Shalador's Lady

CHAPTER 47

For a day and a half, Theran tried to reconcile a dream and a hard truth, but no matter how he looked at it, it came down to choosing between two loves.

It is better to break your own heart than to break your honor.

He finally understood Talon’s words.

Kermilla mattered more to him than anyone he had ever known. But in the end, Dena Nehele mattered more. So he made his choice and wrote the letters that would bring the Warlord Princes to Grayhaven.

He still wanted Kermilla. Mother Night, how he wanted her! But every time he wavered, he looked at the two objects he’d placed on his desk—objects that reminded him of the difference between two Queens.

One was the piece from the broken wish pot.

The other was a leather-bound copy of Jared’s story.

Two days later, twenty-seven Warlord Princes walked into a meeting room at Grayhaven.

This time, Theran didn’t stand on a platform to address them. This time, he didn’t try to stand as their leader. This time, they told him what he had to do.

Kermilla huffed and tsked and made unhappy sounds as she pushed dress after dress aside. She had to have some new clothes. When she became Queen, she couldn’t be seen in these old things!

And she was finally going to be Queen. The Warlord Princes had come. Theran hadn’t said anything about this meeting, but she’d seen the men arriving. Theran would give them a stern talking-to first, and then he’d request her presence so that she could select her court. She really didn’t want a First Circle made up completely of Warlord Princes—they were so prickly!—but she’d settle for it to get the court established and then select more congenial men for her Second Circle. And once she was Queen, she could select a man with better training for her bed.

Not that she wasn’t still fond of Theran, but he was better suited to being a First Escort or her Master of the Guard. He just didn’t have the proper skills to be a Consort—or even a lover.

So important to make the right impression this time. So important to look like what these men wanted.

But how was she supposed to do that with these clothes?

Alone again, Theran closed his eyes and swayed as the pain raked through him.

It was done. The Warlord Princes would help him save what was left of Dena Nehele.

Now all he had to do was fulfill his part of the bargain before time ran out.

A handful of outfits were strewn on her bed and the chairs, souring Kermilla’s mood as the inadequacy of her wardrobe became more and more clear. But she had to find something before . . .

She glanced out one of her bedroom windows, then stopped and stared at the Warlord Princes walking down the long drive toward the landing web just beyond the estate’s double gates.

They were leaving? Why were they leaving?

She pulled on a simple housedress, stuffed her feet into soft house shoes, grabbed a shawl, and rushed downstairs to find Theran.

Theran went into his study and gave Julien a psychic tap on the shoulder. Within a minute the butler knocked on the door.

“Lady Kermilla and I have something to discuss,” Theran said. “While she is here with me, you and Hanna need to move fast.”

After receiving his instructions, Julien hurried out of the room. Moments later, Kermilla rushed in.

“They left!” she said. “Why did they leave without seeing me?”

“Sit down, Kermilla.” Theran waved her toward a chair. “I have to explain some things.”

“What things?” She sat on the edge of the stuffed chair.

He nudged the footstool back and sat down. He didn’t touch her. He didn’t want her to realize he had a skintight Green shield protecting his skin, his face . . . his eyes. He felt foolish—and deceitful—doing that with her, but he couldn’t ignore the warnings the other men had given him about how previous Queens had reacted to disappointment.

He sighed. “I love you, Kermilla. Everything I am wants to surrender to you. If my life was the only one at stake, I would give it to you. But I’m the last of the Grayhaven line, and I have a duty to the land and the people of Dena Nehele, and what Dena Nehele needs is more important than what I want for myself as a man or a Warlord Prince.”

“What does that have to do with the other Warlord Princes leaving before I could choose my court?”

“There isn’t going to be a court.”

Kermilla rolled her eyes. “I can’t rule Dena Nehele without a formal court.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I am so very sorry.”

It took her a moment, but when she realized what he was saying she drew back a little.

“There isn’t going to be a court,” Theran said quietly, just to make sure she understood. “You aren’t going to rule Dena Nehele.”

“Why?” she wailed. “Is it because you’re mad at me for breaking that old pot?”

“In a way, it is about the wish pot. Not because you broke it, but because all you see is an old pot that has no value to you. And what that tells me is that in all the months you’ve been here, you haven’t listened to anything I said about Dena Nehele. You’ve haven’t listened to anything I said about the people or our history or what we need from a Queen.”

“Well, I don’t need the Warlord Princes,” Kermilla said. “I’ll just fill a First Circle with Warlords and—”

“If you try to form a court here, the Warlord Princes will kill you,” Theran said harshly.

The color drained from her face. “They threatened me?”

“When one Warlord Prince makes that kind of statement, it’s a threat. When twenty-seven of them say that, it’s a declaration of war.”

She swayed, and he wondered if she was going to be sick.

“Who’s going to rule Dena Nehele?”

“It doesn’t matter. What matters is it can’t be you. And that’s why you have to leave.” Before they come back to kill you. He could feel his heart tearing into pieces.

“Leave?” She looked so young and so lost . . . and so lovely. “Why can’t I stay with you? You love me. You said so!”

“You said it yourself the other day,” he replied gently. “You’re a Queen. If you stayed, you would want to rule. As much as I would want that for you, I would have to oppose you for the good of the people. We would destroy each other, Kermilla. And we would destroy what was left of Dena Nehele in the process.”

She stared at him, and he wasn’t sure she understood anything.

For a moment, sly calculation filled her eyes and then was gone. But he saw it, and in that moment, he saw what the other Warlord Princes had seen in her—and understood why they never would have served her.

Then the moment was gone, and she was the young woman who had dazzled him when he’d first met her. She was lovely Kermilla, the Queen whose will could no longer be his life.

She leaned forward, her lips curved in a sexy smile. “Why don’t we go upstairs for a proper good-bye?” She laughed a little. “That could take a day or two.”

He wanted to yield. Mother Night, how he wanted to yield!

Gone before sunrise—or dead by tomorrow’s sunset. That was all the time she had left if she stayed in Dena Nehele. He shook his head. “No.”

“When am I supposed to leave that we can’t take that little time?”

“Now.”

Shock.

*Julien?* Theran called on a spear thread.

*It’s done. I’m ready,* Julien replied.

“All your things are packed and in the Coach,” Theran said. “I’m going to take you to the Keep now.”

“You can’t do this!” Kermilla sprang away from him.

He threw a Green shield around the desk, mostly to protect the wish pot and book.

Sensing the shield, she whirled toward him, her face filled with hurt and a growing rage.

“I gave up everything for you!” she screamed. “Everything, Theran!”

He wished he could still believe her.

“I’m sorry.” What else was there to say? He stood up. “It’s time to go.”

The hurt and rage disappeared. She was back to sexy pout. “I can’t go to the Keep dressed like this.”

“They won’t mind.” He walked over to her and reached out to take her arm.

Another change of mood. Watching her eyes, he knew the moment when she considered raking his face with her nails—and knew the moment when she realized he was wearing a Green shield to prevent her from doing just that.

Taking a firm grip on her arm, he escorted her out of his family’s home to the Coach waiting at the landing web.

Kermilla huddled in the passenger compartment of the Coach with no one for company but that horrid Julien, who was giving her a smothering kind of attention while Theran, who turned out to have no spine or balls at all, hid with the driver in the locked front compartment.

She had lost. Instead of ruling a Territory for a few years and being admired, she was being sent home to nothing. No court, no men, no income. Nothing. Her mother was being stingy, so if she went back to her parents’ house, her father wouldn’t give her anything. Besides, running back home was what old Freckledy had done, and she was never going to be like Cassidy in any way. Never.

But she had to do something. How long would they let her stay at the Keep? Were there any interesting men who worked there? Men who could be coaxed into helping a young, pretty Queen who had been misled by a nasty Warlord Prince whose honor was, at best, questionable?

That much decided, she settled in more comfortably, had Julien bring her a plate of food and some coffee, and spent the rest of the journey considering how to turn this loss to her advantage.

Theran breathed a quiet sigh of relief when he walked out of the Coach and stepped on the landing web in one of the Keep’s courtyards. He’d kept away from Kermilla for the whole journey, afraid that if he stayed in that small compartment with her he would give in to her demands or his own desires.

But here at the Keep, the tug and pull of her presence faded, unable to compete with the mountain and its inhabitants.

Better that way for both of them.

He held out his left hand to her as she left the Coach. She ignored it and marched to the door. She rang the bell before he could join her, then stood there with her arms crossed and one foot tapping.

The man who opened the door had black eyes, black hair with a prominent widow’s peak, white skin, and sensuous bloodred lips. Geoffrey, the Keep’s historian/librarian.

“Lady,” he said. “Prince Grayhaven.”

“I’m returning to Kaeleer,” Kermilla said, raising her chin. “Please summon whoever opens the Gate.”

Those black eyes glittered queerly. “I’ll ask the Seneschal if the Gate is available.”

“How can it not be available?” Kermilla demanded.

“We don’t let everyone into the Shadow Realm. However, if you wanted to go to Hell, that could be arranged easily.”

“Geoffrey, why don’t I handle this?”

Theran trembled at the sound of the High Lord’s voice. Never thought I’d be glad to see him.

“Why?” Geoffrey asked as Saetan joined them.

“Because for some reason, you’re even more pissed off with this Lady than my sons are, and I wouldn’t have thought that possible.”

“Maybe it’s because I read history—and have a long memory,” Geoffrey replied too softly.

“I, too, read history and have a long memory,” Saetan replied just as softly. “But the Queen commands, Geoffrey. The Queen commands.”

Tension hummed between the two men as black eyes stared into gold.

Then the tension eased and Geoffrey smiled. “In order for our guests to remain safe, she tossed your boys out of the Keep, didn’t she?”

“She did. It was quite entertaining—and exciting—to watch.”

Geoffrey laughed. “In that case, High Lord, I will yield and leave our guests in your care.” As he turned to leave, he added, “In whichever Realm you care to have them.”

Kermilla looked like she was ready to faint, so Theran cupped a hand under one elbow to offer a little warmth and support. It was damn cold up in the mountains, but when he obeyed Saetan’s subtle gesture and led Kermilla into the Keep, the outside cold couldn’t compete with the freezing remnants of temper on the other side of the door.

Kermilla linked an arm through his and held on as Saetan led them deeper and higher into the mountain. When they reached the room that held the Gate, Theran gently unhooked her arm from his.

She looked at him. “Aren’t you coming with me?”

“No.” He smiled sadly. “This is as far as I go.” As far as he dared to go. “May the Darkness embrace you, Kermilla. I’ll never forget you.” Or stop loving you.

He stepped back, stepped out of reach.

Saetan opened the door.

*High Lord?* Theran said.

“Why don’t you go in?” Saetan told Kermilla. “I’ll join you in a moment.”

She walked inside the room. Saetan closed the door and looked at him, one eyebrow raised.

Theran called in a package that was carefully wrapped in paper and sealed with wax. He held it out and waited for Saetan to take it.

“Four hundred gold marks,” Theran said. “I’d like Kermilla to have it. That’s a year’s income for me, and she’ll probably spend it in a week, but I’d like her to have it.”

“Why didn’t you give it to her yourself?” Saetan asked.

I didn’t want her to think it was a payment of some kind—or that she would get any more. “It’s complicated.”

“I’ll see that she gets it.”

“High Lord? Is Kermilla going to be all right?”

Saetan stared at him for a long time. “Lady Sabrina and her Steward are on their way to the Keep. They’ll see that Kermilla gets back to Dharo safely.” He looked behind Theran. “This Warlord will escort you back to the Coach and retrieve Lady Kermilla’s trunks.”

“Thank you.”

Nothing more to say, so he bowed to the High Lord of Hell and followed the servant to the Coach.

On the way back to Dena Nehele, Julien fixed him coffee and a plate of food. He didn’t touch either. He sat in the passenger compartment of the Coach, breathing in Kermilla’s lingering physical and psychic scents—and wondered if this feeling of being torn and broken would ever go away.

After going through the Gate and arriving at the Keep in Kaeleer, Kermilla followed the High Lord to a sitting room. He’d been awfully scary when she’d first seen him, but he was a handsome man. A little too old for her tastes. Older men could be so serious about everything. And they didn’t have enough stamina to be fun. But the way he had handled that other strange man . . . Yes, he could be helpful. Very helpful.

“I’m glad Theran didn’t come with us,” she said, giving him a sideways glance through her lashes. “That way we can get to know each other better.”

She started to link her arm through his, but when she touched his jacket, the air turned so bitingly cold it burned her skin.

He said nothing about the cold or the way she jerked away from him. When he opened the sitting room’s door, she darted inside and went straight to the fireplace, hoping to warm up.

Her hands finally thawed enough to stop burning. She turned around and found him staring at her, his gold eyes glazed and sleepy.

“I was ordered to give you a gift,” he said. “It was created especially for you.”

“A gift?” That warmed her even better than the fire. She clapped her hands in delight and gave him a brilliant smile. “What is it?”

He stepped closer, raised his right hand, and pressed his fingers lightly against her chest.

At first it felt like a delicate necklace that rested on her skin in a web of fine metal. Then it melted into her skin, and threads of power flowed around her and through her, creating an odd flood of warmth that was there and gone.

Only moments passed before he raised his hand and stepped back to look at her.

“How appropriate,” he said in a singsong croon.

She placed a hand on her chest, but she felt nothing.

“Look,” he said. A turn of his hand, and a large gilt-framed mirror floated in the air nearby. “Look.”

She looked. Then she screamed.

And the High Lord of Hell laughed.

“Don’t worry, my dear. It’s only an illusion spell, but it’s a powerful one—and unbreakable. You’ll wear that face for a year and a day. Then the spell will fade gradually over the months that follow. Within two years, you’ll have your own face again and, hopefully, a great deal more.”

“Why?” Kermilla wailed as she stared at a face that was even more homely than Freckledy’s. Everyone would see this when they looked at her? “Why?”

“The tangled webs all said the same thing,” the High Lord replied. “If you continue to be nothing more than a greedy little girl, you will be dead within a year. While some of us welcomed that solution to a noxious problem, the Queen decided to give you a second chance. Your pretty face was the tool you used to get what you wanted, regardless of what it cost anyone else. Now you’ll have to earn what you want by proving your worth as a Queen. You’re being given a chance to grow up, Lady Kermilla, instead of dying young. I hope you eventually appreciate the gift. If you don’t, we’ll meet again soon in Hell.”

She trailed after him as he walked to the sitting room’s door. Then a gleam of silver caught her eye, drawing her toward one of the small tables scattered around the room. Plenty of expensive little nothings in this room. Who would notice if there were one or two less?

The silence turned heavy and cold and peculiar.

She looked at the High Lord, who studied her with those sleepy gold eyes.

“If you steal something from the Keep, what guards this place will let you take it,” he crooned. “But they will take your hand in exchange.”

He walked out of the room and closed the door.

Something moved in the wall. A shadow where there shouldn’t be a shadow.

Kermilla backed away from the table. Curling up in a chair, she remained there until Sabrina arrived to take her back to Dharo.

“Is it done?” Witch asked.

“It’s done,” the High Lord replied. “Will it make a difference?”

She rolled up the threads of her tangled web and dropped them in a shallow bowl of witchfire. “That’s up to Kermilla now.”