"I am not a brutish warrior, no."
"You are not even a real man! No man has cheeks as smooth as a girl's. You were better suited to your previous costume."
Blade frowned, but reined his temper with an effort. "You obviously have not noticed that you have created a situation from which you now have no way out, a particularly foolish move, I would say."
The Prince considered the situation. So long as he held the assassin's wrists, Blade was helpless, but, as he had pointed out, Kerrion could do nothing further without releasing him. For a brief period of stalemate they glared at each other, then Kerrion did the only thing he could, and released one of Blade's wrists to smash his fist into the assassin's chin, knocking his head sideways. Blade's vision darkened, and he went limp, his eyes closed. The Prince smiled and released his other wrist to sit back.
In a flash, the assassin jerked his arms up, the edges of his stiff hands striking the Prince on either side of his neck. Kerrion’s eyes rolled up as he keeled over, unconscious. Blade pushed him away and sat up, brushing leaves from his hair. Swiftly he fastened the chains around Kerrion's wrists, making any further attempts at escape impossible. Allowing himself the satisfaction of kicking the Prince in the gut, Blade set about lighting a fire and setting up camp.
By the time Kerrion woke, Blade had watered the horses and unsaddled them, heated water for tea and set a pot of stew on the fire to cook. The Prince groaned and clutched his gut, then tried to rub his neck. Finding his hands bound, he sat up and scowled at his captor.
Blade eyed him from across the fire. "Try anything like that again, and you will have more than a sore gut and neck to worry about. The Queen wants you alive, but she did not specify in what condition."
Kerrion coughed and bent awkwardly to rub his throat. "Could I have some water?"
"Certainly." Blade tossed him a water skin.
"You fight unfairly."
"Life is unfair, and that is the school that taught me. I do what is necessary to survive."
"What does your queen want with me?"
"She does not confide in me. I am not her advisor."
Kerrion looked bitter. "I expect she wants to execute me publicly, thereby raising the morale of her soldiers and people, strengthening them in the war. The death of my father will also aid her cause, for it puts my younger brother, who is inexperienced in the art of war, on the throne."
"If she executes you, it will not be for that reason. The Queen wishes to end the war."
Kerrion snorted. "She will never win it."
"She does not want to win. Only to find peace."
"By killing my father and kidnapping me? That will make my people hate her even more."
Blade shrugged, disinterested. "I do not know her plans, but she is no fool."
"She is a woman."
The assassin's eyes narrowed. "She is the Queen of the Jashimari, and if you show her any disrespect, I shall make you suffer for it."
"I will never crawl on my belly and lick her feet like you do, half man."
"I will see to it that you do."
They scowled at each other, then Blade returned to stirring the stew.
Kerrion's eyes drifted to the pot, and he swallowed, clearly hungry after a day without food. Blade dished up two bowls and handed one to the Prince, leaving him to eat awkwardly with his chained hands. After the meal, the assassin relaxed against an ironbark tree and sipped his tea, studying his captive. Kerrion did not resemble his father at all, other than his bronze skin and pale blond hair. Shandor's eyes had been a murky brown, his skin coarse and brows thick and wiry. Kerrion's fine dark brows knotted above clear eyes of a peculiar tawny gold, the colour of the desert sand. Though his features were strong, he lacked his father's brutish looks, and owned a countenance considerably more handsome than the average man.
Kerrion fidgeted and fretted, rubbing his wrists were the chains chafed them. He drank more water and scowled at the assassin.
"Did my father suffer?"
"No." Blade frowned. "Unfortunately, I was not asked to make his death a slow one, for I would have enjoyed it more if he had."
"Those bungling fools your queen sent before you died slowly. They squealed like stuck pigs and bled in fountains. I have never seen so much blood, or men take so long to die."
"Be quiet."
"I know that my father died courageously."
"He did not have time to be afraid. Doubtless, had I taken the time to torture him, he would have squealed as loudly as the finest pig."
Kerrion snorted. "He would have killed you with one blow."
"I killed him with far less effort."
Kerrion snarled, "You tricked him, dressing up as a damned whore! I expect you have been one often enough, to be so convincing."
"Be quiet."
"Did you lie with him before you killed him, half man?"
"Did your father enjoy buggering men?"
The Prince jerked at the chains. "Release me, and I will push those words down your throat until you choke on them."
Blade drew a dagger and lunged at the Prince, impressed when the man did not cringe. He gripped an ear and held the blade to it. "Keep goading me, and I will cut pieces off you until you stop."
The Prince met his gaze, looking unafraid, but prudently silent. Blade sat back and studied his captive again. The aquiline cast to Kerrion's features gave him a fierce look, yet the uncertainty of inexperience tempered it.
Although Kerrion was only a few years younger than him, Blade pondered the vast difference between them. The Cotti Prince had been raised on milk and honey and given all that he desired. He had undoubtedly never known pain or suffering, grief or loss, never gone hungry or thirsty in his life. His outlook was naive and his nature untested by hardships.
This experience would probably shape the Prince's character more than any of the soft years he had lived until now. Blade compared this with his own life and shuddered. He did not like to dwell on his past. There was nothing good in it at all. He had lived a harsh existence from an early age, suffered all of life's trials and been strengthened by them. If Kerrion was clay waiting to be moulded, Blade was the tempered steel of the name he had earned.
Blade closed his eyes, the weariness of two days and a night without sleep, combined with the nervous tension he had been under during that time, taking its toll. Aware that his prisoner was not secured, he forced himself awake and bound the Prince to a tree, then spread a blanket on a pile of leaves and stretched out with a sigh.
Chapter Five
Blade jerked awake, the events of the previous day returning with a rush of anxiety. A glance at the Prince assured him that his captive was still bound and asleep in an awkward huddle at the base of the tree. The assassin washed in the stream, then kicked the Prince awake, saddled the horses and packed up the camp. Kerrion's bloodshot eyes betrayed his sleepless night, and his chafed wrists testified to his struggles to free himself. Blade untied him, allowed him a drink of water and a call of nature, then thrust him towards his horse, making him stumble on stiff legs. Before Kerrion mounted, Blade produced a sack to put over the Prince's head, and he jerked away.
"Is there no end to your sadistic inclinations? Did your queen order you to humiliate me as much and as often as possible?"
Blade shook his head. "You are a Cotti. If people see you, I doubt that I will be able to keep them from lynching you, or worse. You will wear the hood if you want to live, and keep your mouth shut."
The assassin chuckled as he boosted his prisoner onto his horse, and Kerrion spat a few choice insults in reply. The day passed peacefully with the Prince silenced, and Blade set a steady pace that ate up the miles.