The Queen's Blade Prequel II - God Touched Read online

  The same could not be said for the trollop who tended him, and he struggled to remember her name. Lila? Lilu. His head seemed to be full of pufftree seeds, and the pain draught made it worse, although it did dull the agony to a more bearable level. He could remember only fragments of his beating, a blurred muddle of thudding boots, heavy breathing, curses and agony. His belt and clothes were gone, and he wondered if she had sold them. His nakedness beneath the thin sheet, so close to her, made him uncomfortable. Would she try to seduce him, too, he wondered, like the rich lady. Not until he was healed, at least, he was sure.

  That she had brought all his money to him amazed him. He had fully expected her to steal most of it, but it would still have been worth it if she cared for him while he was injured. No one else would. Her reasons for doing it still puzzled him, but he was now prepared to accept that she would nurse him back to health, even if he had no rich family for her to sell him to. She looked to be a few years older than him, perhaps five and twenty, although her trade had aged her, adding lines and thickened skin to her face from beatings. He wondered what the Guild was making of, and doing about, his disappearance. Would they find a new Dance Master, or wait? Since Talon had advised him to disappear for a while, they may assume that he was in hiding.

  Blade had no doubt that the men who had beaten him had been hired by, or were members of, the Trobalon family, bent on revenge. Someone from the Artemann clan had betrayed him, probably under torture. That happened sometimes, but it was rare. Had he not been so drunk, they would have had less success, so the blame was partly his. He longed for several bottles of good wine to dull the pain further and lighten his mood. The whore sat back, and he studied her heart-shaped face with its rather broad nose, generous mouth, soft brown eyes and long, glossy brown hair pulled back in a plait. She had never possessed any great beauty, and her abusers had stolen whatever prettiness she might have once owned. Her well-rounded figure was clad in a ragged gown that looked like it was a rich lady's cast-off from several decades ago.

  “Admiring my ugliness?” she enquired.

  He almost smiled at her sharp wit, which he enjoyed, and even admired a little. The taps with the broom had been unexpected and painful, but had taught him a little respect for her.

  “It is exceptional.”

  She thrust her face closer. “After what they did to you, you're not such a pretty picture yourself.”

  A shaft of dread shot through him. He did not want to look like he had been beaten. That would be humiliating in front of his peers. “At least I still have all my teeth.”

  “I'll knock some out if you rile me.”

  This time Blade did smile, simply because he knew it was a lie. She stared at him, then averted her eyes and rose to go over to the cupboard. An air of melancholy hung about her, and he reasoned that this was the result of her unsavoury work. She pulled another tatty dress from the wardrobe and started to unbutton the one she wore.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Getting ready for work, of course.”

  “I need you to stay here.” He dug in the pouch and took out a silver. “Here, buy me some wine, and I need to use the pisspot.”

  She frowned. “Let's get something straight. I'm not your damned servant. What's more, you're in no condition to drink wine, and if you need to piss, here.” She slammed a flat bowl down on the bedside table. “Use that.”

  He glanced at it. “I always knew whores enjoyed their work.”

  She glared at him. “I do it because I have to eat, not because I enjoy it.”

  “And yet it must be better than tending to an injured assassin, otherwise you'd stay instead of rushing off to the whorehouse.”

  She looked confused, shaking her head. “I don't get paid to tend to... Are you offering to pay for your keep?”

  “Are you going to house and feed me for free?”

  “No... Well, I hadn't thought about it.”

  “Perhaps you should.”

  Lilu placed her hands on her hips. “You can certainly afford it.”

  “So I may be a meal ticket after all.”

  “Fair work for a fair wage. It's no picnic tending to you, with your foul temper and acid tongue.”

  “If you were in this much pain you'd be in a foul temper too.”

  Lilu tossed the dress back into the wardrobe. “You've had a draught for the pain. It will still be better than entertaining those louts.”

  Blade held out the coin. “The wine.”

  “Water.” She poured a cup from the pitcher on the table and offered it to him.

  “Wine would put me in a better mood.”

  “And probably kill you.”

  “Then you'll be rich.”

  She thrust the cup at him. “Drink it before I drown you with it.”

  Blade sighed and took the cup, draining it in a few gulps.

  Lilu refilled it, looking puzzled. “Why didn't you say you were thirsty?”

  “I did, when I asked for wine.”

  Blade drained the cup twice more, then handed it back and closed his eyes. The pain draught made him sleepy, and darkness closed in.

  Chapter Three

  Blade glared at the peeling, mildewed ceiling, fighting the urge to shout in frustration. The skin under his casts itched unbearably and his stench sickened him. After two tendays abed, his muscles twitched from inaction. The time had been a trial of daily agony when Lilu changed his dressings and endless pain in between. That had faded now that his stab wounds had healed, and she no longer had to clean them, but the enervating boredom and endless itching were on the brink of driving him crazy, coupled with the lack of wine. Lilu had removed his stitches a tenday ago, but being bedridden was humiliating, especially when it came to his bodily functions.

  Blade hated everything about his life now, and the prospect that he may never be able to dance again filled him with despair. If he could not perform the Dance, even in its simplest form, the Guild would burn off his mark. Then what would he do? How would he earn a living? Perhaps the Guild would allow him to retire at two and twenty, and then he could take on apprentices. The future loomed dark and bleak, and he wished, for the umpteenth time, that Lilu had left him in the gutter to die. Even training stupid boys did not appeal to him, although it was better than joining the crippled beggars in the gutter.

  Blade flexed his leg, finding that the pain was not so bad, and raised his right arm with its tatty, stained cast. Soon, he hoped, the healer would remove them. Levering himself upright, he swayed as the room spun after so long lying on his back. Bile stung the back of his throat, and he swallowed. Lilu had gone to the market to buy food. His left leg was encased in plaster from mid-thigh, and he cursed the healer. Why could he not have left his knee free, so he could bend his leg? Whatever his reasons, it made life exceedingly awkward. Bowing his head, Blade waited for the dizziness to pass, and then tried to rise to his feet. His good leg trembled under the strain, and dull pain came from his broken one. Cursing, he sank back onto the bed.

  Dragging the rickety chair closer, he used it as a prop and struggled to his feet. For a few moments he stood, triumphant, then his head went cold and his good leg buckled, sending him crashing to the floor. Pain flashed up his leg and arm, and he cried out. He lay still, biting his lip while the pain washed through him, waiting for it to recede. Apparently he was not ready to get up yet, and now that he lay on the floor, he was stuck. He dragged the chair closer and tried to pull himself to his feet, but with his rigid knee and useless right arm it proved to be impossible. Blade sagged back, able only to shift into a more comfortable position, and resigned himself to waiting for Lilu, cursing her for taking so long.

  A time-glass later, as he was dozing off, a scream from the door made him jerk in alarm and raise his head. Lilu dropped her bag and ran to him, falling to her knees, her eyes wide with alarm.

  “What happened? Are you all right?”

  He frowned, nodding. “Fine. Help me back onto the bed.”


  “How did you fall?”

  “I was trying to get up.”

  “You what?” She stared at him in disbelief. “How could you be so stupid? You might have hurt yourself! Your bones aren't strong yet.”

  “I'm sick of lying in that bed.”

  “So you thought you'd just get up and go for a walk? Are you mad?”

  “I'd be fine if I had crutches. I need crutches!”

  She glared at him. “You need your head examined! Of all the idiotic... and you had to do it when I wasn't here, too, as if trying wasn't bad enough on its own!”

  “Just help me back onto the damned bed,” he said. “I don't need a bloody lecture.”

  “Yes you do, and if you want my help you'll have to ask for it, nicely.” She folded her arms.

  “Bugger off.”

  “Fine.” She stood up and went over to pick up her bag of shopping. “You can lie there all day then.”

  Blade glowered at her while she took the items from the bag and placed them on the table, humming a little tune. The ditty told him that she was upset and anxious, for Lilu did not usually sing. She was concerned about him, and struggled to hide it with too much cheerfulness. He lay back and studied the ceiling, wondering which of them was more stubborn. The floor was hard and cold, and he strived to hide his shivers. Only the sheet that he had dragged from the bed and wrapped around his hips covered him. He closed his eyes with a sigh.

  Lilu stacked jars of pickles on the shelves, humming tunelessly as she tried to ignore Blade's palpable anger. She longed to help him back into bed and tuck him in, and noted his shivers with a swift glance. He was so stubborn that he would rather lie there and freeze than be polite. Whatever he had been through had left him indifferent, and hardened him to the point where he would rather suffer than be forced to do something he disliked. She sensed that she would lose this battle of wills, and regretted entering into it. Still, she let him lie there a little longer, to make her point.

  Turning, she studied him. His bruises had faded and the swellings had gone down, and the sight of him lying floor was hard to bear. With a sigh, she went over to gaze down at him, and he opened his eyes at her approach.

  “You're making the place untidy. Come on, let's get you on the bed before you get sick from the cold and I have to nurse you through another fever.”

  Blade held out a hand, and she noted the thin scars on his fingers as she clasped it. Probably from dagger throwing practice, she guessed. She pulled him up, bent and slipped her arms around his chest, lacing her fingers behind his back to lift him. He was lighter than he had been when she had carried him from the alley. When she lowered him onto the bed, she overbalanced and sprawled on top of him as he flopped back. He tried to shove her away, but her fingers were locked together and jammed under him. His nostrils flared and his brows knotted.

  “Get off me.”

  “Relax, my hands are stuck.” Lilu tugged her fingers loose and pulled her hands free. “Your rudeness never wanes, does it? I help you, and all I get is more insults.”

  “You're crushing my ribs.”

  “No I'm not. You just don't like to be close to anyone, do you? Why is that?”

  “None of your damned business, and you stink.”

  “I do not.” She glared into his icy eyes. “If you want me gone, ask nicely.”

  “What is it with you and manners?”

  “They're pleasant.”

  “I'm not a pleasant person. You should have left me in the gutter and found someone more polite to rescue.”

  “Perhaps I would have, had I known how rude you are.” Lilu gripped his face and thrust hers closer. “You want me to let you go? Say please.”

  “You really don't want to know how easily I could make you let go,” he said.

  “You know what will happen to you if you hurt me? You'll end up out there on the street with the urchins, and they won't look after you.”

  He closed his eyes. “Please get off me.”

  “That wasn't so hard, was it?” She stood up and lifted his splinted leg onto the bed, pulling the sheet over him.

  Blade rolled onto his side to face the wall, and she sighed as she went back to packing away the food. She had bought fresh, warm bread and a selection of jams, tarts and pastries to tempt his appetite, such as it was. She had taken a parcel of food to her children on her way home, better fare than they usually got, thanks to the assassin's money. He had not stipulated a wage for her work, and merely handed her money whenever she asked for it, but she only bought food and paid her rent and the fishwife who cared for her children. He had paid back the three goldens she had spent on the doctor, however, and given her money to purchase the rickety cot on which she now slept.

  Lilu sliced bread and ham while she pondered the youth in her bed. His deadly skills had earned the money that now fed them, but would he ever be able to work again? What would happen to him if he could not? She could not keep him, but nor could she throw him out into the street to fend for himself. She had the impression that his family was dead. She hoped his recovery would be complete, but if it was, he would be a killer again, and that thought made her shiver. Then again, had he ever stopped being one? She remembered the pure aura Symbell's song had revealed, and wondered at it afresh. Perhaps, if he was crippled, the priestesses at the temple would take him in as a servant.

  Lilu closed the door behind the doctor and turned to smile at Blade, who sat on the bed, scratching his leg as if he could not stop. The casts lay on the floor in dirty heaps, and he looked much better without them. At first, the healer had been daunted when faced with an awake assassin, but had rallied to the task with the aid of two goldens and pronounced Blade's bones to be healed. Lilu scooped up the casts and dumped them outside her door for the trash men to remove, then sat beside Blade.

  “Now you need a proper bath.”

  “I'll return to my rooms if you bring me my clothes.”

  Lilu's heart sank. “You're not strong enough yet. You still have to learn to walk again.”

  “I'll manage.” He looked at her. “Why would you want me to stay any longer?”

  She shrugged, averting her eyes. “I just don't want all my hard work going to waste when you fall down the stairs and break your neck.”

  He drew his money pouch from under the pillow and took out a handful of goldens, holding them out. “Here, this should make it worth your while.”

  She glared at him. “I didn't do it for money.”

  “Then why?”

  “I wanted to help you.” Lilu shook her head in disgust. Even after four tendays in her constant care, he still treated her like a stranger. “Why won't you believe me?”

  He hesitated. “It isn't rational.”

  “It doesn't have to be rational, but it's the truth.”

  “For you to save me purely because you wanted to, and spend all this time looking after me without wanting payment, you would have to be mad.”

  “Perhaps I thought you'd be my friend,” she said.

  “Ah, now we're getting somewhere. You thought it might be useful to have the Dance Master in your debt, is that it?”

  “No.” Lilu shook her head. “You won't believe anything I say unless it suits your way of thinking, will you?”

  Blade slammed the goldens down on the bedside table. “Where are my clothes?”

  “Your landlord will have rented your rooms to someone else by now.”

  “I paid my rent four moons in advance.”

  She bowed her head. “Will you be my friend, if I asked you for that as my payment?”

  “No. You get the goldens, no hold on me.”

  “I don't want a hold on you. That's not what friendship is. I'd just like to see you sometimes, to talk.”

  He shook his head. “We haven't exactly had any good conversations while I've been here.”

  “That's because you won't allow it. You're rude and snide, or you won't talk at all.”

  “Nor will I allow it now. Assassins
don't have friends; we may have to kill them.”

  She glanced at him. “Is that what you're afraid of? Who would bother to hire an assassin to kill me?”

  “Even if that's not a possibility, the friend of an assassin would be a target for vengeance seekers and despisers. They almost killed me, and they'll kill you if you're my friend.”

  Her heart warmed, and she smiled. “I'll risk it.”

  “You'd take that chance, to be friends with me?” His brows rose. “What is it about me that you like so much?”

  “You're a good person, deep down. If only you would allow yourself to be nice. I kept hoping you would mellow.” She sighed. “But even if you won't, I'd still like to have you as a friend.”

  He snorted. “You must be really desperate for a friend, then. Don't you have whore friends?”

  “Yes, but... I like you. I've earned your friendship, don't you think? I've proven to you that I'm not after your money or your protection.” She reached for his hand. “Please, Blade.”

  He snatched it away. “No. Are you going to bring me my clothes, or must I search for them?”

  “They're in the wardrobe.”

  With a heavy heart, she watched him hobble to the wardrobe, the bed sheet wrapped around his hips. Over the past two tendays, he had risen every day to wander around the room, the cast hampering him. He favoured his wounded leg even more now that the cast's support was gone, barely placing any weight on it. Lilu had procured a crutch for him a tenday ago, but he did not use it now.

  “Won't the despisers and murderers want to kill an injured assassin? Will you be safe on your own?”

  “I'll be fine.” He pulled out his clothes and returned to the bed to don them, casting her a frown.

  “Why are you in such a hurry to leave when I want you to stay?” she enquired.

  “I dislike company.”

  “Why?”

  “None of your business.” He pulled his flannel shorts from the pile of clothes and turned to her. “Would you wait outside?”