by Anne Bishop
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 t
he 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.”
