Shalador's Lady

by Bishop, Anne

  Five invitations—and five letters.

  “What happened to the other two letters, Kermilla?” he asked. Before she could lie to him, he added, “There were seven letters delivered. There are five here now. Where are the other two?”

  “They were very rude.” She enhanced the pout. “I burned them.”

  “You burned letters addressed to me?”

  “They were rude.”

  “I don’t give a damn how rude they were. You had no business reading them, let alone burning them!”

  Her eyes flashed with temper. “Nothing is hidden from a Queen, Prince. Nothing.”

  A cold fist wrapped around his spine—and squeezed. “Those letters. Who were they from?”

  She tossed her head and said dismissively, “I don’t remember.”

  His temper slipped the leash for a moment and thundered through the room, knocking a painting off the wall and sending several useless porcelain figurines crashing to the floor.

  No color in her face. Fear in her eyes.

  “Who were they from?” he snarled.

  “Ferall and . . . I don’t remember the other name. I don’t!”

  Ferall. Mother Night. He hadn’t expected to get any response from Ferall. He couldn’t ask the man to send the letter again. And outside of being “rude,” which could mean anything, he had no idea what kind of answer he’d been given to his carefully worded inquiries. He knew Ferall wouldn’t serve Kermilla, but he wanted some assurance the other Warlord Prince wouldn’t actively go after Dena Nehele’s new Queen.

  “Don’t do it again,” he said, breaking the seal on Cassidy’s letter. “I don’t give a damn what you think a Queen is entitled to do. Any correspondence addressed to me is private. You don’t open it without my consent. Is that clear?”

  She pulled her shoulders back and raised her chin, the picture of wounded dignity. “Perfectly clear.”

  He began reading Cassidy’s letter. No, not a letter. Some kind of official document that . . .

  “Theran, what about the invitation for this afternoon?” Kermilla asked. “It’s really important that I—”

  “You bitch,” he snarled. “You cold-blooded bitch.”

  “Theran!” She sounded shocked.

  He rushed out of the study and roared to release some temper. “Julien! My coat!”

  Julien hurried to the entranceway, holding the coat open. “Prince?”

  Vanishing the document, Theran shoved his arms into the coat sleeves. *I’ll be gone for the rest of the day,* he said on a spear thread when Kermilla rushed into the entranceway. *Hold on to any mail or messages until I return.*

  *Done,* Julien said.

  And when he returned he would put Green shields and locks around his study. Kermilla would be insulted, but better that than another error in judgment.

  “Theran?” Kermilla’s voice was a blend of distress and whiny-bitchy that he hadn’t heard before. “Where are you going? What about our invitation to—”

  “Send your regrets,” he snapped as he headed for the door. “I have an appointment.” With the Queen, he added silently.

  Cassidy watched Shira remove the tangled web of dreams and visions from its wooden frame and drop the spider silk into a shallow bowl of witchfire.

  “What did you see?” Cassidy asked. “Or can’t the vision be shared?”

  Shira looked at her for a long time. Then the Shalador witch finished putting away her Hourglass supplies before saying, “Endings and beginnings. I think most of us left in the Hourglass have seen the end of Dena Nehele—and wept for it. Some of us saw hope and a new beginning, but it wasn’t always there in the visions, so we knew the end was coming but couldn’t be sure if anything good would follow.”

  “And now?”

  “I used to see orchards of honey pear trees growing out of the bodies of the men who had fallen in the killing fields.”

  “Mother Night,” Cassidy whispered.

  “Sometimes, in nightmares, I would pick the fruit off one tree. I would bite into one of the pears, and it was better than anything I’d ever tasted before. Then I would look down and see Ranon’s face. The tree was growing out of what was left of Ranon.”

  “Shira . . .”

  “Today I saw orchards of honey pear trees growing out of rich soil. Soil, Cassie. Not the bodies of our dead. And even though I couldn’t see them, I could hear men talking and laughing, and I knew they were alive and helping with the harvest.” Shira undid the Craft holding her hair up and let that dark hair flow around her shoulders. “You’re the difference. Dena Nehele will break, and Shalador Nehele will rise. A new beginning.”

  “There could still be war,” Cassidy said. “Those honey pears might still grow out of the bodies of the dead.”

  “That’s a possibility,” Shira agreed. “But before, it was a certainty.”

  Shalador’s Lady will rule this new land?

  She will.

  We will continue to walk the path she has shown us and reclaim the Old Ways of the Blood?

  We will.

  Then the people of Shalador will welcome this change, and we will strive to be worthy of the honor she has given us by naming her new Territory Shalador Nehele.

  Gray rode into the landen community with Ranon and wondered if this meeting was really necessary. Prudent, sure. But necessary? They’d used a small Coach that Ranon could handle so that they could ride the Opal Winds together. The news still arrived at the southern and western reserves ahead of them.

  They were given the courtesy of being allowed to deliver their message to an assembly of elders and Tradition Keepers since they had made the journey. After their meeting in the western reserve, they were gently shooed home. Shalador’s decision was made. They would stand with the Queen. Ranon and Jared Blaed should return home and tend to Shalador’s Lady.

  So they were back in Eyota in time to make this last visit and be home for dinner.

  They rode in slowly, in part to give the guard on duty time to sense their presence but mostly because they could hear a dog barking and children laughing and squealing.

  “Cows and sheep?” Gray asked, reining in before they reached the floating balls of green witchlight.

  “Looks like it,” Ranon agreed.

  Gray watched JuliDee evade the Sceltie and dart away from the corral of white witchlight. “Wynne doesn’t seem to be doing too well.”

  “Wynne isn’t trying very hard,” Ranon replied dryly. “I imagine if there was a reason to round up these ‘sheep,’ they’d be rounded up.”

  James Weaver came out of one of the workshops and raised a hand in greeting as they dismounted.

  “We were all putting away our tools and having a glass of ale as an end to the day. Would you join us? Or would you prefer something hot?”

  “Ale would be fine,” Ranon replied. They tied their horses to a post and followed James into one of the workshops. Potter and Tanner were there. So was James’s son, Rand, but the youngster got some signal from his father and excused himself.

  Small glasses of ale were poured. Gray wondered if it was the cost of the ale that prevented them from enjoying a larger glass. Then he realized this wasn’t about drinking. This was a ritual among them that acknowledged a day’s work—and the freedom to work without fear.

  “There is something we felt you need to know,” Gray said. He explained the court’s decision to break from Dena Nehele and form a new Territory, just as he’d been explaining it all day—and would explain it when he and Ranon met the Warlord Princes living in the five southern Provinces.

  James looked at Potter and Tanner, then rubbed the back of his neck. “We thank you for the courtesy of telling us.”

  Ranon studied the men. “You already knew.”

  “In a way,” Potter said. “But we appreciate you translating it into human.”

  Gray looked at Ranon. Ranon looked at Gray. Together they said, “Human?”

  James said, “The message we got earlier today was ‘W
e don’t like the other Queen. We’re keeping Cassie. So her males are going to be busy for a while marking her territory.’ ”

  “Marking—” Ranon choked. Then he blushed.

  Potter nodded. “Of course, the boys wanted to know what that meant, so Duffy demonstrated and . . .”

  Gray hunched his shoulders and groaned. “How many women are mad at us?”

  James grinned. “As long as you don’t pee on any of the houses, I think you’ll be all right.”

  Theran pounded on the boardinghouse’s front door. Damn dogs were going to stir up the whole damn village before someone opened the damn door. How in the name of Hell could an animal that small make a noise that loud?

  He couldn’t see them, but he recognized the psychic scents of Archerr and Shaddo. And he felt Talon’s presence.

  And he felt insulted that he’d been “escorted” here by a guard.

  Before he could bang on the door again—or break it down—it opened.

  “Prince Theran,” Dryden said too courteously to be courteous.

  “I want to see Cassidy.”

  “If you will wait here, I will see if the Lady is at home.”

  “Don’t give me that crap,” Theran snapped, bracing a hand against the door. “She’ll see me, and she’ll see me now.”

  Dryden’s eyes blazed with anger, but his face and voice retained the butler poise. “I will see—”

  *Theran? Theran! You will wait in the visitors’ parlor and be polite.*

  Theran shoved at the door. “Shut up, Vae.”

  She snarled at him. A moment later, someone else snarled. Behind him.

  Purple Dusk against Green? He could take her down. But he was having trouble getting a sense of the Sceltie behind him.

  If it was a Sceltie behind him.

  The memory of those two big cats flashed through his mind.

  “Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’ll wait and be polite.”

  Dryden and Vae escorted him to the visitors’ parlor. Dryden left. Vae stood guard—until Gray walked into the room.

  How could a man change so much in a few months? Theran wondered. He recognized the face because it was so similar to his own. But he didn’t recognize the look in those green eyes—or that blend of power and assurance that was now part of Gray’s psychic scent.

  “Cassie is not available,” Gray said. “Is there something I can do for you?”

  It was the coldness in that voice that jabbed his temper. He called in the document and held it up. “Can you explain this?”

  Gray flicked a glance at the paper. “You don’t want to be First Escort. I do. You don’t want to serve Cassie. I do.”

  Theran’s jaw dropped. “You? Hell’s fire, Gray. Do you know what you’ve done?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Kermilla will never forgive him. “You know Kermilla is going to become Queen in a couple of months. Signing on to serve Cassidy now is a slap in the face. She’ll never consider you for any kind of position in her court.”

  “And I wouldn’t consider taking one,” Gray replied.

  “Do you know what’s required of a man to stand as First Escort? Gray, you can’t do this.”

  “I’ve spent the past few months training to be a First Escort, and I’m qualified to serve Queen and court in that position. What kind of training do you have, Theran?”

  None.

  “I don’t see why you’re acting so pissy about this,” Gray said. “You’re up in Grayhaven. We’re down here. You haven’t fulfilled your duties to Queen or court for months now.”

  “I wasn’t dancing to Cassidy’s tune, no, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t been working for the good of Dena Nehele.”

  “That’s a matter of opinion.”

  Stung past insult, Theran vanished the document and took a step back. Gray had made his choice, and may the Darkness have mercy on him.

  “Is your position in the court official yet?” Theran asked.

  Gray nodded. “I signed the contract this morning.”

  Mother Night.

  “Well, I guess I’m free to—”

  “You still have a contract with this court,” Gray said. “You’re still in the First Circle.”

  “Under the circumstances, I think it’s best if I resign.”

  “You rule the town of Grayhaven on the Queen’s behalf. If you ask to be dismissed from the court and Cassidy grants the request, you not only give up your place in the court, you also give up the town and its tithes.”

  Theran felt the blood drain out of his head. The only reason Kermilla was allowed to stay anywhere in Dena Nehele was that he ruled Grayhaven. If he lost the town, she could be driven out—or killed. He couldn’t risk that. Not when Cassidy’s contract would end in a couple of months, freeing him from these chains.

  “You’re turning into a bastard, Gray.”

  Gray smiled—and Theran saw the man who was comfortable around Daemon Sadi and Lucivar Yaslana—and the High Lord of Hell. Sadi couldn’t have played this hand any better.

  “I guess I should call you Jared Blaed from now on,” Theran said.

  “I guess you should.”

  When he walked out of the boardinghouse, the Scelties were gone. So were Archerr and Shaddo. But Talon stood at the edge of the street, waiting for him.

  “I’ll walk you back to the landing web,” Talon said.

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  They walked halfway back before Theran spoke. “How did it go so wrong?”

  “Everyone wants the same thing. They just aren’t seeing the same answer,” Talon replied.

  “I’m worried about what’s going to happen to Gray.”

  “Jared Blaed can take care of himself.”

  “Why did he have to do this now?”

  “He’s following his heart. Isn’t that what you’re doing?”

  “That’s not the same.”

  “No one ever thinks it is.”

  They didn’t speak again until they reached the landing web.

  “Take care of yourself, boy,” Talon said.

  “Talon . . .” What could he say to keep the people who mattered to him out of harm’s way? “Cassidy isn’t going to be ruling for much longer.”

  A long silence. Then Talon said quietly, “No, Cassidy isn’t going to be ruling Dena Nehele for much longer.”

  CHAPTER 39

  TERREILLE

  She looks tired, Ranon thought as he watched Cassidy enter the meeting room and take her seat between him and Gray. Of course, they were all tired, but this past week seemed to drain spirit as well as energy from their Queen.

  A week of meetings, a week of talking—a week where he’d watched strong men struggle with a fear bred from hope.

  Gray had shown the steel in his spine and his potential to be a leader. The other Warlord Princes had seen it too, and Ranon wondered how much that would sway opinions.

  The rest of the First Circle drifted into the room, looking alert enough, despite the early hour. Cassie had chosen this dawn meeting so that Talon could be with them and hear Powell’s report at the same time as the rest of the First Circle.

  Talon took his seat opposite Gray, then nodded to Powell.

  The Steward looked pale but excited as he laid five letters on the big meeting table.

  “The five southern Provinces have agreed to join the Shalador reserves to create a new Territory,” Powell said. “All the District Queens and the Warlord Princes who are ruling on behalf of our Queen support the court’s decision to break away from Dena Nehele and build the kind of life we want in a land ruled by the Queen we have chosen to serve.”

  The men around the table released their breath in a collective sigh. Exhilaration and trepidation. None of them wanted war, but all of them were willing to step onto as many killing fields as it would take to buy freedom for the people they loved.

  “I’ve drafted a document,” Powell said, looking at Ranon and Gray.
<
br />   “We’ll take it up to the Keep this afternoon and ask the High Lord to review it,” Gray said.

  “Until we know how Theran and his Lady are going to react to this news, everyone goes out in tandem,” Talon said. “And you Ladies are to have an escort with you at all times.”

  “But—” Shira said.

  “All times.” Talon stared at Shira until she nodded. “We can’t afford to lose either of you—or Reyhana. You’ll do what we need so that we can do what Shalador Nehele needs.”

  “That’s fair,” Cassidy said, sounding too subdued for Ranon’s liking. “You should remember to talk to the Scelties about helping to guard the Queen’s square.”

  Talon nodded as if he—and every other man in the room—hadn’t thought of that already. Having played hide-and-seek with the dogs in order to learn more of what they could do, the men had confirmed that no matter how well you could hide from another human, you couldn’t cover yourself in shields well enough or disguise yourself well enough to hide from kindred senses unless you were downwind of all of them.

  “Is that all?” Cassidy asked.

  “Yes, Lady,” Powell replied.

  Cassidy pushed away from the table and walked out of the room.

  “Let me,” Ranon said, reaching across the empty space to stop Gray from following her.

  He waited for Gray’s nod before he left the room to look for Cassidy.

  Wasn’t hard to find her. The garden gave her comfort—even when it slept under snow.

  He stood on her left side, wanting to touch her, wanting to offer simple contact. But he wasn’t sure she would welcome a touch right now, so he stayed where he was.

  “I’m afraid,” she said. “You’ve put your faith in me as a Queen, and you’re risking your lives and your people’s lives based on that faith. What if I fail?”

  “None of us know if we’ll measure up to the demands of the day,” Ranon said gently. “Considering what we’re about to do, only a fool wouldn’t be afraid of what may be ahead of us, and you’re no fool. But I’ll tell you the same thing Talon told me once: don’t fail until you fail.”

  She gave him a puzzled look that made him smile. Then he looked away. It seemed easier to say the words when he wasn’t looking right at her. “I was seventeen the first time I stepped onto a killing field. Warlord Princes are born to stand on the killing fields, and everything we are gives us the temper and the instinctive skills to be predators and killers. But it also takes maturity to accept what you do on those fields. I was seventeen, and I wasn’t ready. Neither were any of the other boys who were training in that camp up in the mountains. But a decision had been made to eliminate a Province Queen who had gone beyond cruel in what she was doing to the people, and part of that decision was to pay whatever price needed to be paid.”