Shalador's Lady

by Bishop, Anne

  Theran set his coffee cup down, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and pushed away from the table. “Gray’s here?”

  Gray. Digging in the garden. Not coming near the house.

  Mother Night.

  He glanced at Kermilla and suppressed a sigh. This morning she wasn’t pleased with anyone who had a cock. Jhorma hadn’t returned. Neither had Bardoc. And the escorts who should have arrived for their rotation of service were still in Dharo.

  She’d accused him of not sending her letters to her court, claiming he was jealous of her men. That was true, up to a point. He craved her in a way he’d never craved anything else. She was a fever in his blood, and even when she did things that made him uneasy or they argued about money, he knew the problems were simply because she was a young, inexperienced Queen—and because she came from a family who had wealth he couldn’t imagine—and he still wanted to shape things to meet her wishes and will as much as he could.

  So, yes, he was jealous. But he was practical enough to recognize that having a couple of her First Circle here to help entertain her would have worked to his advantage.

  All in all, this wasn’t a good day to ask her to talk to Gray.

  “I’d better go out and see him,” he said.

  “Your cousin is the gardener, isn’t he?” Kermilla spread jam over her toast in a fussy manner and didn’t look at him. “It’s good he’s come back. The flower beds have been looking very weedy and unkempt lately. It gives visitors a bad impression.”

  Theran saw Julien’s face tighten. The butler worked in the garden as a way to relax and was doing what he could to keep things tidy. But the grounds weren’t part of Julien’s duties, and Kermilla preferred to enjoy the results of someone else’s labor—and complained when the results didn’t meet her expectations.

  “Julien, bring another pot of coffee,” Kermilla said, not looking at either man as she continued to spread the jam on the toast. “And tell the cook to pay attention to what she’s doing this time. This last pot tasted like wash water.”

  Julien turned and walked away. Theran followed him.

  “Julien?” Kermilla yelled. “Did you hear me?”

  Julien stopped and turned to Theran. There was a queer look in the butler’s eyes. “I’m not going back in that room. I have other duties.”

  “What are you doing this morning?” Theran asked.

  Julien’s mouth curved in an unnerving smile. “I’m sharpening the cook’s knives.”

  Theran hurried out to the garden. He hadn’t heard from Gray since Cassidy ran away to Eyota. Talon had written to him a couple of times early on, Master of the Guard to First Escort, and news filtered through from some of the Warlord Princes he knew, but he hadn’t heard from Gray.

  A large woven basket sat at the edge of the Queen’s flower bed. The bottom of it was filled with bulbs.

  “Gray?”

  Gray looked over and smiled at him. “Morning.” He brushed the dirt off two more bulbs and put them in the basket. Then he pushed the spade’s head into the soil to keep the handle upright. “This bed could use some water. So could the rest of them. I guess you haven’t had rain up here for the past few days.”

  “No, we haven’t.” Theran’s heart lightened. “I’m glad to have you back—and not just for the gardens.”

  Gray gave him a puzzled look and shook his head, still smiling. “I’m not staying. I just came by to pick up some of the bulbs I got for Cassie. Figured I’d divide them. That will leave this bed looking a little sparse next spring, but it will fill in.”

  “You came back to Grayhaven for bulbs?”

  Gray shrugged. “I planted them for Cassie, and I paid a hefty sum for a few of them. Besides . . .” He looked around the garden. “I didn’t think you would care.”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “What is the point?” Gray looked past Theran’s shoulder, and a dark, feral look came into his green eyes.

  Before Theran could ask what was wrong, Gray pulled the spade out of the soil. Except it was no longer a spade. It was a pitchfork, and Gray held it more like a weapon than a tool.

  For a moment, Theran just stared. It took a lot of skill in using Craft to vanish one object and call in another so smoothly a person couldn’t see the transition. Where had Gray learned to do that?

  Then he remembered that something had sparked his cousin’s temper and looked behind him.

  Kermilla pranced over the lawn toward them, her expression one of sharp delight. That expression usually meant she was going to delight in using the sharp side of her tongue.

  “It’s Gray, isn’t it?” Kermilla said. “The gardener? Have you finally remembered your duties and come back to be useful?”

  What Theran saw in Gray’s eyes made the queer look in Julien’s seem warm and comforting in comparison.

  “I don’t work for you, bitch,” Gray snarled. “I never will.”

  “Gray,” Theran said, shocked.

  Kermilla’s face went white with anger. “You should be careful about saying ‘never,’ gardener. Things change.”

  “Some things change,” Gray agreed. “Some things don’t.”

  Kermilla took a step closer. Gray raised the pitchfork, and there was no doubt of how he would use it if she came any closer.

  “I’m a Queen,” Kermilla hissed.

  “You don’t outrank me, and I don’t serve you, so that means nothing,” Gray snarled. “And nothing like you is ever going to lay a hand on me again.”

  A moment of choice.

  Theran put himself between Kermilla and Gray. “That’s enough, Gray. Kermilla, please go back inside.”

  “I want—”

  “Kermilla.” He’d pay for giving her an order in front of someone, but Gray would try to hurt her, maybe even try to kill her, if she didn’t get out of sight.

  He waited until Kermilla was safely inside the house; then he focused his anger on his cousin.

  “What in the name of Hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Gray stared at him. “Do you actually serve that bitch? Sleep with that bitch?”

  “Stop calling her that!”

  “I’ll call her what she is.”

  “You don’t even know her.”

  “I may not know her, but I knew one just like her. I have the scars to prove it.”

  “She’s not like that! She’s nothing like that! And you better mind your tongue, boy. When Kermilla becomes the Queen of Dena Nehele, she is not going to forget your insults.”

  “Then it’s fortunate she’s not going to become the Queen.” Gray drove the pitchfork deep into the soil. “Cassie is the Queen of Dena Nehele.”

  “Only until spring. When her contract runs out, Kermilla will rule.”

  “No,” Gray said. “Cassie is the Queen.”

  “One-year contract, Gray. Then she’s gone.”

  “No. She’s settled in. She’s chosen to rule.”

  “I’m not serving a minute beyond my contract, and when I leave, Cassidy’s court will break and re-form around Kermilla as the new Queen.”

  Gray laughed. “You really think men like Archerr and Shaddo are going to serve Kermilla? You think Ranon is going to serve someone like her?”

  “They’ll serve if I say they’ll serve. Or have you immersed yourself so much in that shitty little Shalador slum that you’ve forgotten who I am?”

  He regretted saying the words the moment he gave them voice—and regretted them even more when Gray’s eyes filled with something frigid and bitter.

  “How could I forget who you are?” Gray said. “You’re Grayhaven. You’re the last of the line, the one who needed to be protected and defended at any cost. For what, Theran? So you can play the pony now for her? If that’s what you wanted, you should have come down from the mountains years ago and given yourself to the Queens who were here. They were no different than her, and they would have used you just fine. If you don’t believe me, I’ll take off my shirt and show you my back. I guess you
’ve forgotten what it looks like.” He paused. “I paid a high price to protect you.”

  “And now you regret it?”

  “Yes, I do. Today, I do. Today, I wish I’d told you to get your own damn box of sweets if you wanted them that much. But you wanted the box of sweets from the bakery and the sweets between that girl’s thighs—and you got them both. What did I get? Two years of pain and fear and nightmares about things you will never know, and ten years beyond that of being frozen in a shroud of boyhood. And for what, Theran? For what?”

  Theran took a step back.

  “Because of you, I’m less than what I could have been, and I have to live with that. Every day, I have to live with that.”

  The air between them crackled.

  “You’re not thinking this through, Gray. You’re not seeing this clearly.”

  “Oh, but I am, Prince Grayhaven. I am seeing things quite clearly. You’re the one who wants to ignore what you’ve done and pretend someone else is to blame.”

  “And what have I done?”

  “You drew the line, and now you don’t want to admit that we’re standing on opposite sides. If you make Kermilla the Queen, I will fight her with everything I am—because I would rather die than live one day under her hand.” Gray flung out his right hand, aiming for the flower bed. All the plants and bulbs exploded out of the ground and hung in the air for a moment. The bulbs vanished; the plants fell back into the flower bed.

  A moment later, the basket vanished too.

  “I changed my mind,” Gray said. “I’m taking all the bulbs I planted for Cassie. If your bitch wants a spring garden, she can plant one herself.” He walked away, heading around the house to reach the landing web beyond the gates.

  “Gray!” Theran yelled.

  Gray stopped and turned. “My name is Jared Blaed.”

  EBON ASKAVI

  Saetan opened the Gate and stepped through to the Keep in Terreille.

  He was going to have to talk to Gray about the timing of these unscheduled visits. The boy had a knack for catching him at the end of his waking hours.

  He opened the door of the sitting room, then stayed in the doorway, assessing the changes in the man who furiously paced the length of the room.

  “Prince,” he said as he stepped into the room and closed the door.

  Gray rushed toward him, those green eyes filled with a fury that must have been building every minute of the journey here.

  “You have to teach me how to be a Consort,” Gray said.

  “Boyo, I don’t have to teach you anything,” Saetan replied mildly.

  “Theran’s going to break the court,” Gray snapped. “He’s planning to push Cassie out come spring and put that bitch Kermilla in her place.”

  “Gray . . .”

  “It’s not fair! After all the work Cassie has done, all the good she’s done, and he thinks he can snap his fingers and everyone will drop to their knees and lick Kermilla’s ass.”

  “Gray . . .”

  “Well, I’m not licking anyone’s ass, not again, and he is not going to break Cassie’s court. So you—”

  “Gray!”

  Gray drew in one deep breath after another, as if he’d been running hard. His hands were clenched, and there was a wild look in his eyes. “My name is Jared Blaed.”

  “And my name is Saetan. I suggest you remember that.”

  A month ago, he would have been more lenient with the boy. But Jaenelle’s remark that Gray could have been Second Circle changed things. A Warlord Prince who had the personality and strength to stand in the Second Circle of the Dark Court at Ebon Askavi was a dangerous man. Not just because of the Jewels he wore but because of the kind of man he was inside. So Gray was going to be held to some very strict standards from now on.

  “If I become Cassie’s Consort when Theran leaves, then her court won’t break,” Gray said.

  Two Queens. Two courts in a fight for the same Territory.

  If the fight remained between the courts, a few good men would die—and possibly the vanquished Queen as well. If the fight escalated beyond the courts . . . it would be war.

  “This is what is going to happen today,” Saetan said. “You’re coming back with me to the Keep in Kaeleer. I’ll ask Daemon and Lucivar to join us. Then we’ll discuss your concerns and your request for training.”

  Gray opened his mouth, and if he said what the look in his eyes indicated, Saetan wouldn’t hesitate to toss him out of the Keep with the firm understanding that he wouldn’t be allowed back in until he’d learned some manners.

  Apparently Gray had already learned some manners because he reined in his temper and said, “Thank you, sir. That would be appreciated.”

  “Fine. Since I was about to retire and get some rest, I’m going to do that until Daemon and Lucivar arrive. And what will you be doing?”

  A long pause while Gray eyed him warily. “I’m going to be making mulch?”

  Saetan’s smile had a razor’s edge. “I’m delighted we understand one another.”

  “Yes, sir. I’m delighted too.”

  Hardly, Saetan thought as he led Gray to the Gate and opened it to the Keep in Kaeleer.

  After leaving Gray in a courtyard with an empty barrel and enough wood to keep the boy occupied for the rest of the day if need be, he sent a thought on a Black psychic spear thread. *Daemon.*

  *Father?* Instant concern.

  *Gray is here. I need you and Lucivar at the Keep as soon as you can get here.*

  *Is Gray all right?*

  Saetan snorted softly. *Prince Jared Blaed is pissed off and doing just fine.*

  A thoughtful assessment he could feel through the psychic thread.

  *Are you going to get some rest before we arrive?* Daemon asked.

  *Yes.*

  Amusement filled the thread. *So what do you have him doing with his time? Chopping wood or making mulch?*

  *Since Lucivar has been working through a lot of temper lately by chopping wood, there’s already enough stacked to supply his eyrie, the Keep, and The Tavern for the next year or so.*

  *Ah. So Gray is making mulch.*

  *Or sawdust.*

  Saetan broke the link and went up to his suite. If the discussion turned out to be as lively as he expected, he was going to need all the rest he could get.

  Tired, sore, and dressed in clean clothes after taking a long, hot shower, Gray mopped up the stew in the bottom of the bowl with the last bite of bread. Full, he sat back and noticed the books that filled one shelf in the wall.

  He’d just made his selection when Daemon walked into the room.

  “So you decided to stir things up today, did you?” Daemon said, smiling.

  Gray put the book back on the shelf. “Did Uncle Saetan tell you why I’m here?”

  “No, he just said Lucivar and I were needed.”

  “I didn’t think he told you. You wouldn’t be smiling if he had.”

  “Be careful, puppy,” Daemon said softly. “I consider you a friend, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be careful.”

  Daemon walked out of the room. Gray followed to the sitting room where Saetan and Lucivar waited. Daemon took a seat. Gray didn’t.

  “Now,” Saetan said, “say what you need to say, and we’ll listen. And then you will listen.”

  The anger, and the feeling of betrayal, that had been building since his fight with Theran that morning overflowed, and he told them everything. He told them about all the things Cassie had done for the Shalador people and for Dena Nehele. He told them about the village and how it felt to be part of that community. He told them about the landen community and the people who lived there. And then he told them about going to Grayhaven early that morning to retrieve some of the special bulbs he’d planted for Cassie and learning that Theran intended to replace Cassie with Kermilla, just tossing Cassie aside after all the work she’d done for their people.

  And he felt jagged ice fill his gut when he realized the three of them didn’t see
m the least bit surprised to hear about Theran’s plans for Kermilla.

  “That’s why I want to train to be a Consort,” he finished. “So I can take Theran’s place and keep the court intact.”

  Silence. Then Daemon said, “First Escort, not Consort.”

  “Cassie and I are lovers. I should be her Consort.”

  “When did this happen?” Lucivar asked. “I don’t recall discussing it—or giving my permission.”

  The mildly curious tone made Gray nervous. Then he remembered the fire dance and the primal power that he’d finally welcomed without reservation. He was no longer just Gray, the man. Now he was also Jared Blaed, the Warlord Prince. “With all respect, Prince Yaslana, the rules you set in the spring protected me as well as Cassie because I wasn’t emotionally ready to be a lover. Now I am, and we don’t need those rules anymore—and frankly, what she and I do together is none of your business.”

  Lucivar smiled. “You can look me in the eyes and say that, so you’re right. It’s none of my business anymore.”

  Thank the Darkness for that.

  “First Escort, Gray, not Consort,” Daemon said.

  “You were Jaenelle’s Consort,” Gray said.

  “And make no mistake, I still am. But the Queen’s Triangle is about the court, and while the Consort provides a very intimate kind of service, his position and his status are still about the court. In terms of the court, a First Escort performs the same function except for the sex. Your relationship with Cassie is personal. You want to keep it that way. She was hurt by the last man who served as her Consort. You don’t ever want her to wonder if you’re in her bed because you want to wear the Consort’s ring and have the status and reputation that goes with it.”

  Gray sat down. “I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

  “You’re into the last of the harvest now, aren’t you?” Saetan asked.

  “Yes, sir. Except for the autumn squashes that we’ll harvest next month, the rest has been brought in.”

  “All right,” Saetan said. “You’ll come here once a week, late afternoon. Plan to stay over until the following morning. You’ll be studying Protocol with an eye to how it applies to a First Escort.”