Shalador's Lady

CHAPTER 16

Gray led the newest member of the household out to the corner of the yard that sheltered the pots containing the twelve honey pear seedlings. Going down on one knee, he waited for the Sceltie to join him.

Compared to Vae, who had more self-assurance than a dozen people combined, Khollie seemed so . . . breakable. Or maybe the dog was still feeling bruised by Ranon’s initial rejection and was afraid of being sent away.

“Come here, Khollie,” Gray said gently.

Woeful eyes. Hopeful tail-tip wag.

“See these?” Gray pointed to the pots. “These are honey pears. They are very special trees. You do not pee on them.”

*I did not pee on the little trees. Only the big trees.*

“I know you didn’t pee on them”—yet—“but I want you to understand that we never pee on these trees.”

*Humans too?*

“Yes, humans too. These trees are very, very special, and we all have to protect them.”

The head came up, the ears came up, and the tail began wagging in earnest. *I will help you protect the little trees when I am not helping Ranon protect Shira.*

“Who’s protecting what?” Ranon asked, carrying a mug of coffee in each hand.

*Ranon!* The shout went out on a common psychic thread. *Do not pee on the little trees or Gray will bite you.*

Oh, the look on Ranon’s face.

Gray bit his lip to keep from laughing until Khollie trotted off to check the boundaries of his and Vae’s personal territory, which was the land that belonged to the Residence.

“Do you think there is anyone in the surrounding cottages who didn’t hear that?” Ranon asked in a strangled voice.

“No.” Gray’s voice broke with the effort not to laugh. “I think everyone on this street and the next two over knows not to pee on the little trees.”

“Shit.” Ranon handed him one of the mugs.

“He bruises easily,” Gray said quietly. “His feelings, I mean.”

“I figured that out, Gray. Not soon enough, but I did figure that out. It just takes a lot longer to fix the damage than to do the damage.”

“Do you think they made a mistake with him? Maybe he’s too young to be away from people who understand Scelties.”

Ranon shrugged. “Doesn’t matter now. He’s here. Would you want to be sent home from your first assignment?”

Gray looked away, feeling his own heart ache a little.

Ranon swore. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . .”

“Never had a first assignment—or any assignment. My training stopped when I was fifteen.”

“Do you want to resume that training?” Ranon asked.

Gray nodded. He’d spent a lot of time thinking while he’d worked in the gardens here. “I want to be able to protect and defend. That’s what I was meant to do. I grew up being told I was Theran’s blade, and I was educated to protect the Grayhaven line—until I was captured.”

“You were Theran’s blade, and now you want to be Cassie’s blade. Is that it?”

“Yes, that’s it.”

They sipped their coffee and watched Khollie and Vae flush a rabbit out of the kitchen garden and herd it right into Darcy’s jaws.

“Now what?” Ranon asked as the three Scelties snarled at one another for a minute before Darcy and Vae each grabbed a rabbit leg and the three dogs trotted away with their kill. “Khollie and Vae want the rabbit for us, and Darcy wants the rabbit for Soli.”

“They’ll take it to Cassidy, who will figure out a way for both households to have some of the meat so all three Scelties will be happy,” Gray replied.

“The duties of a Queen.” Ranon drained his mug. Then he sighed. “I came out here to ask a favor.”

“Actually, there’s something I wanted to ask you too.”

“All right. Mine. Shira is supposed to take a last look at the cottages she was interested in. Something about this is making her unhappy, but she won’t talk to me or Cassidy about it. I was hoping, if you attached yourself as her escort, she might talk to you. I’d go with her and try again to find out what’s wrong, but I have to go to the Keep today. I’m just waiting for Cassidy to finish a letter to her mother before I head out.”

“I can keep Shira company,” Gray said.

“Thanks. What can I do for you?”

“I’d like to learn the Fire Dance.” He saw Ranon’s initial surprise change to thoughtful assessment.

“Have you and Cassidy . . . ?”

Gray shook his head.

“Because of Yaslana’s rules about you having sex?”

He shook his head again. “When Cassie looks at me, she doesn’t see a man. I don’t know how to explain it. We kiss and we touch, and it’s good. Mother Night, it’s good. But there is something in me that is holding her back from letting me be her lover all the way. So I thought the Fire Dance . . .”

Ranon’s hand felt warm on his shoulder.

“I’ll teach you,” Ranon said. “And this autumn, when that full moon rises, you’ll dance with your Brothers.”

They walked back to the house, left the mugs in the kitchen, and went their separate ways.

As Gray went to find Shira, it occurred to him that Ranon wouldn’t have asked a man he thought was deficient in any way to stand escort to the woman who held his heart.

Kermilla looked through her mail again and sighed.

There were the usual reports from her Steward, saying the same things he said every time about the length of her visit to Dena Nehele—but hinting more strongly this time that it would be in all of their best interests if she returned to Bhak and took care of the villages she ruled. As if she were another Freckledy who really wanted to rule a sheep-shit village. Why did she need to be there? The men in her First Circle had been working that village for the five years they’d served Cassidy. They knew how to keep the landens in Woolskin leashed and how to discourage any complaints the Blood in Bhak might have about how the village was being ruled. If the person couldn’t be discouraged from complaining, her males should make certain the complaint went no further than her own Steward. After all, their reputations and ambitions were as much at stake as hers, and were, in fact, dependent on hers.

But this time, along with all the dull reports, there were letters from a couple of aristo friends. Those letters talked about parties and picnics, moonlight rides and concerts—and hinted about a daring new gown being designed for the autumn season.

What could she write about? She was stuck in a town that thought outdoor concerts and having a dozen people for dinner at an aristo’s house was outrageous and daring. And the clothes! Hell’s fire, she was from Dharo, the Territory for weaving and fabric of the finest quality. Even the meanest cloth that was only fit for landens in Dharo was better than the best she could find in this dung-gray town.

And Theran was always busy. Doing what? Who could tell! Nothing interesting. Maybe she should summon Jhorma. Playing with her Consort would fill an hour or so. But they would need to be discreet. She’d invited Theran to her bed two nights ago, and now he seemed to think that gave him an exclusive claim. Maybe if he was bedding a merchant’s daughter who wanted to climb the social ladder, but it would take a more lucrative offer than having him as a lover before she would consider giving him anything exclusive. Besides, enthusiasm couldn’t replace skill, and a lover who brought his heart to the bed didn’t provide the same pleasure as a man who had been trained to please a woman’s body.

Despite the impression he gave of being in charge, Theran really didn’t have much understanding about how courts worked, and the privileges that were hers simply because she was a Queen. But he really did care about her even if he was rather dull most of the time, and she did want to help him rule this land and make it wonderful again. For a few years, anyway.

But that was the exciting future when she would be the Queen of Dena Nehele, and this was the boring, boring, boring now.

A sigh made her look up at the only other person in the room.

“You really study this all the time?” Correne asked, closing the book of Protocol she’d been staring at for the past hour.

Kermilla nodded. “From the first year of schooling to the last. And anyone who actually serves in a court studies even more because court Protocol is more demanding.”

“Well, when I set up my court, I’m going to forbid anyone from using all these tedious, stiff phrases.”

Kermilla sat up, alarmed. “Oh, no, Correne. You must use Protocol, and everyone in your court needs to know it.”

“Why?” Correne asked, pouting. “It’s so dull. ”

“Because if you know how to use them correctly, some of those phrases can stop a Warlord Prince from killing someone, or command him to step back from the killing edge before he attacks. Males are controlled by Protocol.”

“What about the things males can demand from females because of Protocol?”

“Oh. Well. A smart woman can figure out how to get around those.” Kermilla smiled at the younger Queen. “Come on, let’s go into the town and do some shopping.”

Correne looked more unhappy. “Can’t. I spent all the marks I was given, and my father won’t send more until next month.”

“Oh.” Her smile turned sly. “I’ll show you how to purchase a few things without having to pay a single copper for any of it.”

Gray studied the two-story house and the neighboring one-story building, and said, “This is perfect.” He glanced at Shira, who seemed painfully unhappy as she looked at the place that would be a wonderful residence for a Healer. “Let’s take a look around.”

She followed him with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm, but he led her around to the back. The small barn was big enough for a couple of horses, and its paddock bordered the pasture for the court’s stables. The backyard had plenty of land for a kitchen garden, a Healer’s garden, and the private garden a Black Widow would find useful, and still had enough space for children or dogs to romp. Best of all, this property backed the land belonging to the Queen’s Residence, with only a low stone wall separating the two. And this place, unlike the others he had seen with Shira today, was inside what Ranon and Talon called the “Queen’s square”—the perimeter of streets and houses that would be the most heavily shielded and defended if the village was attacked.

“Enough of this,” Shira said. “Let’s go back to the Residence.”

Gray studied her, bewildered by the pain he saw in her dark eyes. “Why don’t you like this place?”

“Because it’s perfect,” she snapped. “And it’s nothing I can have.”

“Why not?”

She turned on him, her hands clenched. He should have feared her. After all, she was a Black Widow, which meant she had that snake tooth under her right ring fingernail. His Jewels outranked hers—Purple Dusk against Summer-sky—so her venom wouldn’t necessarily kill him, but it might cripple him even if he survived.

“I have no money, Gray.”

“But . . .” He called in the paper the village elders had given to Powell. It was a list of land and buildings all around Eyota that the court could have for the asking—property that had no surviving family left to claim it. “This place is on the list. You don’t need money.”

“What about furniture? What about a worktable and storage cupboards for tonics and brews and dried herbs? What about tools? What about blankets and linens and healing supplies?”

“The Queen’s gift . . .”

Shira shook her head fiercely. “No. I can justify what I have in the room at the Residence as a court expense, but I can’t expect the court to supply a place like this. And Cassidy shouldn’t pay for something beyond the court.”

“But you like this place.” He had an idea, but he needed to be sure of her first.

“Yes, I like this place.”

“Okay.” He looked around, then checked the list again. “I want to take a look at those two cottages. They’re on the list too.”

“Suit yourself.” Shira sighed. “My apologies, Gray. I’m feeling sorry for myself, and I have no right to feel that way. The Shalador people have more now than we had dreamed possible a year ago, and I’m the court Healer to a Queen I like and admire. No Healer could ask for a better way to serve her people than to care for such a Queen.” She gave him a wobbly smile. “We’re almost home, so why don’t I take the horse and pony cart back to the—”

“No.”

She blinked at him.

“No,” Gray said again. “I’m standing as your escort today. If you want to go back now, we’ll go back. But you’re not going alone.”

“I can see the Residence from where I’m standing,” Shira said when she finally found her voice. “I can see the stables’ pastures from where I’m standing. Hell’s fire, Vae and Archerr and Cassidy are standing in the yard right now watching us.”

Lucivar had said, “Strong women can get bitchy about Protocol when they think you’re being bossy or overprotective or whatever damn thing they think you’re being. Sometimes it’s smart to give in, but if you know you’re right, set your heels down, boyo, and be a polite, courteous wall.”

He had the feeling Lucivar was still working on the polite and courteous part, but the man sure did know how to set his heels down.

“I could climb over the back wall and be home,” Shira said.

“Fine,” Gray said. “Then I’ll assist you over the wall.”

“And when you need help to do what should be done,” Lucivar had said, “ask for it.”

*Vae?* Gray called. *I need you.*

Shira began sputtering at him that she didn’t need help and didn’t notice Vae heading toward them until the Sceltie jumped the wall.

*Shira? Shira! Why are you acting like a hissy cat?*

“You,” Shira sputtered, glaring at him. “You . . .”

Whatever she was going to call him got lost in Khollie’s joyous *Shira!* as he got over the wall and joined them.

“Shira wants to go home now, and I have something else I need to do, so would the two of you escort her home?”

*We will take care of Shira,* Khollie said, his tail wagging as he looked up at Ranon’s mate.

“Fine.” Shira stomped off with two furry escorts who were more implacable than any Warlord Prince would dare to be.

At least she’s not unhappy anymore, Gray thought. But he figured it would be prudent to stay out of her way until Ranon got home.

*Gray?* Archerr asked. *Is everything all right?*

*Shira is a hissy cat,* he replied.

Archerr’s snorted laugh had Shira stopping midstride to turn and stare at Gray.

Hell’s fire.

His smile must have been sufficiently insolent because he could see her temper flare.

He felt a bit weak-kneed as he gave her a two-finger salute, then turned his back on her and walked to the front of the house.

It wasn’t smart to piss off a Black Widow. On the other hand, she probably would be too angry to wonder about the “something” he needed to do.

He untied the horse and started walking down Wolf Creek Road to take a look at the two cottages that were also within the “Queen’s square” and also available for the court’s use. He hadn’t reached the first cottage before the silver twins came running down the road, no doubt alerted by Vae.

*Are you going home now, Gray?* Kief asked, wagging his tail.

*We will take the horse back to the stable,* Lloyd said.

“Thanks, boys, but I still need the horse.”

They stared at him, tails gently wagging.

Trying not to sigh, he held out the lead. “Hold him while I take a look at these buildings.”

*I will watch the horse,* Lloyd said.

*I will go with Gray,* Kief said.

Now he did sigh, but he didn’t argue. No point in arguing. It didn’t take the humans long to figure that out. The Scelties seemed to know when they had to obey without question—and they knew when humans were acting like stubborn sheep and needed to be herded in the right direction.

The smart human yielded before getting nipped.

Not all of the Scelties had found their special place in the village, but some were settling in. The Warlord brothers Lloyd and Kief had taken up residence at the stables where the court kept their horses. The First Circle had dubbed them the silver twins because they were gray and white. Not really twins, but they were litter mates, and the only difference in their looks was that Lloyd had a wider blaze down his face. The men were still looking after their own mounts, but they felt easier about leaving the stable unattended now. After all, dogs who were smart enough to bring carrots out to the pasture to make friends with the horses were also smart enough to know when to fetch a human.

Prince Darkmist divided his time between Yairen and Akeelah, a witch who was a Tradition Keeper of Stories. It sure pissed off Ranon the first time he walked into his grandfather’s house and was challenged by another Opal-Jeweled Warlord Prince. So Ranon and Mist were working out a few territorial issues. The fact that Ranon was Khollie’s human and Khollie was Mist’s little brother made things more . . . interesting.

As entertaining as that was—when you weren’t the human involved—right now, he needed to take a good look at these cottages and see if his idea would work.

When he finished inspecting the second cottage, he stood out front, shaking his head and smiling. Lloyd had brought the horse and cart.

“Thanks, boys,” he said as he climbed into the cart. They stood aside and waited until he’d given the horse the signal to walk on. Then they raced back to the stables, and he headed for a meeting with the village elders.

Kermilla slipped up to her room. She and Correne hadn’t gotten around to shopping, but they’d still had a delightful afternoon once they’d met Garth and Brok, two Warlord brothers who weren’t much older than Kermilla. They had gone to a dining house and talked and laughed for hours, while her two escorts sat at another table looking bored. Having older, experienced men serving in the court meant she didn’t have to work as hard to rule her territory, but it was so much more work to hold their interest when she had to deal with them day after day. These young men hung on to every word she said—and they were hers. She’d felt that strange pull when she saw them—the same pull she’d felt when she first met Theran.

After making plans to meet up tomorrow to shop, she and Correne had returned to the mansion and the dull company waiting for her there. But she’d had so much fun with her new boys, she really would pay attention this evening when Theran droned on about what Dena Nehele needed. He officially ruled the town, but he seemed to think she should be doing as much as if she were already the Queen—without the compensation! Well, he did tell her she could put things on account against the tithes, but some of the merchants were getting that tight look in their eyes that meant these people didn’t know how to show their loyalty to a Queen any more than the people in sheep-shit Bhak did. Which was fine for Freckledy—she had never had any style—but not for a Queen who wanted to be recognized in aristo social circles.

Kermilla opened her door and froze.

That dumb bitch Birdie, the “Queen’s maid,” was holding a bottle of scent Kermilla had acquired during her last shopping trip. Holding the bottle—and frowning.

“What in the name of Hell are you doing?” Kermilla demanded. She strode over to the dresser and yanked the bottle out of Birdie’s hand.

“Cleaning the room, Lady, like I always do,” Birdie stammered, taking a step back.

“I told you before I don’t like my things smeared with someone else’s psychic stink,” Kermilla said, her voice cold and hard. “You use Craft to raise everything on the dresser and tables when you dust them. Craft, you useless bag.”

“But I only wear the White, Lady,” Birdie said. “I only use Craft to help with heavy lifting and the like, so I’m not drained when my work is done. Lady Cassidy—”

“I’m not Cassidy, and as long as you work in this house, you’ll do things the way I want them done. And if you can’t get that through your head, the only way you’ll earn a living is by using what you’ve got between your legs! Is that clear enough?”

“But—”

One word. Kermilla heard it as a challenge—and no White-Jeweled servant could be allowed to challenge the Queen.

You’re still a guest here.

Remembering that had her putting temper and not power behind the open-handed slap. The blow still knocked Birdie to the floor.

“Get out of my room,” Kermilla said.

Whimpering, Birdie got to her feet and stumbled from the room. Shaken, Kermilla looked at the bottle of scent. The girl probably didn’t know what that small, paper-thin stone disk on the bottom of the bottle meant, but Kermilla was certain Theran would be furious if he discovered how she was stretching her income.

She didn’t want Theran angry with her. For a little while she’d flirted with the possibility of falling in love with him, but those feelings had faded before they began. Still, she did like the man, and she didn’t want him so upset that he would tell her to leave. After all, she needed his support to become Queen of Dena Nehele.

The Keep. The Black Mountain. A place where a man was surrounded by stone and dark power.

But a strangely comfortable place, for all that. A place where a man could lower his guard and truly rest, knowing there was something else here that was watchful—and aware.

Ranon prowled around the sitting room where the Seneschal, that strange-looking female, had put him to wait. A human shape, but she wasn’t human—not with that face or the sibilant way she spoke. He’d bet his life on it.

The door opened, and he turned.

The woman’s exotic face, framed by golden hair, was a little too thin, but still beautiful in a way that tugged at his male interest—especially because she seemed unaware of the streak of dirt that accented one sharp cheekbone.

Then he looked into those sapphire eyes and felt his heart skip a beat. He was totally committed to serving Cassidy, and he loved Shira with everything that was in him. But if this woman asked it of him, he would crawl through fire or over knives—and never ask why she required it of him.

He needed no introduction to know he was looking at Jaenelle Angelline, the Queen who was Witch, the living myth.

Now he understood what kind of woman could hold the hearts of men like Lucivar Yaslana and Daemon Sadi.

I belong to her in the same way I belong to Cassidy. And if Jaenelle demanded it of him, he would turn away from everything else he held dear in order to serve her.

“Lady.”

“Prince Ranon?”

“Yes.” He’d been nervous about meeting her, but he hadn’t expected to respond to her like this. As he continued to look into those sapphire eyes, he realized she felt that bond too.

“I’m the former Queen of Ebon Askavi, Prince Ranon.” Her voice held both amusement and warning.

Former? A word said for the Queen’s pleasure—and believed by no one except, perhaps, the Queen herself. But he understood that she neither wanted nor expected him to turn away from Cassidy and the loyalty he felt for Shalador’s Lady.

“I brought the reports and letters.” He called in the message sack and set it on a nearby chair. “Reports are probably a bit lean. Cassidy has been working hard. But not too hard. We’ve insisted she take rest days, but there’s no point having a rest day if it’s going to be spent writing reports, is there?”

Hell’s fire, he was babbling.

“No point at all,” she agreed with a smile that told him plainly enough she’d fought—and lost—that particular battle with her own court.

He only realized he was smiling back when her smile faded.

“Do you know the history of your people, Ranon?” she asked. “Do you know how your people came to be in Dena Nehele?”

“Yes, I know the stories.”

“People looked beyond themselves and made room for you. Remember that, Prince.”

“I’m not likely to forget it,” Ranon replied, puzzled. Some other message there. Or a warning? “Lady, is there something I should know?”

“I’ve told you what you need to know. The rest is up to you.”

“I don’t—” He stopped. Felt the room do one slow spin as he looked at the strange Jewel around her neck—and the hourglass pendant she wore just above that Jewel.

Black Widow as well as Witch.

Mother Night.

“Now,” Jaenelle said. “This is why I asked to see you.”

Two trunks appeared in front of him. Glancing at her for permission, he went down on one knee and lifted a lid. Picking up one of the items on top, he stood and opened the thin cover.

Old. Delicate.

His hands began to tremble when he realized what he held.

“That trunk has journals that record the daily life of the Shalador people—and the decline of Dena Nehele after Lia’s death. Two generations. No journals were sent after that. The other trunk’s contents are more formal. When the Tradition Keepers saw the decline begin, they took it as a warning. So they wrote down the stories and the songs, wrote down the rituals of the Shalador people, and brought that writing to Ebon Askavi. They knew many of those things would be lost in the decaying years, but they also hoped the time would come when the forgotten things could be reclaimed. Based on the last couple of letters Cassidy sent to me, I thought it was time for these to come back to the Shalador people.”

Ranon put the journal back in the trunk before a tear fell and damaged the ink. “Thank you.”

“I have one other thing for you.” Jaenelle called in another package and handed it to him. “This was left here at the Keep for Daemon, but he and I agree that it should go to you now.”

He unwrapped the package. Another journal? He opened it to a random page and read for a minute. Then he looked at Jaenelle. “Jared? This came from Jared?”

She nodded. “This is his account of the journey he made with Lia.”

“And with Blaed and Thera.” And Talon.

“Yes.”

“This should go to Theran. He’s the last Grayhaven,” Ranon said as his grip tightened on the journal.

“It’s yours now to do with as you please. But I’ll remind you that Jared was a Shalador Warlord, and he was proud of it.”

Ranon pressed a hand against his chest. “My heart is too full for words.”

“And I have said all the words I need to say.” Jaenelle smiled. “I need to get back to Kaeleer. My father is here standing escort. In fact, he helped me locate the journals. But my husband gets snarly if I stay at the Keep in Terreille for too long.”

“I thank you for your time, Lady. And for these.” He pointed at the trunks. “They are a gift to my people.”

“May the Darkness embrace you, Prince Ranon.”

He bowed and waited until she left the room before sinking into a chair to regain his breath and his balance before he headed home.

“Lady?”

Cassidy looked at Powell, who was hurrying toward her.

“Told you they’d notice you were still working,” Reyhana said quietly.

*Grf.* That was Vae’s grumpy opinion.

“Oh, hush up, both of you.” Cassidy tossed the handful of weeds into the basket, brushed off her hands, and smiled at Powell. “I wasn’t working. Really. I was just pulling a few weeds and keeping Reyhana company while she brushed Vae.” Of course, if she wanted him to accept the “a few weeds” fib, she should have vanished at least half the weeds in the basket.

“Excellent,” Powell said. “You don’t rest as much as you should.”

“Powell?” Cassidy asked sharply. The man was too distracted to notice the basket? Her Steward noticed everything.

“There are some people who need to see you.”

Not want, need. She sent out a psychic probe to get a feel for Spere’s and Archerr’s tempers, since they were the escorts on duty this afternoon, and wished Ranon or Gray were back from their respective errands—or that it was closer to sundown and Talon could be with her.

Simmering anger, tightly leashed. That was all she was picking up from her men.

“Reyhana, stay here. Vae, you stay with her,” Cassidy said.

“But . . .” Reyhana began.

“Stay.” Until she knew what this was about, she was not putting Reyhana in a potentially explosive situation.

*We will stay,* Vae said.

That much settled, Cassidy strode to the house, Powell puffing to keep up with her. When she reached the parlor that was the waiting room for anyone wishing to have an audience with the Queen . . .

“Dryden?” Cassidy looked at the Grayhaven butler. “What . . . ? Birdie?”

There was the reason for the anger—that dark bruise on the little maid’s face.

*Shira,* Cassidy called. *I need you in the visitors’ parlor.*

*Cassie, I really don’t feel . . . *

*The Healer’s attendance is required.*

Shira didn’t reply. Cassidy didn’t expect her to. Shira the woman had been holed up in her room, riding a mood since she’d gone out to look at properties with Gray, but the Healer would arrive in the parlor ready to practice her Craft.

Putting an arm around the maid, Cassidy led Birdie to a sofa and sat down with her. “What happened?”

“I didn’t do anything bad,” Birdie whispered. “I swear by the Jewels, I didn’t.”

“If I may explain, Lady?” Dryden asked.

Cassidy looked past him to the other people in the room. Elle, the housekeeper; Maydra, the cook; and four of the young men who worked in the Grayhaven stable and had befriended Gray before he’d begun to heal from the emotional scars that had their roots in the torture he’d endured.

Shira burst into the room, took one look at Birdie, and said, “Hell’s fire. Let me get some ice from the block in the freeze box.”

“I’ll do that,” Spere said. He slipped out of the room.

“We did use a cold spell on a wet cloth to keep the swelling down,” Elle said. Then she added bitterly, “Had enough experience dealing with this sort of thing before.”

Cassidy rose and stepped aside, giving Shira room to work. Moving to the other end of the parlor, flanked by Archerr and Powell, she faced Dryden, who was flanked by Elle and Maydra. “Explain, Lord Dryden.”

“Prince Grayhaven’s guest hit Birdie,” Dryden said.

A flash of rage, quickly chained. From Dryden.

“What guest?” Powell asked, but his tone said he already knew the answer.

“That . . . woman.”

Oh, Hell’s fire. This was bad. She’d only had this experience once, when an aristo witch who had been a guest had tried to coerce a footman into doing “bedroom work.” Because of the social difference between an aristo and a servant, her butler had refused to say the woman’s name when he’d come to her and reported the abuse.

Or maybe refusing to say the witch’s name had been the measure of the man’s contempt for her behavior.

“You mean Lady Kermilla?” Powell asked.

Dryden nodded.

Elle said, “Lady Bitch,” under her breath, quietly enough that Cassidy pretended no one had heard the housekeeper’s opinion of the other Dharo Queen.

“Why would she hit Birdie?” Cassidy asked. Her stomach felt like it was full of foaming milk. Hadn’t she voiced concerns about Kermilla when the other Queen had been training with her? The court had adored the pretty, dark-haired girl; the servants had disliked her.

“Birdie was cleaning her room the way I told the girl she could clean—and the way you allowed her to do for you. But that other one didn’t want her things touched, wanted Birdie to be using Craft all the time to lift or move every little thing.”

“That makes no sense,” Cassidy said.

“It does if the Lady doesn’t want anyone picking up an object and noticing something unusual about it,” Powell said, looking at Dryden.

The butler nodded. “Birdie picked up a bottle of scent from the dresser—a bottle that still had the theft disk on it.”

Frowning, Cassidy looked at Powell for explanation.

“A spelled disk of paper-thin stone,” Powell explained. “It was a common practice in the shops favored by the Queens and their aristo companions to put such a disk on small, expensive items that had a way of going missing. Since he didn’t want to lose an eye or his tongue, the merchant couldn’t acknowledge the theft, even if he saw the person do it. But a bottle of scent, for example, that left the boundaries of the shop with the disk still on the bottle would be spoiled.”

“Spoiled?” Cassidy asked.

“Imagine a dozen rotten eggs breaking on the kitchen floor,” Maydra said. “Of course, the way some of those spells worked, the scent smelled fine until it warmed on the skin for a little while. So the Lady was usually well into her social engagement before she, and everyone else, realized something was wrong.”

“Oh.” Cassidy clamped a hand over her nose in automatic response. Lowering her hand, she smiled sheepishly. Then she glanced at Birdie and found nothing to smile about. “So Birdie picked up a bottle of stolen scent and Kermilla hit her.”

“Yes,” Dryden said. “When I reported the abuse to Prince Grayhaven, Kermilla insisted that she caught Birdie trying to steal from her and that was why she struck the girl.”

“Grayhaven believed that?” Archerr asked.

Dryden looked sad. “Sometimes a man only sees what he wants to see.”

“Shit,” Archerr said softly.

“Birdie was dismissed without references,” Dryden said. “Elle, Maydra, and I talked it over, and handed in our resignations. We have worked for such witches before. We do not want to work for such a one again. As it turned out, four of the stable lads have no ties to the town, no family to hold them there, and they didn’t want to stay either.” He hesitated, then looked Cassidy in the eyes. “We came in the hope that you might have a place for us here.”

She didn’t know what to say. Powell, however, didn’t have that problem.

“There are servants’ quarters here, including a separate parlor off the kitchen. Didn’t ask to have those rooms cleaned since we weren’t using them.”

Maydra frowned. “If you have no servants here, who’s been cooking for you and your court?”

“Oh, well, I’ve been doing a bit of it, along with some of the women in the village.” Cassidy’s voice trailed away.

“You’ve been doing your own dusting too?” Birdie piped up, sounding shocked.

The Grayhaven servants stared at her.

*I wouldn’t admit to running a dust rag over the furniture,* Powell said, sounding amused. *You’ve shocked them quite enough for one day.*

*As my father is fond of saying, I was born a daughter on the same day as I was born a Queen, and if I can get dirty weeding a garden, I can get dirty washing a floor.*

*Your father is a wise man, but I think it is time to relinquish some of your less-than-Queenly duties. Besides, they need the work, and we need the help. With your consent, I’ll discuss duties and compensation with them.*

*All right.* She smiled at each of the servants and stable lads—and especially at Birdie. “Welcome to Eyota. There is plenty of work here for all of us. Prince Powell will discuss the details with you.”

She walked out of the room, heading for the back door that would take her to the gardens. Then she changed direction and went up to her room. She wanted solitude. She needed privacy.

*Cassie?* Vae called softly. *Cassie!*

*There is no danger,* Cassidy said. *You can let Reyhana come in now.*

*She wants to talk to you.*

*No. I need to be alone for a little while.*

A hesitation. *We will wait for you.*

Cassidy lay down on her bed and stared at the ceiling. Theran probably would accuse her of telling tales, and Kermilla certainly would accuse her of acting out of jealousy and spite. But it was the bruised look in Birdie’s eyes more than the bruise on her face that had to be the deciding factor. Besides, no matter how hard it was, she had a duty to report Kermilla’s behavior. Since he ruled the town of Grayhaven, Theran should be the one who disciplined Kermilla—something he wouldn’t do if he truly belonged to the other Dharo Queen.

Dharo Queen. That was the sticking point, wasn’t it? Kermilla ruled a village in Dharo. Her conduct was the business of the Queen who ruled that Territory. So Cassidy had a responsibility to Sabrina, Territory Queen to Territory Queen, to inform the Queen of Dharo that the conduct of one of Dharo’s District Queens needed careful review.

If Kermilla, as a guest, had struck a servant, what was she doing to the people in Bhak—people whose lives depended on their Queen’s mercy?

Get it done. This isn’t about you and Kermilla, no matter what anyone else might think. This is about being a Queen.

Sitting up, she called in the lap desk the High Lord had given her, selected a sheet of stationery with her initial on it, and began writing her letter to Sabrina.

“Ranon!”

Seeing Gray trotting toward him from the court’s stables, Ranon stopped at the edge of the street and waited. He’d walked from the northern landing web, wanting the time to contact his grandfather, who would contact Akeelah. For now, two Tradition Keepers were enough to stand witness to what he’d brought home.

“Where’s Shira?” Ranon asked when Gray reached him.

“She’s been home for a while. I had another errand to run and just got back.” Gray cocked a thumb over his shoulder toward the stables. “Four of the stable lads from Grayhaven are working at the stables here. Just started an hour ago. They’re taking one of the cottages across from the stables as their living quarters. And some of the other servants from Grayhaven are working at the Residence. Did Cassie say anything to you about this? Or Talon?”

Ranon shook his head. “I just got back myself. Let’s find out—” He stopped when Gray gripped his arm. “What?”

“I need to go away for a couple of days. Three at the most. I need you to come with me.”

Ranon studied the other Warlord Prince. Something different. Of course, Gray seemed to be changing daily, but this blend of excitement, fear, and determination was new.

“Where are we going?” Ranon asked.

“To Dhemlan. In Kaeleer. To talk to Daemon Sadi.”

A few months ago, Theran had been the one going in search of Daemon Sadi. Now it was Gray.

“There are things we need, for the court and for this village. I have an idea of how we can start to get them. But I need to talk to Daemon, and there are some decisions I can’t make alone.”

“Why me?”

“You’re Shalador’s Warlord Prince.”

The words rocked him. Yes, he was the last adult Warlord Prince until youngsters like his brother Janos came of age, but Gray’s phrasing gave a weight, a duty, to a truth he’d lived with for the past few years.

“If Cassie gives her consent to this journey, I’ll go with you,” Ranon said.

Gray huffed out a breath and smiled. “Good. So let’s find out what everyone else was up to today.”

Plenty, Ranon thought when Dryden opened the door and greeted them.

It looked like they were all going to have something to talk about that evening.