by Anne Bishop
“I take it there wasn’t a Warlord Prince serving your previous Queen,” Jared said.
“Only him.” Blaed shrugged. “Minor Queens usually can’t lure a Warlord Prince to serve in their courts. And Territory Queens usually won’t let a minor Queen keep an enslaved Warlord Prince because he’s too hard to control.”
Minor Queens usually didn’t get a chance to hold the Sadist’s leash, either—unless the High Priestess of Hayll was rewarding them for some reason.
“How long were you in that court?”
“Six months altogether. He was there for the first four, then the contract that that Queen had with Dorothea SaDiablo ended and he was ‘loaned’ to another Queen.”
“Queens don’t usually give up a freshly trained pleasure slave,” Jared said thoughtfully. “Even if he is a Warlord Prince. She did know you were a Warlord Prince when she acquired you?”
Blaed nodded. “Although once he put the spell around me, everyone seemed to forget that. After he was gone, she became uneasy about using me, for no reason I could figure out, and sent me to Raej.”
There could have been other spells Sadi had wrapped around Blaed to cause that uneasiness and ensure that the young man would end up at Raej quickly—spells the Sadist wouldn’t have mentioned.
“Why?” Jared said quietly, thinking out loud. “Why would he go through the effort of making sure you ended up at Raej, where you’d just be sold to another witch?”
Blaed hesitated. “He was there when I was being sold. When it got down to his Lady and the Gray Lady being the only ones still bidding on me, his Lady stopped bidding all of a sudden. I think he . . . arranged . . . that so that I would end up with the Gray Lady.”
Jared swore under his breath. The Sadist and the Gray Lady. What in the name of Hell was he supposed to think about that?
Nothing, for the moment. Finding that clearing before they lost the light was the first priority.
They reached the lane. Hoping it was wide enough to accommodate the wagon, Jared waved at Thayne, who was leading the horses, and then pointed to the lane.
Thayne waved back.
As Jared and Blaed walked down the lane, looking for the entrance to the clearing, Jared thought of one thing that would change now that everyone knew Blaed was a Warlord Prince. “Since a Warlord Prince is a higher caste than a Warlord, that makes you the domin—”
“Forget it,” Blaed said sharply. “I wear the Opal; you wear the Red. That still makes you dominant as far as Jewel rank is concerned. And you’re older than I am.”
“Not by that much,” Jared muttered.
“By enough. And you made the Offering to the Darkness before you were made a slave, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” But you didn’t, Jared added silently. Which might explain why Blaed was willing to follow rather than lead. Maybe, despite Warlord Princes being born Warlord Princes, they had to mature into that temperament in the same way they matured into their full psychic strength. If Blaed had been a few years older or had made the Offering before he’d been enslaved, he probably wouldn’t have yielded so easily to another male regardless of which one of them wore the darker Jewel.
“Besides,” Blaed said, confirming Jared’s speculations, “you haven’t done anything I would have done differently.”
“I’m so pleased you approve,” Jared said sourly.
Blaed kept his eyes on the trees and thick clumps of bushes on the left-hand side of the lane. “Maybe I don’t want to become a battleground the way you are. Maybe I’m just trying to avoid that day for as long as possible.”
Jared stopped walking. Blaed stopped and turned to face him.
“You know,” Jared said, choking on the words. “You all know, and yet—”
“No,” Blaed said. “The rest of them don’t know. They see what you’ve chosen to let them see—a dominant male.”
“Then why do you know?”
“Because I’m standing on the edge of the same battleground.” Blaed smiled bitterly. “If I wasn’t a slave, I would’ve made the Offering a couple of months ago and settled into what I am instead of trying to keep it leashed. I’m guessing it’s the same with you. My father would say you haven’t grown into your skin yet.”
Instead of responding to that remark, Jared started walking. He wouldn’t think of it now. Couldn’t think of it now— especially because he felt the wild stranger stirring deep inside him.
But he was so shaken by Blaed’s words, he didn’t notice the Sapphire psychic wire strung across the lane until he tripped over it and landed hard in the mud.
A moment later, Blaed let out a shout that had Jared scrambling to his feet, expecting an ambush of some kind. When nothing happened, he swore with all the creative violence he could muster.
“Do that again without a good reason and I’ll break your neck,” Jared snarled.
Blaed ignored that remark and pointed to thickly entwined bushes that didn’t look any different than the others. “There’s a gate there. Or something. Some of the bushes shimmered when you tripped.”
They tried every opening or unlocking spell they could think of. Nothing.
“Why would a Warlord Prince put a Sapphire trip wire across the lane?” Jared asked Blaed.
“Wasn’t meant as a trip wire,” Blaed replied absently as he continued to study the bushes. “You were supposed to sense it and stop. Since he went through the effort of making sure we stopped here, that means the entrance to the clearing is here. Somewhere.”
Jared looked around. If Blaed was right, the key to getting into the clearing had to be nearby.
Walking back to the place where he’d tripped, Jared studied both sides of the lane. Opposite the bushes Blaed said had shimmered was a tumble of boulders as tall as an average man, and furry with moss.
Something about their shape tugged at him, disappearing when he took a couple of steps closer. He stepped back, and kept stepping back, until he was on the other side of the lane. He looked at the stones again and swore silently.
He was either losing his mind or his self-control, because the way the boulders had tumbled together, they looked like a woman clothed in moss rising up from among the other stones.
Smiling bitterly, Jared crossed the lane, then reached out and cupped a stone breast.
Polli’s face flashed through his mind.
His fingers bit into the moss as another face filled his mind. It wavered between young and old, but there was no mistaking those hard gray eyes. If any woman had stone breasts to match a stone heart, it was the Gray Lady.
He felt the slight tingle of a spell being keyed. A moment later, Blaed let out a yip of surprise.
Jared twisted around, his eyes widening as a section of the bushes changed into a simple wood pole strung with vines.
He hurried away from the boulders before Blaed turned to look at him, not really sure why he felt the need to keep access to this place a secret from the rest of them.
“How’d you unkey the illusion spell?” Blaed asked.
The wagon came around a curve in the lane, saving Jared from having to think of a lie.
“I’ll check things out,” Jared told Blaed as they lifted the wooden pole off its supporting posts and laid it aside. “You bring the others in.”
Jared took a deep breath and cautiously followed the straight path that led to the clearing. It was barely wide enough for the pedlar’s wagon and longer than he expected. His careful psychic probes didn’t tell him anything. That didn’t make him feel easier. If that rogue had been able to persuade a Black Widow to make the illusion spell to hide the entrance to the clearing, were there other illusions he wasn’t able to detect?
Passing between the two stone posts that marked the end of the path, Jared stepped into the clearing. He waited a moment, straining all of his senses to detect anything that might be a danger to them, then sighed with relief when nothing happened.
The clearing itself was fairly large—a couple of acres surrounded by trees and t
hick undergrowth on three sides, backed by a steep, rocky hill. On the left side of the clearing was a corral and a small stone building built into the hill. It was large enough to shelter half a dozen animals in bad weather, or at least keep feed and gear dry. Also built into the hill was a one-story stone building. Between the building and the corral was a small wooden structure that probably contained the privy hole.
Jared couldn’t summon up enough interest for whatever else the clearing might contain. As soon as he figured out how to rekey the illusion spell on the gate, he was going to spend his thoughts and energy on nothing but getting dry, getting fed, and going to sleep.
The wagon passed him, its wheels almost scraping the stone posts that marked the clearing boundary. The other slaves followed behind the saddle horses.
As he passed Jared, Blaed said, “I put the pole back in place,” then pointed a thumb over his shoulder.
Jared’s breath huffed out in an impatient sigh as he waited for Garth who was, for the first time, trailing behind everyone instead of roaming ahead.
“Come on, Garth,” Jared said, waving the big man forward.
Garth stopped two yards away from the stone posts, and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. His head swiveled in the opposite rhythm as he kept eyeing the posts.
“Come on,” Jared snapped.
Garth raised his hands, then let them slap against his thighs. He seemed to want to say something, but he made no sound. Finally, he let out a low, distressed cry and bolted past the posts.
“Hell’s fire,” Jared muttered, watching Garth trot toward the others. The big man stumbled a little every time he looked anxiously over his shoulder at Jared.
Jared turned his back on the group and stared uneasily at the stone posts with their rounded tops. Were they supposed to be a rogue’s idea of a bitter joke or a blatant symbol of male strength?
He didn’t have time to decide because, seconds later, he realized Garth must have understood something about the posts that he hadn’t.
A psychic storm swiftly began to surround the clearing. Jared felt it hum along his nerves and scratch at his bones, felt the pressure of power that would build and build until its destructive release tore through anyone who wasn’t strong enough to withstand the onslaught. Hell’s fire. There must be a spell set in the posts to trigger all the defensive spells around the clearing if some key wasn’t used within a certain amount of time. But what key? Where? That rogue bastard hadn’t mentioned this. Had the omission been deliberate?
With his heart beating so hard it pounded in his temples, Jared looked at the wagon pulled up close to the stone building and the people standing near it. There wasn’t time for them to run across the clearing and down the path before the defensive spells triggered and the psychic storm hit.
He hadn’t realized he’d been descending instinctively to the level of the Red until he felt the wild stranger’s presence as keenly as if he’d stepped into its lair. And, in a sense, he had. Here he could tap his full strength. Here his power was raw, primal—and savage. Here it belonged to the part of himself he had tried to push away and deny.
Now he reached for the strength of the Red, regardless of the cost, using it to quickly probe the gathering storm.
Layer upon layer upon layer of protection spells, defensive spells, spells honed to destroy flesh but not hurt the land. White, Tiger Eye, Rose, Purple Dusk, Opal, Sapphire. Strength woven into strength.
Jared probed further, fully aware of how their time was running out. He almost withdrew, but decided to check the last couple of layers of spells just to be certain his idea would work.
It should work. If he formed a Red shield around everyone, and if the Gray Lady formed a Gray shield just behind it, they should be able to withstand the storm. They might lose the horses, but even all the spells combined shouldn’t be able to completely destroy a Gr—
As his Red probe touched the last layer, his heart stuttered. He forgot how to breathe.
They weren’t going to survive.
Forming a tight net above all the other layers of strength was the Ebon-gray, the second-darkest Jewel.
The only Ebon-gray in the Realm of Terreille was Lucivar Yaslana, a half-breed Eyrien Warlord Prince who was Daemon Sadi’s half brother.
He’d only heard stories about Yaslana. They made the Sadist sound like an amiable man. He didn’t want to imagine what had been added to that Ebon-gray spell, but he was certain it would be able to smash through Red and Gray shields—and smash through their minds as well.
A shriek of terror and an anguished cry made him focus on the physical world.
Little Cathryn was doubled over, clutching her head. So was Tomas. Thera and the Gray Lady were reaching for the children.
Savage rage flooded through him, cooled by a growing fear as all the power around the clearing began to constrict and press down on their minds. He didn’t feel anything yet except a pressure coming from beyond himself, but the weakest of them would be the first to be destroyed. And the weakest were the children and the two adults who were broken—Garth and Thera.
Hell’s fire, the rain had drowned his wits. The Warlord Prince would have told the Gray Lady! Not enough time to reach her physically, and no time to worry about breaking rules. He directed a Red communication thread at her. *Lady. . . *
Nothing.
She was holding on to Tomas, probably shielding the boy’s mind with her strength.
Which was no reason not to answer him!
Jared tried again. Hell’s fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful! She wore the Gray. Of course she could hear the Red!
Painfully aware he was losing precious seconds, he tried a Sapphire thread. When he got no answer, he used a Green communication thread, putting a bit of temper in the sending. *Lady.*
The Gray Lady whipped around to face him.
*How do we quiet the protection spells?* Jared demanded.
Her fear pounded against him. *He said you’d know the key. I thought he told you.*
Jared’s mind blanked for a second. *Why in the name of Hell would he think I’d know?*
*I don’t know.*
With the words, Jared caught a whiff of memory from her. Your Warlord will know the key.
Your Warlord. The words assumed a bond a slave would never dream of, an honorable bond of service between a male and his Queen.
Damn that rogue bastard to the bowels of Hell, was this some kind of test!
It didn’t matter. If they were going to survive, he had to stop thinking like a slave and start thinking like a Warlord.
Jared turned back to the posts. Garth had sensed—or understood—something about them, and it made sense that the key wouldn’t be hard to reach if the rogues weren’t going to put themselves at risk every time they entered the clearing. Which meant it had to be here!
Damn you, he thought as he felt the wild stranger pushing at him. Damn you. Help me!
It exploded from its hiding place. He wanted to howl as its savagery filled him, flooded him, as razor-edged instincts blinded his ability to think. A moment later, it retreated, leaving him feeling raw and viciously clear-minded.
Sweating heavily despite the cold and the rain, Jared created a large ball of witchlight.
On the facing sides of the posts, someone had carved the thirteen ancient symbols of power deep into the stone—six on the left post, seven on the right.
How was he supposed to choose the right three?
Jared paused, then shook his head. Of course it was three.
He found the symbol for male on the left stone. His finger hesitated over it before moving to the triangle beneath it. Using Craft, he traced the triangle’s deep lines with one finger, filling them with witchlight.
In a court, the male triangle of Consort, Steward, and Master of the Guard formed the tightest bond with the Queen. They were companions, advisors, protectors.
None of the other symbols on the left post pulled him, so he turned to the r
ight. His finger traced the outline of the symbol for female.
The male triangle was the core of a court, but the Queen, the female, was always its heart.
He sank to his knees and traced the last symbol carved into the post, the Blood’s most revered symbol—the symbol for the Darkness.
The Blood honored the Darkness because it meant endings and beginnings; it was the fertile dark of land and womb that nurtured the seeds of life; it was the psychic river the Blood came from and returned to; it was the abyss the Self descended into to reach its own strength; it was the vastness that contained the spiderweb-shaped psychic roadways called the Winds. It was all those things, and more.
As the last line filled with witchlight, Jared felt the jolt of power funneling into the stone posts. The witchlight in the symbols became so bright he had to squint. It flashed once and then faded, the little bit of power he’d used to create it already expended.
In that moment after the flash, Jared saw a pale triangle form between the three symbols before it, too, faded.
The protection spells quieted. The psychic storm quickly dissipated. Rekeyed, the illusion spell turned a wood pole strung with vines into thick, unpassable undergrowth.
Jared stayed on his knees, too tired and shaken to stand up. He sank back on his heels, his head bent, his hands resting loosely on his thighs. This exhaustion wasn’t caused by draining too much of his power. He used more than that for everyday living. It wasn’t even caused by the sharp fear he’d felt.
For a few moments when the wild stranger had filled him, he had felt so alive and whole. Now he felt empty and hollowed out again, and it cut at him. But he wasn’t sure he was ready to fully embrace that part of himself, to bind himself to that kind of responsibility, and until he was . . .
Strong hands gripped his arms and pulled him up. Blaed smiled solemnly. Brock looked respectful.
“Let’s get you inside,” Brock said.
“The horses.” Jared’s voice sounded thick.
“I’ll help Thayne and Randolf with the horses.”