by Anne Bishop
“Have you and Cassidy . . . ?”
Gray shook his head.
“Because of Yaslana’s rules about you having sex?”
He shook his head again. “When Cassie looks at me, she doesn’t see a man. I don’t know how to explain it. We kiss and we touch, and it’s good. Mother Night, it’s good. But there is something in me that is holding her back from letting me be her lover all the way. So I thought the Fire Dance . . .”
Ranon’s hand felt warm on his shoulder.
“I’ll teach you,” Ranon said. “And this autumn, when that full moon rises, you’ll dance with your Brothers.”
They walked back to the house, left the mugs in the kitchen, and went their separate ways.
As Gray went to find Shira, it occurred to him that Ranon wouldn’t have asked a man he thought was deficient in any way to stand escort to the woman who held his heart.
Kermilla looked through her mail again and sighed.
There were the usual reports from her Steward, saying the same things he said every time about the length of her visit to Dena Nehele—but hinting more strongly this time that it would be in all of their best interests if she returned to Bhak and took care of the villages she ruled. As if she were another Freckledy who really wanted to rule a sheep-shit village. Why did she need to be there? The men in her First Circle had been working that village for the five years they’d served Cassidy. They knew how to keep the landens in Woolskin leashed and how to discourage any complaints the Blood in Bhak might have about how the village was being ruled. If the person couldn’t be discouraged from complaining, her males should make certain the complaint went no further than her own Steward. After all, their reputations and ambitions were as much at stake as hers, and were, in fact, dependent on hers.
But this time, along with all the dull reports, there were letters from a couple of aristo friends. Those letters talked about parties and picnics, moonlight rides and concerts—and hinted about a daring new gown being designed for the autumn season.
What could she write about? She was stuck in a town that thought outdoor concerts and having a dozen people for dinner at an aristo’s house was outrageous and daring. And the clothes! Hell’s fire, she was from Dharo, the Territory for weaving and fabric of the finest quality. Even the meanest cloth that was only fit for landens in Dharo was better than the best she could find in this dung-gray town.
And Theran was always busy. Doing what? Who could tell! Nothing interesting. Maybe she should summon Jhorma. Playing with her Consort would fill an hour or so. But they would need to be discreet. She’d invited Theran to her bed two nights ago, and now he seemed to think that gave him an exclusive claim. Maybe if he was bedding a merchant’s daughter who wanted to climb the social ladder, but it would take a more lucrative offer than having him as a lover before she would consider giving him anything exclusive. Besides, enthusiasm couldn’t replace skill, and a lover who brought his heart to the bed didn’t provide the same pleasure as a man who had been trained to please a woman’s body.
Despite the impression he gave of being in charge, Theran really didn’t have much understanding about how courts worked, and the privileges that were hers simply because she was a Queen. But he really did care about her even if he was rather dull most of the time, and she did want to help him rule this land and make it wonderful again. For a few years, anyway.
But that was the exciting future when she would be the Queen of Dena Nehele, and this was the boring, boring, boring now.
A sigh made her look up at the only other person in the room.
“You really study this all the time?” Correne asked, closing the book of Protocol she’d been staring at for the past hour.
Kermilla nodded. “From the first year of schooling to the last. And anyone who actually serves in a court studies even more because court Protocol is more demanding.”
“Well, when I set up my court, I’m going to forbid anyone from using all these tedious, stiff phrases.”
Kermilla sat up, alarmed. “Oh, no, Correne. You must use Protocol, and everyone in your court needs to know it.”
“Why?” Correne asked, pouting. “It’s so dull. ”
“Because if you know how to use them correctly, some of those phrases can stop a Warlord Prince from killing someone, or command him to step back from the killing edge before he attacks. Males are controlled by Protocol.”
“What about the things males can demand from females because of Protocol?”
“Oh. Well. A smart woman can figure out how to get around those.” Kermilla smiled at the younger Queen. “Come on, let’s go into the town and do some shopping.”
Correne looked more unhappy. “Can’t. I spent all the marks I was given, and my father won’t send more until next month.”
“Oh.” Her smile turned sly. “I’ll show you how to purchase a few things without having to pay a single copper for any of it.”
Gray studied the two-story house and the neighboring one-story building, and said, “This is perfect.” He glanced at Shira, who seemed painfully unhappy as she looked at the place that would be a wonderful residence for a Healer. “Let’s take a look around.”
She followed him with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm, but he led her around to the back. The small barn was big enough for a couple of horses, and its paddock bordered the pasture for the court’s stables. The backyard had plenty of land for a kitchen garden, a Healer’s garden, and the private garden a Black Widow would find useful, and still had enough space for children or dogs to romp. Best of all, this property backed the land belonging to the Queen’s Residence, with only a low stone wall separating the two. And this place, unlike the others he had seen with Shira today, was inside what Ranon and Talon called the “Queen’s square”—the perimeter of streets and houses that would be the most heavily shielded and defended if the village was attacked.
“Enough of this,” Shira said. “Let’s go back to the Residence.”
Gray studied her, bewildered by the pain he saw in her dark eyes. “Why don’t you like this place?”
“Because it’s perfect,” she snapped. “And it’s nothing I can have.”
“Why not?”
She turned on him, her hands clenched. He should have feared her. After all, she was a Black Widow, which meant she had that snake tooth under her right ring fingernail. His Jewels outranked hers—Purple Dusk against Summer-sky—so her venom wouldn’t necessarily kill him, but it might cripple him even if he survived.
“I have no money, Gray.”
“But . . .” He called in the paper the village elders had given to Powell. It was a list of land and buildings all around Eyota that the court could have for the asking—property that had no surviving family left to claim it. “This place is on the list. You don’t need money.”
“What about furniture? What about a worktable and storage cupboards for tonics and brews and dried herbs? What about tools? What about blankets and linens and healing supplies?”
“The Queen’s gift . . .”
Shira shook her head fiercely. “No. I can justify what I have in the room at the Residence as a court expense, but I can’t expect the court to supply a place like this. And Cassidy shouldn’t pay for something beyond the court.”
“But you like this place.” He had an idea, but he needed to be sure of her first.
“Yes, I like this place.”
“Okay.” He looked around, then checked the list again. “I want to take a look at those two cottages. They’re on the list too.”
“Suit yourself.” Shira sighed. “My apologies, Gray. I’m feeling sorry for myself, and I have no right to feel that way. The Shalador people have more now than we had dreamed possible a year ago, and I’m the court Healer to a Queen I like and admire. No Healer could ask for a better way to serve her people than to care for such a Queen.” She gave him a wobbly smile. “We’re almost home, so why don’t I take the horse and pony cart back to the—”
“No.”
She blinked at him.
“No,” Gray said again. “I’m standing as your escort today. If you want to go back now, we’ll go back. But you’re not going alone.”
“I can see the Residence from where I’m standing,” Shira said when she finally found her voice. “I can see the stables’ pastures from where I’m standing. Hell’s fire, Vae and Archerr and Cassidy are standing in the yard right now watching us.”
Lucivar had said, “Strong women can get bitchy about Protocol when they think you’re being bossy or overprotective or whatever damn thing they think you’re being. Sometimes it’s smart to give in, but if you know you’re right, set your heels down, boyo, and be a polite, courteous wall.”
He had the feeling Lucivar was still working on the polite and courteous part, but the man sure did know how to set his heels down.
“I could climb over the back wall and be home,” Shira said.
“Fine,” Gray said. “Then I’ll assist you over the wall.”
“And when you need help to do what should be done,” Lucivar had said, “ask for it.”
*Vae?* Gray called. *I need you.*
Shira began sputtering at him that she didn’t need help and didn’t notice Vae heading toward them until the Sceltie jumped the wall.
*Shira? Shira! Why are you acting like a hissy cat?*
“You,” Shira sputtered, glaring at him. “You . . .”
Whatever she was going to call him got lost in Khollie’s joyous *Shira!* as he got over the wall and joined them.
“Shira wants to go home now, and I have something else I need to do, so would the two of you escort her home?”
*We will take care of Shira,* Khollie said, his tail wagging as he looked up at Ranon’s mate.
“Fine.” Shira stomped off with two furry escorts who were more implacable than any Warlord Prince would dare to be.
At least she’s not unhappy anymore, Gray thought. But he figured it would be prudent to stay out of her way until Ranon got home.
*Gray?* Archerr asked. *Is everything all right?*
*Shira is a hissy cat,* he replied.
Archerr’s snorted laugh had Shira stopping midstride to turn and stare at Gray.
Hell’s fire.
His smile must have been sufficiently insolent because he could see her temper flare.
He felt a bit weak-kneed as he gave her a two-finger salute, then turned his back on her and walked to the front of the house.
It wasn’t smart to piss off a Black Widow. On the other hand, she probably would be too angry to wonder about the “something” he needed to do.
He untied the horse and started walking down Wolf Creek Road to take a look at the two cottages that were also within the “Queen’s square” and also available for the court’s use. He hadn’t reached the first cottage before the silver twins came running down the road, no doubt alerted by Vae.
*Are you going home now, Gray?* Kief asked, wagging his tail.
*We will take the horse back to the stable,* Lloyd said.
“Thanks, boys, but I still need the horse.”
They stared at him, tails gently wagging.
Trying not to sigh, he held out the lead. “Hold him while I take a look at these buildings.”
*I will watch the horse,* Lloyd said.
*I will go with Gray,* Kief said.
Now he did sigh, but he didn’t argue. No point in arguing. It didn’t take the humans long to figure that out. The Scelties seemed to know when they had to obey without question—and they knew when humans were acting like stubborn sheep and needed to be herded in the right direction.
The smart human yielded before getting nipped.
Not all of the Scelties had found their special place in the village, but some were settling in. The Warlord brothers Lloyd and Kief had taken up residence at the stables where the court kept their horses. The First Circle had dubbed them the silver twins because they were gray and white. Not really twins, but they were litter mates, and the only difference in their looks was that Lloyd had a wider blaze down his face. The men were still looking after their own mounts, but they felt easier about leaving the stable unattended now. After all, dogs who were smart enough to bring carrots out to the pasture to make friends with the horses were also smart enough to know when to fetch a human.
Prince Darkmist divided his time between Yairen and Akeelah, a witch who was a Tradition Keeper of Stories. It sure pissed off Ranon the first time he walked into his grandfather’s house and was challenged by another Opal-Jeweled Warlord Prince. So Ranon and Mist were working out a few territorial issues. The fact that Ranon was Khollie’s human and Khollie was Mist’s little brother made things more . . . interesting.
As entertaining as that was—when you weren’t the human involved—right now, he needed to take a good look at these cottages and see if his idea would work.
When he finished inspecting the second cottage, he stood out front, shaking his head and smiling. Lloyd had brought the horse and cart.
“Thanks, boys,” he said as he climbed into the cart. They stood aside and waited until he’d given the horse the signal to walk on. Then they raced back to the stables, and he headed for a meeting with the village elders.
Kermilla slipped up to her room. She and Correne hadn’t gotten around to shopping, but they’d still had a delightful afternoon once they’d met Garth and Brok, two Warlord brothers who weren’t much older than Kermilla. They had gone to a dining house and talked and laughed for hours, while her two escorts sat at another table looking bored. Having older, experienced men serving in the court meant she didn’t have to work as hard to rule her territory, but it was so much more work to hold their interest when she had to deal with them day after day. These young men hung on to every word she said—and they were hers. She’d felt that strange pull when she saw them—the same pull she’d felt when she first met Theran.
After making plans to meet up tomorrow to shop, she and Correne had returned to the mansion and the dull company waiting for her there. But she’d had so much fun with her new boys, she really would pay attention this evening when Theran droned on about what Dena Nehele needed. He officially ruled the town, but he seemed to think she should be doing as much as if she were already the Queen—without the compensation! Well, he did tell her she could put things on account against the tithes, but some of the merchants were getting that tight look in their eyes that meant these people didn’t know how to show their loyalty to a Queen any more than the people in sheep-shit Bhak did. Which was fine for Freckledy—she had never had any style—but not for a Queen who wanted to be recognized in aristo social circles.
Kermilla opened her door and froze.
That dumb bitch Birdie, the “Queen’s maid,” was holding a bottle of scent Kermilla had acquired during her last shopping trip. Holding the bottle—and frowning.
“What in the name of Hell are you doing?” Kermilla demanded. She strode over to the dresser and yanked the bottle out of Birdie’s hand.
“Cleaning the room, Lady, like I always do,” Birdie stammered, taking a step back.
“I told you before I don’t like my things smeared with someone else’s psychic stink,” Kermilla said, her voice cold and hard. “You use Craft to raise everything on the dresser and tables when you dust them. Craft, you useless bag.”
“But I only wear the White, Lady,” Birdie said. “I only use Craft to help with heavy lifting and the like, so I’m not drained when my work is done. Lady Cassidy—”
“I’m not Cassidy, and as long as you work in this house, you’ll do things the way I want them done. And if you can’t get that through your head, the only way you’ll earn a living is by using what you’ve got between your legs! Is that clear enough?”
“But—”
One word. Kermilla heard it as a challenge—and no White-Jeweled servant could be allowed to challenge the Queen.
You’re still a guest here.
Remembering that had her putting
temper and not power behind the open-handed slap. The blow still knocked Birdie to the floor.
“Get out of my room,” Kermilla said.
Whimpering, Birdie got to her feet and stumbled from the room. Shaken, Kermilla looked at the bottle of scent. The girl probably didn’t know what that small, paper-thin stone disk on the bottom of the bottle meant, but Kermilla was certain Theran would be furious if he discovered how she was stretching her income.
She didn’t want Theran angry with her. For a little while she’d flirted with the possibility of falling in love with him, but those feelings had faded before they began. Still, she did like the man, and she didn’t want him so upset that he would tell her to leave. After all, she needed his support to become Queen of Dena Nehele.
EBON ASKAVI
The Keep. The Black Mountain. A place where a man was surrounded by stone and dark power.
But a strangely comfortable place, for all that. A place where a man could lower his guard and truly rest, knowing there was something else here that was watchful—and aware.
Ranon prowled around the sitting room where the Seneschal, that strange-looking female, had put him to wait. A human shape, but she wasn’t human—not with that face or the sibilant way she spoke. He’d bet his life on it.
The door opened, and he turned.
The woman’s exotic face, framed by golden hair, was a little too thin, but still beautiful in a way that tugged at his male interest—especially because she seemed unaware of the streak of dirt that accented one sharp cheekbone.
Then he looked into those sapphire eyes and felt his heart skip a beat. He was totally committed to serving Cassidy, and he loved Shira with everything that was in him. But if this woman asked it of him, he would crawl through fire or over knives—and never ask why she required it of him.
He needed no introduction to know he was looking at Jaenelle Angelline, the Queen who was Witch, the living myth.
Now he understood what kind of woman could hold the hearts of men like Lucivar Yaslana and Daemon Sadi.