by Anne Bishop
“I can—”
“You’ve done enough,” Brock said sharply.
“You’ve done enough,” Blaed agreed quietly.
Jared gave in, needing their support more than he wanted to admit.
As they walked toward the one-story stone building, Garth hurried up to them, stopping just short of barreling into Jared. The big man studied Jared’s face for a moment, then made a sound like a grunt of satisfaction, and hurried away.
Thayne smiled shyly and raised his hand in a casual salute.
Randolf stood by the corral, watching Garth, his expression unreadable.
Jared was too tired for Randolfs moods, but he couldn’t quite dismiss the man’s animosity for the broken Warlord.
“We should pay more attention to Garth,” Jared said quietly as they neared the building.
Brock made an exasperated sound. “Garth’s not that bad. It could’ve happened to any of us.”
“He knew about those protection spells before the rest of us did.”
A brittle silence followed Jared’s words.
“He was the last one,” Jared insisted. “Nothing started to happen while he was still on the path, so I’d guess there’s something built into those spells to make sure all the rogues have time to get into the clearing. It’s the last person in who has to rekey the illusion spell in order to stop the defensive spells from triggering. If I’d paid attention to his distress, we would have had more time to figure out the key before the storm came down on us.”
“You don’t know that,” Blaed protested, keeping his voice low.
“All I’m saying is Garth seems to understand some things. Maybe it’s a holdover from his training. Hell’s fire, I don’t know. But we’d be fools not to pay more attention to what sets him off.”
“All right,” Brock said. “I’ll—”
The door opened.
Brock and Blaed released their supportive hold on Jared’s arms.
Jared walked toward the Gray Lady, alone.
In the light coming through the open door, her gray eyes looked almost black from exhaustion. Her voice quavered when she quietly asked him if he was all right. She looked frail, and he suspected her pride was the only thing keeping her on her feet.
Her frailty made him want to push her until she struck out and proved she was still strong and powerful.
“Thank you, Warlord,” she said solemnly.
“I live to serve, Lady,” he replied, his voice lightly laced with bitterness to hide another emotion he didn’t want to acknowledge.
Tears filled her eyes. She turned and retreated into the room as quickly as she could manage with her injured knee.
Jared rocked back as if she’d slapped him. Shame filled him until he wasn’t sure he could stand beneath the weight of it. He tried to dredge up enough anger to burn away the shame, but it wouldn’t come.
Swallowing hard, Jared looked behind him. Brock and Blaed had discreetly disappeared to finish the chores.
“Jared?” Tomas stood in the doorway. “You coming in or you going to stand there letting the rain in until Thera gets mad enough to hit you with a skillet?”
“Maybe it would help,” Jared muttered as he followed the boy inside and firmly closed the door.
Silence strained tempers already frayed by fear and exhaustion, broken only by the scrape of utensils against plates and murmured requests to pass something that couldn’t easily be reached. They choked on the food that had been bought with a young witch’s life, but they ate it. Their bodies needed fuel. Landens might envy the Blood’s magical powers, but they didn’t understand the price that went with it; didn’t understand how fiercely that inner fire could burn, especially in those who wore the darker Jewels; didn’t understand how quickly it could consume the body that housed it if no other fuel was available.
So they ate in silence, never meeting each other’s eyes, each one wondering whose life might pay for the next meal, the next shelter.
Jared sighed with relief when the meal finally ended.
Thera picked up her plate and walked over to the kitchen area of the large single room to begin cleaning up. Within moments, the only ones left sitting on the benches on either side of the long wooden table were Jared and the Gray Lady.
He’d deliberately sat at the opposite end on the opposite side, as far away from her as he could get. Now, with the others dallying with the last chores in order to stay away from her and nothing but the long table separating them, he looked at her for the first time since she’d met him at the doorway and thanked him.
After a minute, she raised her head and met his cold stare.
There was nothing in her gray eyes. Nothing at all. As if all the fire in her had been doused.
Then she flinched and fixed her eyes on the chipped blue jug filled with autumn wildflowers that sat on the table.
Why? Jared wanted to ask her. He could understand that Sapphire-Jeweled bastard riding back here ahead of them to create the psychic wire in order to make sure they found the clearing. But why had the man taken the time to fill a jug with flowers? Because he was certain the Warlord Prince had done just that.
He understood the rogues giving up the shelter and providing supplies in exchange for Polli, even if that son of a whoring bitch hadn’t given them the key for the protection spells. But the flowers gnawed at him. They were a sign of affection, something a man gave a woman to lift her spirits. Was the Warlord Prince that grateful to get a female? Or was there another reason for the gesture?
Jared watched her reach out and delicately touch the petals of a dark-orange flower. He didn’t ask.
His bitter reply when she had thanked him had wounded her deeply. It shouldn’t have mattered, but it did—because a rogue who should have hated her for owning slaves had given her flowers.
She rose slowly, her hands braced on the table to support her.
Jared clenched his fists and forced himself to stay seated as she slowly, painfully, limped toward the door.
The other men glanced at her, glanced at him, and quickly looked away. He was the dominant male. His refusal to help her amounted to an order for the rest of them, and only a direct order from her would countermand it.
She had reached the door before Tomas spoke up. “Lady? Aren’t you going to tell us the next part of the story?”
Jared turned to look at her. Her eyes were closed. Pain deepened the lines in her face.
“Not tonight,” she said in a husky voice. She stepped out into the rain, hobbling over slippery ground to the wagon.
Guilt stabbed at Jared. As glad as they were to get away from her, she was even more relieved to get away from them. A Queen should never feel that way about the males who served her.
Jared shook his head. He didn’t serve her. She had bought him. He owed her no loyalty. No matter how many back roads they traveled, they’d have to come close to the Winds sooner or later. That’s when he’d try to slip the leash. To go home long enough to see his family, and talk to Reyna.
The dishes were washed and put away about the same time the thin mattresses, blankets, and pillows that they’d found in the cupboards that filled the left side wall were spread out over the floor.
As Jared started pulling off his boots, he noticed Thera’s longing glance at the hipbath and folded screen that stood in one corner of the room. He understood the longing. He’d been wet for three days, but that didn’t mean he felt clean.
Shaking her head, Thera picked up the kettle heating on the stove, dropped a gauze herb bag into two mugs, and filled them with hot water.
Jared shoved his foot back into the boot and went over to her. “We could move the hipbath over near the stove for warmth,” he said quietly. “It wouldn’t take much Craft to heat the water, and the screen would give you privacy.”
Thera didn’t look at him. Picking up a spoon, she poked at the herb bags. “Is that how it works among your people? Giving one woman an extra dollop of courtesy evens out giving another one no
ne at all?”
Jared’s temper flared, but he kept his voice even. “You approve of what she did today?”
“Even good Queens sometimes have to make bitter choices.” Thera lifted the herb bags out of the mugs, set them in a small bowl, and picked up the mugs. “Step aside, Lord Jared. I want to turn in now.”
“You’re going out to the wagon,” he said accusingly.
Her green eyes became shadowed with something that sent a shiver up his spine, reminding him that, even when she was broken, it was wiser not to tangle with a Black Widow.
“Are you going to try and stop me?” she asked too gently.
Jared stepped aside. When she closed the door behind her, he let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
A few minutes later, little Cathryn realized she was the only female in a room full of men.
“Where’s Thera?” she asked, her eyes darting around the room as if looking for a way to escape.
“Thera’s staying in the wagon,” Jared said soothingly. “She and the Gray Lady need to be alone tonight.”
The men stirred, instinctively wanting to ease Cathryn’s fear while bitterly knowing there was nothing they could do without escalating that fear into full-scale panic.
Corry worried his lower lip while he watched Cathryn. Then he pushed his mattress over until it touched hers. “It’ll be all right, Cathryn. I’ll sleep right beside you.”
“You can’t,” Cathryn said shrilly. “You’re a boy.”
Blaed cleared his throat. “Since Corry’s taken on the duties of an escort, it seems to me he’s entitled to claim Escort’s Privilege.”
Cathryn looked uncertain.
Corry looked hopeful.
Eryk and Tomas looked envious.
Jared closed his eyes. Sweet Darkness, please don’t let them start squabbling. Cathryn couldn’t handle it, and the rest of them wouldn’t tolerate it.
“What’s that mean?” Cathryn finally asked.
Blaed tugged at his collar as if it had suddenly become too tight. “Well, it means that, when a Lady is feeling a bit nervous for any reason, it’s an escort’s duty and privilege to stay nearby, especially when she’s sleeping.”
“Really?” Cathryn said doubtfully.
Blaed put one hand over his heart. “Really. My cousin served as an escort, and he explained it to me.”
No one spoke. No one dared move until Cathryn lay down on the mattress and shyly smiled while Corry tucked the blanket around her.
His eyes shining with pride and pleasure, Corry got settled on his own mattress, as close to the edge as possible.
Jared looked away to hide his smile. He’d bet his boots that, by morning, those two would be curled up together like two puppies.
The rest of them settled down. The candlelights that sat on a couple of small tables tucked against the walls were extinguished, but the fire in the hearth still provided enough light to see by.
Jared pulled off his boots and set them beside his mattress. Tucking the blanket around him, he vanished the rest of his clothes and sighed with pleasure. With luck, he’d be up early enough to wash before Cathryn woke up, before Thera and the Gray Lady stirred.
Despite his fatigue, sleep was a long time coming. The events of the day kept chasing each other, refusing to be stilled. He thought about the pride and pleasure in Corry’s eyes, thought about Thera’s remark about courtesy. No matter how he justified it, he couldn’t dismiss the knowledge that he, not Thera, should have been sleeping in the wagon tonight. He was the experienced pleasure slave. This would have been a perfect opportunity for the Gray Lady to use him without calling attention to it. And he could have used those private hours to learn more about her, which was essential if he wanted to find a way around the Invisible Ring, to ease his way home.
Too late now.
Jared looked at the jug of flowers sitting on the wooden table and couldn’t shake the feeling that, somehow, he’d made a mistake.
Chapter Ten
Krelis settled into a corner of the small carriage, soothed by the driver’s murmurs and the horse’s clip-clop rhythm. He could have hired one of the horseless coaches that were starting to fill up Draega’s wide streets and replace this quainter way of traveling, but they never felt quite right. Besides, there was something a little distasteful about using Craft to perform a task previously done by an animal. Oh, he’d heard the arguments in favor of the new coaches—no dependence on an animal’s well-being, cleaner streets, work for the coach drivers who had gotten tired of draining so much of their strength so that their inferiors could ride the Winds—but seeing another connection lost between the Blood and the land sometimes made him feel like he was standing in front of a closed window, trying to feel the wind.
Krelis shut his eyes. He was just tired and impatient for news—and troubled by the High Priestess’s coy remarks about giving him a little more help. He understood her wanting to eliminate an enemy whose existence continuously undermined her plans for Terreille, but to sidestep explaining the arrangements she had made . . .
He understood that, too. She was probably still feeling raw about the last Master’s betrayal. It would take some time to earn her trust.
Besides, the first rule of the court was, Dorothea was never wrong.
Even with that interference, it shouldn’t take the tame marauder bands long to find the Gray-Jeweled bitch. The spelled brass buttons he’d given his pet would lead them right to her. And they, in turn, would send him the buttons they found so that he could extract any messages his pet might have added.
No, it wouldn’t take much longer.
Then, maybe, he could get some sleep.
Chapter Eleven
Refreshed by a quick morning bath and a change of clothes, and fortified with strong, heavily sugared coffee, Jared stepped outside and wondered which would be more dangerous: asking Thera if she intended to make breakfast or having the men combine their limited cooking skills and risk her sharp-tongued wrath if the food was only marginally edible. Although, with Polli gone, Thera would need more help than Cathryn could give her, and no one expected a Queen to do chores, even though the Gray Lady had surprised them all by doing her share before she injured her knee. So Thera’s new helper would have to be male, and she’d just have to choke on it.
Jared smiled. Maybe they could draw straws every morning. Short straw got to help Thera for the day. That would certainly start the mornings off with a kick. And since everyone would have an equal chance, no one could resent him for getting stuck with the duty.
Still smiling, he started walking toward the pedlar’s wagon. The air had a crisp, clean bite to it, and the sky, for the first time in days, held no threat of rain.
Out of the corner of his eye, Jared noticed Tomas trotting toward him from the direction of the privy hole. He raised his hand in greeting, but his smile faded when he saw the boy’s worried expression.
Spiders and other insects were to be expected in a little wooden structure that enclosed a hole in the ground, although the herb bags that were hung in the corners not only freshened the air but seemed to discourage crawling company. Even though he hadn’t seen them, there were probably mice around—maybe even rats.
Jared stiffened. Ordinary rats could be enough of a nuisance, but disturbing a nest of viper rats could be deadly. And young boys weren’t always sensible.
He could still feel the sharp fear that had jabbed at him the summer his brother Davin had been bitten by a viper rat; could still remember how the venom had caused the six-year-old boy’s forearm to swell grotesquely. Even with Reyna’s healing skill, Davin had been ill for several days.
“Tomas?” Jared searched the boy’s face for any sign of illness or injury. “What’s wrong?”
Tomas didn’t look back at the privy hole. His worried brown eyes fastened on the wagon. “They’re both feeling pissy this morning.”
Jared sighed, both annoyed and relieved. “So what else is new?”
; “I—I think Thera’s sick. She acted real funny when I asked them if they wanted some coffee. And the Gray Lady didn’t say nothing either, and you know she likes coffee.”
Yes, he did. Jared had never thought of coffee as a sensual experience until he’d watched the Gray Lady drink her morning cup.
Jared drained his cup and handed it to Tomas. “Tell Blaed and Thayne to do what they can with breakfast. I’ll see what I can do for the Ladies.”
Glad to hand the worry over to someone else, Tomas dashed for the stone building.
Jared squared his shoulders and forced his legs to move toward the wagon. Prudently standing to one side, he knocked on the door.
No answer.
He knocked harder.
Still no answer.
Were they too weak or too sick to call out?
His heart climbed into his throat as he pushed the door open.
“Get out!” Thera’s voice was full of temper edged with fear.
Jared stood on the top step and swore silently. Thera and the Gray Lady sat on the benches, two lumpy shapes hunched under a mound of blankets. Tomas was right; neither of them looked well.
And, Hell’s fire, it was cold in there! Were they both masochists or was this a subtle punishment for the males, a way to strip the pleasure out of having slept in a warm room? Maybe Thera couldn’t have sustained a warming spell all night, but the Gray Lady certainly could have with a minimal amount of her Gray strength.
Jared opened his mouth to make a stinging comment. . . and tasted the difference in the air. Thera was in her moontime.
It was one of those things that remained unspoken between the genders. Once a Blood male passed puberty, he became sensitive to the smell of moon’s blood and could recognize it no matter how carefully a woman tried to mask it. Jared wasn’t sure if it was a subtle change in a woman’s psychic scent or a slight difference in her physical scent or a combination of both that alerted the males, but they could taste it in the air, smell it when they passed her on the street.
It was the time when every sexually mature witch became vulnerable. For the first two or three days, doing more than basic Craft was physically painful for her, and the stronger the witch, the more of her psychic strength had to be drained into the Jewels during those days because her body couldn’t tolerate it.