Shalador's Lady

CHAPTER 14

“Prince Theran,” Dryden said. “There are some Ladies here to see the Queen.”

Theran tried to relax his jaw. He’d spent the morning gritting his teeth as he waded through all the crap the Steward should be doing. He was going to have to hire someone to deal with the paperwork—and complaints—until he could get a new court established. Of course, hiring someone meant paying wages, and he still had to figure out how much income he would get from the tithe and what part of that was already committed to paying the guards who protected the town and its citizens. Now that Cassidy was no longer in residence, he also had to figure out if the servants could be paid out of the tithe or if he’d have to pay their wages out of the Grayhaven inheritance.

“What Ladies?” he growled. “Why are they here to see Kermilla?”

“They are Queens. They do not wish to offer their names or where they live, and as a courtesy to them, I did not press for that information. They said they received a letter from Lady Cassidy about some Craft the Queens can do to help increase the harvest. She offered to teach them.”

Hell’s fire. “Well, tell them . . .”

An opportunity. A chance for the other Queens to meet Kermilla—and a chance for Kermilla to show the Queens and, through them, the Warlord Princes that she had as much, if not more, to offer the people of Dena Nehele as Cassidy.

“Tell them Lady Kermilla and I will join them shortly.” Theran pushed away from the desk and the nagging paperwork.

He found Kermilla in the parlor, playing cards with Jhorma and two of the escorts.

“Oh, la. You must be cheating, Jhorma,” Kermilla said, throwing down her cards.

“I’m not cheating,” Jhorma replied with tight courtesy.

“You must be! I haven’t won anything in the last six hands!”

After playing cards with them a couple of times, Theran realized Jhorma cheated in order to ensure she did win a few hands. The man must not be in an accommodating mood today.

“Kermilla, I need your help for an hour or so,” Theran said, glad he could offer an interruption. A display of bad temper was exactly what they didn’t need with other Queens in the mansion.

“I might as well help you,” Kermilla said, leaving the table. “Jhorma isn’t being any fun.”

Good, Theran thought. He wasn’t sure how to approach a Queen to find out if she wanted to have sex, but if her Consort wasn’t entertaining her sufficiently, Kermilla might be receptive to another man’s interest.

She slipped her arm through his as he led her from the room. “Are we going to a party or one of those quaint outdoor concerts?” Her laugh tinkled through the hallway. “I don’t mean to make fun but, la, the musicians aren’t very good.”

He tried not to wince. There wasn’t much in the town that could entertain a vivacious young woman who was used to finer amusements. Since Cassidy had been so keen to attend one of the outdoor concerts, he’d figured Kermilla would enjoy going to one.

That evening only emphasized the differences between the two women. Kermilla might be younger, but she was far more aristo and sophisticated. Which made it difficult when the town, and the remaining aristo families, had so little to offer.

“No, this is something else,” Theran said. “Some Queens have arrived to learn that Queen’s Craft of using power to enrich the land.”

Kermilla rolled her eyes. “Oh. That. Every Queen knows how to do that.”

“No, they don’t. The Queens here have forgotten. They need someone to lead them, to teach them.”

She gave him a sexy pout that always made him wonder what her mouth would taste like, but there wasn’t time for distractions.

“Cassidy offered to show them,” Theran said.

“Then let Cassidy show them,” Kermilla snapped. “She always liked digging in the dirt.”

Theran hesitated. He couldn’t make promises, couldn’t give her assurances yet, but he could hint strongly enough that she wouldn’t mistake his meaning. Not after the other hints he’d given her.

“A Territory Queen needs to be a strong leader, needs to teach the skills that will benefit the people.” He stopped walking and looked at her intently so she would understand this was important. “When Cassidy’s contract ends next spring, the Warlord Princes will need to select another Queen to rule Dena Nehele. They’ll take the opinions and preferences of the Queens who are here today into account.”

He waited.

Several seconds later, her eyes widened. “Oh. I see. Well then, since Cassidy isn’t here to perform her duties, I will be happy to assist you, Theran. It would be a shame if my Sisters made a journey here for nothing.”

He smiled, relieved. “Exactly.”

Surreal took his face between her hands and smiled. “You have a penis, and it makes you strange. Try not to be an ass on top of it.”

“I’m not an ass,” Gray muttered as he watched Cassidy explain to another group of Queens the different ways of using their power to enhance the crops in a field.

“Are you still snarling about that?” Ranon asked, also keeping close watch.

“You’d be snarling too if she’d said it to you.”

“Probably,” Ranon replied, smiling. Then he sighed. Gray heard so much relief in that sound.

“Last one,” Gray said. “Then we can go home.”

They had fought it out for hours after Surreal and Rainier left. Powell had tried to keep things courteous, but it felt like yelling was the only way to bridge the gap between what Cassie wanted to do and what the court was willing to let her do.

In the end, neither side was happy, but the compromise was something they could all live with.

Thirty villages in five days, spread over the three Shalador reserves and the two southernmost Provinces. Fifteen Blood and fifteen landen. Cassie had insisted that the landens be included. Every man had been opposed to that— until Vae nipped Ranon in the ass. So Cassie, backed by Vae’s teeth, had won that part of the argument.

Gray hadn’t fought in the landen uprising. Hadn’t seen the bodies in the burned villages. Hadn’t found what was left of people he’d loved. But he understood why the other men had argued. It had been hard for the Warlord Princes especially to watch Cassie open a vein and fill that small offering cup to benefit landens.

But after the first landen village, they all understood why she had fought to do this. The landens were hostile and wary—and sure that a Queen’s presence meant pain. Mother Night, the looks on their faces when they realized Cassie and the Queens who came with her were doing something that would benefit their village and increase their crops so they could pay the tithe and still feed their children through the coming winter.

“You can’t erase generations of suffering and two years of war in a couple of hours,” Ranon said quietly. “But, sweet Darkness, Gray, the people in this village won’t look at the Blood the same way the next time we ride in.”

Because of the Queen with hazel eyes and sunset hair.

The Queens walked the field, dipping into the barrels of water that floated behind them and sprinkling the ground with water enhanced with their blood and power. First and last plant in each row got a dipper full of water. Gray could already see a difference in the first rows that had been given the Queens’ touch.

A gift. A part of what it meant to be a Queen. The ritual cup of blood made the water richer and nourished the land faster, but power alone could be released into the water or directly into the land. The results weren’t as dramatic, but it was less physically demanding for the Queen and something they could do often without endangering themselves.

Learning about that option had almost started another quarrel between him and Cassie over her first careless release of power. Probably just as well that Surreal and Rainier had already gone home before he found out about it.

“I’m glad there’s a way the Queens can use their gift without spilling their own blood,” Gray said.

“Shira is pleased about that too,” Ranon replied. “She wasn’t happy about Cassidy opening a vein every time to siphon some power into the land. The men who serve can accept blood being given once a year in a ceremony when the rest of the time it’s just the Ladies releasing a bit of power into the land or water.” He paused. “Even using restraint and letting other Queens demonstrate, Cassidy has drained herself more than she should have.”

“Well, she’s going to go home and rest for a day,” Gray said, feeling his temper sharpen at the thought of her collapsing again.

Ranon snorted. “Good luck getting her to do that.”

Gray closed his eyes and began counting. “Her moontime is coming. She has to rest during those first three days. It’s a rule.”

He could feel Ranon watching him.

“And that fussing thing,” he said, opening his eyes enough to keep track of Cassie. “That first time, Lucivar said something about being allowed to fuss during those days, but I wasn’t paying attention.”

He heard Ranon try to choke it back, but the laughter burst out.

“Hell’s fire, Gray,” Ranon said when he was able to speak again. “You’re turning into a pain in the ass.”

Something inside him shifted, settled. Felt solid—and right. He looked at his friend and said, “No, I’m turning into a Warlord Prince.”

Kermilla lay back on her bed and smiled.

The Queen of Dena Nehele. She finally understood what all of Theran’s circling had been about. He wanted to know if she was interested in ruling Dena Nehele after Cassidy’s contract ran out. He didn’t want Freckledy; he wanted her.

A Territory Queen. La, wasn’t that wonderful? All right, it wasn’t a rich, exciting Territory, and it was in Terreille, but the tithes had to be worth the responsibilities, so they would be so much better than that little sheep-shit village of Bhak or, worse, Woolskin. She’d try for a five-year contract. Theran would get it for her. And she wouldn’t shirk her duties. Really, she wouldn’t. But she’d make sure there was some fun too.

It had been satisfying to teach those other Queens about draining power into the land. Such a basic thing, and they didn’t know it. La! They weren’t much better than landens. Not that she’d said that. She supposed they were nice enough, but most of them were older than her and they looked so tatty and didn’t talk about anything interesting. How could they expect anyone to take them seriously as Queens when they dressed like that and didn’t know how to be interesting?

She would set an example, even set the fashion trends. Wouldn’t that be fun? Of course, because Freckledy had gotten into a snit, she was stuck here in Grayhaven, which was supposed to be the capital of Dena Nehele and an Important Town. There wasn’t anything here that she considered impressive. If this was the best they could do, maybe she didn’t want to rule here after all.

No, of course she wanted to rule here. When would she get another opportunity to rule a whole Territory? Sabrina was going to be ruling Dharo for years and years, and there were too many other strong Queens to choose from when it came time for a successor. She could continue to rule Bhak and keep a connection with Dharo that way. A few days each season would be sufficient for whatever required her attention. Her Steward could run Bhak and landen Woolskin the rest of the time and just send her reports—and the all-important income from the tithes. Then, if she decided not to stay in Dena Nehele and nothing better turned up in Terreille, she could go home, a seasoned Queen who might not be offered a Province—yet—but should be given her pick of the larger cities that could offer more diversity in terms of society and entertainment—and shops.

If she was going to stay here, she would need more company. Not too much company, since Theran was more than a bit stingy and he would have to support any Ladies who were her companions. But that one young Queen who had come with the others—she and Correne had become friends within minutes, and the girl was enough like her to fit right in. At sixteen, Correne wasn’t a baby, but she was still too young to be serious competition, despite being pretty. No Queen was serious competition until she had her Virgin Night and could offer some enticement to the males without risking her own power.

A knock on her door.

“Come in,” she said gaily.

Jhorma slipped into the room and closed the door.

Kermilla watched him as he approached the bed. He was a handsome man and a skilled lover, but there wasn’t the heat in his eyes for her that there had been while he was chained to Cassidy’s bed. Oh, he came to her bed hungry to please—and to take his own relief as a reward—and he never made excuses to get out of performing the way he did with Freckledy toward the end of his contract. But he didn’t look at her the way Theran did. She was getting the impression that Jhorma could swap her with any female body and be just as thorough and enthusiastic—as long as he got his own pleasure at the end. Theran looked at her as if she was the only one he wanted, the only one who could satisfy him.

Jhorma didn’t remove his jacket before sitting beside her on the bed, didn’t make any move to touch her.

“We need to talk,” he said.

She ran a finger down his arm and smiled playfully. “Sex first, talk later.”

He didn’t smile back. “How much longer are we going to be stuck in this place?”

Her smile soured to a frown. “For as long as I say we stay.”

“Cassidy isn’t here, and it doesn’t sound like she’s coming back. When you decided to come here, you told Gallard we would be gone a couple of days. Three at the most. He assigned the escorts according to that information.”

“So?”

“Aston and Ridley have families. They want to go home. They wouldn’t have been given this assignment if the Steward had known we’d be away this long.”

She sat up, stung that Jhorma was more interested in talking about Aston and Ridley than in having sex with her.

“Fine,” she snapped. “Tell the whiny boys who are missing the nipple that they can go home.”

Anger flashed in his eyes before he hid it.

He hadn’t shown her anger since he’d signed a contract to serve as her Consort, but he hadn’t hesitated to give her a verbal slap when she’d been training in Freckledy’s court and had said something cutting about one of the other men.

But he’d always smiled indulgently when she’d referred to Cassidy as Freckledy. She’d just forgotten how testy the males could be when you made fun of one ofthem.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “That was uncalled for. It’s just . . . I don’t feel like I have any support here.”

“Then maybe we should all go back to Dharo.”

But I have a chance to rule a whole Territory.

Not something she could say to him. He wouldn’t be part of that court. She didn’t pay attention when Theran began droning on and on about Dena Nehele, but she did understand that he and the other Warlord Princes here never would tolerate a ruling court made up of outsiders. Something about courts like that ruling here before and making a mess of things.

Maybe she could go back to Dharo and return here next spring when Cassidy’s contract ended. No, she couldn’t. She had to show these people she was the better Queen, and she couldn’t do that unless she was here showing them she was the better Queen. Just like she’d done in Bhak when she’d won over Freckledy’s court.

“There are reasons why I need to stay,” she said. “If Aston and Ridley need to return to Dharo, they can go. But two others from the First Circle should take their place.”

“I’ll convey the message,” Jhorma said. “Do you want sex now?”

“No, I do not want sex now.” Especially when he might have been asking her if she wanted a cup of tea.

“As you please.” Jhorma rose and walked out of the room.

She had wanted sex, but he’d spoiled her mood.

So maybe she’d take a walk in the moonlight with Theran this evening and see if he had any experience behind that enthusiasm.

Accepting Gray’s assistance, Cassidy stepped out of the carriage and looked at the boardinghouse. Queen’s Residence, she reminded herself. Somehow, while dealing with the snarls and grumbles that had been a constant background during this journey, she had agreed that the boardinghouse now be referred to as the Queen’s Residence.

“It’s good to be home,” she said—and wondered if she would recognize the inside of the place. After all, she’d been gone five days and had told Powell he could do pretty much as he pleased.

“Those cottages across from the Residence weren’t occupied when we left,” Ranon said, studying the street while offering Shira a hand. “Shaddo and Archerr must be back.”

The door of the Residence opened. Talon stepped out and strode over to them.

The way he looked her over—as if assessing a warrior he’d sent out on a difficult mission who had finally returned—she wondered how many reports, and complaints, the Master of the Guard and Steward had received in the past five days.

“Shaddo and Archerr are back?” she asked.

“They are,” Talon replied. “Lady Shira, tomorrow will be soon enough, but I think a visit from the court Healer would be in order for both families. Those people have not had an easy time.”

“Should I go over and welcome them?” Cassidy asked.

“No.”

The finality of that statement shook her.

“Tomorrow afternoon is soon enough for them to have an audience with the Queen,” Talon said.

“Surely we don’t have to be so formal—” She swallowed the rest of her protest. It was clear Talon thought there was reason for that formality.

“Powell has worked out a schedule of afternoons when you are available to give audiences,” Talon said.

“Afternoons?” Cassidy stammered. “Audiences? Hell’s fire! I thought Powell was going to rearrange the furniture, not my life!”

“Did you?”

The amusement under the dry words made her take a step back. “Is tomorrow morning soon enough to go over my social calendar?”

“I think so,” Talon replied.

“Good. Then there’s enough time for a quick bite to eat before I meet Lord Yairen for my drumming lesson.”

“No.” Ranon backed away from her, his dark eyes filled with fear. “No, he can’t do that.”

Staggered by his distress, she said nothing as he strode down the street toward his grandfather’s house. Then she turned to Shira.

“Yairen offered to teach you?” Shira asked, her voice breaking as tears filled her eyes.

“Yes. When Ranon brought me back here, Yairen stayed with me and we talked. He offered to teach me the drums. He said drums were a woman’s instrument because they were the sound of the land’s heartbeat. Shira, why is Ranon so upset? Is it against Shaladoran customs to teach an outsider?”

Tears spilled over. Shira shuddered with the effort to maintain some control. “We weren’t forbidden music or stories or dances as long as they were from Dena Nehele—or Hayll. But anything that came from Shalador, that came from the hearts ofour people was forbidden. Ranon’s grandfather is a Tradition Keeper of Music. He taught people how to play drums and the flute. He wasn’t as skilled with the fiddle and only taught the basics. But he defied the Queens who ruled here and taught the Shalador drum rhythms and the Shalador songs. So they broke his hands as punishment. And when his hands healed the first time, he continued to teach the music of our people. So they broke his hands again. The third time, the Queens’ Healers made sure the fingers healed wrong so that Yairen could no longer play. Ranon was a small boy the last time Yairen’s hands were broken. But, somehow, Yairen still taught Ranon to play the Shalador flute—and taught him the songs of our people.”

Cassidy stood frozen while Shira dried her eyes and the men shifted uneasily.

How much trust had gone into what she’d thought was Yairen’s friendly offer? How much fear had ridden alongside that trust?

“I want all the Tradition Keepers in this village here within the hour,” Cassidy said quietly.

“Cassie . . .” Gray began.

She raised a hand, cutting him off. Then she looked at her Master of the Guard. “See that it’s done, Prince Talon.”

She walked into the Residence. Powell took one look at her face and swallowed whatever greeting or comment he intended to make.

She went up to her room, blind to whatever changes had been made in her absence. All she could see was the fear on Ranon’s face before he walked away.

Cassidy stood in the street in front of the Queen’s Residence. The Tradition Keepers stood before her in their shabby best clothes. Filling the streets around them were the people of the village.

“Lord Yairen.” Cassidy used Craft to enhance her voice. She wanted everyone who had come to stand witness to hear her words.

Yairen stepped forward, standing tall. “How may I serve the Queen?”

“I have just learned today that your people have been forbidden to play the music that was born of Shalador, that you have been forbidden to perform the traditional dances, or teach the young the stories of your people. Is this true?”

“It is true, Lady,” Yairen said. “All have been forbidden for many generations.”

“But the Tradition Keepers have remembered these forbidden things?”

Yairen hesitated. How many times had one of the Keepers been cornered into answering a question that would condemn them?

She didn’t have an actual psychic link to Ranon, but his psychic scent was filled with distress. Wouldn’t know it to look at him, standing cold and arrogant with the rest of her First Circle, but the worry that he might have misjudged her was eating his heart out.

“Some things have been lost,” Yairen finally said, “but those of us who are the memory of our people have held on to enough.”

Cassidy nodded. “In that case, as of this hour, the music of the Shalador people will be taught and will be played openly. The dances of the Shalador people will be taught and performed openly. The stories of the Shalador people will be taught and told openly. The Queens in the Shalador reserves will be given a written decree so they will know these words are true. But it will be up to the Tradition Keepers to return Shalador’s heart to its people. This is my will.”

Silence.

Finally one of the Tradition Keepers raised his hand. “Does this mean we can perform the circle dances this autumn?”

“Yes,” Cassidy replied.

Another silence.

Then Yairen pressed one of his crippled hands to his chest. “Our hearts are too full for words tonight.”

Cassidy swallowed hard. “Then return to your homes. We will speak more of this tomorrow.”

She took a step back, a clear signal this audience was over.

Ranon broke away from the rest of the First Circle. Hugging his grandfather, he put his head on the old man’s shoulder and wept.

A hand linked with hers. Looking to her left, she saw Reyhana trembling with the effort not to cry—and felt the girl’s hand tighten.

“The circle dances mean so much to my people,” Reyhana said. “To our people.” She choked, but went on. “Someone will write a song about how Shalador’s Lady gave the heart back to the people, and all the children will learn it, and someday I will tell my grandchildren I was there and heard the words as they were spoken.”

Mother Night.

A familiar touch on her shoulder. She looked at Gray, hoping for some help, but his eyes were too bright, too wet.

“I’d like to go inside now,” she said.

It was Talon who nudged Reyhana aside and gripped Cassidy’s arm to lead her into the house before she ended up weeping too.

“I told Ranon to spend the night with his grandfather,” Talon said once he got her to the parlor. “He’ll be better for it.”

“Talon . . .”

“Don’t say anything, witchling. Don’t. I knew Jared. I’ve seen the circle dances. I know what the bitches took away from these people—and I know what you just gave back to them. I think it’s best if you Ladies have a quiet evening for yourselves.”

He kissed her cheek, then said, “Gray, let’s see what can be put together for a meal.”

Cassidy curled up on the sofa, stunned by the emotion that had swirled around her.

“You look like you got kicked in the head,” Shira said when she and Reyhana came in a minute later.

“I thought the Tradition Keepers would be happy that they could teach openly again,” Cassidy said.

“They are happy,” Shira replied. “We’re feeling too much right now to be just happy.”

And her First Circle was going to want time to consider the ramifications of what she’d done tonight.

“Do you think the men would be upset if I went out and gardened for a little while?” Cassidy asked. “It’s still light out.” The sun had set, but they were still into the longest days of summer.

“Gray will have a fit if you pick up a weeding claw,” Shira said. “And so will I.”

Cassidy huffed. “There’s too much feeling. I need todo something.” Shira eyed Reyhana, who looked confused about what she was supposed to do.

“Do you play drums?” Shira asked Reyhana.

The girl shook her head. “But I’m supposed to start learning. Shalador Queens all learn to drum.”

“I’m not a Tradition Keeper,” Shira said, “but I’ve been drumming since I was a girl. I can start teaching the basics to both of you.”

“But we don’t have drums,” Cassidy said.

“We do have a wooden table,” Shira replied, pointing at the table in front of the sofa. “And tonight, that’s all we need.”

Saetan signed his name to the message, then waited for the ink to dry before folding the paper and sealing it.

Daemon had asked to be informed of anything to do with a Dharo witch named Kermilla. Having two of her escorts show up at the Keep, wanting assistance to go through the Gate and return home, certainly qualified as something of interest—especially since he knew those men hadn’t gone through this particular Gate to get to Terreille. Granted, there were thirteen Gates that linked the three Realms, and those men could have used any of them—except this one and the one that was next to the Hall—without causing too much interest in their business. And granted, there weren’t many Priestesses left in Terreille who knew how to open the Gates to let someone move from one Realm to another, so this was the best choice if someone wanted to get back to Kaeleer and not mistakenly end up in Hell.

But Daemon’s interest in this witch sounded a warning inside Saetan because it carried the feel of a predator analyzing potential prey. And Daemon’s refusal to say why he wanted information sounded a more ominous warning—because there was only one person who could muzzle Daemon Sadi.

What did Jaenelle know?

He couldn’t ask—and didn’t need to.

He folded the paper, melted the black wax, and added a touch of Black power as he pressed the SaDiablo seal into the wax. Black to Black ensured that this would be a private message, since Daemon was the only person who could open it.

His task completed, he placed the message in the basket with the rest of the mail that would be collected in the morning and taken to the message station.

Then he went to his suite and vanished everything from the surface of his desk. He placed a small wooden frame in the center of the desk and called in several spools of spider silk, different weights.

Since he could not ask Jaenelle or Daemon for answers about Kermilla, he would find his own answers. After all, he, too, was a Black Widow—one of only two males in the history of the Blood who belonged to that caste.

So during the silent, dark hours, Prince Saetan Daemon SaDiablo, High Priest of the Hourglass, spun his own tangled web of dreams and visions.