The Invisible Ring

Chapter Twenty-one

Lia stopped abruptly at the edge of the official landing place outside Ranon’s Wood.

Jared grabbed her, drawing her back against him while he absorbed the significance of what he was seeing—of what he wasn’t seeing.

The section of the Coach station roof that had been torn away.

The broken windows.

The empty corral where the horses for hire would have been kept during the day.

The pieces of the stable door that were scattered around the yard.

The absence of people.

And the deeper feeling of emptiness.

“The land’s been wounded,” Lia said in a hushed, aching voice. “Oh, Jared, the land’s been deeply wounded.”

Hay fields that should have been thick with stubble from the harvest had small islands of yellow grass growing out of a sea of barren ground. Trees that had been landmarks for generations scarred the morning sky with their dead branches.

“The Blood fought here,” Lia whispered. Her hand shook as she wiped a tear from her cheek.

Hearing her unspoken question, Jared chained his grief, leashed his growing fear. “This didn’t happen because of our coming here. Look at the land, Lia. This happened during the growing season, not the harvest. When we got the supplies at the landen village, the old woman warned me that there was trouble in Shalador.” He took her hand.

“Come on. Ranon’s Wood is about a half a mile from here.”

It would have been easy to probe the village, would have been easy to reach for the familiar minds of his family. He didn’t do either.

The second time Lia stumbled because he’d increased the pace beyond her ability to keep up, she planted her feet and refused to move.

“You go on, Jared. Find out what’s happened to your people.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

“I’ll be fine. There’s nothing here that will harm me.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

As they stared at each other, the words seemed to echo.

Jared swallowed. Tasted bitterness. Silently acknowledged the lie beneath the sincere words. As much as he didn’t want to, he would leave her—as soon as he saw her safely home.

“Jared!”

Jared whirled, putting Lia behind him. Hell’s fire, where were his wits? No one should have gotten this close to them without his sensing it, especially someone cantering toward them on horseback.

“It’s Blaed!” Lia said, stepping around Jared and waving.

Reining in a few yards away from them, Blaed slid off the roan mare’s bare back and dropped the reins to ground-tie her. He spared one quick glance for Jared before focusing on Lia with a hunger that made Jared tense.

Not a sexual hunger, Jared realized as Blaed’s eyes traveled over the body that was covered from neck to mid-thigh by the bulky sweater, but the hunger a strong Blood male feels when he’s bonded to a Queen.

“You’re well?” Blaed asked hesitantly.

Lia gave him a dazzling smile. “I’m fine. I—”

Blaed pulled her into his arms. “Thera’s been frantic about you.”

*Thera’s not the one hugging her hard enough to crack her ribs,* Jared said on a spear thread.

Blaed let go too fast.

Jared lunged to catch her. Blaed grabbed the front of the sweater.

A minute later, Lia was standing out of reach of both of them, eyeing them warily. “Whoever said males were sensible obviously never met either of you,” she grumbled.

Blaed grinned at Jared. “She is well.”

“Don’t encourage her too much,” Jared said dryly. “She needs more rest than she thinks she does.”

Lia straightened her sweater. “Let’s go to the village. I’d like to talk to someone sensible. Someone female.”

“I thought you wanted to talk to someone sensible,” Jared said.

Blaed coughed.

Lia looked at the sky and threw up her hands.

The gesture, so like Reyna’s, stabbed Jared. As he turned away, he met Blaed’s now-solemn hazel eyes.

Feeling the prickle between his shoulder blades, Jared chose each word as if it were a step he had to take on a trail filled with hidden traps. “When did you get here?”

“Last evening,” Blaed said in a neutral voice. “Thayne’s always been able to call animals to him. Enough of the marauders’ horses survived, so we each had a mount.”

“My mother’s a good Healer. She’ll take care of the witchfire burns for him.”

“Jared . . .”

“My father got you settled in all right? Did you talk to him about getting a Coach to the Tamanara Mountains?”

“Jared . . .” Blaed’s hand closed on Jared’s arm.

Feeling the sympathy that flowed out of that touch, Jared jerked away, circling Blaed cautiously as he moved toward the roan mare.

“Go home, Jared,” Blaed said quietly. “I’ll escort Lia.”

Torn, again, between two needs, Jared froze.

“Go home, Jared,” Lia said.

Because it was the woman and not the Queen who said the words, he found himself galloping down the road to Ranon’s Wood. His mind refused to see the images his eyes collected, and he was grateful. There would be time enough to deal with the destruction later.

It didn’t take long to reach the lane that ended at the weathered, rambling house that had been in Reyna’s family for generations. The Healer’s House, passed on, not from mother to daughter, but from the old Healer to the strongest, or only, Healer in the next generation. Year after year, the land had been tended by and yielded its bounty to the women of that bloodline. Generation after generation, strong Blood males had sought out those women, settling for a long-term contract as a consort if they weren’t able to win the coveted title of husband.

Jared tied the mare’s reins to the hitching post near the path that led to the front door.

Every spring, all the women in the family gathered for a few days to help plant the gardens at the Healer’s House. The males of all ages divided their time between helping with whatever repairs might be needed after the winter and watching indulgently while the women laughed and squabbled over the planting.

Jared opened the gate. It didn’t hang true and got stuck. He went sideways through the narrow opening.

“Mother?”

No one had planted this year. He felt the absence of laughter as keenly as he felt the land’s wounds. Flower beds that had dazzled him with color when he was young held a few wind-seeded flowers that looked spindly and faded.

Jared took a hesitant step toward the house. Took another. He raised his voice. “Mother?”

Another step.

He saw the smears of old blood around the front door.

Hurrying now, he flung the door open. “Mother!”

Sweating and freezing, he rapidly explored the downstairs rooms the family used. Then the healing rooms. Then the stillroom. Out the back door to the greenhouse. He didn’t notice anything except that there was no one there.

“MOTHER!”

Inside again, he took the stairs two at a time, checking his brothers’ rooms first.

Davin’s room was bare of personal belongings. Janos’s looked as if someone had hurriedly searched through it and had left the clothes and books where they’d fallen.

No one in the second-floor guest rooms.

No one in the third-floor rooms.

Back to the second floor.

His clothes no longer hung in the wardrobe, but his books still filled the low bookcase next to the writing desk that had stood in front of the window for as long as he could remember. The same quilt covered the bed that had once felt so huge and that he now knew would be a snug fit for two people.

One room left.

His hand shook as he opened the door to his parents’ room.

Pain and grief entwined with love hit him at the threshold.

He closed his eyes and clung to the doorframe, unable to step back, unable to go forward.

Walls remembered. Over time, wood and stone absorbed the feelings of those who lived in a place and could be sensed by anyone with power.

This was different. Stronger. As if . . .

Jared opened his eyes and looked at the large double bed that Reyna had shared with Belarr—the bed that a male child, no matter how young, didn’t climb into without his father’s permission.

At first, he thought Reyna had bought a new quilt for the bed, but he couldn’t figure out why she, who loved bright things, would choose such a dull color.

Then he saw a patch of blues and greens at the bottom corner, and then he realized the quilt had been soaked with blood.

Jared staggered toward the bed, fighting the sickness that churned in his stomach.

Blood sings to blood. That’s why the feelings were so strong. They weren’t in the wood and stone, they were in the blood.

His hand shook violently as he reached for the quilt.

The blood was old, but there was so much of it. All he had to do was open his inner barriers and touch it, and he’d know.

“Jared,” a gravelly voice said.

His hand hovered over the quilt. Another inch. Just another inch.

His hand wouldn’t move.

“Jared.”

Jared spun around, his heart pounding wildly.

An old man stood in the doorway. Unkempt gray hair hung to his shoulders. Grief and pain had carved deep lines into his face. His left sleeve was pinned above where the elbow had been.

Jared stared at the old man. His eyes widened. “Uncle Yarek?”

“Uncle Yarek,” the old man agreed, smiling sadly. “Reyna said you’d be coming home this autumn.”

“Mo—” Jared’s voice broke. In a rush, he crossed the room and hugged his uncle. Terrified of the fierce grief rising inside of him, he choked it back, chaining it down.

“Come away, Jared,” Yarek said softly as he stepped back into the hallway, drawing Jared with him. “Come away from this room. It’s too painful to look on. We’ll go outside. We’ll go out and sit in the garden, and we’ll talk.”

Saying nothing, Jared followed Yarek to a stone bench at the far end of the garden. Near the bench was a small, covered well.

“Would you like some water?” Jared asked.

Grimacing a little, Yarek settled on the bench. “Sure.”

Jared lifted the cover and lowered the wooden bucket. When he looked around for the dipper, Yarek said, “Here,” and called in a mug.

Jared filled the mug and handed it to Yarek. “Whenever my friends and I spent the afternoon playing in the woods, we’d all end up here because this well had the sweetest water in Ranon’s Wood.”

“Yes, it did.” Yarek drained the mug and handed it back to Jared. “Now it’s as bitter as a woman’s tears.”

Jared hesitated, finally dipped the mug into the bucket and drank.

As bitter as a woman’s tears. Or was it the land’s tears he was tasting now? For the Blood, was there really any difference?

Because he was thirsty, he drank another mug of water before settling on the bench next to his uncle.

“What happened here, Uncle Yarek?”

Yarek looked at the sparse garden and sighed. “War’s what happened, Jared. War between the tribes.”

“But we’ve been united since the time of Shal.”

“If everyone had remembered Shal’s warnings about the long-lived races, we might have stayed united and strong. But that slut who controls Hayll has a way about her. It’s like finding a weed in the garden. You know it doesn’t belong there, but it looks small and pretty so you let it stay, not realizing that, although it looks small and pretty above the ground, underneath it’s sinking a tap root so deep you can never cut out all of it, and it sends out all these other runners that choke out everything but other weeds.

“That’s what happened to Shalador. One by one, place by place, we lost our strong Queens, our good Queens. Some to age. Some to ‘accidents.’ One by one, until all that was left were the weeds.”

Jared rubbed his forehead. “And even a good man will eventually yield to a bad Queen if the hunger for the bond gnaws at him long enough and hard enough.”

Yarek nodded. “A strong love bond eases that hunger, too. A Blood male needs one or the other. I guess that’s why the warriors who came to demand we yield to the new Queen did what they did.”

Unable to look at Yarek, Jared focused on the cracked, barren ground in front of him. “Did what?”

Yarek shuddered. “They slaughtered the witches. They butchered our hearts. They didn’t give a call to battle and wait for the ones who chose to fight to come to the killing field. When every family in Wolf’s Creek refused to yield and every male told them what they could do with their damned Rings of Obedience, the delegation left. Thirteen men. That’s all we saw until the next day when hundreds of them surrounded the village and attacked. They weren’t after the men. Our wounds and deaths happened because we were in the way. It was the witches those bastards wanted. Little girls, old women, Ladies in their prime, the darker-Jeweled girls on the verge of womanhood . . .

“They raped some of them, just like they raped the land. Left some alive, broken and mutilated. Some of the lighter-Jeweled young witches were captured and taken away. A few—very few—escaped the breaking and slaughtering, but they weren’t old enough or strong enough for the males to bond to comfortably.”

“Is there anyone left at Wolf’s Creek?” Jared asked, carefully circling around the questions that needed to be asked.

Yarek shook his head. “Only a couple of houses were left standing by the time it was done. They took most of the livestock, and we knew the land couldn’t yield enough for us to eat even if we were able to tend it and could find a Queen to heal it—and there was nothing to get us through from a new planting to the harvest.

“Belarr arrived that evening with forty men . . . and Reyna. She did what she could to keep us alive. Then Belarr and the other men brought us to Ranon’s Wood. There’s always been strong family ties between Wolf’s Creek and Ranon’s Wood, so Reyna didn’t have to look far to find hands to help her.” Yarek cleared his throat. “I told her to take the arm. It wasn’t hanging on by much anyway, and I’d managed to stop the bleeding before they arrived. I told her to put her strength into the young ones. She cried but, may the Darkness embrace a true daughter, she did what I asked.

“A week later, the bastards came to Ranon’s Wood. Belarr had set up a watch, so they didn’t come in without warning, but they came, and it was Wolf’s Creek all over again—except they didn’t even give Belarr or anyone else a chance to refuse to yield.

“He fought. Mother Night, how he fought! But . . .”

“He wasn’t trained as a guard,” Jared said quietly. “He wasn’t trained as a warrior.”

“No. He was a strong man and a fine administrator and he’d served his Queen and Ranon’s Wood well, but he wasn’t a trained warrior.”

Belarr had had the strength of the Red, but hadn’t had someone like Randolf to show him how to use that strength to kill, hadn’t had a Warlord Prince like Blaed with him who would surrender to instinct and find the killing field within himself.

“They had to kill him, you see,” Yarek continued in a low voice. “They had to. They couldn’t let a Red-Jeweled Warlord live after they’d torn his wife’s body apart enough to make her scream but not enough to let her die quickly.”

Jared made a choking sound.

Yarek didn’t notice. “They paid dearly, Jared. The bastards paid for Reyna with their own blood. And they didn’t really win in the end.

“She was in the village when the attack started. Janos died trying to reach her. And she went down fighting to protect a young girl.

“I don’t know how Belarr reached her or where he found the strength to get her away from them. They were both dying by the time he got her home, and she . . . she kept trying to heal him. He asked me to leave them be, to look for Janos when the fighting was over. Then he carried her up to their room and lay down with her on the bed. Wasn’t my place to be there, so I closed the door.”

Yarek pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his nose. “I left the house and hid in the woods. Sounds cowardly . . .”

Jared shook his head. “You’d already fought one battle. You weren’t strong enough to fight another.”

“I did have another reason,” Yarek said slowly, tucking the handkerchief into his pocket. “On and off all through the winter, Reyna kept saying you were coming home this autumn. I didn’t have much hope for Janos. I figured someone from the family should be here to meet you, and I was the only one left.”

“The only one?” Jared whispered. “Those bastards killed all of them? All the aunts and uncles? All the cousins?” He put his head between his knees and tried to breathe. “Aunt Janine?”

Yarek rubbed Jared’s back. “My Lady died at Wolf’s Creek.”

Jared squeezed his eyes shut. “Shira and Mariel? Mother Night, they didn’t take Shira and Mariel, did they?” He sat up too fast.

Yarek pushed Jared’s head back down. “No, they didn’t get Shira and Mariel. My girls crossed the Tamanara Mountains last autumn, with Davin as their escort.”

“Davin?” Jared braced his hands on his knees and pushed himself upright. “Davin as escort? But he’s—”

“Old enough,” Yarek said firmly. He rubbed his chin. “Reyna was fretful last autumn. One day she showed up and talked to Janine. The next thing I knew, the girls were sent off with Davin and some travelers who were resting up in Ranon’s Wood before heading west, hoping to serve that Queen on the other side of the mountains.”

“They went to Dena Nehele.” Jared sighed. “Thank the Darkness.”

“You know something about the Gray Lady?” Yarek asked sharply.

“She’s a Queen worthy of the best a man can give. If she took Davin into her court, he’ll do well.”

“Then she may be the only Queen left who is worthy of it.”

“No,” Jared said softly, “there’s one other.”

Yarek gave his nephew a considering look. “You rode in alone. What happened to the witchling?”

Jared blinked. “The witchling?”

“The one bitten by the viper rats. The one the little Black Widow’s been fretting about so much.”

Jared blinked again. “Little Black Widow?” He rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth. “What did she say about Lia?”

“Ambush. Viper rats. You taking off with the witchling to find help. The rest of them hightailing it here.” Yarek shook his head and huffed. “Poor thing was making herself sick with all the fretting, and that young Warlord Prince knew about as much as an ant can piss about soothing a witch who’s got herself fretted. Now, me”—he waved his hand—“I know something about soothing a fretting witch. Janine wasn’t much of a fretter. All I had to do for her was keep some cheap clay pottery around that she could smash whenever she got really annoyed. That and a long, hot ride between the sheets usually eased her mood.”

“What?” Jared said weakly.

“Can’t settle things the same way with a daughter—”

Jared choked.

“—so I had to learn other ways of soothing, didn’t I? Wasn’t Janine who got Shira to stop fretting when Tavi performed the Fire Dance and then turned down her invitation to be her lover, was it?”

“What?”

“ ‘Sweetheart,’ I said, ‘a young Warlord’s got a right to choose his lover same as a young witch.’ ”

“What in the name of Hell was she doing inviting anyone to her bed?” Jared shouted.

“She’d had her Virgin Night. She was free to try out a man if it pleased her.”

“Shira’s not old enough—”

“She’s twenty-five now,” Yarek said, looking fierce.

“Then why didn’t her lover escort her over the mountains?”

“She didn’t find one she wanted to keep. Damn shame, but there it is. I wanted Mariel to have her Virgin Night before she left—have a Shalador male take care of it so I’d know it was done right—but there was too much upset at the time, and it would have been too risky with her emotions all stirred up like that.”

Jared braced his head in his hands and moaned. He’d been able to picture Janos and Davin grown—up to a point—but Shira and Mariel? Shira, with lovers. Mariel, ready for her Virgin Night and probably spending her evenings dreamily thinking about which consort she’d like to request for that night.

Lia, who wasn’t thinking about any of it.

He moaned again.

Yarek narrowed his eyes. “You acting so prudish about Shira and Mariel for a reason, or are you just trying to dodge my question about the witchling?”

“The witchling.” Jared rammed his fingers through his hair. What would Lia say about being called a witchling? What would Thera say about being called the little Black Widow? “She’s—”

They both tensed when they heard a horse approaching at an easy pace, but they couldn’t see the road from that part of the garden.

The roan mare whickered a greeting. Minutes later, Lia and Blaed came around the side of the house.

Jared ground his teeth. “She’s supposed to be resting.”

“That’s the witchling?” Yarek asked, jumping to his feet. He whistled silently. “Even dressed like that, she’s a lovely woman.”

Pleased to feel his blood simmering and more than willing to let grief find its release through anger, Jared stood up more slowly. “She’s also the Gray Lady’s granddaughter.”

Yarek gurgled a bit, but didn’t have time to say anything before Lia and Blaed reached them.

“Warlord,” Lia said politely, smiling at Yarek. “Jared,” she added cautiously.

Yarek bowed low, then grinned. “Lady. I hope my nephew’s remembered his manners while he’s been serving you.”

“Did he have any?” Lia murmured, a hint of mischief in her eyes.

“Why don’t you just keep pushing yourself until you collapse?” Jared shouted at her. “Watching you crawl in the dirt will certainly make us all feel better.”

Lia paled.

“JARED!” Yarek clouted Jared’s shoulder. “You shame your mother to say such a thing!”

Jared closed his eyes and hunched his shoulders. He stood there, trembling, saying nothing.

“If you’ll excuse me, Warlord,” Lia whispered.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Blaed turned on Jared. “Damn it, Jared. What’s wrong with you?”

Jared glared at Blaed. “What’s wrong with me! What’s wrong with you, bringing her out here?”

“I didn’t bring her anywhere. I managed to climb up behind her before she went looking for you.”

Jared’s hands curled into fists.

Blaed took a wider stance and braced his feet.

“Youngsters,” Yarek said firmly. “Enough blood’s been spilled on this land.”

Jared swayed. He resisted Yarek’s embrace for a moment before giving in and clinging. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. I’ve been sitting here, becoming incensed because the cousin I still remember as a girl is old enough to have lovers. I lash out at you. I lash out at Lia. Mother Night, will I ever stop lashing out at people who don’t deserve it?”

“It’s the grieving pain, Jared,” Yarek said softly. “It’s something too big to give in to all at once. I know, boy. I know.”

Jared stepped back. Took a deep breath. “Blaed—”

Blaed shook his head. “I understand.” He looked at the garden. “I shouldn’t have let you come without some warning, but I didn’t know how to tell you about this. Any of this.”

The three men turned and watched Lia enter the greenhouse.

“I don’t want to leave Thera alone too long,” Blaed said. “She’s still too edgy.” He looked at Yarek. “I could give you a ride back to the village. Jared and Lia can ride double on the gelding.”

“You can take the gelding,” Jared said.

“Not if Lia’s staying I can’t,” Blaed replied sourly. “Damn horse caught a whiff of her and has been acting like a stallion who’s caught the scent of the only mare in season.”

“I appreciate the offer, young Prince.” Yarek squeezed Jared’s shoulder. “Don’t stay too long. The bastards shouldn’t come back, but it would be too easy to get cut off out here.”

“One thing,” Jared said, drawing Yarek a few feet away. “What . . . What happened to the bodies?”

Yarek rubbed his chin. “That’s why I said the bastards didn’t win in the end. They hadn’t been interested in the bodies at Wolf’s Creek. Just left them there. But they took the time to look for Belarr. I guess they wanted to make sure he was dead. It was after sunset before they came here. I could hear them smashing things while they searched. They came out again, cursing for all they were worth, shouting at each other that they’d find him, and the Healer, too.

“I waited a while before going inside.

“Belarr and Reyna were gone, Jared. Just gone. There was that quilt soaked with their blood, but that was all.”

Jared watched the clouds move slowly across an autumn-blue sky. “Do you believe in the Dark Realm, Uncle Yarek?”

“The place where the Blood’s dead go before their power fades enough for them to return to the Darkness? Myself, I always thought stories about the demon-dead were just that—stories. Now I’m not so sure. Belarr would have done anything to stop them from taking her. If going to such a place would have given him a little more time with her, he would have found a way.” Yarek paused. “I never found Janos, either.”

“I hope it does exist,” Jared said quietly. “I hope they found the way to get there, and they’re still together.”

“Me too, Jared. Me too. Now make your peace with the witchling and try not to fret her.”

“Another male flaw,” Jared grumbled. “I fuss. I pester. Now I’ll be accused of fretting her.”

Yarek gave Jared a long look before patting his shoulder. “They all say that. And they all get used to it. Eventually.”

Jared waited until he heard the mare’s hoofbeats before he approached Reyna’s greenhouse.

She’d found a bucket of water and the specially shaped dipper Reyna had used to water the seedlings.

“Lia.” Jared waited for her to acknowledge his presence.

She didn’t.

Feeling awkward, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he watched her move from pot to pot, speaking so softly he couldn’t make out the words that weren’t meant for him anyway.

She held the dipper in her left hand. Two fingers of her right hand rested just above the soil in the pot. She poured the water over her fingers and murmured a phrase. The same movements, the same words, over and over.

It wasn’t until he really looked at the seedlings in the first pots and saw how much stronger and greener they looked than the rest of the plants that he realized what she was doing.

Queen’s magic.

According to their oldest legends, the Blood had been created to be the caretakers of the Realm, to use the awesome power they’d been given to maintain the balance between the land and all its creatures. As the caretakers, they became the rulers of everything that walked upon Terreille or flew above it or swam in its waters.

The price of power was service. Or so the legends said.

The Blood had a deep respect for the land. Many had a special gift for nurturing it.

But only a Queen could heal it once it had been wounded. Only a Queen’s blood and a Queen’s strength could turn barren ground back into fertile soil.

They were, after all, the land’s heart.

Coming up behind her, Jared lifted her right hand and poured water from the dipper over it to clean the cuts she’d made on her fingertips.

“No, Lia,” he said gently, turning her around.

She stared at his chest. “Let me do this. I need to do this.”

Jared shook his head. “There’s nowhere to plant them. There’s nowhere for them to go.” Was that true for the Shalador people as well? he wondered. Would they, too, wither and die?

Since she didn’t pull away from him, he slipped his arms around her and nudged her closer. He sighed when her hands touched his waist.

“I used to help her in here,” Jared said in a hushed voice. “She always said I had to make myself useful if I was going to—”

“Going to what?” Lia asked when he didn’t continue.

Jared grimaced. “If I was going to pester her.”

Lia chuckled. “No wonder you’re so good at it. You’ve been in training your whole life.”

Jared made a rumbling sound, which amused her even more.

Drawing her closer, he rested his cheek on the top of her head. “I saw her once, a few months after I was Ringed. During the training time. I don’t know if she was in that particular Territory for another reason and just happened to be walking in that plaza that day or if she’d somehow found out where I was and had come to see me.

“I saw her. It would have been hard to miss a golden-skinned woman with shining black hair that flowed to her waist and those rare green eyes.” He paused. “I have her eyes.”

Lia stroked his back.

“The witches in charge of the training saw her, too. They didn’t know, or care, who she was, only that her presence there was important to me. One of them walked over to me and fondled me through my clothes. And there was nothing I could do about it. There was nothing they’d done to me up to that point that had humiliated me quite that much. In a way, it’s ironic that I felt so much shame because Shalador boys look forward to the day when we’re old enough for the Fire Dance, for the time when we’ll step into the dance circle and display ourselves to every woman in the village. I wouldn’t have been dancing for my mother, but I would have danced in front of her and never given it a thought.”

“That’s different,” Lia murmured. “That would have been your choice, and it was part of the male rites among your people.”

“Yes,” Jared whispered, not sure he could bear her understanding. “So I went up to her, and I told her it was her fault. That all of it was her fault. That it was because of her that I was Ringed and would never know any pleasure with a woman. That if she’d been a different kind of woman, this wouldn’t have happened to me.

“Then I told her I hated her, and I walked away.

“I looked back just once. She was on the ground, curled up in a tight ball. No one stopped. No one touched her or tried to help her.”

“Oh, Jared.”

“I blamed her for a long time because it was safer to blame someone else. But I couldn’t forget the look in her eyes when I said those things. I couldn’t forget seeing her on the ground.

“When I stopped blaming her, the only thing I wanted to do was go home. I even made a couple of timid attempts to escape, but I was too terrified of the agony the Ring can produce to manage it. So I used to lie in my bed and imagine that I’d gotten home somehow. Just for an hour. Just long enough to see her, to talk to her. Just long enough . . . And now I’m home, and it’s too late. I’m too late, and I’ll never be able to take back the words.”

Lia held him while he cried. He had no tears yet for his father and brother. There would be time enough to mourn them later. There was no room in him to grieve for anyone but Reyna.

She held him long after the last tear.

“What was she like?” Lia asked softly.

Jared wiped his face on his coat sleeve. “Compassionate. Generous, stubborn, strong, loving, patient, courageous.” Like you.

Lia took his hand. “There’s something I want to show you.”

She led him to the back of the greenhouse and pointed to three large, glazed pots. Each one was divided into two sections and contained two seedling trees. “Someone must be caring for them. They’re the only healthy plants here.”

Love formed a lump in Jared’s throat that was sharper than grief. “Those are our luck and love pots,” he said, his voice husky. “And these”—he brushed a leaf with his fingertip—“are honey pear trees.”

Lia leaned over, brushing her fingers over the leaves and thin trunks while she crooned to the little trees.

“Reyna gave each of us one of these pots on our sixth birthday. Luck and love, she called them. There’s a hollow in the base. In the spring, we’d write down a wish or a dream or a desire and then fold the paper and pass it through the base into the hollow. Then we could plant any seeds or seedlings we wanted in the pot. They were ours to care for. Some years they grew. There were a lot of years when the seedlings started out well enough, but then we’d forget about them.

“She never touched them. I planted honey pear seedlings one year because I wanted a honey pear tree that I didn’t have to share with anyone. I drenched them whenever I remembered and then forgot to water them for weeks at a time. When they died, I got mad at her. She waited through my undignified tantrum and then quietly told me that the plants were a symbol, a way for me to learn that no one else could nurture my wishes or dreams or desires. If I wanted them to thrive, I had to take care of them myself.”

“These seedlings can’t be more than a year old,” Lia said. “So she must have planted them and tended them for you.”

“Yes.” Two honey pear trees for each of her sons— even the son who had walked away from her.

“What happened to the papers you tucked in the hollows?” Lia asked.

“We’d take them out after the harvest to compare what had happened during those months to what we’d written.”

“Did you get your wishes if the plants thrived?”

“Sometimes.” Jared smiled crookedly. “Although one year I had to wait until the next horse fair to get the pony I’d admired so much because it wasn’t for sale until then.”

Lia smiled with him. “Is your last wish still in the hollow?”

Jared’s smile faded. It had been years since he’d thought about the luck and love pots. “I don’t know.” He took a couple of deep breaths before using Craft to pass his fingers through the pot’s base.

His fingers brushed against paper. Touched sealing wax.

Frowning, he drew the paper out of the hollow. When he turned it over, he saw his name written in a feminine hand.

“I’ll wait outside,” Lia said.

“No, you—”

Lia touched his arm. “I won’t go far.”

Jared watched her until he felt convinced she wouldn’t wander out of his sight. Then he settled on the stool Reyna had kept in the greenhouse and broke the letter’s seal.

Jared,

A few weeks ago, a Black Widow came through Ranon’s Wood with her brother and his Lady. They were exhausted and the Warlord had been wounded in a fight. After the healing, they stayed with us a few days to recover their strength. Since whatever marks they had between them would be needed for the rest of their journey, I had refused payment. The Black Widow offered to trade a skill for a skill, so I asked if she could make a tangled web that could show how you fared.

When she approached me several hours later, I knew she didn’t want to tell me what the web of visions had revealed.

She told me you would return to Ranon’s Wood this autumn.

Then she told me I wouldn’t be here to see you.

At first I thought she meant that I’d be away from the village or committed to a healing and you wouldn’t be able to wait. But I’ve been a Healer too long not to understand words that are left unspoken. I didn’t ask if it would be an accident or illness or if I could do something to prevent it. What matters is there are things to be said, and this may be the only chance I’ll have to say them.

I won’t insult you by saying that your words didn’t hurt or that I didn’t cry. They did hurt. I did cry. But I understood even then why you needed to say them. Since that day, Belarr and I have had to accept the bitter truth that, in some ways, you were right. Because of our mistakes, no matter how well intentioned, a son lost his freedom and a precious part of his life.

The Blood survive on trust, Jared. We trust that everyone will follow the Laws and Protocol that keep the weaker safe from the stronger. We trust that males won’t use their strength against a female except in self-defense. We trust that every witch who is served will respect the males who hand over their lives into her keeping. When the code of honor we’ve lived by for thousands upon thousands of years is broken, fear seeps in, and no man trusts what he fears.

Despite the risks of the Virgin Night and the vulnerable days of our moontimes, yours is the more vulnerable gender. The need to serve has been bred into Blood males for so long, you can’t be emotionally whole without it. Driven by the most intrinsic part of yourself to need what you fear—I can’t imagine a deeper, more personal nightmare.

We wanted your ability to trust to be deeply rooted before you had to see the dangers that were the other side of the bond. We waited too long. For that, we’re both sorry.

Having lost one son, Belarr didn’t wait with your brothers. Sometimes it hurts to see the wariness in their eyes. Sometimes I fear that they’ll never be able to give their hearts fully to a woman because of it.

The night the Black Widow told me you’d be coming home, I had a dream. I’ve wondered since if she’d cast some spell that allowed me to see the visions in her tangled web that she couldn’t bring herself to tell me. I couldn’t remember the dream, but I woke up terrified.

The next day, I talked to Janine, and we arranged for Shira, Mariel, and Davin to travel over the Tamanara Mountains with the Black Widow and her family. I tried to get Janos to go with them, but the distrust of unknown witches runs too deep in him. He feels safe in Ranon’s Wood.

I received one letter from Davin before the snow closed the mountain passes. He and the girls are serving in a District Queen’s court in the Territory called Dena Nehele. He misses his home and family, but I think he’ll be able to put down roots and be happy.

There are two more things I have to tell you.

Before they left, the Black Widow asked that you deliver a message when you reached Ranon’s Wood. I’m to tell you that she and her brother and his Lady are going to Dena Nehele and hope to serve the Gray Lady. She said she wouldn’t say more than that because they were being hunted, but you would know who the message was meant for.

The second thing. There were many things Belarr regretted that he didn’t get the chance to tell you. One night he said if he could tell you just one thing, it would be this: that he’d known since you were a boy that you would wear the silver, but if you ever had a chance to wear the gold, you should grab that chance and hold on to it with everything that’s in you. It upset him, so I didn’t ask him what he meant. I simply give you his words in the hope that they have meaning for you.

If you feel you need my forgiveness, you have it. You’ve always had my love.

May the Darkness embrace you, my son.

Reyna

Jared carefully folded the letter and vanished it.

The Silver and the Gold.

Belarr had known about the Invisible Ring.

Was that why he’d felt sure he’d heard of it before? Was it the echo of something Belarr had said that had kept him from doubting its existence? On one of their rambles through the woods, perhaps. Maybe it had been the kind of comment an adult made in passing and then forgot, but a child never did.

Belarr had known he’d wear the Silver and had hoped he’d have a chance to wear the Gold.

Jared paused at the greenhouse door.

Looking a little guilty, Lia wandered through the herb garden, touching each plant as she passed.

Shaking his head, Jared went to join her.

He’d pretend not to see the drops of blood on the leaves.

This time.

But he wouldn’t pretend the Invisible Ring didn’t exist. It didn’t matter if she denied it with every breath. He wasn’t going to give up this last tie to his father.

Lia stuck her fingers in her mouth as soon as she saw him.

“Prick yourself?” Jared asked.

She pulled her fingers out of her mouth, and mumbled, “Yes.”

Jared put his arm around her shoulders and guided her toward the lane, ignoring her attempts to slow down and touch another plant. “The letter was from my mother.”

That distracted her long enough for them to reach the lane.

“I thought it might be.” Lia studied his face. “She knew you wanted to take the words back.”

“Yes, she knew.” He helped her mount the gelding and then swung up behind her. “It’s time we got back to the village. My mother left a message for Thera.”

It did his heart good to have her pester him all the way back to the village to explain what he’d meant.