The Invisible Ring

Chapter Eleven

Refreshed by a quick morning bath and a change of clothes, and fortified with strong, heavily sugared coffee, Jared stepped outside and wondered which would be more dangerous: asking Thera if she intended to make breakfast or having the men combine their limited cooking skills and risk her sharp-tongued wrath if the food was only marginally edible. Although, with Polli gone, Thera would need more help than Cathryn could give her, and no one expected a Queen to do chores, even though the Gray Lady had surprised them all by doing her share before she injured her knee. So Thera’s new helper would have to be male, and she’d just have to choke on it.

Jared smiled. Maybe they could draw straws every morning. Short straw got to help Thera for the day. That would certainly start the mornings off with a kick. And since everyone would have an equal chance, no one could resent him for getting stuck with the duty.

Still smiling, he started walking toward the pedlar’s wagon. The air had a crisp, clean bite to it, and the sky, for the first time in days, held no threat of rain.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jared noticed Tomas trotting toward him from the direction of the privy hole. He raised his hand in greeting, but his smile faded when he saw the boy’s worried expression.

Spiders and other insects were to be expected in a little wooden structure that enclosed a hole in the ground, although the herb bags that were hung in the corners not only freshened the air but seemed to discourage crawling company. Even though he hadn’t seen them, there were probably mice around—maybe even rats.

Jared stiffened. Ordinary rats could be enough of a nuisance, but disturbing a nest of viper rats could be deadly. And young boys weren’t always sensible.

He could still feel the sharp fear that had jabbed at him the summer his brother Davin had been bitten by a viper rat; could still remember how the venom had caused the six-year-old boy’s forearm to swell grotesquely. Even with Reyna’s healing skill, Davin had been ill for several days.

“Tomas?” Jared searched the boy’s face for any sign of illness or injury. “What’s wrong?”

Tomas didn’t look back at the privy hole. His worried brown eyes fastened on the wagon. “They’re both feeling pissy this morning.”

Jared sighed, both annoyed and relieved. “So what else is new?”

“I—I think Thera’s sick. She acted real funny when I asked them if they wanted some coffee. And the Gray Lady didn’t say nothing either, and you know she likes coffee.”

Yes, he did. Jared had never thought of coffee as a sensual experience until he’d watched the Gray Lady drink her morning cup.

Jared drained his cup and handed it to Tomas. “Tell Blaed and Thayne to do what they can with breakfast. I’ll see what I can do for the Ladies.”

Glad to hand the worry over to someone else, Tomas dashed for the stone building.

Jared squared his shoulders and forced his legs to move toward the wagon. Prudently standing to one side, he knocked on the door.

No answer.

He knocked harder.

Still no answer.

Were they too weak or too sick to call out?

His heart climbed into his throat as he pushed the door open.

“Get out!” Thera’s voice was full of temper edged with fear.

Jared stood on the top step and swore silently. Thera and the Gray Lady sat on the benches, two lumpy shapes hunched under a mound of blankets. Tomas was right; neither of them looked well.

And, Hell’s fire, it was cold in there! Were they both masochists or was this a subtle punishment for the males, a way to strip the pleasure out of having slept in a warm room? Maybe Thera couldn’t have sustained a warming spell all night, but the Gray Lady certainly could have with a minimal amount of her Gray strength.

Jared opened his mouth to make a stinging comment. . . and tasted the difference in the air. Thera was in her moontime.

It was one of those things that remained unspoken between the genders. Once a Blood male passed puberty, he became sensitive to the smell of moon’s blood and could recognize it no matter how carefully a woman tried to mask it. Jared wasn’t sure if it was a subtle change in a woman’s psychic scent or a slight difference in her physical scent or a combination of both that alerted the males, but they could taste it in the air, smell it when they passed her on the street.

It was the time when every sexually mature witch became vulnerable. For the first two or three days, doing more than basic Craft was physically painful for her, and the stronger the witch, the more of her psychic strength had to be drained into the Jewels during those days because her body couldn’t tolerate it.

During that time, unless she had the protection of other witches, she was at the mercy of the males around her.

Within a family, that sharpened the males’ territorial and protective instincts. Within a court, it sharpened the tempers of all the males in the First Circle. Within a village, men learned to ride the ebb and flow of women’s moods, concentrating their attention on the women in their families, their lovers, and particular friends who had to tolerate affectionate bullying and overprotectiveness.

“Would you like some coffee?” Jared asked, glancing at the Gray Lady. Hell’s fire, she really didn’t look well either. Maybe she had caught a chill. The Darkness only knew why the rest of them hadn’t gotten sick after walking in cold rain for the past few days and sleeping outside on wet ground. Maybe that’s why she hadn’t answered him yesterday until he’d contacted her with a Green communication thread. Maybe she’d already started to become ill and didn’t feel physically strong enough to wear the Gray. The Green could be her Birthright Jewel. It would make sense that she’d ease back to her Birthright Jewel if she wasn’t feeling well. Damn. How sick was she? A chill could turn into something serious if it wasn’t taken care of. But it could just be a griping belly. That could make a person feel miserable without being serious. If he asked, would she tell him what was wrong? Doubtful, unless she became very sick. And if she did . . . What in the name of Hell was he supposed to do if she did?

And why did it matter so much if she was sick or not?

He didn’t want to think about that. So he focused his attention on the fact that neither of them had answered his first question and tried again. “How about some hot water for a brew?”

“Thank you,” the Gray Lady said dully. “That would be welcome.”

Jared closed the door and blew out a breath. After breakfast, he would clear everyone out of the building and give the two women some privacy if they wanted a hot bath. And he’d have to remember to give Thera discreet opportunities to take care of her private needs.

There wasn’t anything he could do for the Gray Lady without knowing what was wrong with her, but if she allowed him to look through her healing herbs, he knew several brews that would help ease Thera’s discomfort.

The Sadist had taught him every one of them.

At the time, it had amazed him that a man who was a master at emotional cruelty was so well versed at easing a woman’s physical discomfort. On the other hand, he never saw Daemon give one of those brews to the Queen who controlled them or the aristo witches in her First Circle. Those brews found their way to the female servants’ living quarters and the women who would get no other pampering.

Brock met him at the door when he returned to the stone building.

“Problem?” Brock asked quietly.

“Thera’s feeling a little bitchy,” Jared replied, wondering if men from other Territories used that phrase in the same way.

Brock’s shoulders relaxed. “Ah. Well, we can give her breathing room and keep the pups from pestering her. What about the Gray Lady?”

Jared shrugged and lied to himself that he didn’t feel concerned. “She might have a stomach chill or something.”

Blaed and Thayne both had more skill at a stove than he’d suspected, and a few minutes later he and Tomas were carrying full plates and cups of hot water to the wagon. Keeping his distance so that he wouldn’t upset Thera, he set a plate and cup next to each of them and retreated after mentioning the availability of the hipbath.

After breakfast, while the Gray Lady and Thera took the opportunity to bathe, Jared opened the wagon’s door and shutters to freshen the air inside. Tomas swept the narrow bit of floor with a broom he’d found in a cupboard in the stone building. Jared shook out the blankets. Together, they made a cozy nest on each of the benches. Jared put a warming spell on the blankets, which would keep the women comfortable but wouldn’t be as noticeable as warming the inside of the wagon.

“There,” Tomas said, smoothing out a wrinkle in a blanket. “They’ll be feeling better in next to no time.”

Jared just smiled and said nothing. Tomas was a clever boy, and since he obviously knew what a woman’s moon-time was—who wouldn’t after a few days in Polli’s company?—he’d figure it out fast enough.

By the time the Gray Lady and Thera were tucked into the wagon as comfortably as possible, the sun had been up a couple of hours—not that anyone complained about getting a later start than usual.

After giving the order for them to move on, Jared waited until everyone else had reached the lane before stepping between the stone posts. He and Brock had already double-checked the buildings to be sure everything was just as they’d found it. The rest of the fresh food that had been left for them was now in a cool-spelled box in the wagon. There was nothing . . .

The chipped blue jug had been empty when he’d gone back to make the last check. Rinsed out and empty.

When he’d checked outside the buildings, there had been no sign of a bouquet of flowers tossed aside.

It didn’t bother him that she’d taken that Sapphire-Jeweled bastard’s flowers with her. Not at all. It was simply annoyance with himself that he hadn’t thought of that ploy to gain favor with her. It was a natural response, an instinctive rivalry. A favored male was always granted special privileges. He needed that leniency more than a stranger who wasn’t even around. It wasn’t like the rogue would have any sexual interest in a woman old enough to be his mother—Hell’s fire, his grandmother. He certainly didn’t have any interest. Not really. After all those years as a pleasure slave, his body was confused and just reacted to anything female. The fact that he didn’t respond that way to Thera and sometimes wanted to kiss the Gray Lady until her bones melted didn’t mean anything.

So it didn’t mean a thing to him that she had taken that bastard’s flowers with her because he was not jealous.

Damn.

Jared closed his eyes and shook his head. He’d gone about dealing with the Gray Lady all wrong. He should have remembered that she liked balls and sass, would probably have been more responsive to a male companion who made an effort to be charming. So from now on, he’d be charming even if it choked him. He used to be able to charm women. How many times had he coaxed Reyna into letting him have an extra nutcake? A boy who could charm his mother into spoiling his appetite for dinner should be able to grow up into a man who could wrap an elderly Queen around his little finger—especially when that man had received a year of intense, private training in how to do just that. He should be able to charm a Queen.

Even a Gray-Jeweled Queen.

Maybe even charm her enough to coax her into making a detour to Ranon’s Wood, if he couldn’t find a way to slip the control of the Invisible Ring.

Taking a deep breath, Jared opened his eyes and studied the posts. Today it seemed so obvious, so easy. He traced the symbols for wind, water, and fire, then walked down the path until he reached the lane. After putting the wooden pole back on its posts to hide the way into the clearing, he walked across the lane and stood in front of the moss-covered boulders.

Wind, water, fire . . .

He caressed the face of the woman rising from the stones—and through the stone, felt the protection spells around the clearing rekey.

. . . and earth.

Because a Queen wasn’t just the heart of a court, she was the heart of the land.

Slipping his hands into his coat pockets, Jared hurried to catch up with the others.

“Hand it over, you stupid turd!”

Jared broke into a run. Randolf never had that edge in his voice with anyone except Garth.

Rounding a curve where the lane fed into another road, Jared slowed to a cautious walk.

Garth held one hand behind his back, dodging and circling while Randolf tried to grab that arm.

Jared wouldn’t have been amused if he’d found Eryk and Corry playing “gimme.” And he was less than amused to find Randolf baiting Garth, and not just because Garth was broken. Every man had his flash point, that inner line he wouldn’t be pushed beyond without striking back. Garth stood a head taller than most of them, even topping Brock by a few inches, and outweighed all of them—and all that weight was bone and hard muscle. It was easy to forget what a man his size could do because he always had that confused, kicked-puppy look on his face.

That look wasn’t on Garth’s face now. He moved with a warrior’s assurance, and his pale blue eyes glittered with malevolence.

“Randolf!” Jared shouted.

Randolf lunged at Garth.

Garth dodged and gave Randolf a shove that sent the man flying.

“Jared!” Garth bellowed, striding toward him.

“Pull him down!” Randolf yelled as he got to his feet.

Jared backed away. Shields weren’t considered permissible Craft for slaves, so a smart man tried to frighten his victim into shielding without using Craft himself. That way, the witch who owned them, alerted by her controlling ring to a forbidden use of power, punished the offender—the victim—with pain sent through the Ring of Obedience.

A man made helpless by a Ring was an easy man to kill.

Jared didn’t think Garth had that much cunning left, which really didn’t matter since Garth wouldn’t need Craft to snap him in half, and he wouldn’t stand a chance in a fight without it.

Jared dodged, slipped, tried to scramble out of reach.

Garth grabbed the back of Jared’s coat and set him on his feet hard enough to make his teeth rattle.

“Jared,” Garth said, holding out his huge, clenched hand.

Swallowing hard, Jared held out his hand. He shuddered with revulsion as the brass button Garth had been holding dropped into his palm. The button had the same slimy feel as Garth’s psychic scent.

Anger washed through Jared. All this over a button?

He looked up just in time to see the knife leave Randolf’s hand, aimed straight for Garth’s back. “NO!”

Garth spun around, knocking the knife away with his forearm.

Randolf looked shocked.

Jared stared at Garth and wondered what the man had been before he’d ended up on the auction block at Raej.

Cold fury filled Garth’s face as he walked over to where the knife lay in the road. He stepped on the blade, grabbed the hilt, and snapped the knife in half. Returning to Jared, he pointed at Jared’s hand. Sweat ran down his face and his hand shook as if he were fiercely struggling against something.

“Jared,” Garth said. The glitter faded from his eyes, replaced by the confused, imploring, familiar look.

“It’s a button, Garth.”

Garth made a frustrated sound.

Jared waited, but he could see Garth was losing the inner battle.

Garth raised his arms and let them fall, his big hands slapping his thighs in a gesture of defeat. Shaking his head, he walked away.

Randolf didn’t move until Garth was well past him. Then he turned on Jared. “Now do you understand why I don’t like him?”

Jared looked at the brass button. Holding a handful of phlegm wouldn’t make his stomach any queasier.

His face twisting with disgust, Randolf walked over to Jared, plucked the button out of his hand, and tossed it into the bushes beside the road.

Jared rubbed his hand on his trousers.

Randolf bared his teeth. “What’s it going to take to convince you that he’s a danger to us?”

“Leave him alone,” Jared snapped. “He’s not dangerous unless he’s pushed. He can’t help being broken.”

“He’s not just broken, he’s tainted.”

Jared’s body tightened until it shook. To call one of the Blood tainted was a vicious insult, because blood was the connection between the body and the psychic strength. Someone who was condemned as being tainted was considered so fouled that his blood would contaminate whatever it was used for. That person’s blood couldn’t be given for an offering, couldn’t be used for any Blood ceremony, couldn’t be used for a healing.

“You don’t know that,” Jared said, forcing the words out.

“And you don’t know he’s not. He’s out of sight half of the time, and whenever he’s around the rest of us, he’s always watching.”

“He’s mind-damaged, Randolf.”

“Oh, I won’t argue that someone tampered with him, but after seeing him just now, do you still believe he’s as mind-damaged as he seems?”

Jared said nothing.

The anger gradually drained out of Randolf. “It’s your decision, Lord Jared. You do what you think is best.” He turned and walked away.

Jared waited until Randolf was out of sight before he walked over to the knife lying in the road.

The blade was broken into small pieces. A man’s foot couldn’t break tempered steel like that. Craft could.

Hell’s fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful.

If Garth wasn’t as damaged as he seemed to be . . .

Jared raised his hand but stopped before he raked his fingers through his hair. His hand still felt slimy, fouled.

If someone had created a spell around Garth so that he would appear to be mind-damaged, in the same way Sadi had created a spell to hide Blaed’s true nature . . . But why?

His snarl echoed the wild stranger’s fiercer one.

“Pet.” A word slaves despised even more than “tainted.”

The wild stranger circled the thought and snarled again.

Pet.

Why had the Gray Lady excluded the adult males from the story time? Because she thought they wouldn’t be interested, or because she didn’t want them to hear a tale about an escape to a land where the Blood still lived with honor?

Pet.

Jared started up the road at a fast walk.

Could a man be a pet without being aware of it?

Thera would know. Being broken didn’t erase her knowledge or training, merely kept her from using it.

Jared looked around.

He couldn’t see the wagon.

He couldn’t see any sign of Randolf or Garth.

He started running.

Thera was the only person in their group who might have the answers he needed; was the only one who understood the Black Widows’ Craft.

The Gray Lady was the only person in the entire Realm of Terreille who wore the Gray Jewels; was the only Queen and the only free person who outranked Dorothea SaDiablo.

Both of them were lying in the wagon, feeling unwell enough to be vulnerable to an unexpected attack.

And until he had some answers, there was no one he could trust to help keep them safe.

Jared stared at the swift-moving, mud-colored water. On either side of the swollen creek were the remains of the bridge they needed to cross. As he watched, the water seduced another plank of the bridge and took it for a wild ride downstream, abandoning it at the tangle of branches and debris that had piled up at the curve.

Brock hooked his thumbs into his leather belt, took a deep breath, and blew it out. “Well, that’s inconvenient.”

“For us,” Jared agreed.

Brock narrowed his eyes. “I wondered if it could be a marauder ambush, so I took a chance and probed the area. There’s no Blood around here but us. We’ve been visible long enough to have company if it was coming.” He shook his head. “I think one of the trees that had been uprooted in the flood smashed into the bridge and pulled it down.”

“Maybe.” Jared wished he had insisted on talking to Thera. But when he caught up with the others, Blaed had curtly informed him that both women were sleeping, and there had been an edge to the young Warlord Prince’s voice that had warned him not to push. Since his own anxiety had diminished once he could keep an eye on the women, and he didn’t see any reason to aggravate the aggressive, protective instincts Blaed was fighting to keep leashed, he’d decided to wait until he could talk to Thera without drawing the other men’s attention. Now, looking at the remains of the bridge and wondering if it had been the flood or Craft that had destroyed it. he regretted that decision.

“Maybe,” Jared said again. “Or maybe the company just hasn’t gotten here yet. Or maybe there’s Blood out there who outrank you and are shielded so you’re not aware of them.”

He tensed when Brock’s hand closed on his arm, forcing him to turn and face the other man.

“I was a First Circle guard, Warlord,” Brock said, anger simmering in his voice. “The Purple Dusk may not be one of the darker Jewels, but I’ve got the training, and I know what to look for. When I probe to find something, I find it, if it’s there at all.”

Jared wasn’t sure of that, but he didn’t know that much about a guard’s training, so he didn’t disagree.

“What’s happened, Jared?” Brock said, releasing Jared’s arm. “You’ve been straight with me since we started out, and now all of a sudden you’re talking smoke.”

Jared turned to face the water, not so much to turn away from Brock but to keep his back to the others. He and Brock worked well together, and he liked the man. But liking and trusting weren’t the same thing, and trust was what Brock was asking for now.

Keeping his voice neutral, Jared said, “If you could kill the Gray Lady, would you do it?” He flicked a glance at Brock, whose face and eyes were carefully blank.

“If she died out here, we’d be free,” Brock answered, his voice giving nothing away.

“Would you kill her?” Jared pressed.

Brock seemed reluctant to answer, but finally said, “No.”

Brock’s answer should have made Jared feel easier. It didn’t. He watched the water steal another plank from the bridge. “It could have been marauders.”

Brock huffed.

“It could have,” Jared insisted. “What if they destroyed the bridge to force us to take another road, find another bridge where they’ll be waiting for us?”

“You mean waiting for her,” Brock said slowly, rubbing his chin. “They’d have no reason to think we’d fight. Slaves, if they’re smart, don’t take sides. If their owner wins, they wouldn’t survive the punishment if they’d helped her enemy, and they wouldn’t survive what the others would do to them if they fought for her and the enemy won. By doing nothing, a slave wouldn’t be any worse off and might even be granted the freedom to serve without a Ring.”

“The only thing he’d be granted is the chance to whore his honor for the illusion of freedom,” Jared snapped. “He’d never really be trusted, never really be free. He wouldn’t be wearing a Ring he could feel or see, but—” The words suddenly stuck in Jared’s throat. “But he’d be trapped by it all the same,” he finished softly.

Freedom from pain. Freedom from the constant physical reminder that your body belonged to someone else who could use you, hurt you, sell you, maim you simply because she wanted to. Freedom to have a lover, maybe even children. Freedom, for the price of giving up honor.

And all a man would have to do was blindly obey.

Like he’d been doing since they’d started this fool’s journey.

Rage boiled up in Jared.

“Jared?”

As Jared shook off Brock’s restraining hand, he noticed the three boys scrambling among the boulders a little ways upstream, jostling each other as they threw sticks into the creek.

Jared roared to vent some of his temper. “Tomas! Eryk! Corry! Get away from there!”

Tomas grinned and waved. “We’ll be careful,” he shouted.

“Keep an eye on them,” Jared snapped, pushing past Brock.

Ignoring the worried looks of the others waiting by the wagon, Jared headed for the Gray Lady, who’d been wandering around in the field next to the creek since they’d had to stop. She limped toward him, her arms wrapped around her belly, too focused on the ground just ahead of her to notice his approach until he was almost on top of her.

Jared grabbed her arm, too angry to be careful. “Make the Ring visible. Prove it’s there. Prove it.”

Her eyes widened. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

His hand tightened. “Or add the Ring of Obedience to it. I’m not going to play your games. I’m not going to fall for your tricks. You may own my body, but you’re never going to own my soul.”

She stared at him as if he’d lost his mind.

Right now, he wasn’t so sure he hadn’t.

“The Ring of Obedience,” Jared snarled.

“No.” She tried to pull away from him. “You wear the Invisible Ring. That’s sufficient.”

“It’s not going to be sufficient for long. I’ll fight you with everything I am. You’re not going to own me. Not that way.” She had to strike back now. She had to. No witch would allow a slave to state bluntly that he was going to fight without punishing him for it. And once that pain blazed along his nerves, he would know for certain the Invisible Ring existed and she hadn’t played him for a fool.

She didn’t strike back. Instead, she snapped, “You presume a great deal, Warlord. What makes you think I want to own you in any way?”

“A bill of sale, Lady.”

For some reason, his response upset her. She yanked her arm out of his grasp, stumbling back a couple of steps. “Is wearing the Invisible Ring making you suffer?”

“Yes!”

“Good!”

He opened his mouth to blast her with the foulest language he knew . . . and tasted something in the air that shouldn’t have been there.

Wariness and fear shadowed her eyes as he stared at her. She slowly backed away from him.

Jared shook his head. “You can’t—”

The scream came a second after he felt a surge of power.

Whipping around, Jared saw Eryk standing on top of the boulders, his arms windmilling frantically to keep from falling backward into the creek. Tomas held on to the front of Eryk’s coat, leaning back and pulling hard, trying to keep the older, heavier boy from falling.

There was no sign of Corry.

Before Jared could move, another surge of power hit the boulders, shattering the rock and tossing both boys into the air. They screamed as they fell into the rushing water.

Garth burst out of the bushes at the same moment, holding up his trousers as he raced downstream and leaped into the water.

“CORRY!”

Jared whipped around again, responding to the Gray Lady’s voice.

She was running—running!—toward a break in the trees a little ways downstream from the bridge.

Jared watched her for a moment in frozen disbelief. Then, swearing viciously as he gave in to instinct, he took off after her, counting on his longer legs, the difference in their ages, and her inexplicable moontime to stop her from doing something courageously foolish.

She must have used Craft somehow to make her knee work as if it were fully healed. And, Mother Night, she had speed!

In that moment, when he knew he wouldn’t catch her in time, he would have admired her if he hadn’t been so furious with her.

Instead of scrambling down the slope to the water’s edge, she lengthened her stride for the last few paces and made a Craft-enhanced leap, flying over the sloping dry land and new shallows. As she neared the middle of the creek, a blast of power struck her, spinning her round and round, smashing through the Craft she’d used.

She hit the water on her back and disappeared.

Thera’s voice, shrill and furious, filled Jared’s mind in the same instant the Gray Lady hit the water. *Don’t use Craft! Don’t use Craft! There’s a spell here that twists it and turns it back on you!*

Jared veered to the right, downstream, pushing himself harder. Using Craft, he could have lifted her out of the water as soon as he caught sight of her and floated her to dry ground. Instead all he could do was try to get ahead of her and think of something then.

He plunged down the slope, grabbing at trees to stay on his feet. As soon as he had a clear view of the creek, he stopped and scanned the water, looking for some sign of them. He spotted Corry thrashing helplessly, slowly drifting toward the tangle of branches and debris.

Slowly. As if something was holding the boy back. As if someone’s feet were digging into the creek bottom.

Damn that woman. This wasn’t a chess game!

Muttering vile promises of what he was going to do when he finally got his hands on her, Jared looked around for something, anything he could use to reach them. Then he bared his teeth in a feral smile.

Like to like.

If he couldn’t use Craft to help, he would play the game by the enemy’s rules and use it to destroy.

Raising his right hand, he aimed for the ground in front of a slim, tall tree that stood at the water’s edge several yards downstream and unleashed the Red.

The ground around the tree exploded, tearing out part of its roots before his Red strength rebounded, heading straight for him.

Jared dove, rolling the rest of the way down the slope.

The blast of power sizzled over his head, tearing up the ground where he’d been standing.

Cautiously raising his head, Jared watched the tree topple into the creek. Still tethered to the land by what was left of its roots, it bounced on top of the water.

Scrambling to his feet, Jared plunged into the water, cursing as his feet tangled in submerged undergrowth. Once he pulled free, he swam across the current, fighting to reach Corry.

It took seconds, seemingly centuries for him to reach the middle of the creek. He pulled his legs under him and planted his feet to test the water’s depth. It broke against his shoulders.

Too long, Jared thought as he ducked under the water, clamped his hands around the Gray Lady’s waist, and yanked her to the surface. She’s been under too long.

She gasped for air, swallowed water, and choked. Jared swore as he wormed one arm between her belly and Corry's back to hold her up. At least he didn’t have to worry about losing Corry. She could barely breathe, and her arms were still wrapped so tightly around the boy it was going to take a couple of strong men to pry him away from her.

She coughed up water, and Jared swore again.

“Breathe, damn you, breathe!” Jared shouted at her. “You are not going to die just to get out of a fight!”

“Sounds fair,” she gasped.

Relieved that she could breathe enough to talk, Jared’s arm tightened around her until she squeaked.

“We’re going to play hop frog,” Jared said, working to keep his voice calm while his instincts shivered a warning that some terrible danger was coming closer.

“I am not going to jump over your shoulders,” she growled.

“Not leap frog. Hop frog. Didn’t you play any games when you were a girl?”

“You can’t hop if you can’t touch the ground.”

“The tallest one hops. The shorter ones just hang on for the ride. I used to do this all the time with my little brothers when the creeks were running high. It’s fun.” And thank the Darkness Reyna had never found out about it.

“Only a boy would think a stupid, dangerous game was fun.”

“Lady, you’ve got a lot of brass to call anything anyone else does stupid or dangerous.”

He made the first hop before she could sputter a reply, letting the current push them a ways before planting his feet again. On the second hop, his foot slipped and they all went under. Since the Lady was too busy coughing and cursing him to say anything useful, he hopped again.

They reached the toppled tree on the fourth hop.

Jared grabbed the tree to keep his balance while he started to walk them toward the bank.

“Jared!” Blaed rushed down the slope to the water’s edge. Bracing himself against the tree, he waded in far enough to yank Corry out of the Gray Lady’s arms. “We’ve got to get out of here. Thera says a spell’s been triggered and the power feeding it is going to hit this place anytime now.”

Hell’s fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful.

They scrambled for the bank.

“I brought the saddle horses,” Blaed said. “The others took the wagon and will get as far away as they can before it hits.”

“Go,” Jared said as soon as Blaed reached dry ground.

Blaed didn’t bother to answer. Carrying Corry, he climbed the slope as fast as he could.

Jared half carried the Gray Lady the last few steps to the bank and didn’t think it strange that she was struggling so hard until she tried to take a step up the slope and almost fell.

“Go,” she said, trying to push him away while balancing on her left leg. “Go.”

“Feather-brained, mule-headed woman,” Jared growled as he ducked under her batting hands and hoisted her over his shoulder. “Stop squirming, or you’ll get us both killed.”

“I can—”

“Shut up,” Jared said in a deceptively mild tone that no one but a blithering idiot—or a Queen—could have failed to understand.

Her breath came out in an angry hiss.

Choosing to interpret that as agreement, he scrambled up the slope.

“I told you to go,” Jared said when he reached the top and saw Blaed holding both horses, waiting for them.

“Why should he take orders any better than you do?” the Gray Lady muttered against his back.

Jared set her down too hard next to the bay gelding. Her gasp of pain hurt him, but he didn’t allow himself to think about it as he tossed her into the saddle and swung up behind her.

There wasn’t time to think about anything.

As soon as Blaed swung up behind Corry, they kicked the horses into a gallop and raced across the field, angling toward the road.

How much time did they have? And how would the spell unleash? Would it radiate from a central point or just fan out on this side of the creek? The damage a psychic unleashing could do would depend on the strength of the person who had fed the spell. His and the Gray Lady’s inner barriers should be able to hold against that kind of unleashing, but the others might not survive it. If the spell manifested in some physical way . . .

Wind? Water?

They reached the road at the same moment the spell unleashed.

Jared glanced over his shoulder and saw a mature tree explode skyward like a burning arrow released from a bow.

The muscles in his chest locked. He couldn’t breathe.

Behind them, a huge ball of witchfire consumed the trees around the creek and expanded outward at a fierce speed.

Jared urged the gelding on, trying to wring a little more speed out of the animal.

Witchfire had a radius. It had a limit that depended on the amount of power that had been used to create it. It could heat and it could burn—sweet Darkness, how it could burn!—but it couldn’t continue expanding after the power was exhausted. With all the rain they’d had over the past few days, it wasn’t likely that the witchfire would spark a natural fire. They should be safe enough . . . if they could outrun it.

He saw the wagon rattling down the road ahead of them.

He heard the witchfire roaring behind him.

Too slow. Too slow!

Jared pressed against the Gray Lady. If the witchfire caught up to them, he’d risk the working distance of that twisting spell and throw a Red shield behind them. Even if that spell turned his own strength against him, the shield might buy her enough time to escape the witchfire.

They were gaining on the wagon.

The witchfire was gaining on them.

The roan mare Blaed was riding squealed and shot ahead of them.

Jared felt the heat on his back.

He raised his hand at the same moment the Gray Lady raised hers.

Swearing when he saw the Green Jewel in her ring, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand down before she could throw up a shield. He’d risk the range of the twisting spell and having his own power turned against him, but he’d be damned if he’d let her risk it.

Fire roared behind them.

The wagon was too close now. Too close.

The gelding raced past a tree a second before the fire consumed it.

“We made it!” Blaed shouted. “Mother Night, we made it!”

Jared glanced back.

A wall of witchfire filled the road behind them, but it wasn’t moving forward anymore.

“Thank the Darkness.” Jared pressed his cheek against the Gray Lady’s head as he reined in the laboring horse. When the gelding slowed to a stumbling walk, he slid off its back. He wasn’t sure his legs would hold him, but they couldn’t afford to ruin the horses. “Come on, boy,” he soothed, sliding the reins over the gelding’s lowered head so he could lead it. “A little farther and you can rest.”

He looked at the Gray Lady slumped in the saddle, her face hidden by her wet, tangled hair. His eyes narrowed.

Funny. He wouldn’t have thought gray hair would look that dark when it was wet.

“Jared!” Brock shouted.

The wagon had slowed to a walk, too. Brock swung off the driving seat and jumped to the ground.

Jared waved at him. “Keep them walking.”

Brock started toward him, looked behind Jared at the Gray Lady, and hesitated. Then he waved an acknowledgment and turned around.

The wagon door opened. Looking pale, Thera braced herself in the opening. Her green eyes swept over Blaed, who was leading the mare, and Corry, who was still in the saddle, pale and shaking. They lingered for a moment on the Gray Lady, and finally settled on him.

Jared had the uneasy feeling she was looking for some kind of answer. Problem was, he didn’t know the question.

Before he could say anything, she stepped back and closed the door.

Jared looked at Blaed and frowned. “I told you to go.”

Blaed shrugged. “Thera told me to bring you back. If I had to fight with someone about it, better you than her.”

Jared grunted. Then he slanted another look at the young Warlord Prince. “You like her.”

“She’s got a Harpy’s temper,” Blaed snapped as his face colored.

Jared grinned. “You like her.” The grin faded. Slaves couldn’t afford those kinds of feelings.

They walked for several minutes before Jared whistled sharply and raised his hand, calling a halt. The horses were cool enough to stand for a few minutes while they changed into dry clothes and got the Gray Lady settled into the wagon. She hadn’t said anything since he’d tossed her onto the gelding’s back. She had to be in pain. Her enduring it in silence reminded him why he was so furious with her.

The moment the wagon stopped, Thera threw the door open and scrambled down the steps, almost falling in her haste.

Wondering why she seemed so tense now that the danger was over—it was over, wasn’t it?—Jared reached up to help the Gray Lady dismount.

And found himself reaching for a gray-eyed, dark-haired, young witch dressed in the Gray Lady’s clothes.

She frowned at him. and said, “What’s wrong?” at the same moment Thera said, “I’m sorry.”

Fury blinded him. Hell’s fire, he had hated witches who hadn’t made him this furious.

Snarling, he clamped his hands around her waist and hauled her out of the saddle. As she fell forward, the Green Jewel hanging from a gold chain around her neck slipped out of the torn coat and tunic. Her gasp of pain and surprise—and the bruises already darkening on her shoulders and chest where she must have struck submerged rocks— stopped him from letting go of her until she had time to grab the gelding’s saddle to keep her balance. Then he stepped back, not trusting himself not to strike out.

“Who are you?” he said roughly.

“I’m sorry,” Thera said again.

Looking puzzled, the witch’s gray eyes flicked to the men Jared could feel gathering behind him, to the children who had emerged from the wagon, to Thera, and, finally, to him.

She started to raise her hand to brush back her tangled hair, but didn’t complete the gesture. Pulling what was left of her braid over her shoulder, she studied the dark hair, and then muttered, “Hell’s fire.”

“Who are you?” Jared roared. He didn’t know which made him more furious: that his mind had been tricked into believing this was the Gray Lady or that his body hadn’t been fooled.

She wobbled a little when the gelding shifted nervously, but she squared her shoulders and raised her chin.

The admiration he felt for the strength and pride he saw in her eyes only fueled his temper, and the wild stranger inside him started howling at him to protect, protect, protect. He tried to push it away by reminding himself that he was a Ringed slave, but instincts that had been bred into Blood males over dozens of generations weren’t easily banished by a Ring or a word.

In a commanding voice, she said, “I am Lady Arabella Ardelia. On the Gray Lady’s behalf, I’m taking you to Dena Nehele.”

Behind him, Brock and Randolf swore quietly.

Jared ground his teeth. Arrogant, stubborn, courageous, feather-brained little fool! Did she really think men like Brock and Randolf would just shrug and continue to obey her unless she used the Ring of Obedience and brutally revived their fear of the kind of pain it inflicted? Especially once they realized she was handicapped right now by more than physical injuries?

He took a step toward her.

“Stay back,” she said, her body tensing.

Jared bared his teeth in a savage smile. “You want me to stay back? Use the Ring.”

Her eyes widened.

Jared held his breath, waiting. She had to use the Invisible Ring now. She had to. She’d been able to avoid using it when he’d challenged her a short while ago, but she couldn’t now that he’d challenged her in front of the others. His Jewels outranked hers. He was a danger to her. If she didn’t use the Ring to pull him down, he could smash through her inner barriers and tear her mind apart. Damn her, she had to use it to protect herself, to reassert her control over all of them. She had to hurt him to prove that she could still brutally control the strongest male among them—and would inflict the same kind of pain on the others if the males didn’t continue to obey her.

Instead, she let go of the saddle and tried to brace herself for a fight.

Swearing, Jared closed the distance between them and scooped her up in his arms. “You don’t need a pleasure slave,” he snarled as he stomped to the wagon, “you need a keeper.”

“I do not—”

“Shut up.”

“Jared,” Thera warned as he brushed past her and the children. “She needs attention and—”

“In a minute.” He shouldered the door open and kicked it closed in Thera’s face. After setting his bundle of wet, bedraggled witch on the bench, he stepped back and leaned against the door, preventing anyone from interrupting them.

One of the shutters behind the driving seat had fallen open during the wild ride. Using Craft, he closed it and created a ball of witchlight, floating it near the bench so he could take a good look at her.

She wasn’t pretty—he'd always associated pretty with delicate—but there was a kind of strength in her face that would ripen into beauty in a few more years—a beauty that was a reflection of the deep inner strength strong Blood males found more arousing than a lush body.

Sadi had once said strength attracted strength, that a strong witch’s psychic scent acted like a catnip on strong Blood males. Even if the attraction wasn’t sexual, they’d still want to touch her, smell her, cuddle up next to her. It was part of a witch’s power over the males, something that soothed her chosen as well as filling them with possessive savagery.

Standing there, Jared felt the pull of her psychic scent— the same pull that had been luring and confusing him since she'd bought him. Knowing she wasn’t the old woman he’d thought she was, he felt his blood start to simmer with a dangerous hunger.

And flavoring all of it was fury fueled by relief.

Since fighting would help him keep his distance until he had time to think, he lashed out. “You mule-headed little idiot! You had no business jumping into that creek. You could have been killed—or didn’t you think about that?”

“If I hadn’t jumped in, Corry—”

Jared rode right over her. “Cony’s male. Males are expendable.”

Her gray eyes turned almost black with temper.

Remembering how their chess game had ended, he abandoned that line of attack and chose another. “Was this some kind of game?” he demanded. “The little witch decided to masquerade as a grown-up, go to Raej, and buy a few slaves for fun?”

“Not for fun,” she snapped. “For the Gray Lady.”

“For the Gray Lady. Of course. How could I forget? Do you even know her? Or was that the best disguise you could think of?”

“Of course I know her.” She raised her chin and glared at him. “I’m in her First Circle.”

Jared narrowed his green eyes. A young, talented witch might serve in a Territory Queen’s First Circle in order to receive special training before ruling a Province or District on that Queen’s behalf. “How old are you?”

“Thirty-seven.”

He laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. If the little witch wanted to play games, he’d play games.

He raked his eyes over her in a way that couldn’t be interpreted as anything but an insult. “I’d guess fifteen. Maybe sixteen.”

“I’m twenty-one!”

She sounded too outraged to be lying.

“And with the Gray Lady’s consent, you went trotting off to Raej, pretending to be a Gray-Jeweled Queen.” He shook his head and tsked. “Not a very sporting thing for a Queen to ask of a young protégée . . . unless, of course, she was trying to eliminate a rival.”

Her eyes glittered with suppressed fury, but her voice became dismissively chilly. “I told you everything you need to know.”

He studied her for a moment. That she’d taken an insult to the Gray Lady personally was a strong indication that she was a member of the First Circle—or at least a member of the court. And, perhaps, telling the truth.

He saw her shiver and leashed his temper. What was wrong with him that he was fighting with her when she needed attention? His father would have skinned him for neglecting his duties for such an indulgence.

Stepping away from the door, Jared reached for her coat. “I’ll help you get out of those wet clothes.”

“No,” she said quickly, her hands clutching the front of the coat and tunic, holding them closed. She pressed her back against the storage boxes, her body tensing as he bent over her. “I can manage.”

Jared closed his hand over one of her ice-cold fists and tugged gently. “You’re cold, exhausted, bruised, and can’t even stand up without falling over. According to all the rules my father thumped into my stubborn head, this is exactly the sort of circumstance when a Queen should put aside her pride and let someone help her.”

He tugged again. Her fist tightened.

He tried dredging up the smile that used to charm Reyna into giving him an extra nutcake.

She stared at him as if he’d grown fangs.

“Hell’s fire, Lady,” Jared growled as he tried to loosen her hands. “This can’t be the first time a man has offered to undress you.”

She said nothing.

All right, he understood her being nervous. They’d been arguing. It was her moontime, and she was vulnerable. Her disguise had failed for some reason, and she didn’t have the Gray Lady’s reputation to hide behind anymore. But, Hell’s fire, you’d think she’d never—

Jared took a good look at her pale, tight face and backed away so fast he yelped when he hit the door. His hand shook as he pointed a finger at her, and said accusingly, “You’re a virgin. Hell’s fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful, you’re a virgin.”

Still clutching the coat, she eyed him warily. “There’s no reason to get hysterical. It’s not contagious.”

Jared raked his fingers through his hair, dizzied by the conflicting emotions spinning through him. “What’s wrong with your people? What’s wrong with your family? How could they let a virgin Queen out of her home village without an escort, let alone out of the Territory?” His temper roared to life with a vengeance. “What kind of man is your father to let you go to a place like Raej?”

“What do you know about my people or my family?” She swung her legs off the bench and sucked air through her teeth. “And don’t you dare insult my father!”

Jared took a step forward. “If you stand on that leg, I’ll do what your father should have done. I’ll put you over my knee and wallop some sense into you! I swear it!”

“Unlike some people, I don’t sit on my brains, Warlord!”

“That’s highly debatable, Lady!”

Someone tried to open the door and smacked his arm since he was still blocking it.

Jared cursed, thought about throwing his weight against the door to give whoever was on the other side a taste of wood, heard the feminine snarl, and thought again. Rubbing his arm, he stepped farther into the wagon to let Thera enter.

“That’s enough,” Thera said, her eyes chips of green ice. “The Lady needs care, which even a male should be able to figure out.”

Jared bared his teeth at her, at the same time wondering if a man could be castrated by a look.

Thera tossed a blanket at him. “Hang that up and get out of those wet clothes before you get sick and become completely useless. I’ll help the Lady.”

He’d just bet she’d help the Lady, Jared thought as he used Craft to hang the blanket. He called in the cloth traveling bag he’d been given to store his extra clothes and dug through it, looking for something to wear that didn’t smell too ripe.

Of course Thera would help the Lady. Why wouldn’t she? Two of a kind, that’s what they were. Stubborn, temperamental, always sure they knew better than a man even if he had more experience, always so damn sure they could do just fine on their own, thank you very much.

Not finding anything clean to wear except the thin tunic and trousers he’d been given at Raej didn’t help his temper. He tossed them back into the bag and stripped. Smelling ripe would keep everyone away from him, which suited him just fine. Besides, after what they’d just been through, they needed time to recover, time to think, time to plan. And while they were doing that, he was damn well going to find a way to wash these clothes.

“I’m sorry,” Thera said, her voice a little muffled by the blanket. “When Garth got Eryk and Tomas out of the creek, I pulled out the chest with your heading supplies. Foolish. My wits must have been scattered . . . or else those damn spells were muddling my head. There was no reason to try to drag it outside since they were bringing the boys to the wagon. It was heavier than I thought.”

“It would have gotten heavier,” the Lady said quietly. “Several spells had been put on it to prevent anyone but me from moving it.”

Thera sighed. “I should have realized that. I should have realized that.” She sounded fierce and upset. Then she sighed again. “Anyway, when I pulled it out the door, I dropped it on the steps. The back of it got punctured and must have torn the tangled web that created the illusion.”

Jared kept still, hardly daring to breathe. He had the feeling whatever they might say to each other now might not be said at all if they remembered he was there.

“It doesn’t matter,” the Lady said. After a moment, she added, “Besides, you knew anyway.”

Jared could almost feel Thera’s shrug. “I guessed. Since I was trained in it, it’s easy enough for me to recognize the Hourglass’s Craft.” Another bit of silence. “I guessed,” Thera said, sounding careful, “just like you guessed I wasn’t broken.”

What?

Jared stared at the blanket. Then he closed his eyes and swallowed hard. Hell’s fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful. Thera. Unbroken. They’d all been fencing with a Black Widow who still wore the Jewels and had the full use of her particular Craft.

“Come on,” Thera said. “Let’s get you out of those wet clothes.”

Hearing the familiar sounds of someone getting undressed, Jared hurriedly pulled on layers of clothes. If he added warming spells to them, they should keep him comfortable enough for the next few hours since his coat was soaked. Even Craft couldn’t instantly dry material. At least he didn’t think it could. The next time he met a hearth-witch, he’d ask her.

The rustling on the other side of the blanket stopped.

“Mother Night,” Thera said. “You’re a mess. Didn’t you miss any of the rocks?”

Jared clenched his hands to keep from tearing down the blanket. He gritted his teeth to keep silent.

She was hurt. She was hurt. She was hurt.

All the training that had lain dormant for the past nine years came rushing back, overwhelming him with its fierceness. He wanted to lift his head and howl out his frustration. He wanted to hold her, yell at her, examine every bruise, and then kiss her to soothe the hurt.

How dare she be so careless, jumping into the creek like that? She was lucky she only had bruises instead of broken bones. How dare she, a virgin who was so terrifyingly vulnerable to a male attack, make a journey like this without even one loyal male to look after her? Didn’t she realize how precious Queens were, how vital to the Blood’s survival? And how dare she create this frenzied need in him to protect without giving him the outlet of honorable service?

Well, he’d be damned if he’d let her get away with it.

Fuming, Jared vanished the traveling bag and called in his Jewels. Two thin, wooden, rectangular boxes floated in front of him. He opened the first one and stared at his Birthright Opal, the gold jewelry gleaming against the box’s black-velvet lining. He brushed his finger over the ring and pendant. He’d worn the pendant since the Birthright Ceremony he’d had when he was seven, but the Opal ring had been made just before he’d made the Offering to the Darkness and came away with the Red. It had been a gift from his parents for his eighteenth birthday.

That was the only day he’d ever worn it.

He closed that box and vanished it, then opened the box that held the Red. Except for a few desperate moments over the years when he’d slipped on the ring, craving the feel of it on his finger, he hadn’t worn the Red Jewels— hadn’t worn any Jewels—since the night he was Ringed. Slaves weren’t allowed to acknowledge their strength openly, not even the strength that was their birthright.

He slipped the Red-Jeweled ring onto the third finger of his right hand. His left hand covered it protectively as he savored the bond that had been denied for nine years.

Taking a steadying breath, he licked his lips and picked up the pendant. No clasp to break or open. Just a chain of carefully formed gold links, long enough to let the power in that reservoir rest beside his heart.

He used Craft to put on the pendant. The cool gold settled around his neck, then warmed against his skin.

As he vanished the wooden box, Jared realized it was very quiet on the other side of the blanket.

Quiet and tense.

They knew he’d called in the Jewels. Even during her moontime, the one thing a witch continued to channel power through was the controlling ring linked to the Rings of Obedience. The controlling ring—and the males in the court who served her—were her only defense against slaves who would have taken advantage of her vulnerability to break free or destroy her.

Right now it didn’t matter if the Invisible Ring was linked to the controlling ring. The Queen who wore that ring was in no condition to fight him.

Which made him angry all over again.

He pushed the blanket aside.

Thera rose from the other bench, defiant.

Ignoring her, he looked at the young Queen now dressed in a long gray skirt and gray sweater.

“Even if we don’t push the horses, we’ll be able to get back to the clearing before dark,” he said.

“No.” The Lady chewed her lower lip. “We have to go on.”

“There’s nowhere else to go,” Jared said, biting back his temper. “Short of dragging them, you’re not going to get anyone to go back to that creek. This road didn’t branch off anywhere between here and the clearing. We won’t make it any farther before nightfall anyway. We’re going back.”

“We have to go on,” she said stubbornly.

Jared ground his teeth and tried to find something to say that he wouldn’t have to apologize for later.

“Jared’s right,” Thera said after a moment. “We need time to rest—and to prepare. The clearing is the best place to do both.”

“That attack might not have been meant for us,” the Lady said quietly.

“Doesn’t really matter, does it?” Thera said just as quietly. “We were lucky this time. If we’re not up to strength and able to think clearly, we might not be as lucky next time.”

The Lady sighed. “All right. We’ll go back to the clearing.”

“Thank you, Lady,” Jared said testily. It galled him that she had argued with him but had yielded to Thera.

Squeezing past them, he reached the door.

“One thing,” he said, looking over his shoulder at Thera. “Since you’re not broken, what Jewels do you wear?”

Thera looked amused. “I wear the Green, Lord Jared.”

Mother Night.

Two of a kind, Jared thought, flinging open the door. He strode to the bay gelding and mounted. “We’re going back to the clearing,” he told Brock. “I’ll take point. You and Randolf take the rear guard. Thayne, you lead the team. Blaed, you’re with me.” He looked at Eryk and Tomas, who were huddled in blankets, and little Cathryn, who was clinging to Corry. “You children ride inside the wagon.”

Brock gave one pointed look at the Red-Jeweled ring on Jared’s right hand and nodded.

As Jared nudged the gelding forward, he heard Tomas say, “You know, I thought she was kind of frisky for an old lady.”

Great. Wonderful.

Was he the only one who hadn’t figured it out?

As soon as he passed the wagon, he urged the gelding into a trot, not waiting for Blaed.

A minute later, he caught up to Garth. The big man hadn’t changed his wet clothes before heading back down the road. Jared slowed the gelding to a walk and waited for Garth to look at him.

He studied the man’s face. What lay behind those pale blue eyes? “Thank you for saving Eryk and Tomas.”

Garth just looked at him. Then his lips curved in a slow smile. He raised one huge hand in a casual salute and turned his attention back to the road.

Too many things hidden, Jared thought, as Blaed joined him. A Green-Jeweled Queen pretending to be a Gray. A broken Black Widow who wasn’t broken. A mind-damaged man who kept showing flashes of training and intelligence.

And, possibly, an enemy who might wear the face of a friend.

Too many questions.

Jared put those thoughts aside. There wasn’t time for questions. But later, when they were all safely tucked away in the clearing, he intended to get some answers.

Using Craft to balance the two steaming mugs, Jared rapped once on the wagon’s door and went in without waiting for a response.

The witchlight he’d created earlier had grown small and dim, the power that had sustained it almost exhausted. He couldn’t see her face in the gloom, but opening his first inner barrier a crack was enough to sense her pain—and her fear of the male strength that might descend on her now that her ability to protect herself was so impaired. Wasn’t that why she’d chosen the cold solitude of the wagon to the warmth and company in the stone building?

After feeding the witchlight a few drops of his Red strength so that they’d be able to see each other, he thought about using a warming spell to make the wagon more comfortable.

And decided against it.

“Here,” Jared said, handing her one of the mugs. “This brew won’t help your bruises or your knee, but it should ease the other discomfort a little.”

She cradled the mug for its warmth. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

Jared sat on the opposite bench and sipped his coffee. He understood the hesitation. One of the first things the Blood learned when they began their formal training was how to probe food and drink for substances that shouldn’t be there. It didn’t always work. There were subtle poisons, substances that were harmless until they were added to something else, sedatives that could react fast enough to leave a person at the mercy of an unsuspected enemy. She’d be a fool not to test it.

Watching her rub her finger around the mug’s rim, he wondered if she could do even that much Craft right now.

“I made a cup for Thera, too,” Jared said.

She took a tiny sip, then stared at the mug in surprise. “It tastes good.” She studied him without quite looking at him. “Where did you learn to make a healing brew?”

“My mother is a Healer. I picked up a few things.” Which wasn’t quite a lie. He had picked up some basic healing Craft from Reyna. The moontime brews just didn’t happen to be part of it.

But the words did what he’d expected them to do. A Healer was a respected woman, and there was the implicit faith that a Healer wouldn’t create a brew that would harm.

He knew better. In places that stood in Hayll's shadow, Healers weren’t always well trained or respected, and some had made the choice to harm others in order to save themselves.

Watching her shoulders relax as she took another sip, he felt relieved that the healing Craft was still strong in Dena Nehele.

He didn’t want to hurt her. She was hurting so much already. But her self-imposed exile had made it possible for him to talk with her privately without calling attention to it, and there were questions he had put aside while they returned to the clearing, ate, and settled in for the evening, too weary to do anything more.

So he tried to keep his voice gentle and soothing, and sent out psychic tendrils of reassurance so that his strength and maleness wouldn’t intimidate her so much she wouldn’t talk to him.

“Lady . . .” Jared paused. Frowning, he sipped his coffee. What was he supposed to call her? Did the people in the court address her as Lady Arabella Ardelia? Formally perhaps, but surely not in a normal conversation. Lady Arabella? That made him think of a fair, dainty woman who wore ruffles and lace, not this tall, strong-boned, solid-muscled young woman with generous curves. Lady Ardelia?

Yes.

A woman as strong as the land, with a heart of fire.

The Lady, on the other hand, might have a different opinion.

“What do your people call you?” he asked, surprised at how much her answer might disappoint him.

For the first time since he’d entered the wagon, she looked directly at him. Her lips twitched. “My father calls me Bella. My mother calls me Belle.” Her expression darkened, and her lips curled in a silent snarl. “My cousin calls me belly button.” She sipped the brew and muttered under her breath, “I never liked my cousin.”

Jared wisely raised his mug to his lips, covering the smile. “Which do you prefer?”

“Lia,” she said. “When I was seven, I decided I wanted to be called Lia. So that’s what everyone calls me now— except my parents.”

“And your cousin,” Jared added, not bothering to hide the grin.

She muttered something extremely uncomplimentary.

Lia. The name flowed over him like a warm summer wind. Lady Lia. He could imagine the village children calling to her to see the new puppy, the new kitten, the new bit of Craft that had been learned. He could hear the affectionate way the men and older women talked about her. Have you heard what Lady Lia’s been up to lately?

And in the court, now and when she established her own . . . Lady Ardelia. The strong young Queen with too much courage.

Which brought him back to the beginning.

“Why?” he asked quietly.

For a while Lia just sipped the brew and didn’t answer. Then she sighed. “It’s the last time, you see. The Gray Lady was attacked after the spring auction, and her escorts were killed. Dorothea SaDiablo was behind that attack. The Gray Lady insisted that she had to go to Raej one more time so that our enemies would know that the strength of a Gray-Jeweled Queen still protected Dena Nehele. The males in the First Circle felt that the risks far outweighed whatever might be gained. They politely requested that she remain within the borders of Dena Nehele—and then they pulled out every scrap of Blood Law and Protocol they could find about the rights and privileges of males in the First Circle. By the time they were done, she realized their request really amounted to a command— which they vehemently denied, of course.”

“Of course,” Jared said politely.

She looked at him with keen suspicion.

“That doesn’t explain why you’re here,” Jared pointed out.

She fiddled with her mug. “She couldn’t go to Raej again. Even if the First Circle hadn’t found a way to stop her, she couldn’t go. We almost lost her the last time, and if we’d lost her before—” Lia quickly sipped her brew.

“Before?” Jared’s green eyes narrowed as he watched her.

“Before the new Queen was fully trained to take her place.”

Which meant that the majority of the Warlord Princes and other Queens in Dena Nehele had already agreed to accept the Gray Lady’s chosen successor.

“Why did they send you? Why not a more experienced Queen?”

She worried the ragged edge of the blanket beneath her. “Well, I look a lot like Gran, and I’m the only other Queen in the family.”

For a moment, Jared couldn’t think of anything to say. Couldn’t think at all. “Gran?” His voice cracked and rose to a squeak. “Gran? The Gray Lady is your grandmother? How?”

Lia blinked. “The usual way. Her daughter had a daughter.”

Jared drained his mug. All right. An illusion web spun by a gifted Black Widow had been able to fool the eye, had been able to somehow mask the fact that Lia wore a Green Jewel so that strangers wouldn’t be able to tell it wasn’t the Gray Lady. But there was nothing that could fool a male into believing any other kind of witch was a Queen—especially if he focused his attention on her.

So it made sense that they would need a Queen to impersonate a Queen. And maybe the family bond made it easier to create the illusion web, especially if Lia resembled her grandmother. Maybe there hadn’t been another Queen willing to take the risk. Or maybe the Gray Lady hadn’t felt she could ask someone outside of her family. Or . . .

Jared’s shoulder blades twitched. He kept hoping there was another answer because, if there wasn’t, he was going to be furious all over again, and he couldn’t afford the luxury of telling her what he thought of the males in her Territory.

“So,” he said pleasantly while the anger started simmering his blood, “since you were the only other Queen in the family, and the Gray Lady’s successor, you decided to do this yourself.”

She eyed him warily. “Yes.” When he started swearing again, the kind of inventive curses that were designed to make another man flinch, she snarled at him. “Why are you so snappish about my father?”

“What kind of man would stand back and let you do this?”

“What would you have done if your Queen ordered you to let your daughter go?”

“I would have fought it!”

“He did! He lost.” She winced and wrapped her left arm around her belly. “And now he’s going to yell at me when I get home. He’ll hug me and get teary about the bruises, and then he’ll yell at me.”

Since he wanted to do a bit of yelling himself, Jared leaned forward and patted her shoulder gently. And found he now understood his father’s outbursts while still able to remember how it felt to be on the receiving end. “Doesn’t seem fair, does it? Getting yelled at when you’ve already been through a hard time and survived it.”

She shook her head and sniffed.

The pats changed to soothing circles.

Jared hesitated. “There had to be other ways of letting Dorothea know the Gray Lady is still a formidable adversary. Was going to Raej to get a few more slaves really worth this risk?”

Her eyes became brutally hard. “There are no slaves in Dena Nehele,” she said coldly, and shifted just enough to let him know his touch was no longer welcome.

Hurt by the withdrawal, he matched her coldness. “Well, if you keep your precious Territory clean of the stink of slavery, what do you do with the slaves you buy?”

“Send them home, of course. That is, if they want to go home.”

That stopped him.

Stopped his brain, stopped his heart, and withered his anger.

“Home?” Jared’s voice broke. His heart started again with a leap. “You send them home?”

Cupping both hands around her mug, Lia finished the brew. “Yes, we send them home—or invite them to stay if ‘home’ is no longer a safe place for them.” She closed her eyes for a moment and took a couple of deep breaths. “Dorothea SaDiablo wants nothing less than to control the entire Realm of Terreille. That’s been her goal since she became the High Priestess of Hayll centuries ago. Since outright war would have devastated the Realm, she had to find a different way of waging war on the rest of the Blood.”

“Fear,” Jared said softly. “Over time, fear between the genders would undermine a Territory.”

Lia nodded. “And she has time since Hayllians are a long-lived race. The seeds of distrust are sown village by village while she nurtures the lighter-Jeweled witches who have the same twisted nature that she does. Strong males who might not submit to one of her pet Queens are usually Ringed young, before they become ‘dangerous.’ Mature males who challenge the new rule are declared rogues and are either hunted down and killed or go into hiding. All of the dark-Jeweled witches and most of the Queens are broken young so there’s no one left for the males to bond to except Dorothea’s chosen.”

Jared set his mug on the floor and clasped his hands tightly, unable to say anything. Would slavery have been his fate even without that youthful mistake? Would the Shalador Queens have demanded he submit to a Ring of Obedience in order to control his Red strength?

No. Not in Shalador.

“It happens slowly,” Lia continued. “Over several generations. On the surface, nothing seems to change because it’s so subtle at first. A new interpretation of Protocol. A wariness when dealing with the stronger witches. Rumors. Stories of mistreatment. The alliance with, and dependence upon, Hayll grows and grows until the day comes when one of Dorothea’s pet Queens rules the Territory. By breaking or enslaving the strongest and the best, they keep the rest of the people submissive, too afraid to fight or speak against them.

“For a long time, Gran couldn’t see any way to fight Dorothea except to form strong alliances with the Queens in the neighboring Territories. Then, a few years ago, a Queen’s nephew was taken from the court where he was in training, along with three other young Warlords. She searched for weeks, trying to find some trace of him. She’d almost given up when she received an unsigned note that said the young Warlord was unharmed and continuing his training—in the High Priestess of Hayll’s court. If the Queen welcomed Hayll’s next gesture of friendship by agreeing to meet with the Hayllian ambassadors to discuss some ‘concessions,’ her nephew would continue his training, unharmed. If she refused, as she’d been doing for several years, her nephew would be sold as a slave at the Raej auction.”

Feeling chilled, Jared wrapped a blanket around his shoulders. “She refused.”

Lia nodded. “One of the witches in her First Circle volunteered to go to Raej to buy the Queen’s nephew. She took two guards with her. None of them came back.”

“So the Gray Lady went the next time.”

“Yes. Besides wearing the Gray Jewels, Gran can be very intimidating when she wants to be. Her friendships with Queens outside of Dena Nehele have always been discreet, so there was no reason to believe anyone at Raej would connect her with the young Warlord.”

Jared’s heart thudded against his chest. “She bought him?”

Lia shook her head. “He wasn’t there. Not that time. To justify her presence, she bought a couple of other males, choosing by instinct. Once she got them to Dena Nehele, she offered to help them return home. At first, they didn’t believe her and kept looking for a trap. When they finally did believe her, they didn’t want to go home because, at best, it would put their families at risk and, at worst, they’d end up dead or enslaved again. So they stayed.”

“And the Gray Lady continued to buy slaves.”

“It became a subtle way to fight Dorothea. Some of the males went home, fiercely determined to keep Hayll’s taint from spreading. Others settled in Dena Nehele or one of the surrounding Territories.”

Jared cleared his throat. “Did she ever find her friend’s nephew?”

Lia shuddered. “Yes. The fourth time she went to the auction.”

Someone hesitantly knocked on the wagon’s door. Grateful for the interruption, Jared answered swiftly.

“Here,” Blaed grumbled, thrusting a plate of sandwiches and apple slices at Jared. “Thera got hungry. She also wanted another mug of that brew you made.”

“I prepared two more gauze bags before I came out here,” Jared said as he took the plate and the two filled mugs.

“I know. The brew’s in one of those mugs, too.” Blaed scowled at the mugs and then shrugged. “You’ll know which one when you taste it.”

Jared thanked him and hoped Blaed made it back to the stone building before he fell asleep.

They ate in companionable silence. Jared didn’t want to break the easiness between them, but Lia had only told him the first half—the half, he noticed, that didn’t have much to do with her.

Jared rubbed his face, willing himself to stay awake a little longer. “All right. The Gray Lady needed to make one more appearance at Raej. I understand that. Sort of. But, Lia, once you’d purchased the slaves, why didn’t you buy passage to a Coach station closer to Dena Nehele’s borders?”

“I was going to but . . .” Lia bit her lip. “The message came, and I got scared.”

He remembered the note she’d been given just before she went into the ticket station. And the fear in her after she’d read it. “What did it say?”

“ ‘They’re waiting for you in the west.’ ”

“Do you know who sent it?”

Lia shook her head. “A masculine hand, but I didn’t recognize the writing. I thought it might be a trick, too. That’s why . . .” She waved a hand to indicate the wagon, supplies, everything. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You did well, Lady,” Jared said with warm approval. “But wasn’t there a Coach station near the inn where you got the wagon and supplies? Why didn’t we take another Coach from there to Dena Nehele instead of making this journey?”

Lia turned her face away from him. Her fingers worried the blanket. She nibbled her lower lip.

Jared felt the warning prickle between his shoulder blades. His heart began to pound painfully against his chest. “Why didn’t we take another Coach, Lady Ardelia?” he asked softly.

“Everything cost more,” she said hurriedly, defensively. “You have to hire two guard escorts if you’re going to buy slaves so that one can stay with the slaves while the other accompanies the buyer, and they charged me a third more than the witch ahead of me. I couldn’t go into the auction grounds without the escorts, and when I argued about it, that bastard in charge just smiled and said, ‘That is the fee, Lady.’ And the bidding went higher than we’d anticipated, always more than the person’s ‘working value.’ ”

She was no longer talking to him, explaining to him. He wondered how many times over the past few days she’d argued this with herself.

And what, exactly, was she trying to justify?

“I think some of the other buyers were just bidding against me to force the price up,” Lia continued, sounding more and more desperate. “But it was the last time, don’t you see? I couldn’t walk away from the ones we’d been asked to look for. I couldn’t. I tried to fool them by bidding on a few slaves and stopping when the price started to climb, but it didn’t work, and after buying passage for the first Coach, there weren’t enough marks left to buy passage again so I had to do something else, didn’t I?”

Jared considered the expense of purchasing the horses, wagon, clothing, and supplies for this desperate gamble. Outfitting them for this journey probably cost her half the fare for herself and twelve slaves.

But that still wasn’t an answer. In his youth, he’d given enough explanations at breakneck speed to know when someone else was trying to provide a smoky truth to hide the real reason for something.

He leaned over and covered her hands with his. The moment he touched her, he knew.

“How many were you supposed to bring back, Lia?” he asked softly, baiting her. His anger was rising again. And beneath the anger was grief.

So close, he thought. So close.

“We didn’t set an exact number,” Lia mumbled.

“How many?”

She trembled beneath his hands and wouldn’t look at him.

“Who were you asked to look for?” Jared asked, struggling to keep his voice gentle.

She swallowed hard. “Eryk and Corry. Blaed and Thayne. Polli.”

Jared’s hands tightened until she made a small, hurt sound. Not trusting himself, he released her and shoved his fists into his pockets. “If you were supposed to bring Polli back, how could you give her to that rogue bastard?”

Lia’s head snapped up. “Prince Talon is not a bastard— of any kind,” she said hotly. “He’s a good, honorable man. Besides, he’s Polli’s uncle. Since he was the one who asked us to look for her, why shouldn’t I send her with him when there was the chance?”

Jared stared at Lia and then shook his head to clear it. That hard-eyed Warlord Prince was Polli’s uncle? Well, that explained why she’d been willing to go with him.

“That’s how I know the message wasn’t a trick,” Lia said, bristling. “The escorts who were waiting for us at the western Coach station were attacked. When we didn’t meet Talon as planned, he and some of his men started looking for us.” Tears filled her eyes. She slumped, as if her body couldn’t stay upright once anger no longer supported her. “My uncle was leading the escorts who were supposed to bring us home.”

Jared moved to her bench and put his arms around her. He stroked her hair and rocked her, murmuring soothing noises while she cried out the fear and grief she’d had to hide.

When she finally quieted, he called in a handkerchief and let her sniffle into it for another minute before slipping a finger under her chin, forcing her head up.

“Want to tell me the real reason you didn’t buy passage?” he asked gently. Before she could say anything, he pressed a finger against her lips. “Let me tell you what I think happened. You arrived at the auction ground as soon as it opened and spent the day going from auction block to auction block until you found all of the people you’d come for. Probably took you the best part of the day, too. I imagine you bought a couple of the others while you were searching so that it wouldn’t be obvious you were waiting for particular slaves to come to the block, but you would have been careful not to overspend at that point. Then, once you had the five you came for, you still had enough marks to buy three or four more slaves. But you wouldn’t have settled for the first ones who came on the block after that. You would have looked for people who could still appreciate the gift of freedom. Since there were so many and you could take so few, making those hard choices took some time. Right?”

Reluctantly, she nodded.

“Now, by the time you’d made your next-to-last purchase, there were still plenty of gold marks left to buy the double passage that would get you to a Coach station close to the Tamanara Mountains. And don’t give me any nonsense about the escorts bringing the marks with them for the next step of the journey. I had originally trained as an escort, Lady, and no man who serves in that capacity would have let you leave without making sure you had the means to get home on your own.” He raised his voice to drown out her indignant sputters. “So there must have been a secondary plan if you couldn’t meet them as agreed. Which meant you had the funds for that second passage.”

“I told you—”

Jared pressed his finger against her lips again. “You came to buy five, and they were expensive purchases. Brock and Randolf would have been expensive, too. But Garth? You might have paid more than a simple, expendable laborer was worth, but it wouldn’t have lightened your purse by much.” When she started to protest, he held his hand firmly over her mouth. “Raej might be the prime slave fair and slave-owning might be an aristo indulgence, but even there a young, half-Blood male like Tomas wouldn’t go for much. With the way aristo Blood males have been mounting landen females, you can go into just about any village and buy a starving little bastard of either sex. And little Cathryn— a pretty Blood female that an aristo male would use as a breeder after his broken wife produced the one child she’d be capable of bearing. But Cathryn’s only nine, and if healthy offspring are the intention, she isn’t going to be useful for several more years. So she wasn’t going to go for much either. Thera? I can’t imagine you had much competition bidding for a broken Black Widow with a vicious temper. Which leaves me.”

She stared at him, wide-eyed.

Jared took his hand away from her mouth and found he needed a moment to steady himself. “It was me, wasn’t it? Until you bought me, you still had the funds to buy passage on another Coach.”

Lia shook her head, but he saw the truth in the shadows that darkened her gray eyes.

“I know where the bidding starts for a fully trained pleasure slave—even a vicious one. And even though you weren’t bidding against anyone, the auction steward wouldn’t have accepted a price that was much less than the starting bid would have been. So I was the purchase that emptied your purse a little too much.”

She wouldn’t look at him.

“You can’t tell me I have things in the wrong order, Lia. It was almost closing when you came down to those pens. So I was the last one.” Taking the handkerchief, Jared wiped the fresh tears from her face. “Why, Lia? Why were you even down there?”

“I don’t know,” Lia said, her voice catching. “I just needed to go down there. I knew there was something I needed to see.” She gave him a defiant look through eyelashes that were spiky from the tears.

Jared frowned. “A compulsion spell?”

Lia jerked. Her eyes widened, then narrowed thoughtfully. After a moment, she shook her head. “I would have sensed it.”

“Would you? If a darker Jewel—”

“You wouldn’t believe the drills I was put through,” Lia replied sourly. “No. I know what compulsion spells feel like. And I was drilled in how to look for all kinds of illusion webs, which is why I sensed something odd about Thera.” She shook her head again. “If it was a compulsion spell, it was awfully subtle.”

He wouldn’t have expected any other kind if it came from Hayll. Subtle and twisted. Now was probably not a good time to remind her that being able to recognize a kind of spell didn’t guarantee being able to recognize a particular spell.

Had he been the bait for a trap? Had Dorothea deliberately warned Lia away from that Coach station so that she’d be stranded still within Hayll’s reach, forced to travel overland instead of riding the Winds?

“Wait,” Jared said. “If you were planning to let us go, why didn’t you tell us at the inn? Why did you buy the wagon at all? No, look.” He gripped her shoulders. Remembering her bruises, he lightened his hold. “If you’d told us then, there were five of us who could have ridden the Winds and you would have had plenty of marks to buy passage for the others.”

She searched his face and, after a moment, reached a decision. “There’s a . . . wrongness . . . here. I can’t explain it better than that. I didn’t sense it until we were all together. In a way, I still can’t sense it, but . . .”

“Go on.”

“At first I thought it was the illusion webs Thera and I were using, but it’s more, Jared, and I can’t pinpoint the source. It’s like catching something out of the corner of your eye but not being able to see it when you try to look directly at it. I couldn’t risk bringing that wrongness into Dena Nehele. I couldn’t risk having someone who might be full of Hayll’s kind of poison living freely among my people. So I decided to keep everyone together and let them think they were still slaves until I could find the source.”

Jared leaned back. “You let Polli go.”

Lia took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “I told Talon about the wrongness. He’ll take . . . precautions.” She smiled bleakly, her eyes so full of shadows. “Besides, the wrongness is still here.”

He didn’t say anything for a couple of minutes. Then he stood up. “Come on,” he said. “You’ll sleep better on a mattress in front of the fire than on a hard bench out here in the cold.”

“No.” Lia hunched her shoulders. “I’ll stay here.”

“No, you won’t.”

There was more snap than shadow in her eyes now. “You can’t—”

“I’m claiming Escort’s Privilege.” Checkmate, little witch, Jared thought as he smiled at her. When a Queen’s escorts weren’t available, another male could take on the duties of looking after the Lady. Since it was a temporary arrangement, Queens rarely refused a male’s claim—especially if his Jewels happened to outrank hers.

She muttered and sputtered while he bundled her up and carried her out of the wagon. Her comments about escorts poking their noses into personal concerns became more pungent after he asked her if she needed to use the privy hole.

“There were extra mattresses, so I put down a double thickness for you,” Jared said as he carried her to the building.

“I don’t need—”

“Thera got a double mattress, too.”

That shut her up so he didn’t mention Thera’s reaction to Blaed’s proprietary courtesy, or that Thera had tried to bite Blaed when the young Warlord Prince tucked the covers around her. No point giving the little witch ideas.

The men were all awake when he brought Lia into the building, but no one spoke, no one stirred. Subdued by their presence, she let him settle her on the mattresses and fuss with the blankets. Her only response when he snugged his mattress up to hers was to turn her face away from him.

The rejection stung a little, but he stretched out beside her and tried to ignore it.

A few minutes later, the slow, steady breathing told him everyone else was asleep.

Jared propped himself up on one elbow and watched Lia.

Knowing he would be free once they reached Dena Nehele felt like a different kind of slavery. He couldn’t run now, couldn’t escape, couldn’t go home. Her explanation had been fine as far as it went, but she hadn’t known about the wrongness when she bought him—which meant she had risked herself and the others to keep him from going to the salt mines of Pruul. How could he walk away when she needed his strength?

He couldn’t. As much as he wanted to go home, he couldn’t leave her now.

As he blinked back tears, he slipped his hand under Lia’s blanket, searching for her hand. She might have turned her face away from him, but her fingers curled trustingly around his.

Lying there, watching her sleep, he was torn between what he wanted to do and what he had to do. He no longer needed any tangible proof that the Invisible Ring existed, because the Ring no longer mattered. There was only one choice he could make now and live with. Until this journey ended and Lia was safely home, his strength, his maleness, belonged to her.

Sighing, Jared settled down and closed his eyes.

My father would say you haven’t grown into your skin yet.

He’d barely had time to get used to the feel of his Red strength when he’d been tricked into slavery. So maybe Blaed’s father was right about that. And if that was true . . .

Had being enslaved somehow frozen him in that transition between youth and man? If he’d remained in Ranon’s Wood, would he have eased into the more aggressive nature of an adult Red-Jeweled male, the change happening slowly so that what he felt inside was just more instead of other?

Jared opened his eyes and stared at the dark ceiling above him.

Other. Like the wild stranger. The part of himself that had been suppressed for nine years, until rage had let it burst free. The adult Warlord who kept pushing at him to embrace it, accept it.

He would have to embrace it, would have to accept it, no matter how much he feared it. He needed that strength and aggression if he was going to keep Lia safe.

Two nights from now, the full moon after the autumn equinox would rise. For a Shalador male, it was the night of the dance.

And the dance would be the right time to call the Warlord back to himself.