The Shadow Queen

CHAPTER 17

Daemon walked into his closet and pulled a white silk shirt off its hanger. As he stuffed one arm into a sleeve, he muttered, “It’s your own fault, you brainless fool. So do something about it.” And he damn well was going to do something about it just as soon as he got this miserable rag of a shirt over his shoul—

“Stop it,” Jazen snapped, rushing into the closet. “Stop! You’ll rip the seams.”

Daemon bared his teeth and snarled at his valet. “What’s wrong with Lord Aldric that he couldn’t get the measurements right? I give him enough business.”

The valet stripped the shirt off him and hung it back up with a fussy care that honed Daemon’s temper—and also made him wary.

“It doesn’t fit because it’s not your shirt,” Jazen said, examining the shoulder seams for rips.

“Then why is it in my closet?”

“Because it’s Lady Angelline’s shirt.”

“Then why is it in my closet?”

Jazen huffed out a breath, and Daemon got the impression the valet had hoped never to have this conversation.

“It has to stay in your closet with the rest of your clothes in order to absorb your scent,” Jazen said.

“Are you saying I smell?”

“If you want to pick a fight, look elsewhere,” Jazen said with a rigid courtesy. “You asked a question; I’m trying to give you an answer.”

Daemon closed his eyes and struggled to leash his temper. “My apologies, Jazen,” he finally said. “I’m a bit . . . cranky.”

“Prince, you passed cranky halfway through breakfast—which is when Beale suggested I pack a bag for you so that you could leave the moment you decided to go to the Keep.”

He’d always been so good at hiding feelings he didn’t want anyone to see. When had he stopped being good at hiding?

He opened his eyes and looked at Jazen. “The shirt.”

Jazen selected another white silk shirt and handed it to him. It didn’t look any different from the other one—except it fit him perfectly.

“Servants are discreet,” Jazen said. “Especially personal servants. And while they won’t discuss things that go on in the household with anyone outside their house, they do talk among themselves. So I began to see a pattern with the laundry. Lady Angelline would borrow one of your shirts, and when it was laundered, it would be returned to her closet. But the second time she wore it, she would seem dissatisfied—and go browsing in your closet again. That’s when I realized the shirt itself wasn’t the attraction. The appeal was your scent—physical and psychic—that was absorbed by the material.

“I also realized from the things the maids said that your shirts were a little too big to be comfortably big, and it was easy enough to learn that the High Lord’s shirts had been a better fit. So the last time I was in Amdarh to place an order for your shirts, I took the liberty of talking to Lord Aldric, and he made a couple of shirts that were just a little smaller than your measurements for shoulders and sleeves. I put a little bead on the hanger so that those shirts are easy to identify, and I position them so that Lady Angelline is more likely to choose one of them than any other.”

“I see,” Daemon said. He hadn’t considered why Jaenelle chose to wear one of his shirts. The way she looked always aroused him, even when it was clear she had no interest in him doing anything with that arousal. “Do you know why she does that?”

Jazen hesitated. “I wouldn’t presume to know what the Lady thinks.”

“I asked, Jazen. I’m not going to hold your opinion against you.”

Jazen hesitated a moment longer. “The servants at the Hall are very discreet,” he said again, emphasizing that point, “but they’ve told me a little about things that happened before the Lady came to live with the High Lord. So I would understand why she responds to some things the way she does.

“I’m guessing that she first started wearing the High Lord’s shirts when she felt nervous or vulnerable because she needed the reminder that she was safe, that he would stand as her sword and shield. Later on, since Helene and the laundry maids didn’t remember Lady Angelline abandoning his shirts after a couple of washings and she only occasionally borrowed a different one, I think she was at an age when she simply liked wearing one of his shirts—and she enjoyed a small rebellion against a father who liked women to dress for dinner.”

“So she arrived at the table well dressed but in a man’s shirt,” Daemon said—and wondered if Saetan had been amused or annoyed by that maneuver.

He missed her so much he ached. Missed her so much the loneliness gnawed at his gut. He hadn’t been able to sleep last night because her absence was too much of a reminder of all the nights of misery when he’d thought she was dead.

But this he had done to himself. He had sent her away to keep her safe from a potentially dangerous adversary.

Him.

But he had to go to the Keep. Had to be with her. And had to believe that Saetan would do whatever needed to be done if he crossed some line that shouldn’t be crossed.

“So the High Lord’s scent represents safety,” Daemon said. “What does she get from me?”

Jazen studied him for a long moment before saying quietly, “If I’ve understood correctly, you’re the only man Lady Angelline has ever welcomed as a lover. Considering her past, I would say, Prince, that your scent represents pleasure and love—and trust.”

“You brainless, pigheaded ass.”

Theran stopped at the edge of the terrace and faced Cassidy, choking on the words that razored his throat. He wanted to fight, wanted to spew out his own opinions and disappointments, but he didn’t dare. Not after Talon returned from an unexplained visit to the Keep and told him flat out that from now on, the Master of the Guard would back the Queen in any dispute, no questions asked.

So no matter what Lady Cassidy did or said, if she complained about him, he would be in the wrong.

The only good thing about Cassidy snapping at him this morning was the look on Gray’s face. Maybe his cousin would start to realize Cassidy wasn’t so wonderful after all.

“No need to be pointing the way,” a rough voice said. “When her temper is on the boil, the girl sounds just like her mother.”

Cassidy’s eyes widened with a strange kind of apprehension. “Poppi?” she said as she turned toward the terrace doors and looked at the burly stranger. “Poppi?”

“Hello, Kitten.”

The look on her face as she launched herself at the man, who hugged her hard enough to lift her off her feet.

I’ve never seen her happy, Theran thought, feeling uncomfortable about that realization because he might be partly to blame.

*Who is he?* Gray asked as he joined Theran on the edge of the terrace.

The psychic communication startled Theran since Gray used it so rarely.

*I don’t know,* Theran replied. *But he seems to know her well.*

A flash of something from Gray, gone too fast to identify.

The man set Cassidy down, then smiled broadly as he ran his hands down her arms. But his smile faded as he held her hands, his thumbs brushing her palms. Sadness clouded his face as he looked at her hands.

“Poppi . . . ,” Cassidy began.

“No,” he said firmly. “It’s best if we not have words about this.” He nodded as if he’d made some decision. “Yes, I think it’s best.”

Theran caught sight of Ranon coming up behind the stranger and figured it was time to do his duty as First Escort before Ranon did it for him. So he said, “Lady?” in a tone that politely demanded information.

“Oh.” Looking flustered, Cassidy linked her arm with the stranger’s and turned to face him. “Poppi, this is Prince Theran Grayhaven, my First Escort. And that’s his cousin, Gray.” She looked over her shoulder. “And that’s Prince Ranon.”

“Gentlemen,” the man said, touching two fingers to the brim of an old brown hat.

Certainly doesn’t look worried about facing Warlord Princes, Theran thought.

“Prince Theran, gentlemen, this is my father, Lord Burle.”

Theran saw Gray’s eyes widen.

“Your father’s come to visit?” Gray asked.

“Yes,” Cassidy said.

“Not exactly,” Burle said. Letting go of Cassidy, he pulled a piece of paper from the inside pocket of his jacket and handed it to Cassidy.

She opened it, read it—and just stared at it until Theran wanted to rip it out of her hands and find out what in the name of Hell was going on.

“I don’t understand,” Cassidy finally said.

“Seems clear enough,” Burle said.

“I asked Prince Sadi to send a bed, a dresser, and a bookcase,” Cassidy said.

“You left out a few details, Kitten. Instead of sending something that may not be what you wanted, the Prince sent me. Four days of my time to cobble together the furniture you wanted. If it takes longer than that to get it all done, I might have some pieces already made that will do, or we can negotiate for more time. I brought tools and lumber and other things. Was brought down by Coach, courtesy of Prince Sadi. The driver says he can leave the Coach as a supply shed while I’m here, but it’s still sitting on the landing web beyond the gates and needs to be moved out of the way, so he’ll set it wherever you want before he heads back to Kaeleer.”

“I can take care of that,” Ranon said, looking at Cassidy. “You want it near the house?”

“Actually . . .” Cassidy looked flustered. “The furniture is for Gray, so somewhere near the back of the gardens would probably be more convenient.”

“For me?” Gray said, looking stunned.

“In that case,” Burle said, “perhaps Prince Gray could give me a few minutes of his time and show me the space and give me some thoughts about what might suit him.”

“But you just got here,” Cassidy protested.

“And I’ll be here for the next few days,” Burle replied. “But when I’m paid for a full day’s work, I give a full day’s work. So you get on with your work, and I’ll get on with mine, and I’ll see you at dinner. Go on, now. Git.”

“Are you allowed to talk to a Queen like that?” Gray asked.

“Hell’s fire, no,” Burle said, laughing. “But I’m not talking to a Queen now, am I? I’m talking to my daughter.” He gave Cassidy a comically fierce look. “You still here?”

“Fine,” Cassidy grumbled as a smile tugged her lips. “I’m going.”

Didn’t take much brainpower to figure out Lord Burle was going to be reporting personally to Prince Sadi when he went home, so Theran extended his right hand and said politely, “Lady, if you’re ready, the Steward is waiting to review some information about the Provinces.”

His conduct as he escorted her into the house was absolutely correct.

Too bad she looked so stunned by it.

Cassie’s father. This man is Cassie’s father.

Gray couldn’t keep his mind on anything but the big man walking beside him—including where he put his feet—so he kept tripping over nothing.

“I guess you’ve known Cassie for a long time,” Gray said.

“All her life,” Burle replied with an odd smile and a twinkle in his eyes.

Fool. Idiot. Gray wanted to smack himself. Now he was tripping over his tongue as well as his feet. Could he sound any dumber? Why couldn’t he sound like Theran or Ranon or any other grown man?

And why did it suddenly matter so much that this man didn’t look at him and see a boy easily dismissed?

“I guess Cassie was upset about the stuff in the shed,” Gray said.

“I didn’t see the note myself, but I gathered she was pretty riled about it,” Burle replied.

“She didn’t need to get riled. It’s not important.”

Burle stopped walking. “You didn’t tell her that, did you?”

“No, sir.” And considering the way Burle looked and sounded right now, he was very glad he hadn’t said anything.

“Smart man. When a woman’s riled up about something, the biggest mistake a man can make is telling her it’s not important. She won’t hear it the way the words are meant, and sometimes it can take a long time to mend things between a man and a woman—if they can be mended at all. If she thinks something is important, it’s best for the man to treat it as such.”

Gray thought about that. “Because treating the thing that’s got her riled as important tells her that she’s important?”

“That’s the way of it,” Burle agreed, continuing on to the shed.

When they entered the shed, Gray wished he had straightened the tools, swept the floor. Something. But, Hell’s fire, he hadn’t expected Cassie’s father to show up!

Burle pushed the old blanket aside and pursed his lips. “You gonna get a new chair to put in that corner? With a better lamp, that would give you a place to read. I’m figuring you like books, since a bookcase is one of the pieces requested.”

“I like books, stories and such,” Gray said. “And I’m studying the Protocol books.”

“Protocol is a good thing to know,” Burle said, nodding.

But Gray’s thoughts had followed a different path. “You would know stories about when Cassie was little.”

“I know stories,” Burle agreed. “Might even share a few.”

Gray smiled. He wanted to hear those stories, wanted to share more than the now of Cassie’s life. “When I have a daughter, can I call her Kitten?”

Burle made a strange sound. “You’re skipping a few steps in the dance, aren’t you?”

“Huh?”

Burle studied him a bit too long before saying, “You know how to use a hammer?”

“Not to build things.”

“You want to learn?”

Gray hesitated. He did want to learn, and he wanted to spend time with Burle, who understood an important difference between a daughter and a Queen—and had shown him, and everyone else, that Cassie understood the difference. That was something the Queens who had controlled Dena Nehele before the witch storm killed them all hadn’t understood. But he didn’t want to risk what might happen if he wasn’t honest before they began.

“I can’t work a full day,” Gray said, feeling bitter because he didn’t want to be seen as someone less. “Not yet. I was . . . tortured . . . when I was younger, and sometimes my body doesn’t work right.”

“Your body’s not working right because you overworked it recently?” Burle asked. “That’s what you’re telling me?”

Gray nodded, unable to look the older man in the eyes. “Shira says I can work a few hours a day, but not more than that, not yet, and Vae will get yappy about it if I try to do more. And not just yappy. Vae bites.”

“And who might Vae be?”

“She’s a Sceltie.”

“Ah.” Burle nodded. “Heard of them. Haven’t met one.”

“You will,” Gray said darkly. “Vae has opinions about everything.”

Burle looked at the room. “Tell you what. I’ll trade you. You help me for two hours and learn a bit in the process, and I’ll give you two hours of labor to help take care of your work. And we’ll see how it goes.”

“Okay.”

Burle didn’t think less of him for not being able to work a full day. Didn’t say anything about the torture. Was just as matter-of-fact about it all as Lucivar had been.

Something inside Gray relaxed.

“Let’s start by taking some measurements,” Burle said. “Then, while we’re taking care of some of your work, we can talk about how to make some furniture that will suit you and still make my girl happy.”

Later that evening, after a meal when no one seemed able to relax enough to just talk, Cassidy and Burle went out walking, heading toward open fields that were away from the house—and the people.

“You want to tell me what’s wrong?” Burle asked.

Cassidy linked her arm with her father’s and said nothing.

“All right,” Burle said after a minute. “Let me put it this way: what’s wrong?”

“Theran is a pigheaded ass.”

“You’re entitled to your opinion, Kitten, but I’m not sure you’re entitled to shame him in front of the people he has to work with.”

“Why not? He does it to me.”

Burle stopped walking, and Cassidy felt an odd chill in the air.

Mother Night. Her father was a Warlord who wore Tiger Eye, and under most circumstances, Burle wouldn’t think of going up against a Warlord Prince. But fathers weren’t always careful when they stepped up to defend a daughter.

“He blocks everything I try to do,” Cassidy said hurriedly. “He won’t let me go out to the Provinces to meet the remaining Queens and see who might be willing—and capable—of doing more than they’re doing now. Hell’s fire! He doesn’t tell the housekeeper how to do her work, but he’s trying to make every decision for me!”

Burle hesitated—and the air around them changed back to evening cool.

“From what I’ve gathered, going out and about just yet may not be the wisest—or safest—thing for a Queen to do,” he said.

“But Theran won’t let those Queens come to Grayhaven either. He even got his back up when I wanted to go into town with Gray and look at plants for the garden.”

“He might have his reasons.”

“I’m not pretty enough to impress anyone,” Cassidy muttered.

“That’s foolish talk, and you know it.”

Is it really that foolish? she wondered. Since she didn’t want her father challenging Theran—and getting killed because of it—she held her tongue.

“Time for plain talk, Kitten,” Burle said. “Queens do important work, and they are as necessary to a land as they are to its people. They can make or break a Territory. Hell’s fire, they can make or break a Province or a village. But you’ve missed something along the way, my girl. What you do is work, and when you accepted this contract, you were hired for a particular job.”

“No one seems to want me to do that job,” Cassidy said, her voice roughened by frustration.

“Including you?”

Barely enough light to see his face, but enough to know it was a serious question.

“Sometimes I have an idea for a piece of furniture,” Burle said, “and I build it just the way I see it in my mind, exactly the way it suits me to build it out of particular materials. I take pride in the work. Some people will like it and some won’t, but it’s all mine. And then there are other times when I’m hired to help someone build a piece of furniture the way they want it built. Their vision, their design. I’ll make suggestions if I foresee a problem in the design or materials, but I’m not the designer, Kitten. I’m the skilled laborer who’s helping someone else create something that matters to them. And even if I think it could have been done differently—or better—I respect what they’re trying to do and give them the best work I can.

“You’ve been here a few weeks. Prince Theran’s been here his whole life, watching what bad Queens did to his land and his people. I’ve been working with Gray this afternoon, and he’s told me a fair amount about his cousin. Enough for me to figure out that Theran wants to do right by his people and do right by Dena Nehele. The name Grayhaven means something here, and it’s a weight as well as a privilege to carry the name.”

“So I should help him build a new foundation the way he thinks it should be built?” Which reminded her of one of Burle’s sayings: Don’t go knocking down a wall because you think the room will look better when all you were asked to do was paint.

“A year from now, you can walk away from these people and their problems. He can’t. Won’t. Is he pigheaded?” Burle shrugged. “Probably couldn’t have survived if he wasn’t.”

Nothing to say when Poppi put it like that.

“I’ll tell you what else I figured out in these few hours. You and Theran might not be as far apart as you both seem to think.” Burle smiled and patted her hand. “You’re looking to prove something to yourself. He’s looking to prove something to his people. Maybe, Kitten, the reason you’re scrapping instead of working together is that you both want too much too fast, and you’re getting in your own way.”