by Anne Bishop
Jared raked one hand through his dark hair and swore when the rain squeezed out by the motion trickled down his back.
Thirteen men, all of them wearing Jewels. He’d pulled back the moment his psychic probe had touched the Sapphire shield and he realized it belonged to a Warlord Prince, so there hadn’t been time to discern how dark the other Jewels were. The Sapphire was probably the strongest among them, but that didn’t help much. If he were free to use the Red Jewels, he could take a Warlord wearing the Sapphire. But the Red were only one Jewel rank darker than the Sapphire. That wasn’t enough of an advantage against a man who was, by his very nature, a killer. A Warlord Prince wasn’t going to stand back and let anyone strike at his lighter-Jeweled followers. And if he was rogue, he had nothing to lose and everything to gain from a fast, vicious strike that would leave most of them helpless.
Except the Gray. If that Gray strength was unleashed . . .
Jared shuddered, his mind suddenly filled with the image of a chess piece scampering around the board, attacking, defending.
You’re a slave. Remember that! You’re a slave.
It should have mattered. It didn’t. He couldn’t stand by and watch the Gray Lady risk herself in a battle while there was one man among them who was still standing.
The Warlord Prince and his men came into sight a couple of minutes later. In the waning light and the rain, they were nothing more than dark, moving shapes, but he felt the power that swirled around them.
And the anger.
For a moment he just stood there, torn between his instincts to protect and the reality of his position. As a slave, he was forbidden to wear the Jewels, and without that reservoir of power, all he had was the strength that was always within him. Granted, it was a deeper well than most of the Blood had, but not enough against a Sapphire who could draw on his reserves and sustain the attack.
Jared turned away and kept a measured stride as he walked back to where the wagon had stopped. He felt a swift, light probe brush against his inner barriers and pushed back instinctively, letting the Warlord Prince know for certain that he would face one man who was a Jewel rank darker.
As he approached the wagon, he smiled grimly. Interesting how easily all the males had responded to the protective instinct. Brock and Randolf had placed themselves so they effectively blocked the narrow road. Ludicrous since they weren’t wearing Jewels and didn’t have any weapons. Then he caught the look in Brock’s blue eyes and wondered what hidden things the guard might be carrying.
Garth hovered near the wagon. The children and Polli were bunched next to the rear wheel. Thayne held the team of horses and anxiously watched Blaed, who was standing in the middle of the road, a peculiar, blank expression in his hazel eyes.
A jolt of realization swept through Jared, strong enough to take his breath away. Mother Night. Courteous, easygoing Blaed was a Warlord Prince.
As their eyes met, Jared felt some emotion—pain? regret?—flash through Blaed.
Knowing he’d have to talk to the younger man later—if there was a later—Jared nodded as he passed Blaed and continued to the wagon.
The shutters that gave access to the driving seat were wide-open. Shoulder to shoulder, Thera and the Gray Lady watched the road.
“Rogues or marauders?” Thera asked as Jared reached them.
Jared looked back. The thirteen men had stopped, barely visible in the rain.
He almost asked what difference it made, but his attention was caught by the quickly hidden look of relief in the Gray Lady’s eyes.
“Rogues,” she said quietly.
Thera narrowed her eyes and studied the Gray Lady. “They can be more vicious than marauders, and that’s a Warlord Prince leading them.”
Saying nothing, the Gray Lady backed away from the opening.
Thera gave Jared a puzzled look and followed.
A few seconds later, the shutters were slammed shut with enough force to startle the horses and the sharp, muffled voices told Jared a hot-tempered argument had started.
It ended just as abruptly.
Jared’s body tightened as his anger warred with his fear: anger because the two of them were indulging in a temper tantrum while all of them were at risk from an outside danger; and fear because the continued silence might mean one of them, namely Thera, was badly injured—or dead.
The door opened a few minutes later. The Gray Lady emerged, followed by Thera, who was carrying one of the cloth bags they used to store spare clothes.
Jared breathed a sigh of relief when Thera appeared, only then aware of how badly his legs were shaking.
“Polli, come with me,” the Gray Lady said quietly.
No one moved. No one made a sound.
“Polli, come with me,” she said again, holding out her hand.
Polli looked at the Gray Lady, then looked at the rogues whose features were obscured by the rain. She backed away from the Gray Lady, shaking her head. “No. It’s my moon-time. I don’t have to spread my legs when it’s my moon-time.” She continued backing away as the Gray Lady slowly advanced. When she bumped the front wheel, her hands closed fiercely around the spokes. “It’s my moon-time,” she wailed, slowly folding up until she was sitting on the muddy road, her hands still clutching the spokes.
Because he wanted to argue and didn’t dare, Jared stepped back until he bumped into Blaed. Betrayal burned his throat and stomach. Despite all of his experience during the past nine years, he’d begun to respect the Gray Lady. Now she was trading Polli—Polli!—to a pack of rogues so the rest of them could leave without a fight.
What made it even worse was that he understood her reasoning. Rogues tended to be more vicious because they had a price on their heads. They were either escaped slaves, or they’d broken their service contract with a Queen, or they’d refused to serve when a Queen had chosen them for her court. But they were still men, and any of them who hadn’t been castrated would enjoy having a female to mount.
And who else could she give them? Sharp-tongued Thera, who was intelligent and useful? Little Cathryn?
Bracing one hand on the wheel, the Gray Lady leaned over and spoke to Polli, her voice too low for Jared to hear. As she spoke, she brushed a hand over Polli’s head.
She must have used a calming spell, he concluded bitterly as the fear gradually left Polli’s face.
The Gray Lady straightened up slowly. Polli scrambled to her feet. Looking thoughtful, Thera hugged Polli and handed her the cloth sack. The Gray Lady linked her arm with Polli’s and, walking with care, led her toward the rogues.
Bitch, Jared thought as he watched the two women. What lies did you tell her to make her so accepting?
There was tightness in Brock’s expression and anger in Randolf’s eyes as the women passed them. Jared suspected that, if the trade didn’t work, both men would be able to suppress their instincts sufficiently to let the Gray bitch fight her own battles.
“What’s going on?” Blaed whispered.
Since the answer seemed obvious, Jared didn’t bother to reply.
The Sapphire-Jeweled Warlord Prince urged his horse forward, meeting the two women halfway between his men and the wagon. He dismounted slowly, his eyes never leaving the Gray Lady. His lean, hard body moved with a warrior’s grace as he cautiously approached, one hand resting easily on the hilt of the knife attached to his belt.
Too far away to hear, and not daring to probe in case it produced a violent reaction, Jared watched the negotiations. After one long, searching look, the Warlord Prince ignored Polli and seemed to listen courteously to the Gray Lady’s offer.
Hell’s fire, what if the man wanted to inspect Thera and Cathryn before accepting the woman offered?
A long few minutes later, the Warlord Prince raised his left hand. Two of his men immediately came forward and dismounted. One of them took Polli’s bag and tied it to his saddle. The other led Polli to the Warlord Prince’s horse and helped her mount.
Jared narrowed his eyes. All the stor
ies he’d heard about rogues said they lived hard, desperate lives, so emotionally scarred by Queens and courts that they wouldn’t yield to the distaff gender for any reason. Any female unfortunate enough to fall into their hands could only expect to be viciously used for the most basic and base needs.
So why did the Warlord who had helped Polli mount handle her so gently? Why was this Warlord Prince still listening courteously to the Gray Lady?
They talked for several more minutes. At one point, the Warlord Prince seemed aggravated enough that it took considerable effort to keep his temper leashed. At another point, he shook his head, his regret obvious. That’s when the Gray Lady’s shoulders sagged as if a great weight had settled on them.
When there didn’t seem to be anything more to say, the Warlord Prince took her hand and raised it to his lips.
As he watched, Jared felt the emotional ground shift beneath him again. That gesture wasn’t a meaningless salute as it would have been in a court. A rogue Warlord Prince who wore Jewels as dark as the Sapphire wouldn’t bother with empty gestures. And it wasn’t mockery.
Why would a rogue deliberately show his respect for a Queen?
Jared turned that thought over and over while the Gray Lady slowly limped back to the wagon. Her face looked pinched and pained, and she seemed more frail than she had a few minutes ago.
Brock and Randolf stepped aside as she reached them. If ordered to, they would have assisted her, but that subtle defiance—forcing a Queen to order every small thing she wanted from a slave—was the only safe way for a man to show disrespect. He couldn’t be faulted because he did exactly what he’d been told to do. He just didn’t do anything beyond that.
Jared watched her approach, knowing he’d have to make a decision within the next few seconds. He’d declared himself the dominant male. If he acted like a slave and stepped aside as Brock and Randolf had done, the others would accept that decision and act accordingly. If he responded as his instincts demanded and helped her, the others would, grudgingly, accept that, too.
The mental shove struck him without warning, the anger behind it hitting his inner barriers like heavy surf. He turned his head and met the Warlord’s Prince’s stare.
*She deserves the best you can give her,* the man said, using a Sapphire spear thread.
*She deserves whatever she can squeeze out of a slave,* Jared snapped, unwilling to let this stranger sense how much her betrayal of trust hurt him.
They stared at each other, the other rogues and slaves forgotten.
*It seems I misjudged you,* the man sneered. *Despite your Jewels, you don’t have balls enough and you aren’t man enough to serve her.*
The Warlord Prince strode to his horse and mounted behind Polli, his contempt apparent in every line of his body. At his signal, his men turned their horses and rode back down the road.
Polli leaned to one side and looked back once.
The Warlord Prince didn’t look back at all.
Jared shook with anger. How dare that son of a whoring bitch judge him? It was one thing not to do more than what was demanded in order to make it clear he wasn’t there by his own choice. It was quite another to have a stranger, a man who hadn’t had the balls to remain with the Queen who had chosen him, say he wasn’t worthy of serving.
He turned on his heel. In three strides, he caught up to the Gray Lady at the same moment Thera reached her. Thera didn’t look at him. She couldn’t have picked up the argument since it had been conducted on a Sapphire spear thread, so the implied disapproval was her own judgment. Stung, he reacted by grabbing the Gray Lady’s arm hard enough to make her gasp. He loosened his hold without apologizing for causing her pain and struggled to keep his temper leashed while he and Thera assisted the Gray Lady to the wagon’s door.
She tried to raise her right leg to step up, but the knee wouldn’t bend.
Thera swore under her breath.
Whatever the Gray Lady might have said in response remained unsaid because she noticed the children solemnly watching her. Shadows filled her gray eyes as her gaze moved from Eryk to Corry to Cathryn and, finally, lingered on Tomas.
“At least one of them is safe now,” she said so quietly Jared almost missed the words. Then she looked back at him. “A mile or so down the road, there’s a lane on the right-hand side. Follow the lane for another mile. On the left-hand side, there’ll be an entrance to a clearing that has some kind of a shelter. We’ll camp there tonight.”
A lot of orders were implied in those words, the main one being that he would lead them to the shelter. If he was going to force her to acknowledge the enslavement instead of pretending he was serving her as if he were a free man, now was the time to make it clear she was going to have to give specific orders for each action.
The pain and weariness in her face, the shadows in her eyes, and the anxiety he could sense in her stopped him as much as the Warlord Prince’s condemnation.
“I’ll take care of it,” Jared said quietly, making sure his voice remained neutral and in no way implied loyalty. He wasn’t certain she deserved loyalty, no matter what that rogue bastard thought, but he was cold, wet, and hungry, and no defiance right now was worth delaying the moment when they could eat and rest. But, Hell’s fire, seeing her in pain chewed at him until he wanted to lash out at something, anything, until her pain went away.
Leading with her left leg, the Gray Lady climbed the steps into the wagon. Thera glanced sharply at Jared and said nothing as she followed the Gray Lady inside.
If the other men noticed an edge in his voice when he gave the order to move on, no one mentioned it. They didn’t question his insistence that Cathryn and Corry sit on the driving seat and Eryk and Tomas ride the saddle horses tied to the back of the wagon since it was the most sensible way of keeping an eye on the children. Nor did they question his order that Brock and Randolf take up a rearguard position. And one look at his face made them swallow any comments they might have made about the oddly protective way Garth walked beside the wagon instead of rambling ahead as usual. He had made the decision that, at least for the time being, they weren’t going to act like slaves, and no one was going to challenge that decision.
Taking point, Jared walked ahead of the wagon, trying to sort through his conflicting emotions. He’d seen the Gray Lady hand a slave over to a pack of rogues, and he couldn’t ignore the bitterness it produced in him any more than he could ignore the way his protective instincts kept pushing at him. But that Warlord Prince kissing her hand, making that deliberate gesture of respect. Was there a hidden reason for handing Polli over to that rogue bastard? Maybe not hidden, just not obvious. There were things about the Gray Lady that he didn’t understand—yet. That made him uneasy.
And where were the rest of them going if a pack of rogues was considered the safer choice?
Blaed had been walking a couple of steps behind him for several minutes. Jared waved him forward, no longer able to ignore the younger man’s unhappiness or his own curiosity.
“Thayne knew about you,” Jared said, keeping his voice conversational.
Blaed shrugged, an action that seemed more resigned than unconcerned. “We’ve been friends since we were boys, even though he’s a couple of years older than me, so he would have known.”
And had been enough of a friend to say nothing. “How did you do it?”
“I didn’t,” Blaed said quickly, his hazel eyes holding a plea for acceptance—and a hint of defiance that was more in keeping with his true nature.
You can’t help being what you are, Jared thought as he looked at the young Warlord Prince, any more than men like Brock and Randolf can help being wary of what you are. “Someone else put a spell on you to hide your . . .?” His voice trailed off as he tried to think of some way to phrase it that wouldn’t sound insulting.
Blaed bit his lip and nodded. “He said a Warlord Prince my age, being used as a pleasure slave, would be twisted out of all recognition or have the heart torn out of him. He said I hadn�
�t come into my strength yet and had too much potential to be wasted that way.” Blaed gulped. “So he put this spell around me. He said it would mask what I was as long as I was around Warlords, but another Warlord Prince’s presence could break it.”
He. A male who could create a spell so subtle no one had realized it existed. No blurring of Blaed’s psychic scent, no sense of Craft. Just a masking of an essential difference between Blaed and the rest of them.
Jared felt a chill run up his spine that had nothing to do with the falling temperature or the rain. He studied Blaed as if he’d never seen him before. A good-looking face that would mature into a handsome one. A well-toned body that needed to fill out a little more. Medium-brown hair that was long enough for a woman to run her hands through it. Hazel eyes that reflected a temperament that hadn’t sharpened yet.
Looks meant nothing. It was the potential within the flesh that had to be considered carefully—and, also, who would recognize that potential and want to shape and hone it into a fine, sharp weapon.
“You know the Sadist.” Jared didn’t make it a question.
Blaed paled a little. “I think he’s the reason I ended up at Raej so quickly. My training was . . . accelerated.”
Jared snorted. “I’ll bet the part of the training you were supposed to be learning got accelerated, too.”
Blaed’s eyes widened.
Jared’s lips curled up in a twisted smile. “He trained me, too.”
There was no need to put into words that uneasy mixture of revulsion and excitement, the embarrassment of feeling like a voyeur when the young men who were being trained watched an experienced pleasure slave play a woman’s body until mild arousal became blinding heat and she screamed throughout a prolonged climax. No need to talk about the shame they’d felt because they had stiffened and ached for release while Sadi rose from the bed as flaccid as he’d been before the first kiss. No need to talk about the private lessons, those times when that bored, cold expression that so effectively masked the Sadist’s thoughts and feelings was set aside and they’d seen enough of the man beneath to feel trust and terror.