by Anne Bishop
Theran’s heart sank. “There’s only one who might be willing? We’re talking about a whole Territory, not some village.”
“I’m sure there are others, and you’re free to seek them if you choose. But you came here and asked for our help. This is our answer.”
Your answer, Theran thought, knowing it was the only answer.
“I’d like to get back to Dena Nehele as soon as possible,” he said. “There will be much to discuss before we make a decision.”
“The Coach can take you back to the Keep this evening,” Saetan said.
Theran nodded and said nothing more as the last course of the meal dragged on. As soon as he could, he left the table, offering the feeble excuse of needing to pack.
One choice. One chance. Would this Queen have enough dazzle to convince bitter men to serve?
One way or another, he’d have his answer in seven days.
“If you’ll excuse me, I want to check the rest of the messages Beale has waiting for me,” Jaenelle said. “I never got past Sylvia’s note when I returned from Dharo.”
“Probably because you were laughing so hard,” Daemon said.
“True,” she said, brushing a hand over his shoulder. “No, don’t get up. You two enjoy your wine.”
As soon as she walked out of the room, Daemon dismissed the footman who had served them at dinner.
For a few minutes, the two men simply drank wine—he finishing up the bottle of red, while Saetan drank yarbarah, the blood wine.
“You didn’t tell me Sylvia cut her hair,” Saetan said quietly.
“I wasn’t sure you wanted to know about her personal life,” Daemon replied.
“I don’t. Can’t. But . . . Is it that unattractive?”
“Not at all. It’s sassy. It suits her.”
“Then Grayhaven’s an ass.”
Daemon shrugged. “What he wants for his people shouldn’t be dismissed. And it took balls to come here.”
“Yes, it did.” Saetan swirled the yarbarah in the ravenglass goblet. “He doesn’t fit. His Jewels are dark enough and his personality is strong enough, but he doesn’t fit in with us.”
“He looks into Jaenelle’s eyes and doesn’t see who she is,” Daemon said.
Saetan nodded. “Yes. That was always the test when it came to accepting someone into the Dark Court, even for an apprenticeship. If the person couldn’t look into her eyes and know, he would rub the entire First Circle the wrong way and their tempers would start sharpening for an attack.”
“Fortunately, Theran won’t have to deal often with anyone who served in the Dark Court.”
“Except his new Queen,” Saetan said.
Daemon blew out a breath. “Except the new Queen.”
“You and Jaenelle. Will you be all right this evening?”
“We’ll be all right.”
“Will you be all right?”
He smiled. “Yes, Father, I’ll be all right.”
“In that case, I’ll return to the Keep and see Theran back to Terreille.”
They found Jaenelle—and Vae—waiting for them in the great hall. Theran joined them a minute later.
“Thank you for your help and your hospitality,” Theran said.
The words were properly spoken, but Daemon had the impression that Theran would have said anything if it got him out of the Hall.
“Witch-child,” Saetan said, kissing Jaenelle’s cheek.
Daemon felt more than saw a flash of understanding between them before Saetan shifted to him and put a hand against his face.
A different kind of understanding, an acknowledgment that the darkest feelings that lived inside him were not unique. He’d done something with those feelings no other male had done, but he knew now that he could temper those feelings when he chose to, could soften them to be an enticement rather than a weapon.
*Massage, not sex tonight,* Saetan said.
Right.
A pat on the shoulder and his father walked out the door with Grayhaven.
*Bye, Theran!* Vae said, bouncing in some kind of tail-wagging happy dance. *Bye!*
As soon as Beale closed the door, Vae looked at both of them. *He is male and foolish. He needs me. When he comes for the Queen, I will go live with him.*
She trotted out of the great hall, leaving him and Jaenelle staring at the door.
“We could make it part of the bargain,” Daemon said.
“How so?” Jaenelle asked.
“If he wants the Queen, he has to take the Sceltie.”
“Oh, Hell’s fire.”
It didn’t occur to him until much later, when he was cuddled up with Jaenelle in her bed, that Beale hadn’t thought there was anything odd about the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan and the former Queen of Ebon Askavi sitting on the floor of the great hall laughing like fools.
CHAPTER 8
TERREILLE
Theran stared at the ninety-nine Warlord Princes and wished one of them would sneeze, cough, fart—anything to break the stone-hard silence.
“That’s it,” he said. “That’s the bargain.”
“One choice,” Ranon, the Shalador Warlord Prince, said. “And if she turns out to be a bad choice, she’ll destroy what’s left of us.”
I know. “I don’t believe Daemon Sadi would recommend a Queen who would be a danger to us.”
“Sadi hated Terreille,” Ranon said. “He might see this as an opportunity to crush a Territory completely.”
“Sadi hated everything to do with Dorothea SaDiablo and what she was doing to the Realm,” Theran said, raising his voice to be heard above the mutters.
“That may be true,” Archerr said. “But you said it was his wife who went and talked to this Queen.”
*And you’ve said damn little about the wife,* Talon said on a psychic thread aimed directly at him.
*Nothing much to say,* Theran replied.
Talon shifted in his chair. The mutters faded as the other Warlord Princes focused their attention on him.
“Here’s the thing,” Talon said. “Jared trusted Daemon Sadi. So did Blaed. They knew him. He gave them some training when they were slaves, and helped them survive. Yeah, that was a few centuries ago, and maybe he’s changed—maybe he jumps now when his wife snaps her fingers. But the terms he set tell me he gave some thought to this request. They won’t be all that easy for us to meet, and these ‘inspections’ don’t sit well with me, I can tell you that. Even so, I think we have to take this chance.”
“Forgive me, Prince Talon,” Ranon said, his tone respectful, “but you’re demon-dead. You have less to lose than the rest of us.”
“I have less to lose physically,” Talon agreed. “That doesn’t mean I don’t have anything to lose. But I’ll offer to serve in this Queen’s court—and that’s an offer I didn’t make to Grizelle or Lia when they ruled. I served them both in my own way, but I never chained myself to a contract.”
Feet shuffled. Bodies shifted in chairs. They all understood how hard it would be for a man who had been rogue for so many years to hand over his life to a Queen.
“How do we decide who serves in the First Circle?” Ranon finally asked. “Any of us who leaves our piece of Dena Nehele for a year will leave those Blood open to landen attacks.”
“I think we should all offer,” Theran said. He’d thought about this on the way back to Grayhaven. “Let her choose whatever twelve of us appeal to her. I’m required to offer myself as one of the Queen’s triangle. The rest of you can offer yourselves according to your skills.”
“What about the rest of the Blood?” Archerr asked. “You’re going to need other females in the court.”
We’re going to need a lot more than that, Theran thought. “A court is made by twelve males and a Queen. Everything else builds from that. Let’s establish the First Circle and give the Queen a couple of days to settle in and get to know those males. Then we’ll set up some audiences to let anyone else present themselves to her.”
Ranon stood up. “In t
hat case, I’m heading back to the Shalador reserves to inform the elders.”
“Ranon . . . ,” Theran began.
Ranon smiled bitterly. “I know we’ve never been welcome in a court, but we’ll be ruled by this Queen too, Theran, so it’s only polite to offer our Blood for the Lady’s pleasure.”
Ranon walked out. A few seconds later, the other Warlord Princes followed, leaving Talon and Theran alone.
Theran straddled a chair and braced his arms on the back. “Maybe it was a mistake to invite Ranon to be part of this. He’s too bitter, too angry, although he hides that fairly well.”
“I’ll remind you that if you weren’t who you are, you’d be living in the reserves with him,” Talon said. “Half your bloodline came from the Shalador people. You’ve got the green eyes.”
“Plenty of people in Dena Nehele have green eyes.”
“Not that shade. You only find that shade of green in the reserves, and it’s rare even there. You have Shalador eyes, Theran. Jared’s eyes. He came from that race, and Dorothea SaDiablo went beyond the initial fighting there and destroyed that Territory and that race because Jared helped Lia. The Shalador people have had a harder time surviving than the rest of us, and you know it.”
He did know it. That didn’t erase his worry that the Blood living in the reserves would try to splinter Dena Nehele even more.
“I won’t be going back to the rogue camps in the mountains,” Theran said. “I’ll be living here, at Grayhaven.”
“I know that.”
“If you’re accepted in the court, you’ll be here too.”
“Yes. It’s not likely she’ll accept someone who’s demon-dead, but if she does, I won’t be going back to the mountains either.” Talon sighed. “You have to tell Gray. You have to let him make his own choice.”
“What choice? He can’t survive on his own.”
“There are plenty of rogues who will stay up in the mountains, not feeling easy enough to come down. They’ll look after him.”
“That’s not the same as family.”
“No, it’s not,” Talon said gently. “But he may not be able to do this. Most likely, he can’t do this.”
Theran stood up abruptly, no longer able to stay still. “Let’s find out.”
They were both twenty-seven years old. They both had dark hair and green eyes, although the shade of green came from different bloodlines, and one of them had fairer skin than the other. They were similar enough in body and face that they could easily be mistaken for each other at first glance.
But one of them had become a man only in terms of physical maturity and had retreated, mentally and emotionally, to being a docile boy, despite also being a Warlord Prince who wore Purple Dusk Jewels.
Jared Blaed Grayhaven. The young Warlord Prince who was supposed to be Theran’s blade and shield in the same way that Blaed had backed Jared.
They were cousins through their mothers. Gray, as they called him, had no link to the Grayhaven bloodline, despite being given that family name, but he could trace his line back to Blaed and Thera, the Black Widow who had been Lia’s closest friend.
Had their names been a deliberate attempt at deception or a way to honor the past? Theran had wondered about that a lot after what happened twelve years ago.
Theran’s shield. Gray had been that. They had been making a rare visit to a village near the mountains and had separated to take care of their own business before returning to the camp they were currently calling home.
The Province Queen’s guards, making a surprise inspection of the village, had spotted Gray and taken him to the Territory Queen, who had kept him to “serve” in her court. The guards had grabbed him and run, not wanting to tangle with the rogues who frequented the village when they had captured such a prize—and not realizing there had been a second boy.
They’d thought they had captured the Grayhaven bloodline, and Gray never told them anything different, never revealed that he wasn’t the descendant of the Shalador Warlord who had been Lia’s husband.
They worked him—and they tortured him—for two years before Talon was able to rescue him and get him back to the mountains.
Gray was fifteen when he was taken.
They didn’t break his Jewels or castrate him—two common methods of diminishing a male who might be a threat. But they broke him in other ways, and now, as he sat across from Theran, his green eyes so full of fear, Theran wondered if taking Gray back to Grayhaven would be the ultimate act of betrayal.
“You’re all right?” Gray asked. “You’re not hurt?”
Didn’t matter if Theran was returning from a fight or slipping into a village to spend a couple of needed hours with a woman; the questions were always the same because, for Gray, the last time he’d left the mountains, he’d lost everything he was.
“I’m fine, Gray. I’m fine,” Theran said, leaning over to give his cousin’s hand a friendly squeeze.
“But something bad has happened.”
Too perceptive.
“Not bad, no.” How to say this to cause the least harm? “We’re getting a Queen, Gray. Do you remember me talking with Talon about that?”
“A Queen?” All the color drained out of Gray’s face.
“From Kaeleer, the Shadow Realm. She’s going to rule Dena Nehele.”
“She’s coming here?”
“Not to the mountains, no. She’s going to be living at Grayhaven.” Theran took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “And I’m going to be living there with her.”
“You can’t!” Gray leaped up, giving Talon a desperate look. “He can’t! If she’s at Grayhaven and knows who . . . who he . . .”
The keening started as Gray sank to his knees. That horrible keening of a boy in terrible pain.
“Gray.” Dropping to his knees, Theran wrapped his arms around his cousin. “Gray, I have to do this. For all of us.”
“She’ll hurt you, she’ll hurt you. I’m Grayhaven. I’m Grayhaven!”
The last words were said in a rising scream that echoed the pain remembered.
Theran looked at Talon, whose face was grim and sad. The old Warlord Prince had searched, and searched hard, to find the boy. But Talon didn’t find Gray soon enough.
Talon went down on one knee and put a hand on Gray’s shoulder. “You don’t have to go down there. You can stay up here in the mountains. You know how to fend for yourself. I taught you that. And there will be others staying up here. You don’t have to go back to Grayhaven.”
“He can’t go,” Gray whispered as he sagged against Theran. “Theran can’t go.”
“He has to,” Talon said. “That’s part of the bargain.”
Gray pulled away from both of them and walked over to a window.
What was he seeing? Theran wondered. The past? The present? Was he here with them in this cabin in the mountains or locked in some room in Grayhaven, waiting for the next bit of cruelty?
“I like growing things,” Gray said quietly, more to himself than to them. “The land was good, parched of what it needed, but still good. I could work outside.”
“Gray . . .”
“I wouldn’t have to live inside, would I?”
Shock kept Theran silent for a moment. He hadn’t expected Gray to consider leaving the mountains. Not really.
“No, you wouldn’t have to live inside,” Theran said. “There’s an old stone gardening shed.” He looked at Talon.
“Probably filled with broken tools and such,” Talon said, “but someone could live rough out there.”
“I could be a gardener,” Gray said. “I could take care of the land. But I couldn’t serve her.”
“No, you wouldn’t have to serve her,” Theran said. But if the new Queen showed any inclination toward playing with a damaged male, he’d have to explain a few things to the Lady.
“Then I’ll go.”
“Gray . . .”
“I’ll go.” Gray turned and looked at him—and Theran had never seen anything as
bleak as the look in his cousin’s eyes. “I’m Theran’s blade.”
Oh, Gray.
Talon cleared his throat. “It’s settled, then. Tomorrow we’ll pack up and start getting Grayhaven ready for the new Queen.”
Gray bolted out of the cabin.
Theran got to his feet, feeling more exhausted than if he’d been in a fight.
“Do you think he’ll survive going back there?” he asked.
“I don’t know, Theran,” Talon replied. “I just don’t know.”
CHAPTER 9
KAELEER
Cassidy packed the last book and closed the lid of the small trunk. Just some favorites, things she read when she wanted the comfort of a familiar story.
She was as ready as she could be. Which wasn’t saying much, since there was precious little information about Dena Nehele. What she did know was that Dharo was on the eastern side of a mountain range and Dena Nehele was on the western side of a mountain range. Dena Nehele had a variety of seasons, so she’d packed all her clothes, figuring most would be useful.
As for the rest . . .
“Second thoughts?”
Twisting around, Cassidy looked at her mother, who was standing in the doorway. “I’m on my fourth or fifth set of thoughts about doing this, but I haven’t changed my mind.”
“Didn’t think you would.” Devra came into the bedroom and sat on the floor beside her daughter. “I’ve got something for you. I know it’s a bit more to carry, but you won’t be straining to carry all of it yourself, so . . .” She called in an open-topped wooden box filled with glass jars. “A bit of home to take with you.”
Cassidy lifted one jar and read the neat label. Then picked up another. “Mother, these are your seeds for the garden.”
“I divided what I had between us,” Devra said. “You’ll need to be careful. Some of these might not be healthy to give to a different land. But most, I think, will be similar enough to what is there. So you can turn over a small patch of ground, plant a few seeds—and know we’re with you in heart.”
“Mother.” Cassidy blinked back tears as she ran her fingers over the tops of the jars. “Thank you.”