Free The Queen's Blade Prequel I - Conash: Dead Son by T C Southwell Page B

leapt away when
she attacked him again. Talon almost fell over a chair, but grabbed
her arms and pinned them, forcing her into the chair. She fought
him for several minutes, ignoring his orders and assurances. Tiring
of the struggle, he shifted his grip to her neck and squeezed with
well-practiced precision until her eyes rolled back, and she
slumped. Talon straightened and frowned at her, exceedingly
puzzled. Her voice, judging by her growls, was too deep. The man's
shirt had been pulled open during the struggle, revealing a chest
padded with sinewy muscle, and definitely male.
    Talon found a
length of rope and bound the boy's arms to the chair, trying to
estimate his age again. Fourteen, maybe, although his voice was too
deep for a fourteen-year-old, but he was not big enough to be
older. When the youth was safely trussed, Talon patted his cheek
until he jerked awake. The retired assassin stepped back as the boy
fought his bonds in a frenzy, growling like a wild animal. He was
cat kin, Talon surmised, judging by his feline traits. Talon
wandered over to the table and settled on a chair. Pouring a cup of
wine, he watched the boy's frantic struggles.
    The youth did
not seem to realise the futility of his endeavour, and Talon pitied
him. Once an assassin bound a person, there was no escape. It took
almost half a time-glass before the panting boy gave up, his brow
beaded with sweat. His wild, cold eyes sought Talon, and the
assassin waited for him to speak. Silence clamped down, which only
the boy's gasps broke.
    Talon sipped
his wine and frowned. “Are you mute, boy?”
    His eyes
flickered, and he looked away.
    The assassin
snorted. “All right, I'll assume that you are. So, you tried to
knock me out, presumably to steal my purse. That makes you
something of a fool, since I'm a retired assassin. Most would know
better, and the fact that you don't makes me think you're not from
the city. Clearly you're hungry. Would you like some food?”
    The boy glared
at the floor.
    Talon sighed.
“Right, you're not talking. I got that.”
    Going over to
the stove, he placed a pot of left-over stew on it, stoking the
fire. Soon the aroma of goat meat and vegetables filled the shack,
and the boy gulped.
    Talon returned
to his chair. “Hungry, boy? You can eat; it's free. I want to help,
although God knows why. You don't deserve it, but you need it.”
    The boy shot
him a brief, suspicious glance, and turned his head away. Talon
studied him, wondering where he was from, and what circumstances
had led to his sad situation. He dished up a bowl of stew and
brought it to the table, then sat and regarded the boy again.
    “If you want me
to untie you, you'll have to promise not to attack me,
understand?”
    The boy raised
frigid, hate-filled eyes and snarled.
    Talon sighed.
“All right, then I'll have to feed you.”
    The elder
assassin scooped up a spoonful of stew and held it in front of the
boy's mouth, waiting for him to open it. The youth glared at him
with such venom that Talon swore the temperature in the room
dropped several degrees. He put the spoon back in the bowl.
    “If you don't
eat, you'll starve. You want to starve?”
    The youth
looked away, his nostrils flaring with thwarted rage, and swallowed
again. Talon found him extremely puzzling. Most waifs would jump at
the offer of food, yet this one seemed to find it enraging, or
perhaps humiliating. He wondered why he was so hostile, even to the
point of refusing to eat when he was clearly hungry. It made no
sense. He sighed and stood up.
    “All right, you
don't want to eat. I'm tired, so I'm going home. I'll be back
tomorrow. Maybe you'll eat then, hey?”
    The boy jerked
at the ropes that bound his wrists to the chair arms, but Talon
shook his head.
    “No, I'm not
letting you go. You'll stay tied to that chair until you agree to
behave, and if you don't eat, I'll let you starve. You think I care
if you do?”
    The boy snarled
and glared at Talon, but the former assassin headed