by Anne Bishop
Having experienced that hard gray stare, Jared understood the man’s discomfort all too well.
“So right away he offered these quarters,” Tomas continued, handing Jared the soap. “Thera and Polli made up a bed for you, and Randolf and Brock carried you in. The Lady fussed over you for a bit and kept muttering to herself about whether the damage was permanent. After she approved the food the servants brought, she went back to the inn.”
The Lady fussed over you. Jared soaped the sponge and started washing. In a way, it made sense. Badly scarred pleasure slaves weren’t as valuable—except to witches who were aroused by the evidence of pain inflicted—and a healing man didn’t perform at his best. But something in Tomas’s voice told him that, even without knowing about the Invisible Ring, the others had realized that the Lady considered him different from the rest of them, and they weren’t sure what to think about it . . . or about him.
He wasn’t sure what to think about it either.
“Course, Blaed’s going to be relieved to find out you’re a pleasure slave,” Tomas said. “The way Thera tore into him, I don’t think he wants to stiffen anytime soon, and he’s been worried that the Lady would want to be pleasured and he hasn’t had much training. Not like you, being trained by the Sadist and all.”
Jared bit his tongue and concentrated on washing his legs.
Tomas frowned. “Course, you don’t need a stiff dangle, do you? They say the Sadist never gets stiff, and he’s the best there is.”
At a lot of things that were better left unmentioned.
Jared resoaped the sponge and started scrubbing his arms and chest. He didn’t want to talk about Sadi, and he didn’t want to think about pleasuring the Gray Lady. “Why did Thera tear into Blaed?”
Tomas shook his head. His voice filled with cautious admiration. “That Thera. When she gets pissy, she gets a look in her eyes that can singe your ball hairs.”
The sponge stuttered to a halt. “That’s a colorful way of putting it,” Jared finally choked out.
Tomas tugged on the sponge. “I’ll wash your back.”
“No!” He didn’t need this boy to act as his slave, and knowing too well how it felt to be at the mercy of someone’s whims, he didn’t want anyone else feeling like that because of him.
“I’ll be careful,” Tomas said quietly.
Thrown off stride by the boy’s sympathy, Jared released the sponge. He’d forgotten about the lash wounds. Feeling no pain as Tomas washed his back, his hands gently explored his belly where the whips had cut him. It felt tender, but that was all.
“Don’t know what the Lady did, but you’ve healed up just fine,” Tomas said. “Didn’t even scar.”
Tomas’s cheerful efficiency made his heart ache. Too knowing for someone so young, here was this boy reassuring a grown man that he hadn’t scarred when his own small body looked like a battlefield.
Tomas deserved better than to be condemned to a life like this. Then again, they all deserved better.
Needing a distraction, Jared said, “Tell me about Thera and Blaed.”
“Well, you see, none of the beds were made up, though there were clean sheets and blankets folded up on the mattresses. Thera started right in ‘cause Cathryn—”
“Cathryn? I thought the other one’s name is Polli.”
“The Lady bought three females,” Tomas explained patiently. “Thera, Polli, and Cathryn. Thera’s a broken Black Widow. Breaking her might have taken her Jewels, but it sure didn’t dull her temper. Polli’s a broken witch. I think it made her soft-headed and skittish. Cathryn’s just a Blood female, too young for breeding yet.”
Jared ground his teeth. Just the thought of a Blood female being used as an aristo broodmare as soon as she became old enough to bear healthy offspring made him sick. Oh, they weren’t broken like more and more strong witches were, but that was because they didn’t have the inner power for more than basic Craft to begin with, and only unbroken females could produce more than one offspring. “How old is Cathryn?”
“She’s little. Nine maybe. You want to hear about Blaed or not?”
His breath hissed between his teeth. “I want to hear.”
“So Thera started making up beds. Polli was making up a bed, too, but she was moving slow, like something was paining her. Then Blaed walked over to Polli and said something to her, and the next thing you know, she had her back to the wall and she was screaming that she didn’t have to spread her legs, it was her moontime, and she didn’t have to spread her legs during her moontime.
“Before Blaed could say anything, Thera grabbed an apple from the bowl the servants had brought and threw it at him. Blaed’s got good reflexes. He couldn’t dodge it, but he managed to take it on the hip instead of in the balls.
“So there’s Polli having hysterics, and Cathryn’s crying ‘cause she’s scared, and Thera’s screaming at Blaed, and Blaed’s rushing toward Thera while she’s reaching back for another apple, and Randolf and Brock are trying to jump in before it gets really nasty. And then the outside door burst open and the Gray Lady was standing there.
“The males all stopped cold, and I hushed Cathryn, but Polli was still wailing about her moontime—Hell’s fire, even I could tell that whatever was paining her, it wasn’t that— and Thera was still screaming about heartless pricks who couldn’t keep their pants buttoned and holding that apple so hard she was squishing it to pulp.”
Tomas jumped up. “You soap up your hair. I’ll get a bucket of clean water to rinse with.”
Jared soaped his hair, muttering all the while about the dire things that could happen to boys who got too bossy. The only response he got was a bucket of water poured over his head before he was ready.
Sputtering, he climbed out of the tub and grabbed a towel from Tomas. “If you don’t finish the story, I’ll throttle you.”
Now certain that he could ignore remarks like that, Tomas just grinned, grabbed another towel, and gently patted Jared’s back dry. “Turns out Blaed was just trying to be helpful. He noticed how Polli was moving and thought she shouldn’t be lifting the mattress to tuck in the sheet. After he explained that to the Lady, looking so scared I thought he was going to faint, she fixed a brew to settle down Polli. Then she looked straight at Thera, and said, ‘Courtesy should be rewarded, not punished.’ And then she looked at Blaed, and said, ‘Remember that not all scars are visible.’
“After she left, we all ate and took baths. None of the males wanted to get near Polli, in case she had another fit. Didn’t want to get too close to Thera, either. So all the females and you and me stayed on one side of the room and the rest of the males stayed on the other side.” Tomas looked at Jared and shook his head. “And you slept through the whole thing. Matter of fact, you slept through all of yesterday, too. Come on, they left some food for you.”
Disturbed, Jared silently followed Tomas back into the main room. Had the Gray Lady been talking about the lash wounds when she’d wondered about permanent damage? Or had she sensed the hollowness inside him? Now that he was no longer in pain or exhausted, he keenly felt the loss of whatever it was the wild stranger had taken with it. He knew, with absolute certainty, that he had no chance of getting free of the Invisible Ring without it.
“You still feeling bad?” Tomas asked.
Jared shook his head and sat down at the table that had one covered plate, a plate of toast, a cup, and a small pot of coffee.
Who had put a warming spell on the covered plate and pot of coffee? Polli, who sounded like she’d had her spirit as well as her inner web broken? The sharp-tempered Thera? Either of them would still have enough strength to do something as basic as this.
But when he touched the plate, he knew it had been neither one of them. Running his finger around the plate’s rim, he found the spot where her finger had touched it, felt the ghost of the spark of power she’d used for the warming spell.
That she had done it at all spoke of concern and caring.
It made no sense.
“You’d best eat,” Tomas said, pouring the coffee. “We’ll be leaving here soon.”
Jared picked up the fork and began to eat, reminding himself with each bite to eat slowly. He couldn’t afford to have his stomach reject the meal in front of him just because he’d gulped it down, especially when he didn’t know when he might get the next one.
While he ate, Tomas told him about the other slaves. Besides Thera, Polli, and little Cathryn, there were nine males, including Tomas and himself: Blaed, the pleasure slave; Thayne; Brock and Randolf, two former guards; a mind-broken male named Garth; and Eryk and Corry, two boys about Tomas’s age.
Half-listening to Tomas’s chatter, Jared reached for another slice of thick, buttered toast. What had the Gray Lady been thinking of to buy these particular slaves? He could understand buying the four healthy adult males, but what use could she have for a mind-broken male? Or broken witches who had probably been put on the block because they’d become emotionally unstable or were now barren and had no ability to produce an offspring? Or four children?
Or a Warlord who had killed the last Queen who had owned him?
“You ain’t listening,” Tomas said accusingly.
Remembering his younger brothers, Jared knew better than to bluff. So he waved his fork over the plate and changed the subject altogether. He hoped. “What is this?”
Tomas sulked for a moment, then shrugged. “Potatoes and eggs and pieces of beef. The Lady had bought a big skillet with the rest of the supplies, and this morning she taught Thera, Polli, and Cathryn how to make it.”
The toasted bread caught in Jared’s throat. He swallowed some coffee to force it down. “The Gray Lady was cooking?”
Tomas grinned. “I thought the innkeeper was going to die of shame, with her out there cooking in a skillet over an open fire as if what he served in the inn wasn’t good enough. That’s why we all got coffee and buttered toast this morning. The Lady told him she wanted the females to learn how to make this while she could still have his cook prepare her meal, but it would be best to give us the coffee and bread, too, so we’d have something decent under our belts.”
“But this is good,” Jared said, scooping up another forkful.
Tomas’s dark eyes sparkled. “Probably better than the Lady got.”
Jared frowned. “Why the supplies? Where are we going?”
Tomas rolled his eyes. “I was just telling you about her buying an old pedlar’s wagon and horses ‘cause we’re going cross-country to her Territory, and we can’t depend on finding an inn when we need it.”
“Why not go to the nearest village that has a Coach station and buy passage?” Jared said, still frowning. “Why take the chance of tangling with marauders or a pack of rogues by going cross-country?”
Tomas jerked as if he’d been hit. He wouldn’t look at Jared.
Jared choked down the last mouthful. Was that why slaves who went into Grizelle’s Territory never returned? Because they never got to the Territory in the first place? Marauders and rogue packs were always male, but they might have guarded home camps where they could keep women. They’d have no use for male slaves, but what about a broken witch who could cook a decent meal over an open fire? Or a broken witch who could be given an aphrodisiac that would make her so mad with need she could be mounted all night and not care what they did to her until the drug finally wore off? Or a young Blood female that could become a breeder for the dominant male of the group? What about an intelligent young half-Blood who tried so hard to please?
Did Grizelle come to the auctions to act as a slave trader for the marauders and rogue packs who hid in the Tamanara Mountains and wouldn’t dare approach Raej because they’d probably end up on the auction block themselves?
Jared’s stomach churned. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and willed himself to stay calm. What could he do? Challenge a Gray-Jeweled Queen? If she unleashed the Gray, she’d destroy him completely. Which might be preferable to finding out what would happen if she used the Invisible Ring. He understood the Jewels, but this thing he couldn’t see, couldn’t touch, couldn’t sense in any way . . .
The outside door opened, and a female voice said, “Good, you’re awake. At least we won’t have to drag you to the wagon and dump you on top of the supplies.”
Jared leaped up, knocking over the chair, his heart hammering in his chest. It isn’t her, he thought as he looked at the startled dark-haired, green-eyed woman standing in the doorway. It isn’t her.
“Maybe we would have been better off if we had had to dump you on top of the supplies,” she muttered after a moment’s silence. Then she gave him one sharp-eyed, head-to-toe look that plainly said there were already too many troublesome males around for her liking, and he was going to be another one. “Better prance on out there. She’s ready to leave, and we wouldn’t want the prize dangle to get dragged along like a reluctant puppy on a leash, would we?”
Anger flooded him, but it had no heat, no bite. It was like his blood was being clogged with ashes instead of flowing with fire.
And there was something very wrong with the way he wasn’t responding to the presence of a witch, broken or not.
A sour taste filled the back of his mouth, and he started to shake.
The woman stepped forward, reaching out to him. “Are you still sick?”
Jared recoiled from her touch.
“He was doing fine until you came in,” Tomas snapped.
Her eyes frosted over until they were green ice. “Be careful, little man,” she said in an awful, quiet voice before she turned around and walked out.
“Are you still sick?” Tomas asked, looking anxious. “Should I tell the Lady you need to ride in the wagon?”
Jared continued to shake. When Tomas darted for the door, he managed to grab the boy’s arm.
“No,” Jared said, forcing the word out. “I’d—I’d rather walk.” He took a deep breath. Took another. “That was Thera?”
Tomas sighed. “That was Thera.”
With one hand on Tomas’s shoulder to steady himself, Jared left the guest servants’ quarters and slowly followed the pedlar’s wagon and the wary slaves who trailed behind it.
Thera had done him a favor without realizing it. At least he understood now.
He was still male. He still had the strength of the Red Jewels. He still had his skill in using Craft. What he had lost, what the wild stranger had taken away, was the fire and passion that made a Jeweled male a Warlord.
Chapter Six
Krelis didn’t stare at Dorothea SaDiablo, nor did he avert his eyes. One action would have been considered a challenge; the other, a lack of appreciation. Either error could cost a man freedom or flesh.
Instead, he looked at the disheveled young Warlord lying on the chaise lounge with Hayll’s High Priestess.
Not a pleasure slave, Krelis decided as he studied the young Warlord’s kiss-swollen, sulky mouth. Must be one of the toy-boys, maybe even an aristo youth from one of the Hundred Families who had been given the honor of serving in Dorothea’s court. Didn’t really matter, pleasure slave or toy-boy, except the toy-boys had social status so they couldn’t be physically mistreated that much, and were still considered men. Pleasure slaves were considered geldings who still had their balls.
At least some of them did.
Dorothea gave the young Warlord one more throat-swabbing kiss before leisurely rising from the chaise lounge. “Did she take the bait?” she asked as she buttoned her gown, her hands smoothing the material over her firm, small breasts.
Krelis took a deep breath to steady himself. “Yes, Priestess—”
She cut him off with a sharp, restrained hand gesture.
Krelis’s face tightened as the young Warlord smirked at him. He understood the youth’s need to make some attempt at superiority, however temporary it might be, but a Master of the Guard was considered the dominant warrior in a court, and any undermining of his authority might lead to actions that could put his Lady
at risk. The youth’s Yellow Jewel was no match for his Sapphire, and the difference in their Jewel rank was reason enough to give Dorothea’s new toy a disciplinary lesson. As for the difference in their social rank . . . If the young Warlord was an aristo from one of the Hundred Families and not from an offshoot, Krelis could become embroiled in the kind of quarrel that might lead to his dismissal—or worse.
He should have known Dorothea wouldn’t miss, or ignore, silent challenges between two males who served her.
Looking over her shoulder, Dorothea gave the youth a malevolent smile, and purred, “I won’t be long, darling. Why don’t you amuse yourself? I want you hot when I get back.”
Krelis felt no pleasure at seeing the distress in the youth’s eyes. They both knew Dorothea’s saying that in front of another man was punishment, and more humiliating than any physical discipline Krelis might have inflicted. They both knew a warrior was more valuable to the court than a handsome youth who could be replaced so easily. And they both knew what could happen if the toy-boy wasn’t ready to please Dorothea by the time she returned.
Krelis started to turn away, but Dorothea didn’t move. She continued to stare at the young Warlord until his eyes turned tear-bright and his muscles started to quiver. Swallowing hard, he opened his trousers all the way and slipped his hand inside.
Satisfied, Dorothea led Krelis out of her sitting room and began to stroll toward another wing of the SaDiablo mansion.
“So the bitch took the bait,” Dorothea said.
“Yes, Priestess.”
“But?”
Krelis’s mouth dried up. Sweat gathered in his armpits. “She disappeared. She bought passage for the westernmost station that could be reached by taking a Coach out of Raej, but when the Coach finally reached the station, it was several hours overdue and there was no one in it except the drivers. Neither of them could explain the lost hours nor what had happened to the Gray Lady and the slaves she’d purchased at the auction.”