Shalador's Lady

by Bishop, Anne

  He timed it so it looked like he was passing through the entranceway on his way to the stairs when Julien opened the door and took the message.

  The messenger’s tone sounded courteous, but there was clearly something on the man’s mind. Theran saw hot anger in the eyes that stared at him before Julien shut the door and handed him the wax-sealed heavy paper.

  Theran broke the seal and opened the message—and wished he’d waited until he’d reached the privacy of his study.

  “Trouble?” Julien asked.

  He shook his head. “Already taken care of.”

  “I know what that phrase means—a bitch got buried. Will anyone weep?”

  The coldness of Julien’s words stung him.

  He went into his study and locked the door. Just a physical lock, just an indication he wanted no company and no one disturbing him.

  He read the words again and again. As he sat there through the morning, staring at letters and reports and seeing nothing, he was glad he’d given Kermilla the gold marks—glad she would find some sweetness in what would be a bitter day.

  Kermilla rode back through the Grayhaven gates, her color high with the pleasure of a long morning in the shops. She glanced at the basket of packages in the back of the pony cart and felt a prick of guilt, which was easily dismissed. It wasn’t her fault. She hadn’t had anything new in weeks, months, forever. So she’d gotten a bit extravagant buying things for herself—like that gorgeous red dress that cost ninety gold marks.

  Of the two hundred gold marks Theran had given her that morning, she had ten left. She’d meant to be careful, she really had, but it felt so good to have money again that she couldn’t stop herself from buying all the things she’d been denied.

  She’d regained some control at the end when she realized she had to come back with some packages that were gifts for other people—things she could let Theran see. He didn’t have to know that she’d grabbed a few things off the shelves of a shop an aristo wouldn’t normally enter and had put those gifts into the boxes of the things she’d bought for herself in the only aristo merchant shop left in the whole dung-heap town. If he noticed that the quality of the goods didn’t match the implied quality of the box, he would blame the merchant.

  She’d known he was being stingy and had been holding back on giving her any money. But she’d worn him down until he finally acknowledged that she deserved a Queen’s due—and a Queen’s income.

  Theran was like her father in that way. He’d grumped and grumbled about her spending, had asked her—almost begged her sometimes—to be less extravagant, but he always ended up giving her the marks she needed to pay for the clothes or the entertainments that were vital to bringing herself to the notice of the men who had enough reputation and potential to form a court around her and provide her with a place to rule that would, in turn, provide her with the income she deserved.

  Theran wouldn’t be happy that she’d spent all the marks he’d given her, but she’d wiggle more out of him.

  “Good afternoon, Julien.” She kept her tone frigidly polite.

  “I trust you had a pleasant outing,” he replied.

  No matter how cold she made her voice, the damn butler would match it—and then add just a little more ice.

  “Prince Theran is in his study,” Julian said. “He asked that you join him there when you returned.”

  She handed him the basket of packages. “Take these up to my room, if that won’t interfere too much with your other duties.”

  He tipped his head in a bow that was less than he should have given her.

  She knocked on the door and felt a quiver of uneasiness when she heard the click of the lock turning before the door opened.

  Theran stood halfway between his desk and the door, as if he couldn’t decide where he was supposed to be.

  “You enjoyed yourself?” he asked.

  She rushed up to him and gave him an enthusiastic hug. “I did. And I was pleased to see so many people doing a little something to make the town look festive for Winsol.” She played with a button on his shirt, looked up at him through her lashes, and gave him the smile that always made men sigh indulgently before doing what she wanted. “But I was a little bit careless because everything looked so wonderful.” She caught her lower lip between her teeth. “So I’m going to need more money in order to finish my shopping for Winsol.”

  She saw it in his eyes, felt it in the way he seemed to step away from her without actually moving. A bad miscalculation on her part. She should have remembered that he wasn’t used to aristo measurements of spending. A trifling expense to her was an almost unthinkable extravagance to him.

  “I’m sorry, Kermilla.” Now he did step back. “I gave you everything that could be spared from the tithes and the estate. I’m sorry it wasn’t enough.”

  “Oh, Theran.” She grasped his hands. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I see this grand house, and I forget that . . .” No, that wasn’t the right way to regain the ground she’d just lost.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  Why not? That he gave up without anger or arguing troubled her.

  “I need to talk to you about something else.” He led her over to the stuffed chair and footstool that were tucked on one side of the room. Once she was settled in the chair, he sat on the footstool.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” Something bad. She could tell that much.

  “It’s about your friend Correne.”

  “Theran, I haven’t even written to her lately, so if she’s making remarks about Cassidy—”

  “She’s dead, Kermilla. She enraged a Warlord Prince who was visiting friends for Winsol and he killed her, right on the main street in full view of half the village.”

  She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. “Why?”

  Theran took her hands. The warmth of his hands showed her how cold she’d become, chilled to the bone by his words.

  “She wasn’t liked or trusted by the Warlord Princes who lived near her village,” Theran said. “Whatever leash had kept some of her behavior under control disappeared after her visit here. She’d been shopping and stole some items. Didn’t even try to be subtle about it. A boy who was in the shop with his older brothers saw her and told the merchant, who then reported her to the village guards. She claimed that the merchant should give her those things as ‘gifts’ because she was a Queen.” He snorted softly. “Which just proved she’d been tainted by the bitches who had ruled here before.”

  She didn’t realize she’d been whimpering until he made soothing noises.

  “I’m sorry, Kermilla, but it’s important that you know what this girl was like. You have to understand that befriending her and being influenced by her the way you were is going to make it harder for the Warlord Princes and Queens to trust you. They aren’t going to tolerate having that kind of Queen rule in Dena Nehele. Not again.”

  She didn’t speak. Couldn’t speak.

  “She had to reveal everything she had taken. Because of her age, the humiliation was deemed sufficient punishment. But the next day, she attacked the boy when he was out with friends . . .” Theran closed his eyes. When he opened them, they were filled with grief. “The village council didn’t give me the details. I can find out if you need to know. But they called in Healers from neighboring villages to help the village Healer. Even with that much skill, not all of what she did to the boy can be healed. He acted with honor—and he’ll never be the same because of what she did.”

  What kind of people are they to kill a Queen over some stupid boy?

  “The Warlord Prince who was in the village hunted Correne down and executed her on the main street.”

  She swallowed against the sickness clogging her throat. “What did they do to him? What did they do to the bastard who killed a Queen?”

  He gave her a queer look. “Nothing. He did the same thing he’d been doing his whole life—eliminating an enemy who had no honor.”

  She pulled her hands out of his. “I
don’t feel well. I’m going up to my room to rest.”

  “Of course.” He stood up and held out a hand.

  She didn’t want to touch him. Wasn’t sure she could stand to touch him.

  She’d known the males here could be brutal. After all, every Warlord Prince was brutal. Maybe she hadn’t wanted to see that Theran wasn’t any different from the rest of them.

  She looked into his eyes and saw grief for the boy, who was still alive, and no regret—none at all—for Correne’s death. Did she really want to live among these people? Could she survive among these people?

  She stood up, avoiding his hand. Somehow, that didn’t surprise him.

  He opened the door for her. She walked out of the study.

  Theran’s dismissal of Correne’s death troubled her, even scared her—but it didn’t scare her half as much as seeing the dark pleasure in Julien’s eyes and knowing that pleasure was there because he’d heard the news.

  CHAPTER 31

  TERREILLE

  Cassidy hurried into the meeting room. Gray was finally home, and she wasn’t sure if she was relieved or angry. A hasty message saying he’d been delayed but would be home before Winsol hadn’t soothed her, not when he’d been so vague about these required meetings with the High Lord—and not when Jaenelle’s response to her inquiries was a gently worded message that still translated to “It’s none of your business, Cassie.”

  “Gray, are you all right—”

  He grabbed her, twirled her, hugged her breathless—then kissed her in a way that made her dizzy and more than a little self-conscious since her whole First Circle was watching them.

  “Sorry I’ve been gone so long.” Gray’s green eyes blazed with happy excitement, and he didn’t look sorry at all. “I asked Daemon for a favor, and then he wanted me to wait and bring along a special delivery for you. I couldn’t say no.”

  “Gray, stop bouncing,” Ranon said.

  “Sorry.” Gray grinned. “I’m just glad to be home. The SaDiablos are wonderful people, but they’re exhausting to be around for any length of time.”

  “Try spending four months with them,” Cassidy muttered.

  Gray hooted.

  “When my boys get like this, I take them to the park and make them run around until they’re almost too tired to walk home,” Shaddo said. “Think that would work with him?”

  “No.” Gray looked around the room—and then looked under the table. “Where are Vae and Khollie?”

  “Outside,” Shira said.

  He shrugged out of his coat. “Good. Ranon, would you put an Opal shield around the room and a lock on the door?”

  Cassidy felt tension ripple through the room. “Is there a reason for this, Gray?”

  “I don’t want Vae and Khollie joining us right now,” he replied.

  At least he was starting to settle down, Cassidy thought as everyone gathered around the table.

  “I did some shopping while I was in Kaeleer,” Gray said.

  Cassidy frowned. “I thought we agreed that we would buy our gifts from local shops, and anything we bought that came from Kaeleer we would purchase at Merchants.”

  “We did agree, but there were some things we wouldn’t be able to make in time. Not this year, anyway.” Gray ran a hand down her arm, silently asking her to understand. “I asked Daemon to take me to Scelt. We spent a day in Maghre. I met Lady Fiona and Shadow, the Sceltie Warlord who is her inspiration for the Tracker and Shadow books. I know he’s the inspiration because he told me. Several times. We also spent some of the afternoon with Lord Khardeen. And I bought some things.”

  An odd assortment of toys and other things appeared on the table.

  “I got these brushes for Lizzie, Wynne, and Keely. See? Their names are etched into the wood. And these,” Gray brushed a finger over the top of several small containers, “have nail paint that can be used safely on Sceltie nails as well as girl nails.”

  “Why would dogs want painted nails?” Archerr asked.

  “They don’t,” Gray replied. “But apparently Scelties who live with young girls end up with painted nails, and this is the only nail paint that should be used.”

  Shira muffled a snort and said on a distaff thread, *I guess that means Wynne and Keely will have pretty toenails.*

  Cassidy pressed her lips together and didn’t answer.

  “These braided ropes are good for playing tug or toss or chase—with or without humans,” Gray continued. “And these rawhide strips are for chewing. We’ll be able to figure out how to make these here, but for now I bought plenty for everyone.”

  Archerr tapped one of the bright-colored balls on the table. “These things are as big as the dogs.”

  “But lightweight,” Gray said. “These are the kinds of toys folks in Scelt buy for the Scelties.”

  “And this?” Shaddo picked up a stuffed baby bunny.

  “I thought you might like to give that to Darcy for Winsol,” Gray said. “That way he’ll have a pet Soli will let him keep.”

  Shaddo laughed. “Yeah, they had this ‘discussion’ two or three times a week over the summer. He’d bring home a bunny or some other small thing, wanting to keep it as a cuddly, and she couldn’t find a way to explain that the bunny he wanted to keep as a pet would grow up into the rabbit he’d catch for dinner. This just might satisfy both of them. Thanks, Gray.”

  “That’s why I bought a variety of things,” Gray said. “Everyone living with a Sceltie will have a gift that’s appropriate so they won’t feel left out of the celebrations. We choose what we want, and the rest goes to Merchants as stock for future gifts or treats.”

  “Well done, Gray,” Powell said, looking bemused.

  Gray called in a stuffed toy and held it out to Ranon. “I thought Khollie would like this.”

  A lamb about half the size of the Sceltie. Big enough to cuddle with but small enough that Khollie could carry it around with him.

  Khollie, who was still afraid to be alone. Who had been so terrified to go outside one day that he ended up peeing on the floor and then hid in a corner and whined all day until Ranon came home.

  Gray shifted, still holding the toy that Ranon hadn’t taken. “Lambie is stuffed with rags, so he can have a bath whenever he needs one. Might need some Craft to help the insides dry, but . . .”

  Cassidy saw Ranon’s throat work, saw his dark eyes fill with tears. A moment later, he was holding on to Gray, his eyes squeezed tight.

  She glanced at Shira. A mistake. They both looked away, trying not to blubber. Didn’t help to see Powell knuckling away a tear.

  “Thank you,” Ranon said hoarsely, finally stepping back. Gently holding the toy, he turned and offered it to Shira, who took it and vanished it.

  “Why don’t you vanish those toys and things, Gray,” Talon said. “You and Shaddo should talk to the other folks so they can pick out what they’d like.”

  “All right.” Gray vanished the Sceltie gifts, then rubbed his hands. “That was my shopping. I do have some crates to deliver to Merchants. But these are to be opened by Cassie, and she is to do with the contents as she pleases.”

  He called in several crates and set them near the wall. He pointed to the crate on the right. “That one first.”

  “Let me give you a hand with that, Cassie,” Archerr said. He opened the crate and set the lid aside.

  Cassidy lifted the first item. They were individually wrapped in heavy brown paper but not sealed. She set it on the table and opened the brown paper.

  A book with a fine leather cover. The kind of expensive book that was meant for a family library. The kind that was meant to be handled and read by generations.

  She opened it to the title page and gasped. “It’s Jared’s account of the journey he made with Lia. I asked Prince Sadi to have a couple of copies made so the story could be shared without risking the original. I never expected him to do this.”

  “It’s beautifully made,” Powell said.

  Gray poked around in the c
rate. “Cassie, there must be a dozen of these leather-bound volumes in here. Maybe more.”

  Enough for the Grayhaven family and her First Circle. And one for her. She was certain of it.

  Ignoring their stunned protests, which lasted only until each man held a book, she passed out the leather-bound volumes. She put two in front of Talon. *Would you see that one of these is delivered to Prince Grayhaven?*

  Talon studied her for a moment. *I will.*

  After giving Ranon his copy, there were two left—one for her and one for Gray.

  Wondering if there were more surprises, she watched Gray and Archerr open the next crate.

  More copies of Jared’s account, but these had an ordinary binding.

  Gray opened the wax-sealed note resting on the books in the last crate. “Daemon says these books are a gift to be distributed to whomever Cassie wishes or to be used in the loaning libraries. More copies of Jared’s account were printed, but those will be sold through Merchants, along with other copies of these books.” He frowned as he vanished the note and picked up two of the books. “He didn’t mention any of this.”

  “What are those?” Cassidy asked, peering over Gray’s shoulder.

  “More books, but . . .”

  Powell yelped and grabbed a book. Then grabbed another. “How did he find these?”

  “What?” several men asked.

  “I’ve heard of these authors, but their work was destroyed when the tainted Queens first took control of Dena Nehele,” Powell said. “There might be a few copies of their books hidden in family libraries, but no one has read their stories in a couple of centuries at least.”

  “Maybe someone sent copies of those books to the Keep so they wouldn’t be completely destroyed or forgotten,” Cassidy said.

  A dozen copies of a dozen books—including two novels by Shalador authors Ranon had never heard of. Gray insisted that she have a full set of the books for the Residence’s library and that the loaning library in Eyota be given a full set. Everyone agreed that Gray and Powell could decide what to do with the rest of the copies later.