apprentices were able to change Blade's dressings and feed him nourishing broth to speed his recovery. Chiana visited him every day, but Blade was too drugged to notice her presence, rousing only sufficiently to swallow what was spooned into his mouth. At the end of the tenday, Verdan reduced the drug's dosage and allowed Blade to slowly regain full consciousness, thereby lessening the shock of his first awakening.

Two days later, Blade woke. His first action was to try to strangle the young apprentice who was feeding him soup, but he was too weak. The uproar brought Chiana at an unladylike run, and she arrived to find Blade in the act of hurling the bowl of dortil soup at the terrified youth. The apprentice ducked, and hot soup splattered the room in a brown rain as the bowl bounced off his shoulder.

Chiana recoiled, wiping it from her cheeks. She surveyed her husband with a strange mixture of elation and annoyance. The apprentice fled, leaving her to deal with the irate assassin. Blade lay twisted on the bed, propped up on one elbow, his right hand dangling from throwing the bowl. He glared at Chiana with eyes as frigid as a midwinter storm, hatred flaring in their depths.

"What have you done, woman?" he growled.

"I have done nothing, and this outburst is -"

"I was dying!"

"Apparently you were not," she said, lifting her chin.

"Do not lie to me." He pushed back the covers and tried to lever himself from the bed, but his splinted leg held him back and he groaned as his broken ribs grated together. Chiana hastened to him and pushed him back, then regretted straying within his reach when he grabbed the front of her gown and yanked her closer.

"Tell me the truth."

She tried to pry his fingers from the lace of her bodice. "I do not know what you mean."

"You do!" He attempted to shake her, but lacked the strength to do it with any force. "What happened?"

"Let me go."

Blade thrust her away and sank back onto the mound of pillows, a fit of coughing gripping him. When it subsided, blood flecked his lips, and she braved his proximity to wipe it away with a damp cloth. This time he merely watched her with venomous eyes.

"Why am I still alive?"

She shrugged. "You survived, that is all."

"You are lying. Shall I tell you how I know?" He paused, watching her wring the cloth. "Apart from the fact that you look as guilty as sin, that is. I have killed more men than I care to remember, and watched most of them die. I know what is a fatal wound. I learnt well how to inflict them." He glanced down at his bandaged chest. "I was stabbed in the lung, an effective, if slow method, but always fatal. So why am I alive?"

"You survived when you were shot with a crossbow, also in the lung."

"I almost died from that, but that was a bolt, a round piece of metal no thicker than your smallest finger. It is possible to survive that, but not a dagger thrust directly into the chest. You know I am right, so tell me what happened."

She sighed, knowing that he would not be content until he knew. "If I tell you, will you rest?"

He shrugged, wincing. "Doubtless you will have Verdan feed me drugs to ensure that I do."

"It would seem prudent, considering your state of mind."

He cocked his head, clearly annoyed by this. "What state of mind? Are you implying that I am mad, perhaps?"

"No, of course not, only angry to the point of doing yourself an injury."

"Yes, I am. So would you be if you found yourself alive when you wanted to be dead."

Chiana sank down on the edge of the bed, stunned by his harsh words. "But you cannot be allowed to die."

"Ah, now the truth comes out. Who has decided this, hmm? Tinsharon himself, I hope."

"As a matter of fact -"

"Do not try to spin some stupid tale!"

She shook her head. "How else could you have survived? As you said, your wound was fatal. You were dying. Shamsara saved you. He said you must not die, or the future would be filled with blood."

Blade frowned at her. His exertion had increased his pallor, and sweat dampened the tendrils of hair that clung to his brow. His silence alarmed her, and she fought the impulse to take his good hand in an attempt to comfort him. Doubtless he would only rebuff her.

"He said that you would not thank him for it," she offered lamely.

He sighed, turning his head to stare into space. His anger had left him, and now he seemed resigned. "He was right."

Chiana took his right hand, braving his displeasure, but he ignored her. "He said that you still have a destiny to fulfil."

"More people to kill."

"Maybe not."

"So, now I know why I was not killed in the raid that took my family, and did not die of the disease in the desert nor starve after I escaped. This is why Talon rescued me from the gutter, and Lilu saved me when I should have died. Even Kerrion... did not kill me, and Jayon..." He glanced at her. "He is dead, is he not?"

She nodded. "He was buried on your estate."

"I could not even kill myself, and when fate failed to save me, the damned Idol of the Beasts rushes here to do it. All for what? A bloody killer?"

"You have saved my life twice and now Kerra-Manu's twice as well, Kerrion's too. Shamsara said that if any of us die, the future will be steeped in blood. So perhaps you will save us again, and that is why you must live."

He let his head flop back and stared at the ceiling. "Wonderful."

Chiana smiled, tightening her hold on his hand. "I am glad you will be here to look after us."

Blade pulled his hand away. "I will wager you are, but I am not." He frowned. "What makes Shamsara think I will do it, anyway?"

"He says it is your destiny."

"Destiny has ill-used me, and I am sick of being its pawn. If I can, I will slip its leash, perhaps by getting as far away from here as I possibly can."

Chiana went cold. "But what if we need you? Will you leave us to die if that is what lies ahead for us?"

"Why should I care what happens to you? I am not your keeper or your watchdog, and I only became your husband at the Queen's command. I did not kill King Shandor out of patriotic zeal. I did it for revenge, and the riches and lands Minna offered. As fate would have it, that was a mistake, and one I intend to rectify now that I have the chance.

"I will not be part of your damned plotting and subterfuge any more. If my estate is not far enough from Jondar to stay out of harm's way, then I shall take myself off to parts unknown, where no one will ever find me. There is much to be said for anonymity, and I intend to reclaim it. I have had my fill of this damned lordship farce."

"How can you be so ungrateful after what Shamsara did for you?"

He glared at her. "What did he do for me? Saved my worthless life, just when I had thought to be free of it. You, who put such store in life, and cling to it with such fervour, would never understand what a burden is to someone who does not want it."

"You did not seem so eager to die -"

He thumped the bed with his good hand. "I wept for joy, you stupid girl."

Chiana stood up. "Then go! See if you can find death, if Shamsara or destiny or whatever it is, perhaps Tinsharon himself, will let you. But you have only to look beside you to find it. That is where it walks, in your shadow." She spun away and headed for the door.

"I know that! It is the only friend I have!" He tried to sit up, but sank back with a groan. "Damn it woman, do not turn your back on me! I am speaking to you. Chiana!"

She turned at the door. "What do you want? Would you like me to poison your soup?"

Blade glared at her, then his lips curved into one of his most beautiful, heart-rendingly sweet smiles. Chiana looked away, and he chuckled. "At times you do show a little fire. I suppose you could do that, if you want to give Shamsara a lot of exercise. But I doubt he will be very pleased."

She looked down at her hands, waiting until his mirth subsided, then raised her head. "Why must you be so horrible?"

Blade studied her, looking thoughtful, then crooked a finger at her. "Come here, and I will tell you."

Chiana walked over to the bed, curious and confused by his sudden mood swing. She warned herself that when Blade seemed to be friendly, he was usually at his most dangerous. He held out his hand, and she took it, a chill running through her at his touch. He continued to smile sweetly, his angelic expression making her shiver.

"Come closer. Sit beside me."

Chiana sank down on the bed, her eyes fixed on his face. She prided herself on her lack of fear of him, but found her breath quickening with unease. His proximity made her skin prickle and her heart race, and she fought the insane impulse to throw herself into his arms. He watched her, but his smile did not reach his eyes. He slid his hand up to her wrist, gripping it.

"You want to know why?" His voice was so soft that she had to lean closer to hear him. "Because I am denied so much of this life, and it treats me ill at every turn. I can never have what others do, but am condemned to deal out death instead. Death is my only friend. It has made me rich and filled me with hate." He pulled her closer, meeting her eyes with a chilling gaze. "So you see, it is just the way I am, and you will never change me, try though you might."

"But -"

Blade released her wrist and pressed his fingers to her lips, then slid his hand up to caress her cheek. She trembled at the cold seduction of his expression, longing to press her lips to his, her breath catching in her throat. His soft voice made her shiver.

"How much do you wish that I loved you? What would you give to hear those words from me?"

"Anything. Nothing could make me happier." She leant closer, pressing her cheek to his hand and lifting hers to hold it against her skin as tears stung her eyes.

His smile widened. "Ah, Chiana, what a little innocent you are. How naive... and stupid." His voice hardened on the last words, and his hand slid behind her neck, then flashed up to grip her hair. She found herself trapped in a painful hold, and gasped in shock and outrage at his betrayal of her trust.

"Now tell me how Shamsara saved me."

"Let me go!"

"When you tell me."

"Damn you, Blade!"

"Tut, tut." He shook his head. "Such language from a lady. How did he save me?"

"He gave you his blood."

"And what did he say?"

She gasped, trying to pry his fingers from her hair. "Nothing!"

"Do not lie to me." He twisted his hand, making her whimper. "What did he tell you?"