The Shadow Queen

CHAPTER 19

Lucivar walked into the sitting room at the Keep and wasn’t surprised to find Daemon there as well as Saetan. His brother’s presence wasn’t a lack of confidence in his ability to handle himself in a potentially hostile place; it was a need for firsthand assurance that he had returned home safely.

Or maybe it was Daemon’s way of letting him see that the emotional fragility had passed—or, at least, had mended enough not to be the first thing he sensed about his brother. In fact, he’d say Daemon had the contented feel of a man who had been well stroked last night—a condition he hoped to find himself in tonight if he and Marian had enough energy left after they put the little beast to bed.

There was food on the table, so he filled a plate, accepted the coffee Daemon poured for him, and said, “Young Warlord Princes are a pain in the ass.”

His father, the coldhearted bastard, laughed.

“I could have told you that,” Saetan said.

“Did Theran give you trouble?” Daemon asked.

“Not Theran. Gray.” Seeing the same narrowing of their gold eyes, Lucivar nodded. “Yeah. The one who didn’t leave boyhood behind after he was tortured. He’s making up for it now.”

“In what way?” Saetan asked.

“He staked a claim on the Queen.”

“What?”

Two voices. The same disbelief swiftly followed by thoughtful consideration. He could have used some of that thoughtful consideration over the past three days.

Comfortable with the silence, Lucivar ate the first relaxed meal he’d had since he walked into the Grayhaven estate and found a situation a lot more potentially explosive than he’d anticipated.

“Gray is twenty-seven?” Saetan asked.

Lucivar nodded. “He’s a couple months older than Theran.”

“This is the first time he’s caught the scent of moon’s blood?” Daemon asked.

“Apparently. Combine that with the fact that I’m pretty sure he’s falling in love with Cassidy. . . .”

Saetan sighed. “No training, no control, no one prepared for his reaction. He and Cassidy must have been alone when he caught the scent. He could have killed one of her First Circle before anyone realized he was dangerous.”

“I arrived at the same time he was bringing her back to the house. The First Circle was there, waiting for them.”

“Talk about drawing a line,” Daemon murmured.

“I drew quite a few lines while I was there,” Lucivar said. “And I convinced Gray I would hammer his cock into the ground if he crossed any of those lines.”

“Cassidy has a court,” Saetan said.

“I know,” Lucivar replied. “Since Gray is studying the Protocol books, it wouldn’t hurt if he received a note calling his attention to the parts that deal with the proper way for a Warlord Prince to stake a claim and what is considered acceptable behavior.”

“I can do that,” Saetan said.

“Getting a note from the High Lord should impress him enough to take the studying seriously,” Lucivar said.

“Killing his rivals isn’t acceptable because it can destroy an entire community, but it isn’t unexpected behavior,” Daemon said. “If Gray is that aroused and attracted to Cassidy, maintaining self-control is going to be difficult if he’s pushed in any way.”

“I divided her,” Lucivar said. “Gray is courting Cassidy the woman. The First Circle serves Cassidy the Queen. Steward, Master of the Guard, and First Escort form the triangle around the Queen and always have access to her. The fact that two out of three are family made it easier. The only other male Gray could accept being around Cassidy in an informal way was a Warlord Prince of Shalador descent.”

“Why him?” Daemon asked.

Lucivar smiled. “Because he’s in love with the court’s Healer and isn’t interested in warming anyone else’s bed.”

“Ah.”

Lucivar set his empty plate on the table. “Maybe it would be a good idea to invite Cassidy to the Keep for dinner sometime soon, along with Theran and Gray.”

Saetan raised an eyebrow. “Theran because he’s her First Escort, and Gray because . . . ?”

“Because I think Gray would benefit in seeing how he should conduct himself. And I’m guessing right now he has questions he doesn’t really want to ask anyone back home.”

“So this is dinner and sex primer?” Daemon asked dryly.

Well, at least Daemon understood who was going to be answering most of those questions.

“All right,” Saetan said. “I’ll extend the invitation for a week from today. Will that suit both of you?”

“I’ll check with Marian,” Lucivar said.

“I’ll be back by then,” Daemon said. “So will Jaenelle.”

Lucivar let his expression ask the question.

“Visits to a couple of Provinces,” Daemon said. “Seems my presence is required to sort out some things. Jaenelle left this morning for Dea al Mon to visit Surreal, who is feeling crowded by the amount of trees in the Territory.”

“The Dea al Mon are called the Children of the Wood,” Lucivar said. “Isn’t hard to figure their Territory would have trees.”

“Isn’t hard to figure that the Dea al Mon’s idea of a city is vastly different from Surreal’s,” Saetan said.

“She doesn’t have to stay there,” Lucivar said. “She can come back to the town house in Amdarh if she’s happier living there.”

“She’s not quite ready to leave. Apparently she and Grandmammy Teele are getting along extremely well.”

It took a minute before Lucivar remembered to breathe. Grandmammy Teele, as she was called, was the matriarch of a Dea al Mon clan and had adopted Jaenelle into her family before Saetan had formally adopted Witch. She wore the role of cranky old woman because she enjoyed it, but she was a force to be reckoned with—not to mention a very skilled Black Widow. “That’s a terrifying thought.”

Saetan’s gold eyes twinkled as he said dryly, “Isn’t it?”

“Cassie.”

Cassidy sat back on her heels, looked over her shoulder, and wondered whom she was dealing with—Gray the boy, or Gray as the man he was becoming. Since she wasn’t sure, she said warily, “Yes?”

“Do you think you’ve had enough for today?”

Asking, not telling. But not a long step away from telling, and a much shorter step away from that bossy, fussy state of mind that was impossible to deal with when a Warlord Prince got stubborn.

“I’ve got one more annual to plant. Then I’ll get cleaned up and meet with the Steward for Queen’s work,” Cassidy said. Which meant she would be sitting quietly for the next several hours, an activity that didn’t make Warlord Princes as temperamental as physical activity did.

“All right,” Gray replied.

Satisfied with each other’s answers, they went back to their respective work.

Cassidy took her time planting the last annual just to stay outside a little while longer and take in how much had been done over the past three days.

Lucivar had been a lesson in how one man could shake up a court. By the time she and Shira had joined the men, Lucivar had set down rules and boundaries that everyone had agreed to. All right, to be accurate, no one had dared to argue. Even Gray, who was clearly trying to deal with a side of his nature he’d never dealt with before.

But Lucivar had done more than set boundaries. He’d knocked down boundaries the other men hadn’t been aware of building.

“You have a problem with sweating?” Lucivar asked Ranon.

“No,” Ranon replied.

“Then get your ass out in the garden and help Gray. There’s no danger of frost anymore, plants need to be planted, and nothing will happen until that ground is cleared. Besides, the Healer probably would like to have a little garden of her own to grow at least some of the herbs she uses for her healing brews. And since she’s also a Black Widow, she’d appreciate some ground to grow the plants the Hourglass finds useful. If you’re going to warm the woman’s bed, it’s time to give her use of more than your cock.”

Ranon might have been resentful about having any man say that to him if Lucivar hadn’t turned around and done a lot of the work himself, using a combination of muscle and Craft to clear out the old flower beds with ruthless efficiency. He’d shown the others that a Warlord Prince wasn’t just a warrior—and that serving meant taking care of small things that mattered and not just the big things other people thought were important.

More than that, Lucivar had been both teacher and leash for Gray, calmly meeting Gray’s flashes of temper while demanding that Gray remain within the boundaries of Protocol when dealing with her or with her court. Three days with Lucivar had taught Gray a lot.

Maybe more than she would have wanted him to learn.

Cassidy patted the soil around the last little plant, put her tools in the basket Gray had bought for her when he and Lucivar had gone to town, then frowned as she picked up the watering can.

Empty.

Easy enough to walk over to the pump and fill the can.

She glanced over her shoulder at Gray.

Better to ask for help.

“Gray? I need to get back to the house now. Could you fill the watering can and water this last plant for me?”

“Sure, Cassie,” he replied, almost glowing with happy enthusiasm.

Was that happy, boyish enthusiasm at the core of Jared Blaed Grayhaven, or would it be lost during this maturing process of becoming the Warlord Prince he should have been?

She put her basket of tools away in the shed. When she turned around, Gray was blocking the doorway, and there was nothing boyish about the look in his eyes.

She walked up to him, not sure of his intentions, but certain he wouldn’t hurt her.

“You kissed me,” Gray said. “The day I brought you the blue river plants. Today it’s my turn.”

A light kiss on the lips, soft and lingering. The lightest touch of his fingers on her hair.

Delicious flutters in her belly.

He stepped back and smiled. “Lucivar said since we’re courting, I’m allowed to kiss you. But only above the shoulders. For now.”

There was a different kind of flutter in her belly. “Did he give you a timetable for when you can do things without him coming down on you like an avalanche?”

“Yes.”

Mother Night.

“Cassie? If you don’t want me to kiss you, I’ll understand.”

Understand what?

He was younger than she, and his mind was still healing. Those were two reasons to tell him not to kiss her.

But her Consort had never given her that delicious flutter in the belly. So she gave Gray a light kiss in reply and walked out of the shed, wondering if she was asking to have her heart broken when he started seeing her the way other men did.

She stopped walking when she reached the dead honey pear tree. More than a symbol of the Grayhaven line, it had been a symbol of love.

Wondering if she would ever experience that kind of love, and remembering how Gray’s kiss made her feel, she pressed her palm against the tree.

A violent snapping beneath her feet. Sharp cracks of something breaking.

She grabbed the tree for support.

It wobbled.

“Cassie!”

“Be careful!” Cassie said as Gray ran up to her. “Look!” Putting both hands on the trunk, she pushed a little, and they both watched the tree wobble.

“The roots must have cracked,” Gray said, going to the opposite side of the tree and placing his hands on it.

More snaps and cracks on his side of the tree.

“It’s going to fall,” Gray said. “After all this time, it’s going to fall.”

“Gray,” Cassidy breathed, hardly daring to believe what was rising up from the ground around them and through the dead wood. A message that had been masked all these years. “Gray, there’s something under the tree.”

He stared at her, his eyes filling with excitement. “Do you think it’s the treasure?”

“What?”

“There’s supposed to be a treasure buried somewhere at Grayhaven. Lia buried it, and even Jared didn’t know where, but he told his grandsons that there was a treasure that would help restore Dena Nehele when it was found. People have been searching ever since, but no one has found it.”

“You said they couldn’t cut down what was left of the tree,” Cassidy said.

“And the ground was too hard to dig it up.”

Treasure? Why would she feel it?

She eyed Gray and decided he’d get too upset if she didn’t tell him first. Releasing the tree, she said, “I’m going to do something you won’t like, but it’s necessary.”

Now he eyed her.

She kept her nails short, since it was more practical for gardening, so she called in a pocketknife, opened the blade, and sliced the tip of her little finger deep enough to have blood welling before Gray could snarl an objection.

She closed the knife and vanished it. As she pressed her hand against the tree, she said, “And the Blood shall sing to the Blood.”

Spells releasing. Realigning. Triggering other spells.

The complexity of what was under their feet staggered her.

Or maybe the staggering was simply because the texture of the ground was changing. Or because of what she sensed.

“Cassie?”

“It’s alive,” she said. “Whatever is under this tree is still alive.”

They looked at each other.

“It’s your family, Gray,” she said. “It should be your choice.”

“Theran,” Ranon said, making a “come here” motion with his hand as he continued staring out an upstairs window. “You need to see this.”

Joining the other Warlord Prince, Theran watched Gray and Cassidy rock the dead honey pear tree. Then he swore. “What in the name of Hell are those two doing now?”

Wood that had been impervious to ax or Craft crumbled under their hands as she and Gray used Craft to float the remains of the tree out of the way. When they set it on the ground, its own weight broke it up even more.

We’ll have a nice pile of wood chips for mulch, Cassidy thought as she and Gray hurried to the shed for picks and shovels.

“You wash off that slice,” Gray said. “You don’t want dirt getting into it.”

She didn’t argue, since he was right. It stung when she washed it at the pump, but she made sure the slice was clean before she called in her own little jar of healing ointment and slathered some ointment on her finger before running back to the spot.

She had to put two shields around her hands and then gloves, as well as promise to let Shira see her finger, before Gray handed her one of the shovels.

“The ground has changed,” Cassidy said as she started shoveling.

“Good potting soil,” Gray said, working swiftly but carefully.

She was so focused on the ground in front of her, she didn’t notice Theran until he was almost on top of them.

“What are you doing?” he roared.

“Digging,” Gray snapped. “Theran, you take the other shovel. Cassie’s already done enough.”

“There’s something buried under the tree,” Cassidy said, seeing Theran’s eyes blaze with fury as he looked at the crumbling tree that had been his family’s symbol. “Something is alive down there.”

His face was wiped clean of everything but his fury. Then he seemed to absorb the words. “Alive?”

She nodded.

Gray hadn’t stopped digging. Now Theran threw himself into it.

Cassidy looked toward the terrace and sighed when she saw Shira, Ranon, Powell, and a few others, including several servants, heading toward her to find out what was happening now.

More often than not these days, she felt like a one-woman drama society. It seemed like she never did anything without an audience.

“Can’t they use Craft to move the dirt?” Shira asked.

Gray and Theran both stopped digging and looked at her.

Cassidy stared at the hole for a moment, then closed her eyes. Blood to blood. But this didn’t start when she sliced her finger just now. This started when she had worked her hands bloody trying to run from the pain caused by Theran’s words.

Her blood had smeared on rocks, had mixed with the soil.

A Queen’s power connecting with the land.

If they tried to do this without sweat, without toil, they would find nothing worth having.

“We can’t use Craft,” she said.

Theran and Gray went back to digging. The ground kept crumbling, so they had to widen the hole. Ranon got the wheelbarrow and another shovel in order to shift the dirt. Other members of the court joined them, along with servants and men from the stables.

But it was Theran and Gray who dug.

And it was Theran and Gray who found the old locked chest and dragged it out of the hole.

One blow of a shovel broke the lock. Theran opened the chest, then sat back on his heels, his face filled with disappointment.

Cassidy picked up one of the pieces and felt the preservation spells begin to break.

“Why would anyone go to this much trouble to preserve some pieces of fruit?” Theran said.

Because they’ll grow, Cassidy thought.

“Those are honey pears,” Gray said, one hand hovering over the other pieces in the chest.

“Not like any I’ve seen,” Shira said. “There are a few orchards left on the Shalador reserves, but the trees are dying off, and the fruit is small and hard.”

What grows from these will have the taste of memories.

The preservation spell suddenly broke, and the fruit in her hand felt pulpy, already decaying.

“We have to plant these now,” Cassidy said. “Give them soil, give them care, and new orchards will come from what’s in this chest.”

“Mother Night,” Gray said as he picked up a handful of soil. “This is perfect.”

Cassidy looked at Gray. “Hurry. I don’t think there’s much time to get them into soil once the preservation spells break.”

“Pots,” Gray said. “We’ll start them in pots so we can put them on the terrace, where they’ll be more protected.” He sprang to his feet. “There are pots in the shed.”

The pear she held turned to lifeless mush.

Theran stared at it for a moment, then swore and raced to catch up to Gray, followed by Ranon and Shira.

They each ran back hugging a pot.

Cassidy stripped off her gloves and dropped the shields around her hands. She needed a connection to the soil and the pears, without barriers.

“Gray, you and Cassidy should do the planting,” Theran said. “You both seem to have a feel for this.”

What was in his voice? Cassidy wondered. Annoyance? Bitterness? It would take years for these trees to grow and bear fruit, but wasn’t a living symbol better than a dead one?

She didn’t ask. Didn’t really care. What mattered was not wasting what someone had gone to great lengths to preserve.

Gray filled pots with soil as Cassidy held each pear at the right depth, releasing the fruits gently one by one until there was only one left in the chest that hadn’t turned to mush.

“One more,” she said.

“No more pots,” Theran said.

“There has to be something.”

“We got twelve planted.”

But there’s still one left.

She ran to the shed, probably pissing him off because she didn’t take his word for it, but she couldn’t care about that.

Something, she thought as she searched under the potting bench and then the rest of the shed. Anything.

The jumble of broken tools in the back left corner looked like it had been rummaged through already, but she pushed things aside for another look.

And found a pot with some bad chips around the rim.

Old, she thought as she shifted it to get a better look. And smaller than the others because it was divided into two sections, but still big enough.

As she picked it up, she felt something give way at the bottom of the pot.

Damn. If it was broken at the bottom, it wouldn’t be of any use.

She set it on the potting bench to get a better look at it. Then she just stared.

The small piece that broke off revealed a compartment under the pot—and the corner of a yellowed piece of paper that had been placed inside.

Time was running out. She had to get this pot to Gray before the pear decayed. But even though she was certain she would feel foolish about wasting time when she saw what it was, she took those moments needed to pinch the corner of the paper and use Craft to pass the paper through the pot.

The paper had been folded to fit the compartment and bore the Grayhaven seal. And on the front, in faded ink, was written, “For the Queen.”

Cassidy looked at that corner of the shed and struggled to breathe.

Spells releasing. Realigning. A jumble of old tools that never seemed to get straightened out. Had this been there all along, waiting?

For the Queen.

“Mother Night,” Cassidy whispered.

Then she heard voices shouting. She vanished the paper, grabbed the pot, and ran back to where the others waited.

No time, she thought. Or just enough.

“Found this,” she said, dropping to her knees next to Gray. As he started filling one-half of the pot with soil, she cradled the last honey pear before it sank into the mush of the ones that hadn’t survived.

This is the one that will stay at Grayhaven, she thought as she held it gently while Gray added soil. Maybe the others will be planted in an orchard here on the estate, but this one will grow near the house.

When the last honey pear was safely planted, she sat back, tired and aching, and certain she looked like she’d been rolling in the dirt. Of course, Theran and Gray looked just as dirty.

“Well,” she said, “should we put these pots on the terrace and then get on with our day?”

“They all need water,” Gray said. “We’ll put them on the terrace, and then give them a good soaking.” He grinned at all the people around him. “Looks like we found the treasure after all.”

“Where did you get that?” Theran said. He turned pale as he pointed to the bottom of the pot, where the broken piece revealed the compartment.

“It was in that jumble of old stuff,” Cassidy replied.

He shook his head. “I looked there. I didn’t find anything.”

You weren’t supposed to find it.

“It’s a wishing pot,” Theran said. “I remember that from the stories. The pots came from Jared’s family. The compartment held written messages, wishes.”

“Did you find a message?” Gray asked her, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

A message preserved for centuries. Hidden for centuries. A message for the Queen.

She shook her head. After she read the message, she would decide whether to share it with the others.

Gray helped her to her feet, and the twinges in various muscles changed her mind from taking a fast shower to taking a long, hot bath. The court could wait. The paperwork could wait.

As she reached for the old pot, Theran said, “I’ll take that one.”

Several people gave him wary looks, since his voice sounded sharp, but she looked at his eyes and ignored the voice.

That old pot matters to him. Its history. Its connection. Until the first two leaves break the soil, the pears won’t be valued. But the pot matters to him.

She stepped back and smiled. “Of course.”

Theran took the old pot and walked back to the house. One by one the other men picked up a pot and followed him.

“Do you think there’s anything left in there?” Shira asked as she looked into the chest and made a face.

“Not likely,” Cassidy replied. “The men can turn it over later just to be sure, but I think we found what we were meant to find.”

Shira gave her a long, odd look. “Theran’s part of the family wasn’t the only part that had stories handed down.”

Black Widow.

This wasn’t idle conversation, but she had the feeling Shira wasn’t willing to share her thoughts right now.

“I’d better get cleaned up, and get this cleaned up before Gray starts fretting.” She held up her hand.

Still giving Cassidy an odd look, Shira nodded. “And you’ll come by the healing room so I can take a look at that slice in your finger. Since you must have used Craft to keep it bleeding while you planted those pears, I imagine the wound is clean, but we shouldn’t get careless about such things. Not now.”

“What’s different about now?” Cassidy asked.

Shira smiled gently. “I think you’re right. Maybe we have found what we were meant to find.”