end without being overthrown.' He paused. 'If she surrenders to me, I can promise her fair treatment. I will ensure a peaceful occupation, offer her protection and banish the Contara back to their land.'
'She will never surrender, not to you, or anyone else.'
'Then the Jashimari will be wiped out.'
'You will continue the war against your daughter?' Blade enquired.
'She will not take power for five and twenty years, but then no, I will not.'
'Jashimari will not outlast the spring, and when Jondar falls, your daughter will be at the mercy of the Contara. Why not end it now?'
Kerrion sighed, rubbing his eyes. 'If only I could. My nobles will not agree to end the war against Minna-Satu, but they too will not wish to fight against a Cotti Queen.'
'Half Cotti.'
'What if the child is a boy?'
Blade shrugged, frowning at the sour young wine in his cup. 'Shamsara predicted a girl, chances are, he is right.'
'The Idol of the Beasts should not be interfering in politics. It is not his place.'
The assassin put down his goblet and stood. 'Have you any messages for the Queen?'
Kerrion shook his head. 'Only my offer of peaceful occupation. No slavery, no atrocities, no massacres.'
'Only oppression.'
'I cannot do any more than that.'
'You are the King,' Blade said. 'Or are you just a puppet?'
Kerrion's frown deepened. 'I am no puppet, but the nobles wield a great deal of power, and have fifteen princes to choose from. If I try to end the war, they will turn the people against me, accuse me of treason or cowardice or something. I have no hope of support from the armies, they exist only to do battle. Without a war, they will be jobless and destitute.
'You saw how close I have already come to the gallows, and for no other reason than that my younger brother wished to get rid of me. It is well known that he was my father's favourite, and that he wanted Lerton to inherit the crown. I am not well liked because of that, my claim to the crown is only upheld because I am the first born son. Perhaps, over the course of a few years, I can make powerful friends and talk to them of the disadvantages of war, but I cannot call an end to it the moment I am crowned.'
He turned away and bowed his head, his shoulders hunched. 'If I am overthrown, the next in line will see to it that my daughter does not survive. I have to be King to ensure her safety. If I am King when Cotti invades Jashimari, I will protect them both, I swear it. I shall not allow any harm to come to Minna-Satu.'
Kerrion's voice deepened. 'Usually Cotti warriors take little notice of women. They are inconsequential, and if captured, spoils of war. But the fact that the child is of royal blood, both Minna's and mine, will ensure her death, should I be ousted.
'I suspect that Minna knows this, which is why she sent you, her most valuable ally, into the jaws of death to redeem me. Minna's child can only bring peace between our kingdoms if she is the daughter of the Cotti king. Even so, we would face another five and twenty years of war, if Jashimari could last that long.'
Blade toyed with the wine cup, remembering the Queen's sadness on the night she had gone to Kerrion's bed, her strange depression since then, and her constant promises of peace, soon. 'I do not think she would have waited five and twenty years, and now she cannot.'
Kerrion swung to face him. 'What do you mean? Every Jashimari Queen rules for five and twenty years.'
'Obviously Minna-Satu will not, since the Contara will invade in the spring, but I think her rule will end before the Contara reach Jondar.'
The Prince closed the gap between them and gripped Blade's shoulders, his eyes filled with anxiety. 'What are you saying?'
Blade shook him off. 'You know perfectly well.'
'She cannot do that! She cannot put an infant on the throne!'
'She can. If she appoints a regent, your daughter could be Queen in just a few moons.'
Kerrion gave a despairing groan. 'She will place me in an impossible position.' He frowned, becoming thoughtful. 'But how? She cannot step aside.'
'She can, by taking the Queen's Cup.'
Kerrion turned away. 'I see.'
Blade headed for the door, collecting his bundle. 'Your brother dies tonight.'
'Wait!'
Blade turned at the door, his hand on the knob. Kerrion ran a hand through his hair, looking confused and upset. 'Tell her that she cannot do this. She must give me time. A year or two, at the very least.'
'I am sure she would like to, but I do not think the Contara will allow her that option. With the spring, they will be able to advance swiftly on the capital city. Your daughter must take the throne before Jondar falls, so you will be forced to come to her aid, or not, as your conscience dictates.
'Of course, if you do not, the Contara will conquer Jashimari, and all your centuries of war will be for nothing. How will your people feel if their prize is stolen from under their noses? If you take advantage of Jashimari's weakness now, you will have to slaughter every last man, woman and child before there is peace again.' He paused. 'Besides, I may not live to deliver your message.' A slight, ironic smile curled his lips, tinged with sadness.
Kerrion stared at him. 'Blade… let Lerton live.'
The assassin frowned. 'No.'
'You do not understand. His death will delay my coronation. Six tendays of mourning will be declared, a whole moon phase. Then another three tendays before I can be crowned. I will not have time to pick up the pieces.'
'You will have to manage.'
'I could warn him.'
Blade shrugged. 'You already have.'
Before Kerrion could think of a reply, the assassin opened the door and slipped into the passage, closing it behind him. The Prince stared at the door for a long time, his mind whirling with possible solutions and their pitfalls. Conflicting emotions filled him with despair and sorrow as he went to the desk and poured a goblet of wine. Draining it in a few gulps, he wandered to the window and stared out at the pale city shimmering under the sun. Kiara flapped from her perch and landed on his shoulder, allowing him to stroke the sleek feathers of her breast. He gestured to the sky.
'Fly, Kiara. Take my thoughts with you, that they might find some solution closer to God.'
Kerrion watched the big bird soar with none of the elation it usually brought him, then returned to the desk to pour more wine.
'I hope you fail this time, Blade,' he muttered. 'Not because I am particularly fond of my brother, but because of all the trouble you will cause if you succeed, you bastard.'
Blade walked through the palace, returning to the stables. Using the servants' narrow passages, he avoided guard posts and kept his head down, averting his face when he passed servants. He did not wish too many Cotti to see him. Even his brief exposure in the courtroom had been tainted by the fact that he had not removed all of his face paint. Those who had glimpsed his visage would soon find it hard to remember, for he had avoided eye contact and wiped his countenance with a cloth when he had confronted the gallery. Protecting his identity was second nature to him, since becoming well known could be fatal for an assassin. Even though he did not intend to return to Cotti, his caution was instinctive and well advised. Although he stood out here, he made sure that no one had a good look at him. With a blond wig and skin dye, he would become anonymous again quite easily.
The peace of the stables, with its warm redolence of horses and hay, was a welcome relief after the palace's tension and the palpable hatred of its denizens. He stretched out on the straw and ate some bread and cheese while he plotted the night's assassination. Forewarned, and knowing of his abilities, Lerton would undoubtedly have guards in his room and not allow any women entry. He needed to gain entry without causing an outcry, so the stealthy approach would not work. The task called for a disguise, but not a female one. Fortunately Lerton's snake familiar was not a deadly variety, and snakes could do little to raise the alarm. His dislike of snakes made the task of killing the Prince's familiar a less odious one, if it came to that.
After a while, he fell asleep in the straw, awaking in the late afternoon. By then, a plan had formulated in his mind, and he quit the straw's comfort to wander along the rows of stables, patting their inmates. These were the
