by Anne Bishop
“You’re also good at skimming off a percentage of the Queen’s tithes,” Archerr snapped.
“That was never proved,” Ranon snapped in return.
Why would Ranon defend a man accused of stealing from a Queen? Unless the Warlord Prince knew, or suspected, something about Powell that the rest of the men didn’t know.
“Did you steal from the Queen you served?” Cassidy asked.
“Yes,” Powell replied.
Mutters from the Warlords and Warlord Princes who had remained in the room. Snarls from several of the Warlord Princes who were in her First Circle, but she couldn’t tell if they were snarling at Powell or at one another.
“Why?” Cassidy asked.
“The Province Queen I served liked luxury,” Powell said. “Well, they all did, didn’t they? And it was the tithes from the District Queens that had to support those luxuries. It was hard to walk through the town where the Queen lived and see children who were hungry or who were wearing clothes and shoes too patched and torn to be useful. So sometimes a few coins would find their way back to a family for food or clothing.”
“I see,” Cassidy said. “Is that why your hand was broken?”
Powell nodded. “Most people were careful to spread out the spending. One man was not. I claimed to have given the man some coins from my own wages, and the Queen couldn’t prove otherwise. That’s why she had my left hand broken instead of maiming the right hand.”
In Kaeleer, a tribunal of Queens would have known you were lying within minutes, Cassidy thought. But their wrath would have been aimed at the Queen who had mistreated her people and not you.
“I have to trust that the people who serve me will work for the good of Dena Nehele,” Cassidy said to Powell. “I understand your reasons, and I can’t say you were wrong. But everyone is going to be living lean for a while, and tithes will be necessary to support the court and take care of the expenses that come with the court. If you think someone is being tithed unfairly, I need to know. But the amount of the tithe, unfair or not, will be my decision. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Lady. That is understood,” Powell said.
“In that case, are you willing to wear the Steward’s ring?”
Silence. Disbelief from Theran that he didn’t bother to hide. Surprise from the other men in her First Circle. Except for Ranon. He looked thoughtful.
“I would be honored to serve as your Steward,” Powell said.
A commotion at the back of the room. Anger and resistance coming from the men nearest the door. Anger and a flash of worry coming from Ranon.
Vae launched herself into the men, using shields to plow a wide path that left several men staggering to keep their balance.
*Bad males!* Vae shouted. *Bad!*
The men glanced at the platform, then stepped away, since Cassidy wasn’t calling Vae off.
A woman, a witch, approached the platform.
“Your kind shouldn’t be here,” Theran said at the same time Ranon said, “Shira.”
He loves her, Cassidy thought, watching Ranon’s effort to remain neutral. But he didn’t want her to come here. Why?
“I have as much right to be here as you do, Theran Grayhaven,” Shira said. Her omitting his title was a deliberate slap in the face. “You can trace your bloodline back to Jared. I can trace my bloodline back to Jared’s cousin Shira. So if I don’t belong here, neither do you.”
Since that particular verbal slap left Theran speechless, Cassidy jumped in. “What can I do for you, Sister?”
Shira looked at her. “I want to offer my services. I’m a fully qualified Healer and—”
“That’s not all you are,” Theran snapped.
No, that wasn’t all Shira was. The hourglass pendant she wore above her Summer-sky Jewel proclaimed her to be something more powerful—and more dangerous—than a Healer.
“I’m not ashamed of what I am,” Shira said.
“Why should you be?” Cassidy asked. “You’ve completed your training in the Hourglass’s Craft?” The question was a formality. The pendant Shira wore, with all the gold dust in the bottom half of the hourglass, indicated a Black Widow who had completed her training and could spin the tangled webs of dreams and visions, as well as help people caught in the Twisted Kingdom. The Black Widows were also the caste of witches who were well versed in the making and use of poisons.
“Her kind were outlawed generations ago,” Theran said.
“You’re a natural Black Widow?” Cassidy asked Shira.
“That’s the only kind there are in Dena Nehele,” Shira replied.
“The penalty for training anyone in that Craft is execution,” Theran said.
Ranon snarled at Theran.
“Gentlemen,” Cassidy said, using Craft to enhance her voice. She waited until they had all quieted down. Then waited until a couple of Warlords got done swearing after Vae nipped them because they didn’t quiet fast enough to suit the Sceltie.
“I’m here because you wanted a Queen who knows the Old Ways of the Blood, who lives by the Old Ways of the Blood, and who will require that you live by that Protocol and code of honor. That means a good many things that you knew no longer apply.” Cassidy turned in her chair and looked at Theran. “You say Black Widows were outlawed. How many of the Queens who controlled Dena Nehele had Black Widows in their courts? My guess is all of them did. What was outlawed were the Black Widows who wouldn’t serve in those courts. The ones whose skills would endanger a Queen who was hated.
“We’re going back to the Old Ways, gentlemen, and in the Old Ways the Hourglass is an honored caste of witches. They are not outlaws. Their training is not outlawed.” Cassidy turned to look at Shira. “If you accept the position of court Healer, you would have to reside here. Are you prepared to do that?”
“I am,” Shira replied.
“Then welcome to the court, Sister.”
*You’re forgetting something, Lady,* Theran said. *We don’t have a court. There are only eleven males.*
*No,* Cassidy said, *there’s—* Gray, she finished silently.
He wasn’t going to be part of her court. Couldn’t be part of her court. Not as he was.
But he could have been—should have been—if he had been whole.
Ranon looked at the men on the platform, his expression grim. He too must have just realized they didn’t have an official court.
“Is the other Warlord Prince still planning to present himself?” Ranon asked.
Theran shot him a hostile look. “He is.” A glance at the windows. “He’ll be here as soon as the sun sets.”
And this Warlord Prince, whoever he is, is the reason the men who weren’t selected have been waiting.
Folding her hands on the table, Cassidy looked at the windows at the other end of the room.
“He’ll be here soon,” her cousin Aaron had said, glancing out a window. “The sun has almost set.”
She knew what it signified when someone wasn’t usually available before sunset. So she knew what these men were waiting for.
He arrived within minutes after the sun had gone down, too soon to have taken care of his own needs. An older man, maimed by battles. Sapphire Jewel, which made him the dominant male. But it was more than that. As she watched him approach, she also watched the other men and had a flash of insight gleaned from her months in the Dark Court. She’d seen the men in that First Circle, including her cousin Aaron, step aside for Andulvar Yaslana with the same respect the men in this room were showing this demon-dead Warlord Prince. He had trained them, had been an honorary uncle or a surrogate father to many of them.
They had survived because of what he’d taught them.
He looked straight ahead while he walked the length of the room, finally looking at her when he reached the edge of the platform.
She felt the punch of that connection—and felt the same wariness she saw in his eyes. He hadn’t expected to feel that pull. Neither had she. She would have accepted him into the First Circl
e because of the feelings she was sensing from her other males, but she hadn’t expected him to belong to her.
She watched him climb the stairs, then rose when he approached the table.
Protocol. Her insides were quivering because he was, without question, the most dangerous man in the room. But she knew the words and the rituals, not just for dealing with a Warlord Prince, but for dealing with the demon-dead.
“Prince,” she said.
“Lady.” He tipped his head in a slight bow. “I am Talon.” His eyes narrowed as he studied her face. “Do you know what I am?”
She smiled slightly. “My Master of the Guard.”
He couldn’t hide his surprise. “I am honored, Lady, but that wasn’t what I meant.”
“You’re demon-dead. I’m aware of that.”
“That doesn’t bother you?”
“Why should it?” She saw a heat in Talon’s eyes. A hunger. That was a danger with having one of the demon-dead walking among the living. “Prince Theran, would you bring in a bottle of yarbarah? I’m sure Prince Talon would appreciate a glass.”
“A bottle of what?” Theran asked.
Cassidy frowned at Theran. “Yarbarah. The blood wine.”
Blank expression. And Talon’s expression was equally blank.
Hell’s fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful.
“You’re unfamiliar with that particular vintage?” Cassidy asked Talon.
“Can’t say I’ve heard of it,” he replied warily.
“Well, then.” What had he been consuming if he didn’t know about yarbarah?
Best not to think about that because she was certain that whatever had been given had not been given according to the Protocol and rituals that had been created for transactions between the living and the demon-dead.
She called in the simple wooden box her father had made for the gift the High Lord had given her when she’d finished her apprenticeship in the Dark Court. Pressing the two spots on the sides to release the latches, she removed the cover, revealing the small silver cup and silver-handled knife. She set the cup on the table, pushed up her left sleeve, and, before anyone knew for certain what she intended, picked up the knife and opened a vein in her wrist.
A wash of sounds and protests was drowned out by the snarl of a Sceltie who knew her Craft.
*Stay!* Vae growled. *This is ceremony!*
Ceremony. Ritual. Sometimes formal, sometimes casual, but always, always precise in the intention.
As soon as the cup was filled, she turned the blade of the knife flat against her wrist, hiding the wound as she used the Healing Craft she’d been taught to seal this kind of cut.
Setting the knife on the table, she held out the cup to Talon. “Freely offered,” she said, knowing every man in the room would remember the words. “Freely taken.”
Talon hesitated, then took the cup, his hunger apparent in his face. “You honor me, Lady.”
Two swallows. That was all the cup held. But blood freely offered had a different flavor from blood that was soured by fear.
Talon recognized the difference, even if he wasn’t quite sure of the reason.
He set the cup on the table with great care.
“Is that dog going to bite me if I heal your wrist?” Shira asked.
In answer, Cassidy held out her wrist, all the permission her Healer needed.
As soon as Shira finished the healing, Cassidy vanished the cup, knife, and box, preferring to clean them in private.
She looked at Theran. Was he relieved a formal court was established? Upset about her offering her blood to Talon? She couldn’t read him, couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
And she suddenly felt too tired to care.
“Gentlemen, it’s been a long day. Prince Powell, please send the Province Queens my regrets and ask them to meet me tomorrow morning.”
Tense silence.
“Aren’t the Province Queens aware that the Warlord Princes chose a Territory Queen?” Cassidy asked.
“There are no Province Queens,” Talon said.
“All Territories are divided into Provinces and Districts,” Cassidy said. “There must be Province Queens.”
“They all died two years ago,” Talon said. “The psychic storm that swept through Terreille took all of them.”
Cassidy sank into the chair behind the table. “District Queens?”
“A few,” Talon said. “The ones who are too old or weak to be a threat to anyone. Or the ones too young to form a court and rule anything.”
Hell’s fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful. She’d thought the Warlord Princes of Dena Nehele had gone outside their own Territory because there wasn’t a Queen they were willing to have rule over all of them. Theran hadn’t said there weren’t any Queens to help her.
She pressed both hands flat against the table and closed her eyes. What was she supposed to do?
Poppi laying out the pieces of wood, the nails and screws, the tools.
“When you’re not sure of what you’ve got, Kitten, lay it all out and take a look,” he said. “Then you decide if you can make something out of what you’ve got, even if it wasn’t the thing you had in mind. Or you figure out what else you need in order to make what you want.”
“Prince Powell,” Cassidy said, keeping her eyes closed because it was easier to deal with them all when she imagined she was talking to Poppi or her brother, Clayton. “I need a map of Dena Nehele that will show me the whole of the Territory and the Provinces. Then I need maps of each Province that will show me all the towns, villages, and cities, both Blood and landen.”
“I’ll look in the Steward’s office and see what I can find,” Powell said.
“Then I need a list of all the Queens in Dena Nehele, where each one lives, and what Jewels she wears. That includes the girls who aren’t yet old enough to rule. I also need a list of the Warlord Princes, where they live, and their rank. Prince Talon, you’ll be in charge of obtaining that information.”
“That won’t be easy,” Ranon said. “The Shalador Queens who are left survived by not making their whereabouts known. None of them are going to want to be on a hunting list.”
Cassidy opened her eyes and looked at Ranon. “Then you’ll have to convince them.”
A flash of something in his dark eyes told her how deeply his loyalties were being challenged—and his choice would tell her whether she could trust him.
He looked in her eyes and said, “Your will is my life.”
“Anything else?” Cassidy asked. When no one spoke, she pushed her chair back and stood up. “In that case, gentlemen, I would prefer to dine in my rooms this evening, so I’ll bid you a good evening. Lady Shira, would you join me?”
Shira looked startled and stammered her answer. “It would be my pleasure, Lady.”
Cassidy didn’t give Theran time to protest or even think to offer himself as escort, which he should have done. She didn’t care how it looked or what the men thought. She hustled Shira out of the room, and the only person who made an effort to catch up to them was Vae.
“You didn’t want to dine with your court?” Shira asked.
“Not tonight,” Cassidy replied.
“Are you feeling tired because of the blood loss?”
*She is just tired of talking to males,* Vae said, trotting ahead of them. *You are female, so you are not yappy like males.*
Vae turned a corner, leading the way back to Cassidy’s suite. The two women walked in silence for a minute. Then Shira said, “Is she always so honest?”
Cassidy sighed. “She’s a Sceltie.”
CHAPTER 12
TERREILLE
Gray rolled the wheelbarrow to the edge of the partially weeded flower bed, just as he’d done for the past few days. weeded flower bed, just as he’d done for the past few
Cassie hadn’t come back. She knew the land needed to be loved, and he’d thought she’d enjoyed working in the garden. So why didn’t she come back?
He dreamed about her last night. Not a bad dream like he had sometimes about the other Queen. In this dream, Cassidy was helping him into a beautiful coat that had been made just for him. But it didn’t quite fit. It frustrated him—and scared him—that it didn’t quite fit. Then Cassie had smiled sadly and told him the coat couldn’t be changed. If he wanted to wear it, he would have to change until it fit him the way it should.
He woke up with his heart pounding, on the verge of tears. He wanted to wear that coat. Had been born to wear that coat. But he didn’t know how to change to make it fit.
Cassie knew. Cassie would help him change in the right way.
Why didn’t she come back?
Maybe he could find Theran. Maybe he could go inside the house long enough to find Theran and ask why Cassie hadn’t come back.
Shivering at the thought of being inside those walls again, Gray turned to look at the house . . . and saw Cassie standing right there, holding a large tray.
He yelped. She jumped back, and the dishes on the tray rattled. He jumped forward to grab the tray—and his hands closed over hers. Touched her skin.
He stared at their hands and wanted to touch her skin forever.
“Gray? Are you all right?” she asked.
“What?”
“I’m sorry I startled you. I guess you didn’t hear me calling.”
“You called me on a psychic thread?” His heart pounded, but he wasn’t sure if it was fear or happiness.
Cassie looked startled. “Oh. No. I didn’t want to intrude.”
“You wouldn’t be intruding.” He wanted to hear her inside his head, wanted to feel her inside him. But . . . maybe not too far inside him. Even if she already knew the secret the other Queen had tried to rip out of his mind, maybe it wasn’t safe to let her inside too many of his inner barriers. But he wouldn’t have to open any of his inner barriers in order to talk to her on a psychic thread.
“I brought some breakfast,” Cassidy said. “I wasn’t sure if you’d eaten yet, so I brought enough for two.”