Fire and Sword by Simon Brown

neck, then her breasts and the flat of her stomach. “Instead, you flouted me,” he said, pouting.
    “Keep that up and I’ll flog you,” she said, and pushed him away. He roared in mock fury and tried to fling himself over her, but Areava got out of the way and leaped on him instead.
    “You’re too slow, Amanite.”
    “Slow to come,” he said, “better in bed.”
    Areava laughed. “Oh, you are cheap.”
    Sendarus twisted around underneath her. “You are less careworn today.”
    “I feel it. Learning that Lynan was still alive shook my confidence, I admit. But I am back on top now.”
    Sendarus grunted. “In more ways than one.”
    Areava slammed a pillow into the side of his head. “This is the natural state of things. I am queen already, you are a mere prince.”
    “Yes, your Majesty.”
    She lay down against his length and held his head in her hands. “I love you, and always will, prince or no.” She kissed him quickly and moved to get out of bed.
    “Already?” Sendarus complained. “I was hoping for a second engagement.”
    “Tonight, perhaps. I have much to do.”
    “Will we be taking a honeymoon after our marriage?”
    “Of course. The morning after our marriage, I will stay in bed an extra hour. That should be enough time.”
    “Too fast for me,” he said.
    “But not for me,” she countered, already half-dressed. She went to the east window and opened it. Down below, the guard was changing, their spear tips and helms gleaming in the dawn light. She saw another figure, small, lonely and sad-looking, coming through the main gate. With a shock she realized it was Olio. In her depression about Lynan over the last few weeks she had not spared him much time, and he seemed to be getting worse from day to day. What was happening to him? Why was he changing so much? She did not want to gain a husband but lose her dearest brother.
    Sendarus noticed her face fall. “What is it?” he asked, concerned.
    She shook her head, said nothing.

    Prado was filled with nervous impatience. “When can I go?” he demanded.
    Orkid studied him carefully. Prado had been a wretched creature when he first came to the palace—malnourished, bruised, and cut—but now he looked every bit a warrior, lean and strong despite his middle age. On hearing of the council’s decision, the mercenary had immediately gone out and bought a new set of breeches, jerkin, boots, and gloves, and a fine Chandran sword and knife, all on credit. If anyone could find and slay Lynan, he could, Orkid thought.
    “Soon. The queen should sign your warrant today, and I already have your promissory note from the treasury. You have enough to hire a small army for a period of several months. I hope it is enough, for you shall get no more.”
    “It will be enough,” Prado said with arrogant confidence.
    “I will bring you two heads in repayment: Prince Lynan’s and Rendle’s.”
    “One head will be enough. Rendle’s remains you can leave where you slay him.”
    “Oh, no. I have plans for that trophy.”
    Orkid grimaced. “Your mission is to kill Lynan. Achieve that at all costs.”
    “I will.”
    “And do not fail me.”
    “You?” Prado barked. “I thought I was serving your queen.”
    “Our
queen,” Orkid hissed. He stood right next to the mercenary. “And on this commission you answer to me. I will not brook failure.”
    Prado’s eyes hardened. “I will not fail, Chancellor, but I do not like being threatened.”
    “I promise you, Jes Prado, if you
do
fail me, I will have you hunted down like a crazed karak.”
    There was such menace in Orkid’s voice and large, dominating figure that Prado retreated a step. He avoided the chancellor’s gaze. “I’ve already told you: I will not fail.”
    Orkid nodded and moved to his desk and retrieved an official-looking parchment. He held it out to Prado. “Your promissory note.”
    “Good,” Prado said, taking the parchment.
    “Come back this evening for the warrant. By the way, it