"Why has she sent him back now?" the thug demanded again.
"Probably because there is a group of traitors, undoubtedly your masters, who plotted to assassinate the Prince. I killed one of them, Lord Mordon, and that's no secret either. With me out of the way, she had no recourse but to release the Prince before your masters killed him. Now she has a free hand to arrest and execute whomever she chooses, without the populace accusing her of protecting an enemy Prince."
"You talk too much," the cutthroat growled, and dug his fingers into Blade's jaw to force him to open his mouth in order to stuff the gag back in. "I hope I'm the one who gets to kill you."
The man turned away, and his companions dumped Blade in the straw again before following him up the steps, leaving the assassin in darkness once more.
For three days, the Queen's soldiers ransacked the city, turning it and its denizens upside down in their zeal. Minna read the reports of the chaos the search caused with some disquiet, but her anger tempered her concern, and a deep-seated need to find Blade alive. Loyal citizens turned upon their neighbours, accusing them of the deed. Dozens were arrested and questioned, dozens more clamoured for the reward, sending the soldiers of fruitless searches that found other dark-haired men. Many people took up searches of their own to claim the prize.
Fights erupted in the streets as ostensibly righteous citizens, intent on finding the Queen's Blade, invaded homes and pilfered valuables in their search. Petitions poured into the palace, and Chiana spent most of her time dealing with them, as well as irate lords and citizens claiming damages. Minna kept to her rooms, reading the reports her officers submitted but denying audiences and ignoring her advisors' demands.
Blade lay motionless to conserve his strength and keep his suffering to a minimum by not aggravating his wounds. His arms had stiffened in their uncomfortable confinement, and moving only brought fresh pain and availed him nothing. Rats scuttled and squeaked in the straw, at times crawling over him and waking him from the uneasy doze he fell into from time to time. In the darkness, he had no idea of how much time had passed. It seemed an eternity, and only his hunger and thirst gave him some measure of it.
The sounds of the search came close to his prison several times, and perhaps it was this that kept his jailers away. Each time the tramping of soldiers' feet and shouted commands drew close, his heart beat a little faster, but as they moved away again, his hopes faded. When the tramping and shouting came close once more, he paid it little heed, certain that they would pass him by yet again.
The cellar door was kicked open, and heavy feet thudded down the steps. Someone lighted a torch and thrust it close to where he lay, then a startled exclamation filled him with hope and relief.
"Lord Conash!"
Two soldiers fell to their knees beside him. One pulled the damp gag from his mouth, the other cut the ropes that bound his wrists. Blade hissed as fresh pain surged through him, grimacing when he tried to move. They men cut the ropes on his ankles, then tried to pull him to his feet. Blade groaned, and a voice barked orders from the top of the steps.
"Don't manhandle him, you lunk-heads! He may be injured!"
Blade tried to agree with that statement, but only a rusty whisper issued from his mouth. The soldiers eased him back onto the straw, and several more men descended with torches and lamps. The one who was in charge shouted for a healer, and the crowd around the doorway shifted as someone ran to fetch one. Blade recognised Captain Redgard, whom he had met at the palace several times. The captain looked tired and worried, but triumphant as he knelt at Blade's side.
"Lord Conash, are you all right?"
Once again, only a hiss issued from the assassin's dry throat.
Redgard turned to the nearest soldier. "Give me your canteen."
The captain raised Blade's head and pressed the flask to his lips. The assassin tried to take the canteen, but discovered that his right arm would not move, and his wounded hip prevented him from sitting up. Since every movement hurt, he relaxed and allowed Redgard to hold the flask while he drank. Redgard eased him back onto the straw.
"The healer will be here soon, My Lord."
"I am all right," Blade croaked. "Just help me out of here."
"You are wounded, My Lord."
"I know, but nothing is broken."
Captain Redgard shook his head. "You will tear open your wounds and bleed again. It is not a good idea."
Blade sighed, closing his eyes. "How did you find me?"
"The housewife down the road told us that she had seen a man dragged this way four days ago, but we had to search every house and cellar on this street. It took some time."
"Four days?"
"No, sir, she only told us this morning."
Blade smiled. "I meant, I have been here for four days?"
"Yes, sir."
"It seems longer."
"I would imagine so, My Lord." Redgard hesitated. "As soon as you are well enough, we will arrest whoever is responsible for this. The Queen has promised them execution."
"The bastards who brought me here are just pawns. I have no idea who hired them, though I should think that they do."
A commotion at the door heralded the healer, who pushed through the crowd and hurried down the steps. He knelt beside the captain and examined Blade's wounds, cutting away his clothes to bandage them.
Blade remembered little of the journey to the palace. The healer gave him a draught for the pain, which made him sleepy and pleasantly detached. Four soldiers bore him through the streets on a litter, a squad of men surrounding him. By the time he reached the palace, he had drifted off to sleep, and did not awaken even when he was put into bed.
Minna-Satu turned at a strident knock on the door, frowning. Chiana came in, flushed and smiling, hurrying to make her prostration.
Minna gestured for her to rise. "What is it? What news?"
"They have found him, My Queen."
"When? Where?"
"A few time-glasses ago, in a cellar somewhere in the slums. They are taking him to his rooms."
"Taking him? He is wounded?"
"Yes, My Queen, but not too seriously."
"How seriously?" Minna demanded, then waved impatiently. "Never mind, I shall see for myself."
Minna made her way to Blade's rooms with Chiana pattering in her wake, and thrust open the door to enter the crowded chamber. A dozen people fell to their knees, but she ignored them as she went to the bed. Blade was asleep, his face swollen and bruised, a clean bandage around one arm, the sheet covering the rest of him. Minna swung to confront the kneeling crowd.
"Which one of you is the healer?"
A balding man rose to his feet. "I am, My Queen."
"How bad are his injuries?"
"They are grave, but he will recover in time."
"How long?"
The doctor shrugged. "Three tendays, maybe a little more."
Minna turned to gaze at the assassin again, her mouth set in a grim line. "Whoever did this will pay dearly. I shall have their heads." She paused, eyeing the healer. "You have attended him? Given him a draught to make him sleep, I assume?"
"Yes, My Queen, I have done all I can."
"Good, then you may go." Her eyes raked the crowd. "All of you, save my chief advisor."
The soldiers, servants and healer left, and Blade's manservant closed the door behind them. Minna studied the sleeping assassin a little longer, then turned to Chiana.
"I suppose you are wondering why I make so much fuss over a worthless assassin."
"He is also a lord, My Queen, and one who has done you a great service."