"This is your doing!"
"What might that be?"
"You aided that upstart Verone to overthrow King Jan-Durval!"
Lerton nodded. "Indeed I did. A stroke of genius, I would say."
"Well I would not! He has invaded Jashimari!"
"That was the whole point, brother. With his help, we will overrun Jashimari before the spring."
Kerrion gritted his teeth. "Imbecile! He will ransack the place! There will be nothing left but burnt ruins and trampled fields. Then we will have to fight him."
"No, he is our ally. He has signed a treaty."
"A treaty!" Kerrion sneered. "It is as worthless as the paper it is written on. A man who can turn on his kin will not honour an agreement with another kingdom."
"King Jan-Durval was a thorn in our side. The threat of reprisals has ever thwarted our attempts to invade Jashimari."
"So now you have handed it to Verone on a platter!" Kerrion threw the paper down. "And on what authority did you make this treaty? You are not the King!"
"Nor are you!" Lerton shot back. "The way the trial is going, you never will be, either."
"You and your lies! I cannot believe the judges are sucking up your ridiculous tales."
Lerton raised his chin. "They are better than yours, and perhaps they want a king like Shandor, not a weakling like you. You talk about downgrading the war. You freed the Jashimari captives."
"Children! We do not make slaves of children. The Cotti have more pride."
"They will grow up to fight in the Jashimari witch's army."
Kerrion controlled the urge to punch his brother, spinning away to pace up and down. When he had calmed down somewhat, he stopped and faced Lerton again. "Do you know what the Jashimari Queen's most potent weapon is? A man who was once one of those slaves. One who escaped, and, because of his treatment and mutilation, because he saw his family tortured and murdered in slavery, hates the Cotti more than I would have thought possible."
Lerton shrugged. "So?"
"He is the one who killed our father!"
"That is your story. I do not believe he exists."
Kerrion growled in frustration. "Our father's death warrant was signed the day Blade escaped from the camp. Not only does he know how to look like one of us, he also speaks like us. He can blend in perfectly and go anywhere in Cotti lands he pleases."
"This is the one who is also a woman?"
"Looks like a woman when he chooses. There is a big difference."
"He is a figment of your imagination. I have made a good deal with Prince Verone, one that our father should have made."
"Did you stop to wonder why he did not?"
Lerton smirked. "He did not think of it."
"He was not that stupid!"
"In a few days, you will be on the gallows, so you should not worry about affairs of state, brother."
"I would not be so sure of that."
Lerton laughed. "The only way you can save yourself now is if you can produce this fictitious assassin as a witness, and I do not see that happening."
"Before you usurp me, remember that there is a nest of little vipers just waiting for their turn to do the same to you. Once I am gone, you will be the next target, and they are just as devious and scheming as you. I do not see you remaining King for very long."
Kerrion left Lerton agape and stormed back to his apartments, ordering the doors closed to all visitors. The trial had dragged on for almost a moon phase now, and he could sense the judges leaning in Lerton's direction, attentive to his tales and the witnesses he had produced, their pockets jingling with newfound wealth.
The Maiden Moon waned and the Warrior started to show his face, boding well for battles just as the war had begun to escalate beyond all recognition. He sat at his desk and stared at Kiara on her perch, his mind filled with the memory of a pale face, which had haunted all his waking moments since his return and invaded his dreams at night. Jashimari's imminent fall filled him with fear for Minna's life, yet he could do nothing to help her until he was King. If Lerton succeeded in his endeavour to usurp Kerrion and condemn him for his father’s death, she and her kingdom were doomed.
Chapter Seventeen
Blade arrived at the border tired and cold. The raw chill of the four-tenday journey that had brought him here through deep snow on frozen roads seemed to have invaded his bones. The horses had to be changed frequently, since the heavy going sapped their strength, and it had taken all of the Queen's resources to make the journey possible in the harsh winter conditions. A tenday before they reached the mountains, the snow had lessened and the pace quickened.
Here no snow lay on the ground, but the air was freezing and the wind nipped at any bare skin it found, reddening his nose and chapping his lips. After one night of comfort in a border camp tent, he was introduced to the Cotti spy who would take him to Jadaya. Valda was a man of crows, with a beaky nose and darting black eyes under a thatch of straw-like hair. He grumbled constantly, finding no end of complaints, and his raucous familiar annoyed the assassin. Blade bore his company in silence as they set off on two desert horses across the sea of sand.
No winter lay siege to Jadaya, and at the end of the two-tenday journey that brought him to the city, the days were hot enough to cook a man's brains. Disguised in the flowing, pale turquoise robes of the desert people, which covered almost every inch of him, Blade entered Jadaya with his face covered, forgoing the skin dyes until it was necessary. His annoying companion took him to the desert King's palace and left him outside the walls with directions to Prince Kerrion's rooms, then hastened away.
Kerrion sat slumped behind his desk, a cup of warm wine in one hand. Tomorrow the judges would give their verdict, and he knew what it would be. Lerton had convinced them, he was certain of it, and his spies could tell him nothing to refute it. Lerton took great pleasure in scorning every argument that Kerrion put forward, painting a graphic picture of power-hungry, hateful son whom Shandor disliked and who was determined to be rid of him. The worst part was that many of the accusations were true. Kerrion had never been close to his father, harbouring a deep resentment born of the fact that he was an unwanted son. He had not plotted to kill King Shandor, however, only to try to stay alive.
It seemed ironic that Lerton, so long in collusion with his father to rid themselves of Kerrion, would achieve that aim through Shandor's death. He sighed and sipped the wine, grimacing at the sour taste. So deep was he in his morbid thoughts that he had not noticed the time-glasses passing, or the wine warming in his cup. Only the arrival of servants to light the lamps and torches alerted him to the fact that night had fallen. He waved away the offer of supper, lacking an appetite and wishing only to be left alone to think. The servants filed out, leaving him to his solitary gloom, the newly lighted torches hissing and spluttering.
A movement amongst the curtains caught his eye, and he frowned at it, annoyed. His mother had visited him several times over the tendays, voicing her concern and offering advice that he did not want. Her visits irritated him, breaking his solitude and quiet reveries. She often waited behind the curtains for the optimum moment to show herself, usually just when he had managed to relax.
"Come out, mother."