by Bishop, Anne
Her smile faded too. “I miss Rainier,” she said.
“Surreal . . .”
She laughed quietly. “Relax. I know he’d rather flirt with you than with me, except he doesn’t have a death wish. But he’s a friend unlike any other. And love isn’t always about sex. Talking to Karla about the family she formed with her adopted daughter and her Master of the Guard helped me see that. Rainier matters to me, Daemon.”
“If you set up your own residence, you’ll hire servants?” Daemon asked.
She snorted. “Damn right I’ll hire servants. I don’t want to do the cooking and cleaning by myself.”
“Good. Then Mrs. Beale and Helene won’t be complaining about you the way they complain about him.”
“Why are they complaining about Rainier?”
“Because he keeps a room at one of the inns in the village instead of having a suite here at the Hall. Which means he isn’t being looked after properly. They won’t go so far as to actually criticize the cook or housekeeper at the inn since these are women they socialize with; they simply insist that it is inappropriate for the secretary of the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan to be making do with a room at an inn instead of having a proper residence and servants to look after him.”
“Does he need looking after?”
He heard the concern in her voice and made a rude noise. “No more than you do, but real need is never the point of these conversations.”
Her expression changed from concern to cautious delight. “Just how often do you get pinned to the wall because Rainier obstinately refuses to recognize this particular duty?”
“Weekly. So if you’re serious about being my second-in-command, you’re shouldering this particular nuisance.”
Laughing, she rose and stepped up to the desk. “Done.” Then she pressed her hands on the blackwood and leaned toward him, that fierce and feral something back in her eyes.
“One question. Does Lucivar have to worry about Falonar coming up behind him in any way?”
Ice ran in his blood, and he knew his gold eyes had turned glazed and sleepy. No one else had dared ask that question. Not even Lucivar. A few weeks ago, before she spent time with the Dea al Mon, Surreal wouldn’t have dared ask that question either.
He smiled at her—a cold, brutally gentle smile—and the Sadist said too softly, “No one has to worry about Falonar anymore.”
CHAPTER 8
TERREILLE
Gray watched Cassie from the corner of his eye and tried not to hover and fuss. Uncle Saetan had sent a note by special messenger warning him that hovering and fussing too much could turn even the most mild-tempered woman into a snarling bitch. Not that Uncle Saetan had put it in those terms, but that was the message.
It was hard not to hover when he was sitting with Cassie, Ranon, and Shira in one of the four-seat squares in the Coach. Powell had claimed one of the seats around the table so he could catch up on paperwork, the other men were split into small groups to talk or not, and Vae was sprawled on the floor where she’d be in the way of the most people, snoring lightly. Talon was in the small bedroom at the back of the Coach. Cassie had insisted he take it so he could stay inside until sunset and not be disturbed by the rest of them when they returned to Grayhaven.
It was hard not to hover when they were sitting side by side. Even harder not to fuss, but she hadn’t snarled at him yet, so he figured he was keeping that tendency fairly well leashed.
Until she marked her spot, vanished the book she was reading, and closed her eyes.
“Tired?” Gray asked, trying to keep his voice casual while everything in him went on alert.
“Just feeling lazy,” she replied.
He glanced at Ranon, whose attention had also sharpened.
Then Shira said, “Thank the Darkness. I wasn’t sure you even knew the word.”
Cassie smiled—and Gray relaxed. He slipped his arm around her and shifted them both so her head rested on his shoulder. He brushed his lips against her hair. “There’s nothing to do for the next little while, so rest, Cassie. Rest.”
“Ranon, why don’t you play for us?” Shira said.
Ranon glared at his lover. Before he could make some excuse or just refuse, Cassie said, “That would be nice.”
Trap set and sprung, Gray thought, fighting to keep a straight face while looking at his friend’s sour expression. Then Ranon called in the Shalador flute and began to play.
The notes meandered like a stream winding its way through a summer meadow. Soft. Easy. Gray wasn’t sure if it was a song or just one note following another. Either way it was peaceful. Within minutes, both women were asleep.
The rustle of paper and the murmur of male voices twined with the flute, and Gray sensed the men relaxing. Their Queen was safe and she was content, so they could afford to let down their guard and rest.
*They’re proud of her,* Ranon said on a psychic spear thread. *She scared the shit out of all of us when she drained herself like that, but there’s a feeling of pride now. Even more than when she defended that landen family.*
*Why wouldn’t they be proud to serve Cassie?* Gray asked.
Ranon didn’t answer for a minute, but the music became bittersweet. *We’ve all seen too much, Gray. We’ve all done too much in defense of our people to trust without reservation. When she stood in front of us that first day, we knew we belonged to her, and that scared every one of us. We didn’t know what kind of woman claimed our loyalty and honor. Now we’ve got a better measure of what kind of Queen we serve, and we’re proud to be in her First Circle, almost to the last man.*
Almost.
Theran sat across from Powell, his face turned to the Coach’s outer wall, shutting them all out, holding himself separate from the rest of them.
It was a shame that Cassie and Theran were back to strained tolerance with each other. The tentative peace that had begun between them after she found Lia’s treasure broke under the strain of her draining her power into the land. They were all back to enduring Theran’s undisguised unhappiness with the Queen he had brought from Kaeleer.
He was sorry that Theran was unhappy, but everyone else at Grayhaven—including the servants—was pleased to be serving Cassie, so Theran was the one who needed to accept the way she ruled. Hopefully once Theran saw how her understanding of the Queen’s connection to the land would help all their people, he would be able to accept her as the Lady who could restore Dena Nehele.
“Do you play chess?” Cassidy asked Shira as they walked from the landing web up to the Grayhaven mansion.
“Yes, I do,” Shira replied at the same time Ranon said, “No, she doesn’t.”
Cassidy laughed. “I was told chess is not a game that should be played between genders. Our style of playing is too different to be compatible.”
“Style of playing?” Ranon muttered. “Being irrational is not a ‘style.’ ”
“In the Dark Court, if a male couldn’t behave himself when playing chess with a female, he was required to play a game of cradle with her as compensation.”
“Cradle?” Shira asked.
“A card game Jaenelle played when she was young and then expanded on later. Well, she and the coven expanded on the basic game. The men loathed playing it because their thinking just wasn’t flexible enough.”
Gray snorted. Ranon growled.
Cassidy looked at Shira, who winked at her but otherwise kept a straight face.
She felt good. Rested. Ready for the next challenge. Tomorrow she would write a general letter to all the Queens in Dena Nehele, gently reminding them of the basic ritual for enriching the land with power. If they, like the Shalador Queens, no longer remembered that ritual, they would be welcome to come to Grayhaven where she would teach them.
She would ask Powell to help her smooth out the writing—or find someone who had skill with words. There had to be a wordsmith or two in a town this size.
As she pondered that, the door opened and Dryden, the butler, stared at her with a p
eculiar look of relief. For a moment, she thought he was going to lift her off her feet and hug her. Since she was almost as tall as he and had a bit more muscle, the intensity of his psychic scent and expression made her shift her weight and take a step back, bumping into Gray.
“Lady,” Dryden said.
One word. Gray stiffened, but she felt the change in Ranon and knew the Shalador Warlord Prince was rising to the killing edge in response to Dryden’s voice. She reached back and planted her hand against Ranon’s chest, her touch a light chain that was the only thing holding him back.
The other men, who had been loitering to stretch their legs after the Coach ride, moved with purpose now, and the Warlord Princes among them were all rising to the killing edge. As Talon’s second-in-command, if Ranon’s temper snapped the leash, the others would go with him.
And she sensed nothing that would explain the reaction of any of the men—until she began to probe the mansion and picked up psychic scents that were familiar . . . and painful.
“You have visitors, Lady,” Dryden said. “From Dharo. They arrived two days ago. I did inform the Lady that you were not at home, but she said she was a friend and insisted that you were expecting her. Her Consort and escorts confirmed the invitation.”
There was a pleading look in Dryden’s eyes, but it was a struggle just to breathe, and whatever he was trying to tell her was beyond her ability to comprehend.
“Cassie?”
The violence that vibrated in Gray’s voice woke her up, snapped her out of her own bog of disbelief. If he, who was still learning to fit into the skin of an adult Warlord Prince, was that close to attacking her “visitors,” Ranon must be a heartbeat away from slaughter.
And because a part of her wanted to step aside and give Ranon a target for his barely leashed temper, she said briskly, “Since they’ve been here this long, I won’t keep my visitors waiting. Lady Shira, with me, please. Gentlemen, if you two will stand escort then the other men can settle in.”
Having Gray and Ranon with her would be bad enough without the rest of them crowding into the room. Thank the Darkness Theran was still in the Coach. She didn’t need him witnessing this meeting.
As Dryden stepped aside to let them enter, she felt the full weight of male temper at her back and realized that even a direct order now wouldn’t stop any of her First Circle from coming in with her.
She walked into the large parlor and her heart clenched so hard she feared it would stop beating.
The woman who sprang up from one of the stuffed chairs looked as pretty and dainty as ever. The man standing beside her was as handsome as she remembered, but shouldn’t Jhorma look more satisfied? After all, he was pleasuring the woman he’d lusted after. The other three men who had served in her previous court looked embarrassed.
As well they should.
“Lady Kermilla,” Cassidy said with frigid courtesy.
“Oh, la, Cassidy,” Kermilla said. “Is that any way to greet a friend?”
“We aren’t friends.”
Kermilla blinked and looked taken aback.
“Lady Cassidy, it’s a pleasure to see you again,” Jhorma said.
“Since you were never pleased to see me, a lie dipped in honey is still a lie,” Cassidy snapped.
Hell’s fire. Who was this bitch who had taken control of her tongue?
*Cassie? Cassie! Gray wants to know why we don’t like this Queen.* Vae paused. *Ranon wants to know too.*
“Oh,” Kermilla cooed. “Is that a Sceltie? Oh, I so envy you having one of the kindred.”
Vae snarled, and the Craft-enhanced sound rumbled through the room.
The men tensed. Kermilla’s smile wobbled.
The thought of locking Kermilla in a room with Vae for a few hours provided just enough humor to smooth out a few of the rough edges of Cassidy’s temper. But not enough of those edges for her to hold on to civility.
“Come with me, Kermilla. I’ll grant you a few minutes of my time, and you can say what you came to say. Privately.” Cassidy turned and looked at Ranon to make sure he got the message.
He didn’t like it. Hated her being in a room alone with a stranger who might be an enemy. But he gave her a curt nod to indicate he would stand aside. Then he focused on the four men who had come with Kermilla, and Cassidy understood the danger. If anything went wrong, those four men were forfeit. The Warlord Princes in Dena Nehele had survived the twisted Queens who had ruled here, and they had survived two years of war against the landens. They wouldn’t hesitate to tear her former court apart.
They might attack anyway if they realized those men were from her former court. Warlord Princes were possessive and territorial, and no one had been prepared for this visit.
“Kermilla, with me,” Cassidy snapped as she turned and walked to the door.
“May I remind you that I outrank you?” Kermilla snapped back.
“May I remind you that you don’t address our Queen in that tone of voice if you want to keep your tongue?” Ranon snarled. “And if rank is the pissing contest you want to have, then you may outrank her but I outrank you.”
*Ranon,* Cassidy said, putting as much steel in her voice as she could.
Those dark eyes blazed with fury. He wasn’t backing down.
*I don’t like her, so please let me hear her out and be done with this,* she told him.
*You don’t need to waste another minute on her.*
He’ll kill her, Cassidy thought, shocked by the truth. It was one thing to think about standing aside and letting him rip into these people; it was quite another to let him do it for no better reason than feeling bitchy and upset.
*No,* Cassidy said. *Prince Ranon, I’m asking you to step back from the killing edge. Let me deal with this, Queen to Queen.*
He struggled to pull back, struggled to obey. Finally, *Your will is my life.*
Words of surrender, of service.
Having gotten that much of a concession from him, she knew he would hold the other men back. But she didn’t dare look at Gray because what she was picking up from his psychic scent wasn’t good. She could only hope that he wouldn’t do anything imprudent in the few minutes she needed to deal with Kermilla.
As she walked out of the room, she brushed past Theran, who looked pale and dazed. Until she dealt with whatever trouble Kermilla had brought to Dena Nehele, she didn’t have the energy to wonder how much Theran had heard, or if it was her temper or Ranon’s that had shocked him. Either way, he said nothing; just watched as she led Kermilla to the smaller parlor that had become the “Ladies’ Room.”
Theran stared at the beautiful young woman struggling to maintain her dignity as she followed Cassidy into the Ladies’ Room. Dark curls framed a triangular face with dainty features and expressive blue eyes.
He felt a burn in his gut and a pull on his heart, and felt the breathless certainty that he had found the Queen he was meant to serve. Now he understood why Archerr, Shaddo, and some of the other Warlord Princes were so enamored with Cassidy. They’d been desperate to serve a Queen, any Queen, and had deluded themselves into believing they felt that burn for Cassidy because they’d had no opportunity to choose between her and another. But now he’d seen the Queen who should have come back with him, who could truly claim the loyalty of the men who formed the First Circle. She was the one he had hoped to find when he went to Kaeleer to beg Daemon Sadi for help. She was the Queen who should be ruling Dena Nehele.
She was the answer to his hopes and dreams.
A friend of Cassidy’s come for a visit? A long visit, he hoped. A lifetime visit, if he could convince the Lady to stay.
“What are you doing here, Kermilla?” Cassidy demanded as soon as the other Queen shut the parlor door.
“I came to see you,” Kermilla replied, her eyes wide and innocent—and on the verge of being filled with an expression of wounded dignity that was as false as everything else about the woman.
Cassidy wondered if Jhorma had figured out by now that
there wasn’t much substance once you got past the things that were directly related to Kermilla’s pleasure and personal gratification.
Maybe that wasn’t fair. After all, a flighty young Queen could mature into a solid ruler. But Cassidy wasn’t much interested in being fair anymore where Kermilla was concerned.
“Why?” Cassidy asked.
Kermilla did her sexy pout, but the usual “aren’t I being naughty?” twinkle wasn’t in her blue eyes. “You didn’t answer my letters, so what choice did I have but to interrupt my own duties and come here?”
“I didn’t answer because I have nothing to say to you.”
Kermilla stamped her foot. “Queen’s gift, Cassidy. I need the money you owe me for taking over the court.”
She hadn’t known she could be this furious, hadn’t known this much anger lived inside her. “I owe you nothing.”
“You do! Queen’s gift—”
“Is a gift, not an obligation. And you didn’t take over a court from a retiring Queen, Kermilla. You took my court. There’s a vast difference, and if you can’t see that I suggest you have someone explain it to you.” Someone with big, hard boots that could leave an impression where it might do the girl the most good. “The village treasury has the same amount of marks as when I came to Bhak. A little more, in fact.”
“But that’s the village treasury. Every copper spent from there has to be reported to the Province Queen. Those marks aren’t Queen’s income. I have expenses, Cassidy.”
“So did I, and I had no more than you when I started. Merchants are willing to run an account for a Queen’s personal expenses and court expenses. Those accounts are billed quarterly and deducted from that merchant’s tithe.”
“But they’re sending bills!” Kermilla shouted.
Which meant the girl had already spent past the summer tithe owed by those merchants. Once the tithe was met, a Queen and her court were expected to pay for goods like everyone else in the village.
“Then I suggest you curtail your spending until the harvest tithe,” Cassidy said.