by Anne Bishop
“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 call
ed 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.
Chapter Twenty-two
Krelis stared at the bloody, quivering thing kneeling in front of him. Three days ago, it had been a man. One of his guards.
Now it was missing so many pieces, he couldn’t identify it.
It looked at him without really seeing him and made harsh, pleading sounds. Bloody spittle leaked from one corner of its mouth.
Krelis swallowed hard.
It was better this way. It would have hurt to recognize it enough to be able to call it by name.
Krelis turned away. The blood-streaked white feather that was inserted into the stub of flesh kept moving with each jerky breath, as if it were waving at him.
Or mocking him.
This was why the witches called it the Brotherhood of the Quill.
Dorothea came out of the adjoining room, slowly rolling the handle of a curved, thin-bladed knife between her hands. She spared him one withering glance before going to the table that held the rest of her sharp, bloody toys. She set the knife gently in its place.
“Lord Krelis.”
The way she said his name told him that he’d done nothing but disappoint her lately, and she didn’t expect this report to be any different.
Cold-blooded, malevolent bitch, Krelis thought fiercely.
A moment after the thought formed, marrow-freezing fear swept through him.
He hadn’t meant it, would never think it again. She was the answer to everything he wanted, the answer to centuries of work and sweat. As her Master of the Guard, he was one of the most powerful men in Hayll. Respected. Feared.
He turned that thought over and over. He’d worked hard to gain enough status to keep the fear at bay. Now he was in the position of being feared.
Krelis felt some of the tension ease.
Now he was one of the males the witches couldn’t strike against, couldn’t Ring. Unless they, too, served in Dorothea’s court, they had no safety from him.
He smiled. His smile widened when he caught Dorothea’s sudden, arrested look.
“There’s something you wish to say to me, Krelis?”
Her voice had gone a little breathy, like a woman at the beginning of arousal.
“I’ve found them, Priestess,” Krelis said. “They’ve gone to ground in a Shalador village called Ranon’s Wood.”
“All of them?”
Krelis clenched his teeth. “The Shalador bastard disappeared with the little bitch-Queen, but they’re supposed to meet the others there.”
Selecting a short-bladed knife, Dorothea glided over to one of the large, potted, flowering bushes that sat near her playroom windows and cut off two overblown yellow flowers. “There’s no reason to assume he’ll take her to that village. He could just as easily take her to Dena Nehele and claim whatever rewards he can for his brave service,” she added with a sneer.
Krelis had thought of that, had sweated over that. It pleased him that he'd worked out an answer he felt sure would suit her. ”Ranon’s Wood is his home village. It had been softened this spring when the new Shalador Queens wisely decided to bring the Territory into Hayll’s shadow. He’ll find little help there, whereas we’ll have an entire village of hostages.“
“Tell me more,” Dorothea purred as she cut the flower stems until they were barely an inch long.
“We’ll offer a trade. His village for the little bitch Queen. If she’s turned over to us, we’ll let everyone else go.”
Dorothea looked up from her stem trimming. “Will we?”
Krelis smiled, feeling more sure of himself than he’d felt in days. “No, Priestess. The useful ones will be taken as slaves. The rest will be eliminated.”
“All well and good if the bitch is there.”
“We’ll also have the slaves she bought at Raej. They must have some bargaining value for her to be so determined to get them to Dena Nehele. There’s no reason Hayll can’t bargain more keenly and get further concessions from the Queens or aristo families in the slaves’ Territories.” He wanted to laugh. His pet could tell his fellow travelers a good many things about being part of a bargain with Hayll. “If she’s not there, we can demand a trade— the slaves for the bitch-Queen. Some of them aren’t worth much, true, but if the children are aristo, their families are going to think hard about believing any promises the Gray Lady makes if she doesn’t trade her kin for theirs since it was her buying them that put them in this danger. And the Shalador Warlord isn’t willingly going to sacrifice his family for a witch he’s only known for a short time.”
Walking up to the quivering thing, Dorothea tucked the flowers into the holes where its ears had been. “What are your plans?”
“I’ll take a thousand Hayllian guards to Ranon’s Wood and—”
“So many?” Annoyance crept back into Dorothea’s voice. “Surely there can’t be that many Jeweled Blood left in that privy hole of a village. You’ll have the courts thinking the Gray Lady’s an enemy to be respected, even feared, if you need that many Hayllian warriors to subdue the little bitch who serves her.”
Did she want them to fail? Krelis wondered
. Why deny a fierce enemy when the denial fooled no one? Taking that many men was a sound fighting decision.
He hesitated, almost tempted to explain this to Dorothea. Instead he said, “It’s not unusual for guards to be called from various stations throughout a Territory to participate in a specific training exercise or a special assignment. The Masters of the Guard in the minor courts won’t give it a second thought. And the guards themselves won’t think past having an opportunity to be observed by the Masters in the stronger courts in the hopes of being offered a contract. There’s no reason they have to know this isn’t a chance for them to show off their skills. And there won’t be anyone else to say differently.”
Dorothea began her slow, hip-swaying pacing. “How long?”
Krelis swallowed carefully, keeping his eyes away from the thing. “A couple of days, Priestess, before I’ll be able to hand the Gray Lady’s bitch into your keeping.”
“A couple of days,” Dorothea murmured.
He caught a flash of amusement in her eyes. He held his breath and waited. By tomorrow evening, his cousin or the young Warlord whose training he’d been overseeing would look like that quivering thing. His pet’s information had come two days too late, which was something Krelis wasn’t going to forget when he got to Ranon’s Wood.
“A couple of days,” Dorothea murmured again. Pausing at the table, she selected a knife and looked at the quivering thing.
It whimpered. Tried to shift its position.
Dorothea put the knife down and approached Krelis. “This has been a difficult time for you, hasn’t it, darling?” she said as she stroked his cheek. “And I do understand how wearing it can be when a person’s concentration is split between business and family. Since you’ve obviously taken my incentives to heart, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. Your cousin and protégé will remain confined but untouched. We’ll discuss their future upon your return.”
