Shalador's Lady

by Bishop, Anne

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “That was uncalled for. It’s just . . . I don’t feel like I have any support here.”

  “Then maybe we should all go back to Dharo.”

  But I have a chance to rule a whole Territory.

  Not something she could say to him. He wouldn’t be part of that court. She didn’t pay attention when Theran began droning on and on about Dena Nehele, but she did understand that he and the other Warlord Princes here never would tolerate a ruling court made up of outsiders. Something about courts like that ruling here before and making a mess of things.

  Maybe she could go back to Dharo and return here next spring when Cassidy’s contract ended. No, she couldn’t. She had to show these people she was the better Queen, and she couldn’t do that unless she was here showing them she was the better Queen. Just like she’d done in Bhak when she’d won over Freckledy’s court.

  “There are reasons why I need to stay,” she said. “If Aston and Ridley need to return to Dharo, they can go. But two others from the First Circle should take their place.”

  “I’ll convey the message,” Jhorma said. “Do you want sex now?”

  “No, I do not want sex now.” Especially when he might have been asking her if she wanted a cup of tea.

  “As you please.” Jhorma rose and walked out of the room.

  She had wanted sex, but he’d spoiled her mood.

  So maybe she’d take a walk in the moonlight with Theran this evening and see if he had any experience behind that enthusiasm.

  Accepting Gray’s assistance, Cassidy stepped out of the carriage and looked at the boardinghouse. Queen’s Residence, she reminded herself. Somehow, while dealing with the snarls and grumbles that had been a constant background during this journey, she had agreed that the boardinghouse now be referred to as the Queen’s Residence.

  “It’s good to be home,” she said—and wondered if she would recognize the inside of the place. After all, she’d been gone five days and had told Powell he could do pretty much as he pleased.

  “Those cottages across from the Residence weren’t occupied when we left,” Ranon said, studying the street while offering Shira a hand. “Shaddo and Archerr must be back.”

  The door of the Residence opened. Talon stepped out and strode over to them.

  The way he looked her over—as if assessing a warrior he’d sent out on a difficult mission who had finally returned—she wondered how many reports, and complaints, the Master of the Guard and Steward had received in the past five days.

  “Shaddo and Archerr are back?” she asked.

  “They are,” Talon replied. “Lady Shira, tomorrow will be soon enough, but I think a visit from the court Healer would be in order for both families. Those people have not had an easy time.”

  “Should I go over and welcome them?” Cassidy asked.

  “No.”

  The finality of that statement shook her.

  “Tomorrow afternoon is soon enough for them to have an audience with the Queen,” Talon said.

  “Surely we don’t have to be so formal—” She swallowed the rest of her protest. It was clear Talon thought there was reason for that formality.

  “Powell has worked out a schedule of afternoons when you are available to give audiences,” Talon said.

  “Afternoons?” Cassidy stammered. “Audiences? Hell’s fire! I thought Powell was going to rearrange the furniture, not my life!”

  “Did you?”

  The amusement under the dry words made her take a step back. “Is tomorrow morning soon enough to go over my social calendar?”

  “I think so,” Talon replied.

  “Good. Then there’s enough time for a quick bite to eat before I meet Lord Yairen for my drumming lesson.”

  “No.” Ranon backed away from her, his dark eyes filled with fear. “No, he can’t do that.”

  Staggered by his distress, she said nothing as he strode down the street toward his grandfather’s house. Then she turned to Shira.

  “Yairen offered to teach you?” Shira asked, her voice breaking as tears filled her eyes.

  “Yes. When Ranon brought me back here, Yairen stayed with me and we talked. He offered to teach me the drums. He said drums were a woman’s instrument because they were the sound of the land’s heartbeat. Shira, why is Ranon so upset? Is it against Shaladoran customs to teach an outsider?”

  Tears spilled over. Shira shuddered with the effort to maintain some control. “We weren’t forbidden music or stories or dances as long as they were from Dena Nehele—or Hayll. But anything that came from Shalador, that came from the hearts of our people was forbidden. Ranon’s grandfather is a Tradition Keeper of Music. He taught people how to play drums and the flute. He wasn’t as skilled with the fiddle and only taught the basics. But he defied the Queens who ruled here and taught the Shalador drum rhythms and the Shalador songs. So they broke his hands as punishment. And when his hands healed the first time, he continued to teach the music of our people. So they broke his hands again. The third time, the Queens’ Healers made sure the fingers healed wrong so that Yairen could no longer play. Ranon was a small boy the last time Yairen’s hands were broken. But, somehow, Yairen still taught Ranon to play the Shalador flute—and taught him the songs of our people.”

  Cassidy stood frozen while Shira dried her eyes and the men shifted uneasily.

  How much trust had gone into what she’d thought was Yairen’s friendly offer? How much fear had ridden alongside that trust?

  “I want all the Tradition Keepers in this village here within the hour,” Cassidy said quietly.

  “Cassie . . .” Gray began.

  She raised a hand, cutting him off. Then she looked at her Master of the Guard. “See that it’s done, Prince Talon.”

  She walked into the Residence. Powell took one look at her face and swallowed whatever greeting or comment he intended to make.

  She went up to her room, blind to whatever changes had been made in her absence. All she could see was the fear on Ranon’s face before he walked away.

  Cassidy stood in the street in front of the Queen’s Residence. The Tradition Keepers stood before her in their shabby best clothes. Filling the streets around them were the people of the village.

  “Lord Yairen.” Cassidy used Craft to enhance her voice. She wanted everyone who had come to stand witness to hear her words.

  Yairen stepped forward, standing tall. “How may I serve the Queen?”

  “I have just learned today that your people have been forbidden to play the music that was born of Shalador, that you have been forbidden to perform the traditional dances, or teach the young the stories of your people. Is this true?”

  “It is true, Lady,” Yairen said. “All have been forbidden for many generations.”

  “But the Tradition Keepers have remembered these forbidden things?”

  Yairen hesitated. How many times had one of the Keepers been cornered into answering a question that would condemn them?

  She didn’t have an actual psychic link to Ranon, but his psychic scent was filled with distress. Wouldn’t know it to look at him, standing cold and arrogant with the rest of her First Circle, but the worry that he might have misjudged her was eating his heart out.

  “Some things have been lost,” Yairen finally said, “but those of us who are the memory of our people have held on to enough.”

  Cassidy nodded. “In that case, as of this hour, the music of the Shalador people will be taught and will be played openly. The dances of the Shalador people will be taught and performed openly. The stories of the Shalador people will be taught and told openly. The Queens in the Shalador reserves will be given a written decree so they will know these words are true. But it will be up to the Tradition Keepers to return Shalador’s heart to its people. This is my will.”

  Silence.

  Finally one of the Tradition Keepers raised his hand. “Does this mean we can perform the circle dances this autumn?”

  “Yes,” Cass
idy replied.

  Another silence.

  Then Yairen pressed one of his crippled hands to his chest. “Our hearts are too full for words tonight.”

  Cassidy swallowed hard. “Then return to your homes. We will speak more of this tomorrow.”

  She took a step back, a clear signal this audience was over.

  Ranon broke away from the rest of the First Circle. Hugging his grandfather, he put his head on the old man’s shoulder and wept.

  A hand linked with hers. Looking to her left, she saw Reyhana trembling with the effort not to cry—and felt the girl’s hand tighten.

  “The circle dances mean so much to my people,” Reyhana said. “To our people.” She choked, but went on. “Someone will write a song about how Shalador’s Lady gave the heart back to the people, and all the children will learn it, and someday I will tell my grandchildren I was there and heard the words as they were spoken.”

  Mother Night.

  A familiar touch on her shoulder. She looked at Gray, hoping for some help, but his eyes were too bright, too wet.

  “I’d like to go inside now,” she said.

  It was Talon who nudged Reyhana aside and gripped Cassidy’s arm to lead her into the house before she ended up weeping too.

  “I told Ranon to spend the night with his grandfather,” Talon said once he got her to the parlor. “He’ll be better for it.”

  “Talon . . .”

  “Don’t say anything, witchling. Don’t. I knew Jared. I’ve seen the circle dances. I know what the bitches took away from these people—and I know what you just gave back to them. I think it’s best if you Ladies have a quiet evening for yourselves.”

  He kissed her cheek, then said, “Gray, let’s see what can be put together for a meal.”

  Cassidy curled up on the sofa, stunned by the emotion that had swirled around her.

  “You look like you got kicked in the head,” Shira said when she and Reyhana came in a minute later.

  “I thought the Tradition Keepers would be happy that they could teach openly again,” Cassidy said.

  “They are happy,” Shira replied. “We’re feeling too much right now to be just happy.”

  And her First Circle was going to want time to consider the ramifications of what she’d done tonight.

  “Do you think the men would be upset if I went out and gardened for a little while?” Cassidy asked. “It’s still light out.” The sun had set, but they were still into the longest days of summer.

  “Gray will have a fit if you pick up a weeding claw,” Shira said. “And so will I.”

  Cassidy huffed. “There’s too much feeling. I need to do something.” Shira eyed Reyhana, who looked confused about what she was supposed to do.

  “Do you play drums?” Shira asked Reyhana.

  The girl shook her head. “But I’m supposed to start learning. Shalador Queens all learn to drum.”

  “I’m not a Tradition Keeper,” Shira said, “but I’ve been drumming since I was a girl. I can start teaching the basics to both of you.”

  “But we don’t have drums,” Cassidy said.

  “We do have a wooden table,” Shira replied, pointing at the table in front of the sofa. “And tonight, that’s all we need.”

  EBON ASKAVI

  Saetan signed his name to the message, then waited for the ink to dry before folding the paper and sealing it.

  Daemon had asked to be informed of anything to do with a Dharo witch named Kermilla. Having two of her escorts show up at the Keep, wanting assistance to go through the Gate and return home, certainly qualified as something of interest—especially since he knew those men hadn’t gone through this particular Gate to get to Terreille. Granted, there were thirteen Gates that linked the three Realms, and those men could have used any of them—except this one and the one that was next to the Hall—without causing too much interest in their business. And granted, there weren’t many Priestesses left in Terreille who knew how to open the Gates to let someone move from one Realm to another, so this was the best choice if someone wanted to get back to Kaeleer and not mistakenly end up in Hell.

  But Daemon’s interest in this witch sounded a warning inside Saetan because it carried the feel of a predator analyzing potential prey. And Daemon’s refusal to say why he wanted information sounded a more ominous warning—because there was only one person who could muzzle Daemon Sadi.

  What did Jaenelle know?

  He couldn’t ask—and didn’t need to.

  He folded the paper, melted the black wax, and added a touch of Black power as he pressed the SaDiablo seal into the wax. Black to Black ensured that this would be a private message, since Daemon was the only person who could open it.

  His task completed, he placed the message in the basket with the rest of the mail that would be collected in the morning and taken to the message station.

  Then he went to his suite and vanished everything from the surface of his desk. He placed a small wooden frame in the center of the desk and called in several spools of spider silk, different weights.

  Since he could not ask Jaenelle or Daemon for answers about Kermilla, he would find his own answers. After all, he, too, was a Black Widow—one of only two males in the history of the Blood who belonged to that caste.

  So during the silent, dark hours, Prince Saetan Daemon SaDiablo, High Priest of the Hourglass, spun his own tangled web of dreams and visions.

  CHAPTER 15

  TERREILLE

  Ranon rode up to the Queen’s Residence, dismounted, and gave his horse a pat.

  Most mornings this past week, he’d loaded the horse and gear into the two-horse livestock Coach and headed out to one of the other Shalador reserves to ride through a village or two. He’d listened to the elders and Tradition Keepers, answered questions about things they had heard about the Rose Queen—and assured them that he, Shalador’s only adult Warlord Prince, had heard Cassidy give Shalador’s heart back to the people.

  Today, he’d been assigned the ride through Eyota. It lifted his heart to see the people he’d grown up with smile and raise a hand in greeting when a member of a Queen’s court rode by. That had never happened before in anyone’s memory. He would never admit it, but every day he gave silent thanks to Theran Grayhaven for being enough of an ass to send Cassidy running so that she ended up here, among the people who needed her the most.

  A quick psychic probe told him the only people in the house were Powell, Talon, and Vae, which meant Cassidy and Gray weren’t back from their planned ride, and Shira wasn’t back from her inspection of the nearby cottages. She wanted a Healer’s House—a place where she could take care of people without intruding on Cassidy’s privacy. There was only one other fully qualified Healer in Eyota, so even though Shira was supposed to be the court’s Healer, she and Cassidy agreed to expand that to the court and their families.

  He flicked an “I’m home” thought along a psychic thread aimed at Shira’s sharp, loving—and sometimes dangerous—mind.

  *Almost done myself,* Shira replied.

  *Find anything?*

  *Maybe.*

  But she sounded more resigned than excited, so he didn’t press her. Besides, the sound of another horse had him turning, his temper instinctively sharpening as Shaddo rode up to the Queen’s Residence.

  It was a Warlord Prince’s nature to rise to the killing edge. Since coming to Eyota, all of them had discovered that their instincts were more keenly honed when they were around their Queen or her home. Even with each other, there was still a bristling moment when temper was poised between predatory instinct and conscious loyalty to the Queen and their Brothers in the court.

  Watching Shaddo, who made no move, Ranon nodded to acknowledge that he had his temper leashed.

  “Anything?” he asked. Shaddo had spent the day in the western Province where his wife and boys had lived, riding through a couple of villages to see who might want to talk to a member of Cassidy’s First Circle.

  “Lots of circling
around questions no one was brave enough to ask,” Shaddo replied, dismounting. “But everyone is interested in the special magic Queens can do to help the harvest. And I ran into a handful of Warlord Princes. I had the feeling they hadn’t met up in that particular village by chance.”

  “Does that mean trouble for us?”

  Shaddo shook his head. “I think . . . Hell’s fire, Ranon, remember when Cassidy first talked about having the Warlord Princes step up and rule on behalf of the Territory Queen because there weren’t many Queens left in Dena Nehele?”

  “At least not many living in the open or having a visible court,” Ranon said. In the past few days, Powell had received tentative messages from men in a dozen villages, all asking if they could see this special magic. Reading between the lines, there were Queens out there who wanted to learn but weren’t willing to trust their lives and what little structure was left in Dena Nehele to a Queen who was still unknown. But men who served those Queens would come to watch and learn—and report back to their Ladies.

  “Basically, they wanted to know how Cassidy would respond if they divided a Province based on who was available ‘to rule on behalf of the Queen.’ ”

  “I think she’d be relieved to have the Warlord Princes rule whatever the surviving Queens couldn’t handle,” Ranon said. Or didn’t want to handle because it would call attention to themselves.

  “I told them the Steward was trying to figure out how to divide the Provinces into Districts, but he was working blind because he didn’t know how many of the Warlord Princes were willing to step up to the line and help their people.”

  Ranon winced. “Those words must have stung.”

  Shaddo shook his head. “They didn’t, and that surprised me too since I’d meant them to sting. But word is spreading about what Cassidy did for the Shaladorans—and about her going into landen villages as well as Blood to do that special magic. Every man who had fought in the uprisings wanted to know how we could let her do something that dangerous.”