by Anne Bishop
TERREILLE
Remembering the previous evening, Cassidy gingerly pulled aside the curtains, looked out a grimy window, and thought, It’s only for a year.
And if the rest of the days were anything like the journey to Dena Nehele, it would be a long year.
Of course, she probably wasn’t the only one counting the days until Theran could take her back to Ebon Askavi. Especially after her rejection of the Queen’s suite.
It had been obvious that people had worked hard to clean up the suite, but she could barely stand being in the rooms. She couldn’t consider living there. She didn’t know what could have been done in a Queen’s bedroom to make the room feel like that, but an oppressive, gleeful cruelty seemed to pulse from the walls.
She had bolted. She’d stood in the hallway, trying not to be sick, trying to explain why she couldn’t use the suite.
Theran had listened, tight-lipped and angry, as if her inability to use the suite that had been prepared for her was an insult to his people—or confirmed his own opinion of her inadequacy to be the Territory Queen. Finally he’d said, “The Lady must do as she pleases.”
Close enough to Protocol. Avoiding the wing of the mansion that Theran had chosen as his family’s residence, she quickly explored the rest of the available living quarters and found a suite of rooms that seemed to welcome her, even though the rooms were dusty and clearly hadn’t been used in a long time.
The Blood who had been hired as servants scrambled to give the bedroom and bathroom enough of a cleaning so that she could move in. The mattress and bed linens in the other bedroom were new and hadn’t absorbed the tainted psychic scent that filled the other suite. The look of relief on the servants’ faces when she’d agreed to use them had been painful to see—and had told her more about the Queens who had ruled here than all the words Theran had grudgingly offered on the journey.
This morning he would introduce her to the other Warlord Princes. One hundred men, including Theran. All that was left of their caste after the Queens’ purges had taken so many men who wouldn’t bend to Dorothea’s vision of the Blood. The landen uprisings that had started after Dorothea’s taint had been cleansed from the Realms had taken even more. There must be boys in that caste who weren’t included in that number, but she suspected they were hidden somewhere and were being trained in secret—and were not something she could ask about until she had gained the adult males’ trust.
One hundred Warlord Princes. How was she supposed to choose the twelve males required to make a First Circle?
Jaenelle, thank the Darkness, had offered an answer.
“You don’t choose the males who serve,” Jaenelle had said. “They choose you. Cassie, the total failure of your First Circle was as much your fault as theirs. You accepted those men because they said they wanted to serve, but their reasons for wanting it had nothing to do with you. You chose with your head instead of letting your instincts as a Queen make the decisions.”
“If I hadn’t chosen with my head, there would have been no court, and that village wouldn’t have had a Queen.”
Jaenelle’s sapphire eyes stared at her, into her. “They would have survived without a Queen living within their village borders. That village became available because the old District Queen no longer wanted to rule more than her home village. The other three Blood villages under her rule could have gone to one Queen instead of being divided.”
“But that Queen wouldn’t have been me.”
“No, it wouldn’t have been you. Dharo has a strong Territory Queen and strong Province Queens. The Blood there can be more indulgent in their choice of District Queens. They didn’t need someone like you, Cassidy.”
Jaenelle’s words stung, more so because she’d expected a little sympathy to balance out their before-dinner “chat.”
“They expect me to choose,” Cassidy said. “How do I choose if I’m not supposed to choose?”
Jaenelle smiled. While the now-apparent sympathy was the tonic Cassidy needed to soothe her bruised feelings, the equally apparent amusement made her nervous.
“It’s simple,” Jaenelle said. “You stand in front of them and let them all get a look at you. Say something so they can hear your voice. Then you wait. Many are going to feel disappointed—and some will feel bitter about it because they don’t realize it’s part of forming a court. For most of them, you won’t be the right Queen to serve—at least not in the First Circle. They’ll need to look at the other Queens. But the ones who belong to you . . . You may not recognize it immediately, since you’ve never felt it, but they’ll know. Some will approach you and look relaxed or relieved because they’ve finally found something they’ve needed. Others will be wary when they approach because they aren’t sure if they can trust the instincts that are pushing them to hand over their lives and surrender to your rule. As each man approaches, look him in the eyes. If something inside you says, ‘This one belongs to me,’ then he does.”
“I don’t want a First Circle filled with Warlord Princes,” Cassidy said.
“That’s not your choice,” Jaenelle replied. “And, really, they’re sweet men once you get past the bossiness and temper. I wouldn’t expect more than half the First Circle to be filled with Warlord Princes, but they get to offer themselves before the other castes of males.”
“Warlords would be good,” Cassidy muttered. Her four months in the Dark Court had shown her the advantages—and disadvantages—of having so many dominating males working together. Warlords didn’t tend to argue as much about everything. Of course, the Warlord Princes in the Dark Court didn’t exactly argue. They just set their heels down and didn’t budge from their opinion.
“Oh, one other thing about Warlord Princes,” Jaenelle said just before they rejoined the men. “The ones that belong to you will want to sniff your neck. Don’t make a fuss about it.”
“Sniff my neck?” Cassidy muttered, turning away from the window when someone knocked on the door. “Come in.”
Birdie, the maid assigned to clean her suite, entered with a hesitant smile and a breakfast tray.
“Good morning, Lady Cassidy,” Birdie said. “The Warlord Princes are gathering to meet you, so Maydra—she’s the cook—thought you might like to have your breakfast in peace. And thought you might be feeling a bit nervous in the stomach.”
An undercurrent of fear beneath the words.
She’d been tired last night, and distressed by Theran’s attitude toward her as well as by some of the things Jaenelle had said, but now that she thought about it, that same undercurrent had been in Dryden, the butler, and Elle, the housekeeper, as well. They had been hired because they had experience working around a Queen’s court, but they, and the other servants, were all afraid.
What had those other Queens done to these people?
Hell’s fire, Cassidy. Those Queens were killed by the storm Witch had unleashed. That should tell you something.
“Put the tray over there,” Cassidy said. Following Birdie to the little table, she lifted the cover off the dish. Scrambled eggs and buttered toast. A little serving dish of fruit jam. A small pot of coffee, with cream and sugar on the side.
“Thank you,” Cassidy said. “That looks lovely. And please thank Maydra as well. This is exactly the kind of breakfast I need this morning.”
“She’ll be relieved to hear it,” Birdie said. “Elle says we’ll be turning out your rooms for a proper cleaning while you’re selecting the men for your court.”
If Jaenelle was right about how a court usually formed around a Queen, the selecting might not take as much time as everyone thought. Well, there would be plenty of other things to do that would keep her out of the servants’ way for a few hours.
Suspecting this would be the last bit of solitude she would have for most of the day, Cassidy sat down to eat a quiet breakfast.
Then a thought made her snort. She clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from spraying toast crumbs all over the table.
Theran Gra
yhaven would never be hers, but she wasn’t the one who would spend the next year on the receiving end of Vae’s attention.
*Theran? Theran! Those males are not herding properly. They are supposed to stay in this room to see the Queen. I will fetch them.*
“You don’t need—”
Why bother? Theran thought as Vae jumped off the platform that had been constructed for Lady Cassidy’s audiences. The little bitch didn’t listen to anything he said anyway, although she had plenty to say to him.
Of course, since the other men weren’t being held responsible for the dog’s welfare, they had no reason to pay attention to her.
But they were paying attention. Hard not to when a dog was standing on air so that she could bark in a man’s face. And she wasn’t floating at a height where she could nip at their heels, but was in a position to nip someone’s ass.
Vae charged around the room, nipping and barking and issuing orders.
*Come back here! It is time to meet the Queen! You there! Stop! Stubborn sheep.*
The men in the room moved closer to the platform. The ones who had been wandering returned, curious about what was causing so much commotion. Some of the men looked amused; some looked a little pissed off and were, no doubt, wondering what kind of trick he might be playing.
No question Ranon was more pissed off than amused. The Shalador Warlord Prince worked his way closer to the platform, gave the dog, who was now floating in front of him, a pointed look, then said, “Grayhaven, what is this?”
*I am Vae. I am a Sceltie. I am kindred. I am a witch. I know my Craft. You are male and foolish. And human.*
Ranon blinked. “A witch? She’s a witch? That’s really a Purple Dusk Jewel?”
*Yes,* Vae replied before Theran could respond. *It is my Birthright Jewel. When I am older, I will make the Offering to the Darkness and get my other Jewel. I am going to help the Queen train her males. Especially Theran. It is time.*
Vae spun around and whapped Ranon in the face with her tail. *Theran? Theran! Go fetch the Queen.*
“Yeah, Theran,” Ranon said, stepping back to avoid being whapped in the face again. “Go fetch.”
Could be worse, Theran thought as he strode toward the previously unused wing of the mansion. At least Cassidy wasn’t a yapper as far as he could tell. And by the time he escorted Cassidy to the audience room, and the other Warlord Princes had spent that time with Vae, maybe they’d all find the new Queen a lot more palatable.
* * *
Maybe eating breakfast hadn’t been such a good idea, Cassidy thought as she and Theran walked down to the audience room.
He was ignoring Protocol by walking on her right to indicate his Jewels were dominant instead of walking on her left to indicate his power was in her service. He wasn’t offering his hand in the traditional escort position so that she could rest her hand on top of his. Maybe he thought it wasn’t necessary to follow those formalities until they were closer to the audience room, but the servants they had passed had noticed.
Prince Theran was sending a message that would trickle through the court and through the Blood who worked in the mansion: the new Queen wasn’t worthy of courtesy or respect.
He was setting her up to fail before she had a chance to try.
He doesn’t belong to you. Jaenelle recognized that the moment she saw the two of you in a room together.
But he was still Grayhaven. The Queen’s residence was his family’s home. The town was named after the Grayhaven estate. Theran’s opinion would matter far more than hers.
Theran opened a door and said, “The stairs to the platform are to your left.”
As she walked into the room and climbed the platform’s steps, she was aware of the silence that rippled from the front of the room to the back.
During the hours she’d spent at the Keep yesterday, Jaenelle had looked through her clothes and made suggestions for outfits appropriate for various functions. At first, she’d felt a spike of resentment. She wasn’t a child who needed to be told what to wear. In fact, she was five years older than Jaenelle. Then she realized she was being given the confirmation of a Sister, a fellow Queen, that her choices were correct—and the reason for the exercise had been to give her that confirmation, since she wasn’t likely to find any where she was going.
So she’d dressed with care for this first meeting, but she’d dressed for a working morning in a court—long skirt and matching jacket in a dark green that flattered her red hair and pale skin, along with a pale green shirt.
As she looked at the men who had made the decision to give their people a Queen from another Realm, she felt their disappointment roll over her like a heavy wave. She didn’t dress like a Queen. She didn’t look like what they had imagined.
Vae pushed her way to the platform, using shields to add heft to her small body to shove grown men out of her way.
*These males are grumpy sheep,* Vae said on a distaff thread, female to female. She floated on air above the platform to have the best view of the room. *You should choose the ones that belong to you so the rest can go outside and run.*
*I don’t think they want to run,* Cassidy replied.
*I will chase them. They will run. They will be less grumpy when they are tired.*
She doubted that the Warlord Princes would share Vae’s opinion about what they needed, but the Sceltie wouldn’t care about that. And she wouldn’t care that these men were bigger and some of them were more powerful. She had a job to do, and she would do it.
And so do you, Cassie. So do you.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” she said, using Craft to enhance her voice so that she could speak in a normal tone and still be heard at the back of the room. “I am Cassidy, from the Territory of Dharo in the Realm of Kaeleer. I’m here to help you restore Dena Nehele. I’m here to help your people.”
Disappointment. Despair. Bitterness. She felt those things flow around her. More than other men, Warlord Princes needed a relationship with a Queen to keep them mentally and emotionally balanced. All that power and lethal temper craved a leash. That was one reason so many bad Queens had come into power in this Realm. Once the good Queens were destroyed, the Warlord Princes gave their allegiance to whatever Queens were available—and became corrupted in the process. Or they held out, held themselves back from the very thing they needed, and served an ideal instead of a woman.
Not many men could do that—and she needed to remember that, in one way or another, all these men had done just that.
Disappointment. Despair. Bitterness.
And then a flare of hope.
Wary. Almost angry. But still hope.
She watched the Opal-Jeweled Warlord Prince nudge other men aside in order to stand before her and stare into her eyes.
She couldn’t tell if his skin was browned by the sun or if he had that coloring in common with Theran. Dark brown hair and dark brown eyes.
Mother Night.
She held the leash for this angry, wary man, and he knew it. Something about her called to him, and he couldn’t turn away from her without paying a desperately high price.
“Who do you consider Dena Nehele’s people?” the Warlord Prince asked.
The effort he was making to keep his voice neutral told her how important her answer was to him.
“Everyone who lives within the borders of this Territory,” Cassidy replied. “Landens as well as Blood.”
“What about the Shalador people?”
“Now is not the time for that, Ranon,” Theran snapped.
“Then when is the time, Grayhaven?” Ranon snapped back.
“Who are the Shalador people?” Cassidy asked.
“What’s left of a race who came from a Territory that no longer exists. We live on reserves in the southern part of Dena Nehele, land that was granted to us by the Gray Lady.” Ranon gave Theran a hostile look. “Land that’s been trimmed by the hand of every Queen who has ruled since Lia until there’s barely enough farmland to feed us and not enough health
y woodland to supply the game we need.”
“Now is not the time,” Theran said again, shifting into a fighting stance.
“Prince Theran is right,” Cassidy said as Ranon also shifted into a fighting stance. The odds were against Opal being able to win a fight with Green, but Warlord Princes who served in the same court could not be allowed to fight. “Now is not the time.”
She saw bitterness in Ranon’s eyes, but she pushed on. “What you have said deserves more thought and discussion than I can give it this morning. But we will discuss the concerns of your people, as well as the other people who live in Dena Nehele.”
Hers. She saw it in his eyes as he relaxed a little and stepped back from the killing edge. Even if he’d hated her answer, he would have served in her court. It would have damaged something inside him, but he would have served.
Five more Warlord Princes made their way to the front of the room to stand before the platform. The connection, the need for what she was, wasn’t as strong with them as she’d felt with Ranon, but it was there. For the first time, she felt the weight of being a Queen, of holding lives in her hands.
She stepped back to the center of the platform. As Theran announced each man, he came up on the platform, knelt before her, and said, “Your will is my life. Take what you need.”
Surrender. Loyalty. At least for the next year.
Theran had knelt before her and said those words with Prince Sadi and the High Lord as witnesses. He hadn’t meant them. They’d all known that last night.
But Ranon and the other five Warlord Princes did mean the words—and the fact that they did mean the words terrified them.
Scared her too.
When the chosen stood at the back of the platform, Cassidy turned to Theran. “Who else is waiting to be considered for the First Circle?”
He looked at the remaining Warlord Princes, then at her. “You’re dismissing the men who are here?”
“I don’t think they’re best suited for this First Circle,” Cassidy replied quietly. “I would like to meet with the others before making further decisions. But I need some air and some time to think. We’ll reconvene in two hours.”
