The Shadow Queen bj-7

by Anne Bishop

  Devra brushed a hand lightly over Cassidy’s hair. “You’re still set on going after the midday meal?”

  Cassidy nodded. “I’d like some time to settle before I meet the Warlord Prince from Dena Nehele. Prince Sadi and Lady Angelline arranged for us all to have dinner at the Keep so there would be an opportunity to talk with him a bit before making a final decision.” A formality, really. Unless he was some kind of fearsome male, she would give his people a year of her life. Besides, she’d spent four months in the Dark Court and had slammed into Lucivar Yaslana on occasion, and there was no male more fearsome than Yaslana when he was in a mood.

  Except Prince Sadi. Or so she’d heard.

  “Is Poppi coming home to see me off?” Cassidy asked.

  “Your father is in the sitting room, brooding. Has been for the past hour.”

  “He didn’t have to leave his work so early.”

  “He hit his thumb with a hammer twice because he was busy brooding.” Devra shook her head. “After that, old Lord Wittier tottered your father over to the Healer’s to make sure nothing was broken, and refused to let him come back to finish the work until you were off.”

  She could picture old Lord Wittier clinging to Burle’s arm to keep his balance while insisting that he was taking Burle to the Healer—and telling everyone why Burle needed a Healer.

  Smacked himself with a hammer, the fool. Too busy thinking about his girl to tell the difference between a nail and a thumbnail. Gotta take him to the Healer’s, make sure he didn’t mash any bones. Who would have thought Burle would smack himself with a hammer?

  “Oh, dear,” she said, wishing she’d been in a shop where she could have watched that procession without being seen.

  “Don’t tease your father, Cassidy. He’s already had a difficult day.”

  Taking the wooden box from her mother, Cassidy set it next to the trunk of books. “Shall we go downstairs? There’s nothing more to do.”

  “If you go down now, he’ll have an extra hour to fuss about you leaving and to take you through the checklist he made in order to check the checklist he’d previously made.”

  Cassidy smiled. “I know. But he’ll feel better for it, don’t you think?”

  Ebon ASKAVI

  Despite the unmistakable psychic scent that identified his caste, the thing that had always amazed Cassidy was how a man as powerful as the High Lord of Hell could feel like a Steward—like a man who didn’t find the tedium of paperwork tedious, like a benign clerk who simply wanted to be helpful. Like a strict and yet indulgent honorary uncle to the most powerful Queens and Warlord Princes in Kaeleer.

  Kind. Courteous. Indulgent.

  Unless you made him angry. Then there would be the lightning-fast change from benign clerk into predator. She’d never been the cause of that change in the few months she’d served in the Dark Court, but she’d seen it, felt the cold punch of temper that had flashed through the Hall, warning everyone that the High Lord was not pleased.

  Right now she wasn’t sure if his mood was benign clerk or honorary uncle, but after the past few days with her father, Cassidy recognized the look of a man who had his own checklist and wasn’t about to let her walk away until they’d gone over every single item.

  “Your trunks are all packed?” Saetan asked.

  “Yes, and they’ve already been taken to the Keep in Terreille and stored in the Coach,” Cassidy replied.

  “You’ve brought some personal things with you? Books? Music?”

  “Yes. They’re also in the Coach.”

  “Winter clothes?”

  “Yes,” Cassidy huffed. “And I’ve brought a stack of clean handkerchiefs.”

  He stared at her, one eyebrow rising as his mouth curved in that dry, knowing smile.

  She winced. I don’t believe I said that to the High Lord.

  “So,” Saetan said, “was that on your mother’s list or your father’s list?”

  “Both, actually.”

  “And which one tucked a few marks about two-thirds of the way down in the stack so you would find the gift about the time you might be feeling homesick?”

  “No one . . .” She remembered her father blushing and mumbling something when she’d walked into her room and found him poking around near her trunks. “How did you know?”

  Saetan’s smile warmed. “I’m a father.” He leaned against a big stuffed chair and crossed his arms. “Do you want some advice?”

  Since that wasn’t actually a question, she nodded obediently.

  “According to the conditions Prince Sadi set to have you go to Dena Nehele, you will send him a report once a week. That report is from the Queen of Dena Nehele to the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan and can be nothing more than information about your court and your official meetings for that week. That will tell him how the Queen is doing, but not how you are. He can accept that because you don’t know him beyond a passing acquaintance. Therefore, you should also write a brief note to Jaenelle to let her know how you’re doing. That’s personal and equally important. Don’t shrug it off. If you miss a report, there are Warlord Princes in Kaeleer who are already committed to finding out why, and they will descend on Dena Nehele ready to step onto a killing field. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir.” Cassidy hesitated. “Do you really think this will be that dangerous?”

  “If I thought you’d be in danger, you wouldn’t be going,” Saetan replied softly. Then he shifted a little and continued in his usual voice. “You should also send a note to your mother when you send the report. We’ll see that it reaches her. That should be a daughter-to-mother note. Tell her about your life. Between those reports and notes, send a note to your father. He won’t be concerned about the court; he wants to know about you.”

  “Why don’t I send them both at the same time?” Cassidy asked. “Then the messenger only has to make one trip to the Keep.”

  “It will be good exercise for the messenger,” Saetan said dryly. “The point is to reassure. Staggering the notes will make both your parents feel better since they’ll hear from you twice as often. And at least once a month, write a letter to your brother.”

  “Clayton?”

  “Yes, Clayton. It doesn’t matter if you’ve never sent him a letter before. It doesn’t matter if he’s always gotten news about you from your parents. You won’t be in Dharo anymore, Cassidy. Getting a letter from you that’s just for him will matter.”

  “I suppose I should send a note to cousin Aaron too.”

  “Not required, but definitely a good idea. This might help.” Saetan called in a lap desk, which floated on air.

  “Oh.” Cassidy pulled it closer. The sides and back were decorated with carved flowers. The hinged top was smooth and silky. When she opened the lid, she discovered two sizes of stationery, both decorated with a C that had been made into a formal crest.

  “There are drawers on the sides,” Saetan said.

  One drawer contained pens and ink. The other contained sticks of wax and three seals. One was a flower, one was the crest of her initial, and the other . . .

  “Geoffrey and I did a little digging in the library and found the Grayhaven crest that had been used during the time when the Gray Ladies ruled. We had the seal made for you.”

  “But I’m not a Grayhaven,” Cassidy protested.

  “I was told it would be appropriate for you to use that crest for your formal correspondence.”

  Who told you? She didn’t have to ask. There was only one person Saetan would obey without question. She didn’t know why Jaenelle thought it was appropriate for her to use that particular crest, but she wouldn’t argue.

  “Thank you.”

  “A couple more things.” He pointed to four large crates. “Two of those contain primers in basic Protocol. The other two crates contain the more advanced study of Protocol.”

  “Won’t they be insulted if I bring those?”

  “They’ll be needed. Also, Prince Sadi has set aside some funds as a Queen’s gif
t.” He held up a hand, silencing her protest before it could form. “There are things that you will need that you may not be able to find in Terreille. Recognizing that you may hesitate to ask for those things from a people who will have little to spare, Daemon is willing to bear the cost.”

  “How much?” Cassidy asked. “It would help to know so that I’m not asking for anything unreasonable.”

  “If he feels you’re overspending, I’m sure Daemon will let you know,” Saetan replied mildly. “You don’t have an easy task, Cassidy. You’ll be the only one who knows the Old Ways and the Protocol that goes along with those ways. You’ll be trying to help a people remember who they were. Accept the help we can give you.”

  She felt the blood draining out of her head. “I’ll be the only one who knows Protocol?”

  “Well.” Saetan looked a little guilty. “You and Vae.”

  She frowned, puzzled. “Who is Vae?”

  *Hi, Theran! Hi!*

  Vae bounced in front of him, doing her happy dance.

  *I have my special brushes, so you can brush me properly. And the clippers for my nails. Do you have Healers for kindred? In Scelt we have Healers for kindred. They heal other animals too, but they trained to take care of us. Maybe one of them will have to come and teach your Healer how to properly clip nails.*

  He’d fought. He’d proved his worth as a leader. He wore a Green Jewel. He was the dominant living male in Dena Nehele.

  And every time he was around these people, he seemed to stand there with his mouth hanging open while they ran right over him.

  *I will tell Jaenelle you are here,* Vae said. *She and the new Queen are doing fussing things. You cannot eat until they are done doing the fussing things.*

  He waited until he was sure the Sceltie was out of the room and out of hearing. Then he turned to Daemon and said, “No. The dog is not coming with us.”

  “Yes, she is,” Daemon said in a voice that was pleasant in a way that liquefied the bones in Theran’s legs—and not in a good way. “She knows Craft, which she will not hesitate to tell you, and she knows Protocol, which she will not hesitate to tell you. And she’s decided to go with you.”

  “What will it take to keep her here?” Theran asked.

  “A lot more than you can afford. Accept it, Prince. You’re taking the Sceltie. Or you’re leaving without a Queen.”

  “That’s blackmail!”

  “Oooooh, that’s a harsh word.” Daemon smiled. “But I won’t quibble about it.”

  “I suppose you want a report on her too,” Theran said, not bothering to hide the bitterness he and the other Warlord Princes felt about these reports. They were too close a reminder of the “reports” that had been sent to Dorothea SaDiablo—and the people who had disappeared one night after those reports were sent.

  “No, that isn’t required,” Daemon said, “but Vae has worked out how you’ll do it.”

  “How I’ll—”

  “You’ll need to remember the basin of warm water so that you can clean the ink off her paw after she’s told you what to write and puts her mark on the bottom of the page.”

  “After she—” He gave up trying to form words and just sputtered. He’d avoided capture, avoided being leashed, avoided every damn snare that had been set for him, only to find himself chained to a dog.

  “Which side of the triangle are you taking?” Daemon asked.

  As a change of topic, it wasn’t any better. He felt some bitterness about that too. “First Escort.” No one else had been willing to do it. A few of the Warlord Princes had offered to fill the position of Master of the Guard, but they still hadn’t found anyone willing to be the Steward either. He’d considered it, but he would have hated being stuck behind a desk, and as Talon had pointed out, since he was being held personally responsible for this new Queen’s well-being, First Escort was really the only choice.

  Then Jaenelle Angelline walked into the room, followed by another woman, and Theran’s first thought was, Thank the Darkness I don’t have to bed her.

  His second thought was he was mistaken—this large-boned, gawky female with the awful red hair and spots on her face must be a companion or servant for Lady Angelline. If it weren’t for the Rose Jewel she was wearing and the fact that she was here, he would have thought she was a hefty farm girl, all right for a bit of relief—as long as the barn was dark enough—but no one he would consider otherwise.

  Mother Night!

  Her psychic scent, masked by the power all around him since the High Lord walked into the room behind the women, hit him a moment later.

  Queen.

  No!

  “Prince Theran Grayhaven,” Jaenelle said, “this is Lady Cassidy, the Queen who has consented to rule Dena Nehele. Cassidy, this is Theran Grayhaven”—she glanced at Daemon and her voice took on a strange, sharp edge—“who has offered to stand as First Escort, if he is acceptable to you.”

  “Prince Grayhaven honors me.”

  She sounded sincere enough, but he couldn’t read any emotion on that plain face.

  “Shall we go in to dinner?” Saetan asked, stepping to one side.

  Lady Cassidy hurried out of the room with Jaenelle right behind her. When the High Lord walked out of the room, the door began to close.

  Theran took a step forward, then pulled up short when Sadi’s hand wrapped around his arm, the long nails pricking him through shirt and jacket.

  “For a man who has lived in such a dangerous Territory, it’s odd that you’ve never learned to hide what you think,” Daemon said too softly.

  “I didn’t say anything improper,” Theran snapped.

  “You didn’t have to. You’ve made your opinion very clear, Grayhaven. So. Are you still going to join us for dinner, or should I make your excuses for you?”

  “What are you talking about?” Theran pulled away, unnerved by the chilling contempt he saw in Daemon’s eyes.

  “You rejected Lady Cassidy.”

  “I did no such thing!”

  “Don’t lie to me, boyo. You didn’t even try to hide your opinion when you saw her.”

  “Well, what did you expect?” Theran let some of his own anger show. “Do you really think the other Warlord Princes will accept her?”

  “That depends,” Daemon said with vicious control, “on whether they’re looking for someone to rule their people according to the Old Ways or trying to picture her riding their cocks.”

  “This isn’t what I bargained for!”

  “This is exactly what you bargained for,” Daemon replied as he glided toward the door. Then he stopped and looked at Theran. “Being the last of Jared’s bloodline got you this much and this far. But I’ll tell you this now. If you had declared yourself Consort instead of First Escort, I’d kill you where you stand to spare her enduring one minute with you in bed.”

  Daemon didn’t open the door. He used Craft to pass through the wood.

  Theran stumbled over to a chair and sank into it.

  No wonder this Queen had been available. No wonder she hadn’t demanded more compensation for ruling a Territory. She was a Queen because she’d been born into that caste, just as he had been born a Warlord Prince.

  But no one wanted her. Who in the name of Hell would want her?

  They’d saddled him with a castoff, and he was stuck with her. Dena Nehele needed a Queen too desperately for him to go back home without her. So he would swallow his pride, go in to dinner, and bring Lady Cassidy to Dena Nehele to meet the rest of the Warlord Princes. And he would do the best he could for his people with what little she could offer.

  CHAPTER 10

  A few steps away from the dining room, Jaenelle had linked arms with Cassidy and pulled her into another room.

  “But,” Cassidy had protested, “dinner—”

  “Will wait.” Jaenelle released her and stepped away. “What do you think of Grayhaven?”

  Cassidy shrugged, not willing to voice her opinion.

  Jaenelle pursed her lips. “As
Lucivar would say, if you keep chewing on that gristle, sooner or later you’re going to choke. So just spit it out.”

  Those last words were snapped out—and Cassidy snapped back.

  “Did you see the look on his face when he realized I was the one who was supposed to go to Dena Nehele?”

  “Explain ‘supposed to.’”

  “He doesn’t want me in his precious Territory, doesn’t want me ruling his people, and as sure as the sun doesn’t shine in Hell, he doesn’t want to serve me. So why am I doing this?”

  “Because no matter what he wants—or thinks he wants—his land and his people need you,” Jaenelle replied.

  A truth lodged in her heart and throat, choking her. She tried to swallow it, because it shamed her, but the words tumbled out. “He feels like my old First Circle.” Like the men who had turned their backs on her for a younger Queen they found more exciting.

  Jaenelle gave her a sharp look. “Yes,” she said slowly, “he would feel like your First Circle, since he has something in common with them. He doesn’t belong to you.”

  “I don’t want him as a pet,” Cassidy snapped. Then added silently, Or anything else.

  “Don’t be obtuse.”

  Cassidy shivered at the hint of midnight in Jaenelle’s voice and remembered to whom she spoke. “My apologies, Lady.”

  Jaenelle walked over to the windows and stared outside for a minute before turning back to Cassidy.

  “A simple truth, Sister,” Jaenelle said. “Theran Grayhaven doesn’t belong to you. He never will. He doesn’t understand that yet, but you need to accept it. As First Escort, consider him your personal guard and your companion at official functions. In time you might be able to be friends, and even if you’re not, you may be able to work well together for the common goal of restoring Dena Nehele. But he’ll never be a member of your court in the truest sense. Don’t expect him to be.”

  An awkward silence filled the room. Awkward for her, Cassidy admitted. Witch simply studied her—and waited.

  “Shall we join the men for dinner?” Jaenelle finally asked. “Or should I make your excuses and send Prince Theran back to Dena Nehele alone?”