Shalador's Lady

by Bishop, Anne

  But the land fell anyway. How many places did you help hold on a little while longer? No wonder Lucivar said you can’t come to Dena Nehele the way he can. There’s no place in Terreille you can go that doesn’t hold bitter memories, is there?

  “We could use your help again,” Gray said quietly. “In return for fixing up the buildings and providing the merchandise, since that’s one of the things we don’t have, the elders in Eyota have agreed to give you the buildings and the land they’re on for a hundred years. That may not sound like a long time to you, but it’s a long time for us.”

  Daemon looked away, and Gray got the impression that Sadi was trying to decide about something more important than a couple of buildings and some merchandise.

  Then Daemon rose and came around the desk. “Let’s go down the road and spend some time in Halaway. It’s a small village and some of the shops there should give us all a reference point.”

  “Okay,” Gray said as he and Ranon stood up and followed Daemon to the door.

  A quick knock. The door opened.

  Daemon froze midstep. His nostrils flared as Jaenelle walked into the room—and the gold eyes that now looked at Gray and Ranon held a barely controlled savagery.

  “Daemon,” Jaenelle said softly.

  Daemon stared at the two men and snarled.

  “Prince.”

  Those gold eyes focused on her.

  She, in turn, smiled at Gray and Ranon.

  *Mother Night, Gray, I can smell moon’s blood,* Ranon said. *We have to get out of this room before he kills us.*

  *How?*

  Ranon gave no answer, since moving toward the door meant moving toward Jaenelle, and that would be a lethal mistake.

  Then two other males entered the room and stopped on either side of Jaenelle at the same time Daemon stepped closer to her.

  Still smiling at Gray and Ranon, Jaenelle said, “I believe you know my little brother, Ladvarian.”

  Gray hadn’t met the Red-Jeweled Sceltie Warlord when Ladvarian and Khardeen came to Eyota, but he nodded anyway.

  She hooked an arm around her other companion’s neck. “And this pretty kitty is Prince Kaelas.”

  The “pretty kitty” was a white, huge Warlord Prince who wore a Red Jewel—and wasn’t half as terrifying as Daemon at that moment.

  “You have some business to take care of this afternoon?” Jaenelle released Kaelas and turned toward Daemon.

  “It can be postponed,” he said in a croon that produced a chill down Gray’s spine.

  “There’s no reason for that,” Jaenelle replied. “At this moment, Beale and Holt are in my private garden, arranging a lounge chair in the shady spot, Mrs. Beale is making a pitcher of that fruit punch I enjoy drinking in warm weather, Ladvarian and Kaelas are going to keep me company, and . . .” She called in a book and held it up between them. “I have Fiona’s new Tracker and Shadow novel to read.”

  Daemon studied his wife through narrowed eyes. “In other words, you have no use for me this afternoon.”

  “No use at all.”

  The words could have been cutting to a man in love, but not when they were accompanied by the look in Jaenelle’s gorgeous eyes as she smiled at Daemon and gave his face a brief caress.

  A code, Gray thought. Like the one he and Cassie had.

  “You’ll bring our guests back for dinner,” Jaenelle said.

  Daemon hesitated. “As my Lady wishes.”

  *He doesn’t want us anywhere near her, but he won’t hesitate to hurt us if we decline her invitation,* Ranon said.

  *Did you read the section in the Protocol book that covers this situation? * Gray asked.

  *Yes. Thank the Darkness.*

  “Gentlemen,” Jaenelle said before she left the room with Ladvarian and Kaelas.

  “Shall we go?” Daemon asked.

  He didn’t wait for an answer, so they followed him out of the Hall.

  Daemon stopped at the edge of Halaway and waited for his companions to catch up. Gray and Ranon had been trailing after him since he’d walked out of the Hall and headed for the village on foot. He had needed the movement, had needed to burn off some of the temper. When Saetan had contacted him to find out if he was willing to host Gray and Ranon, he’d warned his father that Jaenelle’s moontime was close and he might not respond well to male visitors.

  Jaenelle had decided that the visit shouldn’t be postponed.

  Daemon frowned. Gray and Ranon immediately stopped walking.

  He sighed. “It’s all right. I’m steady now and won’t eviscerate you for being in the same room as my wife.” But in the moment before Jaenelle had said “Prince” in a tone he recognized as a command, he had considered it.

  Ah, well. At least he could tell Saetan that two of Cassidy’s court had paid attention to the additional notes about how Warlord Princes reacted to the scent of moon’s blood and how to avoid provoking an attack.

  “You could have told us not to come,” Gray said when he reached Daemon.

  “My Lady decided otherwise,” Daemon replied.

  “So . . . no choice.”

  “None. But if it makes you feel any better, Ladvarian and Kaelas didn’t object to your presence today. Since those two didn’t see you as a threat to the Lady, I can keep my temper leashed.”

  “What kind of cat is Kaelas?” Ranon asked.

  “Arcerian,” Daemon replied. “In fact, he’s the Warlord Prince of Arceria. All eight hundred pounds of him.”

  “Mother Night.”

  He liked these men, and while he wanted them to be careful during their stay at the Hall, he saw no reason to frighten them. So unless it became necessary, he wouldn’t tell them what a Red-Jeweled Warlord Prince of Kaelas’s size, speed, and strength could do to a human body when he got pissed off.

  “Let’s take a look at the village,” Daemon said.

  It was a small, healthy village, prosperous enough to take care of itself and the people within its boundaries.

  Daemon noted the way that the males who were simply going about their business went on alert at the sight of strangers—and relaxed when they realized the strangers were with him. He noted how the village guards came trotting past to get a look at the strangers despite Gray and Ranon being with him.

  “Does this village often see trouble?” Ranon asked when Gray stopped at a bookshop window and stared at the display, damn near vibrating with excitement.

  “No,” Daemon replied. “Considering its proximity to the Hall, if trouble starts here and the Queen’s court can’t handle it, I will.”

  “But all the males are ready to defend.”

  “It is our nature, Ranon.”

  The shop door opened and Sylvia walked out. She wore a sleeveless shirt tucked into a pair of knee-length trousers and sandals. Her short black hair looked deliberately mussed enough to be called sassy, and there wasn’t a single thing besides her psychic scent that would give anyone a clue that she was the Queen of Halaway.

  Daemon moved to join Gray, who had turned away from the window and given Sylvia a quick, assessing look before smiling brightly.

  “Good afternoon, Lady,” Gray said.

  Sylvia narrowed her gold eyes. “You look familiar, but not.”

  “May I introduce Prince Jared Blaed Grayhaven and Prince Ranon,” Daemon said. “They’re here visiting from Dena Nehele. Gentlemen, this is Lady Sylvia.”

  Gray frowned at him. “You didn’t introduce her as a Queen.”

  Proof enough that Gray was far more perceptive than his cousin when it came to recognizing caste.

  He glanced at Sylvia, who gave him a tiny nod. “You’re right. I didn’t. Lady Sylvia rules Halaway and prefers to be informal in her home village unless formality is required.”

  Gray beamed at Sylvia. “That’s the way Cassie wants things to be in Eyota. The Shaladorans are pretty comfortable with that because they’re used to their Queens living among them, so I think she’s happier living where we do now than she was when we
were in Grayhaven.”

  Hell’s fire, Daemon thought as he looked at Sylvia’s slightly stunned expression and swallowed the urge to laugh. The earnest young Warlord Prince who had asked him for a loan had changed into a two-legged puppy.

  “I met someone else named Grayhaven recently,” Sylvia said.

  “Jared Blaed and Theran are cousins,” Daemon said.

  Sylvia’s smile had sharp edges. “And how is Theran getting along with Vae?”

  “Oh, Vae lives with Cassie and me now,” Gray said. “So does Khollie, but that’s because Ranon and Shira live in the Queen’s Residence with us.”

  “Well, that must make story time easier for all of you, since the humans can take turns.”

  “Story time?”

  Ah, no, Sylvia, Daemon thought. But he wasn’t going to stop her.

  “You don’t know about story time?” Sylvia asked, widening her eyes. When Gray shook his head, she opened the bookshop door and called to someone inside. “Do you have any copies of Unicorn to the Rescue or Sceltie Saves the Day?” She turned back to Gray. “How many Scelties live with you?”

  “There are thirteen in our village,” Gray said, looking back at Daemon.

  Finally figured out something is going on, haven’t you, boyo? Of course, it was much too late to do anything about it, but it was always good for a man to recognize when he was in trouble.

  “What?” Sylvia leaned into the shop, then back out. “Oh, good. They also have a couple of copies of Dragon and the Dangerous Deed.”

  “I don’t think . . .” Ranon began.

  “A gift,” Sylvia said. “Enjoy your visit, gentlemen. Prince Sadi.”

  Daemon watched her hurry away and duck into a shop a couple of doors down from the bookshop. He huffed out a breath. “While we’re in the shop, there are a few other books you might find entertaining.” The Tracker and Shadow books were adventures or mysteries for most readers, but anyone who dealt with a Sceltie also found them instructional.

  “She was laughing when she went into that other shop,” Gray said as Daemon led the two men into the bookshop. “Why was she laughing?”

  “Once you show those books to any Sceltie, you’ll understand,” Daemon replied dryly. And may the Darkness have mercy on you.

  He let them look around while he selected a few books that he thought Cassidy would enjoy since Jaenelle or Marian had liked them. Ranon showed polite interest, but Gray loved books and stories, and kept delaying so that he could see “just one more thing.” Daemon ended up selecting a few more books for them to take back to Eyota and then hauled Gray out of the shop so they could see more of the village.

  Gray showed a boyish enthusiasm for everything he saw except, oddly, the bakery, which he glanced at and then bolted past. Ranon’s emotions were more contained and more intense—especially when Daemon showed the Shaladoran the music shop. The place sold sheet music and instruments that spanned the Territories in Kaeleer, as well as the music crystals that had audio spells.

  He didn’t tell them Jaenelle owned this shop, which was the reason it had such an eclectic variety of music—and why it had an attached room with a small stage for performances. Twice a month, she joined the musicians and sang there—and on those nights, there was never an empty chair.

  He mentioned the performances and pointed out the nearby tavern and coffee shop. Ranon appreciated the potential businesses. Gray was more dazzled by the small courtyards that were shady gathering places accented with flower beds.

  By the time they settled at a table in one of those courtyards with glasses of ale and a plate of sandwiches, Daemon had a very good idea what kind of businesses would do well in Eyota.

  “All right, gentlemen . . .” he began.

  “It’s the boy.”

  Daemon rose at the sound of that female voice and was pleased that Gray and Ranon responded just as quickly.

  “Tersa,” he said warmly as he kissed her cheek. Her long black hair was always as tangled as her mind, but it gave him comfort to know she could wander around this village and be safe. “Would you join us?”

  “You are trying to feed me,” she accused.

  Of course he was. Even having a journeymaid Black Widow living with her, Tersa still didn’t remember to eat when her mind traveled its own strange paths.

  “Only a little,” he said, giving her a boyish smile.

  She gave his arm a light, dismissive smack as she glanced at Ranon. Then she looked at Gray, and Daemon felt the change in her—and saw Gray go absolutely still.

  “This is the one,” Tersa said softly. She called in a glass globe supported by a carved wooden base and set it in front of Gray. Then she touched the small amethyst in the base. “Watch.”

  Smoke filled the globe as the spell engaged.

  Changes, Daemon thought. Metamorphosis. He watched as a dagger was cocooned, then emerged as a small boy who had no limbs. That image cocooned and emerged as a dead tree, which cocooned and emerged as a living tree that bore daggers as its fruit. That image cocooned and emerged as a dragon breathing fire—a powerful warrior.

  All the color had drained out of Gray’s face when he saw the first two images—and something Daemon couldn’t name filled those green eyes when Gray saw the last image.

  The sequence started again. When the image of the dagger tree cocooned, the sequence stopped.

  “This is where you are,” Tersa said.

  “How do I get to the last stage?” Gray asked, his eyes fixed on the shrouded image.

  “When the time comes, accept the fire that lives within you.”

  *Tersa?* Daemon asked.

  *Trust your wife—and trust your own heart.*

  She kissed him and walked away.

  Shaken, he sat down and drained the glass of ale. Gray and Ranon did the same, so he flicked a thought at the tavern owner, who hurried out a minute later with a cold pitcher of ale.

  “Who is she?” Ranon asked after the second glass of ale.

  “My mother,” Daemon replied.

  “She’s . . . different,” Gray said, clearly not wanting to offend, but just as clearly wanting an answer.

  “She’s a broken Black Widow,” Daemon said. “She’s been walking the roads of the Twisted Kingdom for a long time, but her mind completely shattered a few centuries ago when she made the choice to forfeit sanity in order to regain her Craft. In the past few years, she’s been living closer to the border of sanity, which lets her have a life in the village.”

  “If she can’t wear a Jewel, how does she . . . ?” Ranon asked.

  “I don’t know. Even my father doesn’t know. But sane or not, Jewels or not, she has always been a formidable witch.”

  “Does Jaenelle know how Tersa regained power through madness?” Gray asked.

  “Probably, since my Lady has walked roads even darker than the ones Tersa has traveled.” But this was not something he wanted to think about right now, so he said, “Gentlemen. Let’s talk about doing business.”

  TERREILLE

  Thank the Darkness neither of us have to drive this Coach, Ranon thought as he and Gray huddled in the comfortable back compartment of the SaDiablo Coach provided by Daemon. They’d had a delicious dinner. At least, he assumed it was delicious. He couldn’t remember a single bite of it. Afterward, Sadi had opened the Gate next to the Hall and instructed one of the drivers who worked for the SaDiablo family to take his guests back to Dena Nehele. So they were heading home directly from the Hall, riding the Opal Winds.

  “Mother Night, Gray,” Ranon said, keeping his voice low even though they couldn’t be heard through the closed door separating their compartment from the driver’s. “Five million gold marks. Do you have any idea how much that is?”

  Gray shook his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a gold mark. I got a ten silver mark once for my birthday, and I thought it was a fortune. Do you really think we could spend that many gold marks?”

  Ranon took a deep breath and felt his body tremble as
he breathed out. “Wouldn’t be hard to do. We’ve had so little for so long, it wouldn’t be hard to do. Paying it back is a different thing altogether.”

  “Shops and supplies,” Gray said. “Forage for the animals if the harvest falls short this year.”

  “Food for us if the crops fall short this year,” Ranon said. Although with so many Blood dead in the past two years, having people starve was less likely. Having the crops rot in the fields because there weren’t enough hands to harvest them was a possibility, even if the Blood used Craft and drained their power every day to get the harvest in.

  “We’ll have to find the right kinds of buildings for the shops Daemon wants.”

  “We’ll find them.”

  Ranon closed his eyes. A music shop like the one he’d seen in Halaway. A room where the Tradition Keepers like his grandfather could teach openly what had been forbidden for so many years. And Sadi’s gift . . .

  “It’s not the same,” Daemon had said, “but the music of Scelt has a complex simplicity that I think is similar to Shalador’s music. At least as I remember it. You might enjoy it.”

  The music crystals and the brass stand. Such a simple thing, really, and not so simple. Like Sadi casually pointing out some folk music from Dharo that could be played on a flute.

  Sharing customs. Sharing hopes.

  Kind of funny, actually. Now that the Shaladorans could honor their own traditions, it didn’t sting to look beyond his own people and consider what other traditions might have to offer.

  KAELEER

  A quick scan of the messages that had arrived that afternoon confirmed that nothing required his immediate attention, so Daemon went up to Jaenelle’s sitting room. When she marked her place in her book and set it aside, he took that as an invitation. He picked her up, then sat down in the stuffed chair with her on his lap.

  “Our guests are on their way home?” She ran her fingers through his hair, a soothing caress.

  “They are.” He called in Jared’s journal and held it up for her to see.

  “They didn’t want it?” Disappointment filled her voice and eyes.