"Why have you never killed a woman?"
"I have never been hired to. Generally when a man wishes to be rid of his wife or lover, he kills her himself and claims it to be an accident. Women are easy to kill. No one needs an assassin to do it."
She shivered, glancing at the door. Blade sat on the bed and pulled off his boots. "So what did you want to speak to me about?"
"What? Oh, yes. You should leave here, go to your estate. The Queen courts danger by using you to assassinate her enemies. They will plot to kill you."
He shrugged. "I cannot disobey the Queen."
"She would not punish you, she is too fond of you for that. I thought that you planned to retire after your elevation."
"I had, but what would I do? Plant fray flowers? Take up needlepoint, perhaps? Killing is all I am good at."
"Then kill if you must, but not for the Queen. Her enemies are powerful, they will kill you."
He looked up at her in surprise. "Such concern. Tell me, what have I done to deserve it?"
"Nothing," she snapped. "My concern is for the Queen, not you. Who would worry about a cold-blooded killer?"
"Who indeed? But why do you fear for the Queen? She is in no danger."
"She makes more enemies with these tactics. Those who support her will turn against her."
He started to unlace his tunic, his eyes crossing with fatigue. "Then you should speak to her about it, not me."
"I have tried, it does no good."
"I am in her employ, I have no choice." He took off the tunic and flung it at the rack, missing.
"Are you a lapdog who obeys her every whim?"
He glared at her. "No, but I have lived too long in the gutter to risk losing my hard won rank and privileges."
"I see."
"I doubt it. Now, if you do not mind, Advisor Chiana, I would like to get some sleep."
Chiana opened her mouth to protest his casual dismissal, then remembered his rank and bowed. "My Lord."
Three days later, deep in the bowels of the palace, the remaining conspirators met in a heated argument, angry and afraid. Mendal had to raise his hands and shout to bring order before someone got hurt. When the three lords had subsided to angry muttering, he glared at them.
"Mordon made a mistake. We do not know what, but he gave himself away. That the rest of us are still alive proves that the Queen does not know about us."
"Or she has not given the order yet," Lord Durlan muttered. Lord Javare and Bellcamp nodded, glaring at Mendal.
"Why would she wait?" Mendal snorted. "No, she does not know about us, I am certain. Mordon was sloppy, and paid the price."
"And now you want us to risk our necks too," Javare said.
"Would you rather face ruin?" Mendal stroked the serpent that coiled around his wrist. "The fact that Prince Kerrion is so well defended only confirms our suspicions. The Queen seeks to make peace with the Cotti. We cannot allow that."
"Then advise her, Mendal, that is your job." Durlan mopped his face.
Javare moved away from the fat man. "Let us get this over with, the stench of pigs is sickening me."
Durlan glowered at his antagonist, and Mendal distracted their attention. "Yes, we must strike again. The Prince must die. The Queen will not heed my advice, she listens only to that doltish girl Chiana and a few others."
"How can we kill the Prince?" Bellcamp enquired. "The secret passage is blocked and guarded, a soldier sits in his room with him at all times. It is impossible."
"Blade could do it," Javare muttered.
Mendal nodded. "Doubtless he could, but he is not in our employ."
"His services have always been for hire, and I am sure he would like to kill the Prince. All he needs is a client who pays him for it," Lord Javare asserted, glaring at Mendal.
"He is a lord now, so he is no longer for hire.
"What does he know about being a lord?" Bellcamp demanded. "He is an upstart commoner elevated to the rank. He has no notion of what it entails."
"I would say that he has been educated, Bellcamp. The Queen would not allow him to embarrass her with ill-considered acts, I am sure." Mendal shook his head, pondering the problem while the three lords shifted in the tomb's dusty confines. "No, approaching Lord Conash would put all of our heads on the block, for he would go straight to the Queen." He raised a knobbly finger. "But we could get rid of him, then find a way to kill Kerrion."
"What is the point?" Bellcamp asked. "Blade is not the one we truly wish to kill. Why bother?"
"Because with Blade out of the way, the Queen will not be able to kill any of us, should she find out. She will then have to go through the courts, which will be damaging. She will be forced to reveal her intentions towards Prince Kerrion, and you know how unpopular that will be. Also, we will have our revenge and remove a powerful supporter of the Queen."
Durlan looked unhappy. "That smacks of treason."
"It happens all the time," the advisor said. "Blade is not protected as Kerrion is. In the palace he is relatively safe, but he goes into the city alone and usually on foot. To ambush him would be easy, and we could hire ordinary men to do the job, not expensive assassins. Once he is out of the way, we can concentrate on Kerrion."
"We kill Lord Conash?" Javare asked.
"Not necessarily. He might be of more use to us alive. I am convinced that he knows the Queen's plans. If he could be persuaded to talk, we would find out much from him, I think."
Javare nodded, mollified. "Yes, indeed, a good plan."
"When we are finished with him, he dies," Mendal added, and Lord Javare frowned.
"I dislike the notion of killing a fellow lord, upstart or not. He was elevated for slaying King Shandor and delivering the Prince, honourable deeds. Let us not forget that our forefathers earned their titles in this fashion, and our ancestors were as common as his. In fact, his earning the rank puts him above us, in my opinion, for we merely inherited ours."
"That is only your opinion, Javare," Durlan sneered.
"I doubt you could do any great deed to earn your title, Durlan. You cannot even sit a horse without breaking the beast's back."
"Lords have always plotted against each other, Javare." Bellcamp interjected. "One less will not be remarked upon."
"Speak for yourself," Javare retorted.
Mendal raised his hands. "Let us not squabble, My Lords." He turned to Javare. "We cannot allow him to live, if he knows who we are."
"There is no reason for him to know our identities."
"True." Mendal shrugged. "Very well, we shall make it our intention to spare him, but we may have to kill him."
Javare inclined his head. "I can abide that."
Mendal rose from his hard seat atop a tomb. "Then we are agreed."
Blade went into the city two days later, just to get out and stretch his legs. The day before, Lord Mordon had been buried, and he, as a fellow lord, had been obliged to attend. It was the first time that he had been to the funeral of one of his victims, and he had found the experience discomfiting. Not only the sight of the weeping widow and four bereft children, all older than fifteen, but the angry, hate-filled glances of the mourners had unsettled him. Queen Minna-Satu stood beside the grave in regal splendour, daring anyone to accuse her of wrong doing. Although she had not accused Lord Mordon of treason, her lack of mourning spoke volumes for all to see.
At the funeral feast, Lady Mordon had tried to approach Minna, but the Queen had turned her back on the unfortunate woman. The guests had noticed her rejection, and many remarked upon it as the widow turned away. Lord Mordon's eldest son, a pimply youth of eighteen, had looked cowed and uncertain, his dog familiar following him with tail tucked. His eldest daughter, however, held her head high and dared any to speak ill of her father, her eyes bright with challenge. She was a handsome girl of twenty, and Blade admired her courage. Strangely, despite the matriarchal nature of the monarchy, the title passed to Lord Mordon's son. His eldest daughter would inherit the title of marchioness, but when she married her husband would remain untitled, and she would retain hers.