"I am sure he will succeed, My Queen. If his reputation is as fearsome as Mendal describes, he must."
"Yes, yes, I agree, provided the tales Mendal passed on to me were not exaggerations."
"Even if they are, they must be based on some amazing facts."
Kerrion watched the assassin cut dried meat into a pot to prepare a stew. The last three days had passed relatively peacefully, since he had stopped goading the grey-eyed man, and, although his situation was still intolerable, it had improved slightly since then. The assassin had barely spoken two words, going about his business as if the Prince did not exist.
"Have you a name?" Kerrion asked, tired of the silence.
"Everyone has."
"What is it?"
The assassin glanced at him. "Blade."
"Suitable for a man so fond of his dagger."
"I thought so."
Kerrion pondered. "Have you ever met your Queen?"
"Yes."
"What is she like?"
Blade looked impatient, slicing the meat with flashing strokes of the razor-sharp weapon. "She is a queen. I do not know her that well."
"Is she proud? Disdainful? Did she make you grovel?"
"She did not make me do anything," Blade retorted. "I showed my respect, nothing more."
"How long before we reach the palace, or castle?"
"About two tendays."
Kerrion eyed his captor. "You know, whatever she is paying you, I can better, if you take me back."
Blade shot him a contemptuous glance. "I am not for sale."
"Come, man, everyone has their price. I daresay yours is high, but name it. Lands, riches, titles, anything you wish, I can give you."
"The Cotti have nothing I want, even if I had a price, which I do not."
Kerrion shook his head. "Why else would you risk your life? I am sure she is paying you handsomely."
"So she is, but I would have done it simply for the pleasure of killing your father."
Blade glanced at the Prince, who stared into the newly lighted fire, his expression unreadable. How hard it must be, the assassin mused, to spend time in the company of the man who had slain your father. This was undoubtedly Kerrion's first taste of grief, yet he seemed to forget that his father was dead until Blade reminded him. It must be a difficult thing to accept when he had seen no body, and no tangible proof of his father's demise.
As if reading his thoughts, Kerrion looked up. "My father and I were not close. I am the eldest of sixteen sons, and not his favourite. I have always believed that he brought me with him on his campaigns in the hope that I would be killed, for my younger brother is his choice for successor."
Blade concentrated on chopping meat into the pot, remembering all too well his own father's death. The sprawled body before their cottage, a spear protruding obscenely from his belly, the blood staining the ground.
His mind flew back to the time before that, when his father's gentle smiles, rough pats and warm embraces for his second son had filled Blade's world with joy. He recalled his two brothers' horseplay, mud fights, tree climbing, skinned knees and swimming in a lake. He remembered his soft-eyed sisters with their hair tied up in long tails, like a pony's, and their bright smiles when they picked flowers in the fields and giggled as they rolled down the warm, sun-drenched grassy slopes. Then his mother would call them in for supper, scold them for their dirty clothes, wash their scrapes and scrub them pink in the tub before the fire. His mother's warm embraces had been so soft and tender; her fingers had stroked his hair and her sweet voice had told him of her love for him, her special son. Her screams had rent the air on the day shaven soldiers had come with long spears. The air had been filled with the smell of blood and smoke and the screams had pierced his heart…
"Blade."
The assassin looked up at the hated Prince, ruler of the Cotti, who had murdered his family. The urge to kill Kerrion almost overwhelmed him, and his hand clenched on the dagger. He forced himself to relax and resume chopping the salted meat.
"Be quiet."
Kerrion obeyed, for Blade's deep frown and the vigour with which he cut the meat warned the Prince that something was amiss with the assassin. Sitting back with a sigh, Kerrion rubbed his chafed wrists and tried to ease the tight chains onto an area of less painful skin. The short length that joined his wrists to his waist allowed him to eat awkwardly and cling to the saddle when riding, but did not allow him reach the knot in the thong about his neck. When Blade secured him at night, he merely tied the thong to a tree, and, unless the Prince chewed through the tough leather, he could not get free. They ate in silence, then Blade bound Kerrion to a tree and went to sleep.
The next day, they rode on as before, the Prince blind and silent within the hood. At supper that night, Kerrion once again tried to strike up a conversation.
"Have you considered my offer?"
"No."
The Prince nodded, unsurprised, but dug at his food in frustration. "I suppose there is nothing I can say to change your mind?"
"You would be wasting your breath."
"Your hatred runs deep."
"More than you could ever imagine." Blade frowned. "And before you ask, it is none of your business."
"Maybe not. I suppose your father was killed in the war?"
Blade banged his empty bowl down. "You are as bad as a damned woman with your prying questions. What difference does it make to you? Yes, the damned Cotti killed my father. He was just a goatherd, and they did not only kill him, they massacred my entire family."
A pang of sympathy shot through Kerrion, but he hid it. "And how many more Cotti must you kill to even the score? How long will you lust for vengeance?"
"I evened the score a long time ago, but maybe if I kill you, I will feel better about it."
Kerrion set aside his bowl and held up his chained wrists. "Take these off, and we will see if you can."
Blade shook his head and leant against a tree. "I am not a fighter. You cannot provoke me with a challenge. I would have killed you long ago in your tent, if not for the wishes of my Queen. Your father died too easily. He did not deserve such a clean death. Any man who orders the butchery of women and children, and who enslaves children, deserves to feel some of their pain before he dies."
"Slavery?" Kerrion snorted. "My people do not practice slavery. That is another Jashimari lie."
"Have you spent your whole life with your head buried in the sand of your infernal desert? This is not something I heard in a taproom, bantered by a drunken soldier. I saw them with my own eyes, I was…" Blade looked away, scowling.
"You were what?" Kerrion demanded. "How could you have been in a Cotti camp and have lived to tell the tale?"
"I was in one just a few days ago, and I am still here."
"Disguised as a Cotti whore. Do you frequent Cotti camps in that guise often? Perhaps you earn more in that fashion than you do as an assassin. You did not lack for offers that night, I will wager."
Blade growled, "Be quiet."
"No, I will not be ordered around by a damned Jashimari half man assassin. There are no Jashimari child slaves in Cotti camps. Did you see any when you came to kill my father?"
"No." Oddly, Blade calmed instead of growing angrier. "But I was not looking for them. There might have been some hidden in the tents."
"I would know if there were," Kerrion avowed. "No Cotti would stoop so low. What do you think we are, damned savages?"
"Yes, your soldiers are, even if you high and mighty royals think you are so good."
"These so-called slaves you claim to have seen are doubtless the offspring of whores."
"These were Jashimari children, not Cotti brats."
Kerrion snorted, annoyed by Blade's assertions. "So say you, but if they were dirty enough, you would not be able to tell the difference."