by Anne Bishop
“Two full days’ ride north, Lord,” the old woman replied.
Nodding, Jared turned away to select some apples.
Two days to the border. Three days to Ranon’s Wood.
If he rode the Red Wind, he could be home in less than an hour.
He could send Blaed back to the wagon with the supplies and stable the gelding here. By the time they cooked and ate the midday meal, he’d be home. Rested, the gelding could catch up to them easily before they stopped for the night.
An hour. All he needed was an hour to see his family, to talk to Reyna. He’d be gone three hours altogether, four at the most.
He . . . couldn’t go.
The pain almost doubled him over.
He couldn’t go. Three hours, three days, it made no difference. If it wasn’t for Lia’s compassion, he’d be in the salt mines of Pruul right now. And she’d be home. Oh, the unknown enemy Dorothea SaDiablo had set among them still would have been there, the danger still would have walked beside her, but surely the Gray Lady’s warriors would have been waiting for her at the mountain pass and would have protected their young Queen at any cost.
But out here? Brock and Randolf still believed they were slaves, and both were bitter enough to step aside rather than risk themselves for their owner. Eryk and Corry wore Birthright Jewels, but they were too young and had too little training. Whatever useful knowledge Garth had was locked inside him. Little Cathryn had few defenses; Tomas, none. Thayne was a light-Jeweled Warlord but not a fighter. Blaed would fight, if for no other reason than to protect Thera.
And Thera would fight for reasons of her own.
Jared straightened up. A shiver ran down his spine.
Unless she really served elsewhere.
Unless her past was just a story shrouded in a Black Widow’s Craft.
Unless there was another reason why she’d changed her name.
She wasn’t among the ones Lia had been sent to bring back. She’d admitted she’d used a spell to draw the right kind of owner.
Or just a particular one?
She and Lia spent a lot of time in the wagon. Alone.
Green against Green. But if one of those Greens was somehow backed by a Red-Jeweled Black Widow High Priestess?
Hastily gathering the apples, Jared set them on the counter, noticing that Blaed had added a bag of flour, a small block of salt, and two bags of sugar.
“I think that will do it,” Jared said, fighting the urge to abandon the supplies and race back to the wagon.
Fool! Thrice-times fool for leaving her. She was too trusting, too gentle. She’d see the enemy’s smile but not the knife until it was too late. She didn’t have any experience with this kind of treachery.
“I think we should add a few vegetables to this,” Blaed said. “Onions, at least. And we need meat.”
Why was Blaed watching him like that? Why was Blaed really here? To help? Or to warn Thera if he returned sooner than expected?
*What’s wrong, Jared?* Blaed asked. *All of a sudden, you’re jumping at shadows.*
Jared added a braid of onions to the supplies. *Am I?*
A flash of Opal-strength anger touched him.
*I’m worried about them, too. Lia’s upset, Thera’s edgy. Neither of them will say why.* Blaed’s temper flared. *You’re not the only one who believes in honor, Warlord.*
They turned away from each other and began selecting vegetables at random, ignoring the old woman who watched them anxiously.
Jared took a deep breath. Returning to the full counter, he used Craft to float the vegetables so they wouldn’t bruise the fruit and offered the wide-eyed woman a shrug and a smile.
Deciding that he, at least, was finished, he watched Blaed pick up winter squashes and put them down without choosing any of them. And remembered something about the Warlord Prince’s training that he shouldn’t have discounted.
*What do you think Sadi would do if he were here?* Jared asked.
*I wish he was,* Blaed replied, facing Jared. *Then whatever was troubling Thera and Lia wouldn’t trouble them for long.*
Their eyes met and held.
Yes, if the Sadist had been with them, at least one of their group would have quietly disappeared by now.
Jared turned to the old woman. “Meat?”
“No, Lord,” she said. “There is a butcher just down the street.”
“Fine. What do we owe you?”
“What I have is yours, good Lords,” she whispered.
Blaed’s snarl had her backing away from the counter, her hands protecting her throat.
“We came here to buy supplies, not steal them,” Blaed said.
The woman looked pleadingly at Jared. “I meant no insult, Lord.”
“I know,” Jared soothed. “I know.” Worried that she might collapse, he waited until she seemed a little calmer. “How much?”
Her eyes darting from him to Blaed and back again, she pulled a piece of coarse paper and a slim stick of charcoal from beneath the counter and began writing figures. She totaled them, then licked her lips and said nothing.
Jared tugged the paper out from under her hand, read the total, called in the wad of silver marks, and paid her.
“If you’re thinking of telling me it’s fair that we carry what we each selected, think again,” Blaed said dryly.
Relieved that Blaed had shaken off his anger so quickly, Jared gave him a wicked grin and obligingly vanished half the supplies, including the bag of potatoes. The Warlord Prince could have taken all the supplies without thinking twice. It was just the principle of sharing the work. “Happy?”
“Ecstatic.” Blaed vanished his half. Facing the old woman, he gave her the slight bow that denoted courtesy to a woman of less rank.
Flustered, she smiled shyly.
“A moment, Lord,” she said when Jared started to leave.
Nodding to Blaed, who went out, he turned back to the old woman.
She went to a small shelf behind the counter and took down a sealed glass jar. “Fruit preserves,” she said, handing the jar to Jared. “I make it myself. It’s good on morning biscuits.”
“Thank you. How—”
“A gift, Lord. Please take it.”
Touched, Jared kissed her hand. He vanished the jar and gave her the same slight bow. “Lady.”
When he turned again to leave, she placed a hand on his arm. “Don’t go back to Shalador, Lord,” she said hurriedly. “There’s nothing for you there. Shalador lies in ruins. They say all the good Queens are dead, and those who are left have sold themselves for Hayll’s pleasure.”
“Why?” Jared said sharply. “How?”
“War.” She shook her head. “Terrible war.”
Jared braced his hands on the counter and closed his eyes.
Belarr was a Red-Jeweled Warlord. He’d know how to protect Ranon’s Wood. He’d keep Reyna and the boys safe.
Except they weren’t boys anymore. His brothers were old enough to fight. Old enough to die.
He swallowed hard, afraid he was going to be sick.
“Lord?” The old woman patted his arm.
Jared opened his eyes His vision blurred when he saw her concern.
“I . . . I do not understand this Darkness that the Blood honor,” she said hesitantly. “It is not . . . evil?”
“No,” he replied wearily. “It’s not evil.”
“Then may it watch over you, Lord, and protect you.”
Jared tried to smile. “Thank you.”
She walked around the counter and took his arm. “Come. I’ll walk you to the butcher’s.”
“I can find it.”
She led him out of the store. “I’ll walk you.”
Blaed took one look at him and stiffened. “What’s wrong?”
Jared shook his head. He called in the silver marks and handed them to Blaed. “Go to the tavern and see if you can buy a few bottles of brandy and whiskey. That should be enough. I’ll get the meat.”
*Is it a good
idea to dull our wits?* Blaed asked.
*It’s always a good idea to dull pain.*
Jared followed the old woman to the butcher’s. There were a few men on the street now. Silent. Watching. Including a man in a bloodstained apron.
The old woman raised a hand in greeting. “This Lord would like to buy some meat.”
The butcher eyed Jared warily. “The Blood are good and kind.”
Smiling, the old woman reached up and patted Jared’s cheek. “Some of them truly are.”
Jared turned back to the man in time to see his startled expression shift to a more businesslike one.
“You’re traveling, Lord?” the butcher asked once they’d entered the shop and the small glass-enclosed counter was between them.
“Yes.”
“Got some beef that would cook up just fine over a fire.”
“That’s fine.”
“Got some fresh sausages, too. Quick and easy in a skillet.”
“Fine.” Jared watched the butcher efficiently select and wrap up the meat.
The butcher glanced at Jared, then at the packages. When Jared said nothing, he cut and wrapped more meat.
“I don’t think you want more than this, Lord. It would only go bad before you could eat it, even with magic.”
Jared called in the gold marks and handed two of them to the butcher.
“That’s too much, Lord.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Jared vanished the rest of the gold marks and the packages of meat.
The butcher fingered the gold marks thoughtfully. “A gang of men—Blood—came through here two days ago. They were looking for a pedlar’s wagon and a group of travelers. A vicious witch, they said. Dangerous. Thought she might be running to Shalador for some reason. Asked about a Shalador Warlord who might be with her.”
Jared finally focused his attention. “And what did you tell them?”
“What could I tell them? No one like that had come through here, had they?”
His attention sharpened. “And now?”
“Now?” The butcher shrugged. “What could I tell them now that’s any different? Haven’t seen a wagon or a witch. Two Lords rode in to buy supplies. Who can tell what Territory they came from? Was busy with my shop, wasn’t I? Didn’t see what direction they came from . . . or what direction they took when they rode out.”
“Thank you,” Jared said quietly.
The butcher hesitated, scratched his jaw. “Even in a tucked-away village like this, we hear things. You know?”
Jared nodded.
“If you aren’t heading someplace in particular, I’ve heard some talk that going west is the best choice. The Tamanara Mountains are still some distance away, and they’re full of rogues—vicious bastards who’ll gut you faster than you can spit—but if you can slip past them . . .”
“I’ve heard that, too. About the rogues,” Jared said, opening the shop door. “Might be better to head south.”
“It might at that,” the butcher said, smiling.
Outside, Blaed was mounted and waiting for him.
They rode out of the village at a walk.
Blaed caressed the Opal-Jeweled ring on his right hand. “I know I should put it away, but, Hell’s fire, it feels good to wear it again.”
Jared twisted in his saddle. “If you put those Jewels aside before we get to Dena Nehele, I’ll cut your balls off. I swear it.”
Blaed stared at him. Then he lowered his head and pursed his lips. “Since she treats us like a court circle and not bought flesh, we should act like a court circle. Is that what you’re saying?”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
Blaed studied the glowing Red Jewel hanging from the chain around Jared’s neck. “Suits me.” He paused, and added, “You going to insist on the Jewels all around?”
“Everyone who can wear them.”
Blaed nodded thoughtfully. “Shouldn’t be a problem. At least, it shouldn’t add to the ones we already have.”
Jared felt a prickle between his shoulder blades. “What problems are those?”
Blaed snorted. He sounded amused.
Warlord Princes were a law unto themselves, Jared thought as he watched something shift in Blaed’s hazel eyes. A different breed of men, no matter what Jewels they wore. Men who rose to the killing edge as easily as other men slipped on a comfortable coat. Men who spent their lives dancing on the knife edge. Violently passionate—and passionately violent.
“Yes, I’m dangerous,” Blaed said softly, as if he’d heard Jared’s thoughts. “I’m younger than you and less experienced, but you can’t dismiss what I am. You came close to what it’s like to be a Warlord Prince that night when you were in rut. Do you know why you didn’t kill the rest of us? She balanced you, grounded you. If Lia wasn’t the kind of Queen she is, you would have come out of it surrounded by corpses. That’s what’s inside me, all the time. Banked, that’s true, except for those times when it becomes too fierce to control and I have to surrender to the bed and give in to the rut. The only hope I have of not becoming a vicious killer, of not being a butcher when I’m sheathed between a woman’s thighs is serving a Queen who can balance me, ground me. It’s not so fierce then. In fact, as long as there’s no provocation, it’s fairly easy to control when you’re grounded by a strong Queen. Or so my father told me.”
Jared licked his dry lips. “What if you couldn’t . . . what if there’s no relief, no release?”
Blaed didn’t have to ask who Jared was talking about. “He never gets aroused. Never. But the rut has to be siphoned off somehow.” Blaed shuddered. “I think it’s best not to think about how he does it.”
“We’re running,” Jared said. “You know that.”
Blaed nodded. “We’re being hunted. I know that, too.”
“One of us serves Dorothea SaDiablo.”
Blaed digested this and nodded again. “At least one of us.”
Jared narrowed his eyes. “You’re thinking of Garth?”
“Hard not to.”
Jared scanned the countryside. Then he opened his inner barriers enough to make a strong psychic probe.
Nothing. Not even a pocket of emptiness that might have indicated a psychic shield. A lighter-Jeweled psychic shield, he amended. If there was a Red Jewel out there, he might not be able to sense it. But a Red wouldn’t go up against another Red. Not alone.
“Whom do you trust among us?” Jared asked suddenly.
“Besides Lia? Thera. Thayne because we grew up together. You.”
Jared hesitated but had to ask. “Do you trust Thera because you’re attracted to her or because you truly believe she’s not a danger?”
“Oh, she’s a danger,” Blaed replied, “but not to Lia.” He paused, then chose his words as if he were picking his way over rough ground. “Even when they were both trying to deceive everyone with those illusion spells, I think they recognized something in each other, something that made them friends despite the deception. Hell’s fire, Jared. Right from the start, they quarreled like friends who just couldn’t see eye to eye. So, yes, I trust Thera. Besides, I think she’s the kind of witch Dorothea would see as a rival, not a tool.”
Jared thought that over and, reluctantly, had to agree. “What about the children? Do you trust them?”
Blaed shook his head. “Too vulnerable. Useful as a weapon against us, though, unless you can hold Lia down during an attack.”
“Damn.”
“What’s in our favor is that Dorothea’s pet has to be in a constant cold sweat by now.”
“Why?” Jared asked, curious.
Blaed made that amused snort. “Jared, do you know where we’re making camp tonight?”
Jared thought about it for a moment and huffed. “No.” Then he started to sweat. He didn’t know. Lia wandered off the main roads for no reason he could figure out, sometimes wandered off the roads altogether for a little while whenever the terrain permitted. Always heading north or northwest, true, but th
is was rolling countryside, sufficiently wooded to provide plenty of hiding places for a pedlar’s wagon and a small group of people. If a man didn’t know where to look for her . . .
He’d assumed he’d be able to catch up to them if he left for a few hours. He’d assumed he’d be able to find them.
“Have we got any spare rope?” Jared asked.
“We’ve got the leads we were using for the saddle horses. Why?”
“I’m thinking of tying one end around Lia’s waist and the other end around mine.”
Blaed chuckled. “Better make sure it’s long enough for her to go into the bushes by herself.”
“Maybe,” Jared growled.
Blaed’s laughter stopped almost before it began. The roan mare snorted and danced as his hands tightened on the reins. Something predatory flickered in his eyes.
Jared started probing, searching. “What’s wrong?”
“Thayne,” Blaed said through gritted teeth. “He says Thera and Lia are snapping at each other. Everyone’s uneasy.”
“Damn!” Jared dug his heels into the gelding’s sides a second after Blaed kicked the mare into a full gallop.
*Blaed,* Jared said a minute later as they charged up the hill and swept past an anxious-looking Thayne. *We’ve got two lead ropes.*
Blaed bared his teeth. *That suits me just fine.*
Yes, Jared thought as he and Blaed dismounted and strode toward the quarreling women. That would suit both of them just fine.
Jared picked up a fist-sized rock and threw it as hard as he could. The midday meal he’d eaten an hour ago felt as hard as that rock in his stomach. Even the honey pear, ripened to perfection, had tasted bitter.
Fool. Thrice-times fool!
What was he doing here? He could have been with his family now. He could have talked to Reyna. He could have been home instead of walking along another of these excuses for a road.
He could have been in his mother’s house again and, if she’d been willing to forgive him, could have felt her arms around him, easing the hurts and worries like she used to do when he was a boy. Mother Night, how he’d missed being held by Reyna.
He threw another rock.
Lia hadn’t expected him to come back. He’d seen it in her eyes before she could hide it. She’d expected him to grab the chance of a little distance, catch the Winds, and disappear.