Shalador's Lady

by Bishop, Anne

  This is where you are, she’d said.

  Not whole. Not fully formed. Not who he could have been.

  The fire dance celebrated the Shalador males’ sexual and emotional maturity—and acknowledged their willingness to accept adult responsibilities as well as adult pleasures. Would this dance really make a difference in the way Cassie saw him?

  Would it make a difference in the way he saw himself?

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

  Brushing a finger over the globe again, he thought, It’s time. Win or lose, it’s time.

  He’d been twenty-two when he’d made the Offering to the Darkness. Something inside him had swelled and pushed at him, demanding release, demanding that he open himself to his mature potential. But he’d been too emotionally damaged to endure that grueling test of Self, and instead of embracing the dark glory that could have been his, he’d fled from it—and had ended up with a Purple Dusk Jewel that was a little darker than his Birthright Purple Dusk.

  The Offering could be made only once, and what he might have been had been severed by his own fear and refusal to accept it.

  He couldn’t reclaim the power that was lost forever, but maybe, with the fire dance, he could finally meet and embrace the man he should be.

  Gray opened the door to his room and found Ranon leaning against the hallway wall, waiting for him.

  “You ready?” Ranon asked.

  He looked at the other Warlord Prince, a man who had become a closer, stronger friend than any he’d ever had. Tonight there was heat in Ranon’s dark eyes. Heat and a glitter that wasn’t temper but wasn’t far removed.

  “I’m ready.” May the Darkness have mercy on him if he wasn’t ready. If he failed this time, too many of his dreams would fail with him.

  They walked out of the Queen’s Residence together, then stopped when they reached the street. Currents of feminine power drifted through the village, along the streets, stropping against Gray’s inner barriers.

  Ranon closed his eyes and breathed deep. Gray had the sense that his friend was breathing in more than air.

  “Do you hear it?” Ranon whispered.

  He didn’t hear anything, but he felt it in his blood.

  The drums were calling the men to the dance.

  Ranon took in another breath, then let it out in a sigh as he opened his eyes. “Come on, Gray. It’s time to dance.”

  Cassie was there tonight among the drummers, was there among the women who had come to watch the fire contained in a vessel of male flesh.

  Cassie.

  “Yes,” Gray said as he began walking toward the sound of the drums. “It’s time.”

  Cassidy looked around as she set up her drum and stool between Shira’s and Reyhana’s. This park, named The Dance, had been a tangle of weeds and overgrown bushes with a pile of stones in the center of the almost impenetrable mess. Gray had been frustrated that the elders wouldn’t let him clean up this park when they let him work on the others in Eyota. He’d grumbled and fussed about it so much the elders finally told him politely but firmly to keep his hands off the place.

  Now there was a large circle of fine sand that had been carefully raked. The tumble of stones in the center was a large fire pit piled with wood that was ready for a flame’s kiss. Freshly mown grass filled the rest of the space, and bushes defined the boundaries and provided some privacy. Eight archways created entranceways to The Dance.

  “This wasn’t cleaned up in the past couple of days,” Cassidy said quietly. Or as quietly as she could over the sound of the two women who had begun drumming.

  Shira smiled and looked a little embarrassed. “We’ve had to be careful for so long . . .” She shrugged. “Illusion spells. Lots of them, woven in and around one another. The Dance is always tended, even though most years it wasn’t safe to use such a place.”

  “So you didn’t do these special dances?” Cassidy asked.

  “We did. But not like this.” Shira smiled fiercely, but her eyes were tear bright. “It was too risky to do the whole celebration together, so it would be spread out over the weeks between the Autumn Moon and the next full moon. This is the first time in a very long time my people will come together on one night for these dances.”

  It hurt that they hadn’t trusted her enough to release the illusion spells and reveal The Dance for what it was, but it also told her how deep the fear ran in the Shalador people. She didn’t ask Shira what the penalty had been for those who had been caught doing these dances. She didn’t want to know.

  And yet, despite that fear, they had invited her to participate in this celebration, to be “part of its heart.”

  “Drummers and the other musicians will be going in and out as the dances change, so if you lose the rhythm, just drop out until you can pick it up again,” Shira said.

  “Janos is dancing tonight,” Reyhana said.

  Cassidy looked at Shira, who looked at Reyhana and smiled, but then said, “Remember, you go nowhere tonight without a chaperon.”

  “But . . .”

  “No.”

  “Is there a problem?” Cassidy asked.

  Reyhana looked away. Shira sighed and said, “Heated blood can eliminate good sense, and sometimes young people do things they regret the next day—or make mistakes they can’t live with.”

  Reyhana’s face blazed with color, but she held her head up. “I know my duty to my people.”

  “And to yourself,” Cassidy added softly.

  Reyhana met her eyes and nodded. “And to myself. That’s why Janos asked Darkmist to act as our chaperon tonight.”

  “Oh.” Shira pressed a hand against her mouth to stifle a laugh. “In that case, I apologize for treading where I had no reason to tread.”

  “As the court’s Healer, you had a right to express concern,” Cassidy said.

  *In that case,* Shira said, *I’ll ask if you’ve been drinking the contraceptive brew since your last moontime.*

  Cassidy felt the heat rising in her face. *Yes, I have.*

  *Good.* Shira sat on her stool and placed her smaller drum between her knees. “Ah, the Priestess is giving the signal. The rest of us will join the drumming in a minute.”

  Cassidy took her place and got her own drum in position. They had practiced for these dances over the past few weeks. Yairen had declared her ready to join the drumming for all but the Fire Dance.

  The Shalador women were gathering. Many stopped at a small stone altar and opened a vein over a large silver chalice—the blood the Priestess would use to cast the circle for the dance.

  Two more drums joined the first two drummers. Then two more, and two more. A simple rhythm that would split into something more demanding. Cassidy had been assigned the simpler beat, and Shira and Reyhana had chosen to stay with her instead of doing the more complex beat. She appreciated that when her turn came to join the drummers. There was plenty to think about, and when the drums were suddenly enhanced with Craft and the sound flowed out of The Dance, she felt the seduction and the power of this tradition.

  As the last drummer took up the beat, the Priestess’s voice rose in wordless song, calling the men to the dance. Another voice joined hers. Then another. And another.

  The first men arrived. Some were fathers with sons who were old enough for the Boys’ Dance. Most were older men, including Ranon’s grandfather Yairen, who would begin the celebration with the Wisdom Dance.

  The Priestess cast the circle with blood and Craft as the women’s voices quieted until it was only her voice and the drums calling, calling, calling.

  Cassidy drummed, grateful for the simple beat she could maintain and still observe the people.

  The Priestess extended her hand and brought Yairen across the circle. Then they both extended their hands to bring two more men into the dance. As she took the hand of the last elder who was participating in the dance, she stepped out of the circle.

  All the drummers except the lead drummer stopped and shook out thei
r hands as the lead drummer made the transition to the new beat. Then the rest of the drummers joined in again, along with the musicians playing fiddles and flutes.

  A blur of images and sounds. Cassidy focused on the drumming, catching glimpses of the men as they danced the same formal steps their ancestors had performed centuries ago.

  She lost her rhythm through part of the Boys’ Dance because the younger ones—those who had recently gone through their Birthright Ceremony—turned into brainless puppies, forgetting most of what they had learned so they ended up bouncing along with the older boys. And more than a few of them stopped dancing altogether to wave at their mothers, which caused tangles as the boys still dancing tried to move around unplanned obstacles.

  Despite Shira’s earlier assurance that drummers dropped out of the music, Cassidy felt embarrassed that she’d lost the rhythm after so many weeks of practice. Then the Boys’ Dance gave way to the Youths’ Dance, and Reyhana lost all ability to drum because she was laughing so hard at Janos’s antics. Hearing other bursts of laughter followed by a stumble in the beat, Cassidy suddenly understood that perfection wasn’t expected during this joyous celebration. So she watched Janos and laughed with Reyhana.

  He performed the steps exactly as he should, but Cassidy learned a great deal about attitude. Most of the young men who were within a year or two of making the Offering and being considered adults were fiercely serious as they performed the dance. Janos gave the steps a lightheartedness, making fun of himself and the others who were on the cusp of manhood.

  Cassidy felt more than heard Shira’s sigh of relief and understood the feeling even while she laughed. Janos knew there were lines he couldn’t cross, and he’d done what he could to keep himself—and Reyhana—from temptation.

  The Youths stepped out of the circle as they brought over the last group of dancers. The adult men walked in a quiet circle as all but the lead drummer once again went silent.

  “Well done, Janos,” Cassidy said. Then she noticed Reyhana vanishing her drum and stool. “Aren’t you staying to see the last dance?”

  The two youngsters gave her startled looks.

  “No, Lady,” Janos finally said. “We’re meeting some friends at The Lady’s Pleasure. Then we’ll go back to my grandfather’s house for the night.”

  *Don’t ask,* Shira said as she vanished her smaller drum and called in the large drum, settling it between her thighs.

  One by one the drummers joined the lead drummer, and The Dance once more filled with sound.

  Noticing how many people were leaving, Cassidy leaned toward Shira. “Why aren’t they staying?”

  “The Fire Dance isn’t for children.” Shira began drumming.

  Gray circled with the rest of the men, letting their bodies shield him from Cassie’s view.

  His life, his dreams . . . everything came down to this dance.

  Ranon was on his left, but on his right, the side closest to the fire . . . a shadow. Primal. Lethal. Seductive.

  You ran from me once, something whispered. I can’t give you now what was lost then. But I can give you the rest if you’re ready to accept it. Will you run from me again? Or will you embrace the fire?

  Who are you?

  You know.

  A brush of heat against his right arm. A shivery awareness of what he still could claim for himself.

  The man. The Warlord Prince.

  Yes, I know who you are, Gray thought. You are Jared Blaed.

  Will you run from me again?

  Gray caught a glimpse of Cassie’s fiery hair and felt a hunger for more than sex—and knew how to get everything he wanted.

  No, I won’t run from you again. This time, I’ll take everything you can give me.

  Cassidy didn’t catch the signal, but moments after the last child left the park, the dance began.

  Clothes vanished with the first thumped step, and looking at a circle of men who wore nothing but their Jewels and their pride, she understood why the Fire Dance wasn’t witnessed by children.

  Hell’s fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful!

  Shadows and fire. Hard bodies glistening with sweat as they performed that hot, grinding dance.

  She caught sight of Ranon and almost slid off her stool. Then she glanced at Shira and saw the same fierce glitter in those dark eyes. The Black Widow no longer played the drum as music. The beat, the sound, became a challenge, female to male, and every move and thrust of the dance was Ranon’s answer to that challenge.

  Then she looked at the man dancing next to Ranon, looked into a familiar face that held the glittering green eyes of a stranger.

  A dangerous stranger.

  “Gray,” she whispered.

  As he performed each turn and thrust of the dance, the shadow clung like a second skin—primal, lethal, seductive. Then it became his skin, filling him with a wild heat.

  And then, as he looked into Cassie’s eyes, it became him.

  Ranon and Gray moved on with the other dancers, stomping, thrusting, whirling. The scars on Gray’s back silvered in the firelight, and Cassidy had the feeling those scars would no longer be a source of shame; they would be a testimony of courage.

  Round and round. She couldn’t take her eyes off him, following his progression around the circle even when the fire hid him from sight.

  Round and round until the drums were a thrumming in her blood.

  The drums stopped without warning, and the silence was a painful scraping over her senses, over her skin.

  “Cassie.” A voice roughened by lust, by need, by something more than both.

  Her legs trembled, but she forced herself to stand and look Gray in the eyes.

  “Cassie.” His hands cupped her face. The slight tremble in his fingers helped settle her own nerves.

  Until he kissed her.

  Heat. Drums. A hot, grinding dance. A firestorm of feelings as his tongue swept into her mouth, asking and demanding.

  “Gray.” Ranon’s voice sounded just as rough. “Put some pants on and let’s go home.”

  How am I supposed to keep my hands off him long enough to get home? Cassidy wondered as she watched Gray call in a pair of trousers and put them on.

  The air was cool at this time of year, but Gray didn’t bother with a shirt or shoes. He just grabbed her hand and headed for one of the archways, followed by Ranon and Shira.

  She didn’t know who, if any of them, had contacted the silver twins to bring the horse and pony cart, but Lloyd and Kief were waiting for them. They piled in, Ranon and Shira on the driver’s seat while she and Gray shared the back bench seats with the Scelties.

  They piled out again in front of the Queen’s Residence. The silver twins headed back to the stables with the horse. Ranon and Shira headed around the back of the house while Gray grabbed Cassidy’s hand again and headed into the house.

  Ranon and Shira hadn’t moved into their own place yet, but it seemed they were going to spend the night there. Probably just as well, considering the way Gray hustled her up the stairs and into her room.

  He took her in his arms and pressed a soft kiss on her temple—a kiss that trembled with tenderness as well as the violence inherent in a Warlord Prince.

  “Cassie,” he whispered. “Let me love you. Let me be your partner in this dance.”

  She shifted enough to look at his face, to look into his eyes. The Fire Dance had burned out what was left of the scarred boy he had been. A man stood before her, waiting for her answer.

  “What about Lucivar’s rules?” Not that she gave a damn about Lucivar’s rules right now, but she had to ask while she could still think.

  “A useful leash that kept us both safe. But a man doesn’t need someone else to hold the leash. This has nothing to do with Lucivar. Not anymore. Just you and me, Cassie. Now it’s just you and me.”

  “Yes,” she said. “I’ll take you as my partner, as my lover.”

  “Cassie.” That was all he said. All he needed to say.

&nb
sp; Soft. Sweet. Hot. Hard. They touched and tasted, learning each other’s bodies as sweat-slicked skin slid across skin. He surrounded her—and she surrounded him—a claiming that went beyond the body. When he brought her up and over the crest a final time and poured himself into her, she knew everything had changed.

  Gray woke instantly, his arm tightening over Cassie as he listened for whatever had snapped him out of a sound sleep.

  Nothing. And yet, something kept scratching at his senses, demanding acknowledgment.

  He slipped out of bed and pulled on a robe. Whatever he was sensing wasn’t in this room.

  He reached for the door that opened onto the hallway. The scratchy, demanding feeling faded. When he stepped back from the door, the feeling returned.

  He probed the room again—and felt his temper sharpen, felt himself rising to the killing edge as a natural response to a potential threat to his Queen.

  That something wasn’t in Cassie’s room and it wasn’t beyond her room either. That left . . .

  He slipped into the adjoining bedroom. His room.

  A glint of light near the dresser caught his attention. Despite the scratchy feeling, he sensed nothing dangerous, so he walked over to the dresser, then used Craft to form a small ball of witchlight.

  He stared for a long time as his temper eased back from the killing edge. Then he extinguished the witchlight and went back to Cassie’s room.

  “You okay?” Cassie murmured when he slipped back into bed.

  “I’m fine.” He wrapped an arm around her and kissed the sweet spot on her neck. “Go back to sleep, love. It’s early yet.”

  She dropped back into sleep instantly, but he didn’t. He waited until there was enough daylight; then he went back to his room and stared at the globe Tersa had given him.

  The dragon, the symbol of himself as a whole man, stared back at him.

  CHAPTER 27

  TERREILLE

  Julien stood in the breakfast room doorway. “There is a man digging in the garden. He says he’s your cousin.”