by Anne Bishop
The words made him feel strange—and good. And stronger in a way he couldn’t describe.
“I thought you could go with me,” Cassie said. “If you want to,” she added.
“I want to.”
Her smile when she was happy was bright enough to dazzle the sun.
“Daylight’s wasting,” Cassie said. She set the seed pots aside and held up her hands. “Look. A double shield over the skin and then heavy gardening gloves.” Which she called in and slipped over her hands.
“And your hat,” Gray said.
She wrinkled her nose at him but obeyed and called in her hat.
“Are you going to swear at me?” Gray asked.
“I’m thinking about it.”
He just grinned.
*Cassie? Cassie!*
Gray paused to watch the Sceltie’s dance of indecision. Vae clearly had an opinion about Cassie working in the garden—Hell’s fire, the dog had an opinion about everything—but she wasn’t sure if her “permission to nip” applied to the Queen.
“She’s all right,” Gray told Vae, glad for the excuse to take a break. Not that he needed an excuse. Not with Cassie. But he didn’t want to admit about himself what he’d been so quick to point out to her—sometimes damage couldn’t be healed all the way if you weren’t careful during the healing.
He didn’t want her to know. Wasn’t ready to tell her. Not yet. But he knew the warning signs and knew he needed to take some care or he’d be helpless and hurting.
“Yes, I’m all right,” Cassie said. She stripped off her gloves and held up her hands so Vae could see them. “See? Nothing hurt.” Then she looked at Gray. “But the hands have had enough work for the day.”
He shrugged and smiled. “Nothing more to plant anyway.”
“Was that deliberate?”
“Maybe.”
She studied him for a moment as a thread of awareness grew between them. Then she looked at the Sceltie. “Did you come out for walkies?”
*Theran said I am underfoot and should go outside for a while,* Vae replied.
“Nipped him, didn’t you?” Cassie said.
*Many times he will not listen until I nip him. But he is learning.*
“I’ll bet he is.” Cassie vanished her gloves and got to her feet. “I want to take a look at the rest of the garden, get a feel for the whole thing.”
“I’ll warn you now,” Gray said. “This is the best of it. At the far end, the ground is overrun with some kind of weed. Can’t dig it out. It just grows right back. Can’t even burn it out.”
“I’ll take a look.” Cassie turned toward the house. “What about that dead tree? Why didn’t anyone take down what’s left of it?”
“Can’t.” Gray rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. “That honey pear tree is a symbol of the Grayhaven line. That’s why the Queens let it stand. At least, that’s partly why.”
“But it’s dead, Gray.”
“Yes.”
He saw the moment when she understood.
“Bitches,” she said softly.
“It’s dead, but it still taunted them,” Gray said. “I’ve been talking to some of the men who used to work here and some whose fathers worked here. They said some of the Queens tried to pull the tree down, but there’s something about it, about what’s left of it. Saws won’t cut the wood. Axes can’t do more than chip at the outside. And the roots are still so chained to the ground, the tree can’t be pulled out either. The soil all around it is so hard it can break a shovel, and Craft can’t touch it at all. So all that time, they said they left the tree to remind everyone that the Grayhaven line was gone, but in truth they left it because they couldn’t get rid of it.”
“Maybe because the line isn’t completely gone,” Cassie said.
“Maybe.”
“I hear the names Jared and Lia, Thera and Blaed. They must have been so important to this land, but I know so little. Does anyone know stories about them? Or were those lost too when the other Queens took over Dena Nehele?”
“Sure, there are stories,” Gray said. “I know some. So does Theran. Talon would know more because he knew the four of them. They were friends.”
“Do you think Talon would share some of those stories with me?”
“He’ll tell you. So will I.”
She stared at the tree and looked a little sad. Then she smiled at him. “I’d better take a look at the rest of the garden before someone comes looking for me.”
He watched her walk away, with Vae trotting beside her.
As he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, he felt a warning twinge in his back.
“Enough,” he said.
It surprised him how bitter his voice sounded that he couldn’t work anymore today. He’d never minded before when he had to stop.
But that was before it mattered that someone might think he was weak.
One last thing, he thought as he vanished the tools. He’d get a bucket of water to wet down the new plants, and he’d use Craft to take the weight of the full bucket instead of forcing his body to do more than it should. Then he’d get something to eat and sit in the shade while he studied the next part of the book on—
*Gray? Gray!*
His body stiffened in response to the panic in Vae’s voice. He saw Cassie at the far end of the garden, backing away from that weedy spot, one hand clamped over her mouth.
Something wrong. Something terribly wrong.
*Gray!*
He ran.
The moment Vae saw him running toward Cassie, she ran toward the house. He had no idea who the Sceltie was calling for help, but he was certain she’d do her best to rouse everyone she could.
He slowed to avoid running Cassie down. “Cassie!” Maybe it was nothing worse than a snake or a dead mouse. Maybe . . .
She turned to look at him. Her freckles were the only color in her face.
“It’s witchblood,” she whispered. Then she threw her arms around him and held on as if her life depended on it. “It’s witchblood.”
Her legs buckled, and he went down with her, wincing when his knees hit the ground.
“So many,” Cassie sobbed. “So many.”
He didn’t know what to ask, didn’t know what to do, didn’t understand why those black-edged red flowers upset her so much.
*Cassie? Cassie!*
Not alone, Gray thought as the Sceltie returned, whining anxiously.
Voices. Shouts. He couldn’t twist around to see, but moments later Theran and Ranon were there, asking questions he couldn’t answer while Cassie sobbed.
Then Shira was there, on her knees beside him. “What’s wrong? What happened? Is she hurt?”
“I don’t know,” Gray said, so shaken he began to stammer. “She looked at those weeds and got upset.”
“Not w-weeds,” Cassie gasped before she started crying harder.
“Mother Night,” Shira muttered. She called in a bottle Healers used to store tonics, yanked out the stopper, then grabbed a hunk of red braid and pulled Cassie’s head up. “Here. Drink this. Drink!”
Cassie drank. Gasped. Gulped air.
But she settled. When she rested her head on Gray’s shoulder, she was still shaking but no longer crying.
Shira sat back, took a swig from the bottle, then held it out to Gray. “You too.”
He obeyed and took a long swallow.
“What is that?” Theran asked.
“Brandy,” Shira replied.
By now the rest of the First Circle except Talon had reached the spot—even Powell, who was still puffing from the run.
Gray looked up at Theran. “I don’t know what happened.”
“Not your fault, Gray,” Theran replied softly.
“So many,” Cassie whispered. “So many.”
“So many what?” Shira asked with that quiet voice Healers used when they were asking about something painful.
“One for each,” Cassie said. “That’s how it grows. That’s how you know. One pl
ant for each. Living memento mori. Can’t be killed once it takes root, can’t be hidden. Ground soaked in blood nourishes the seed.”
Gray saw the shock on the men’s faces. Saw Shira pale.
“Cassidy . . . ,” Shira said.
“It grows where a witch was killed,” Cassidy said. “It grows where her blood was spilled in violence. So many died in that spot.”
“Mother Night,” Ranon said.
Gray wasn’t sure which of them was still shaking—he or Cassie—until she pulled away from him to sit up on her own.
It was him.
“Can I have more of that?” Cassie asked, reaching for the tonic bottle.
Shira handed it over without a word.
“Do you know who might have died here, Theran?” Ranon asked.
Theran looked sick. “I’m not sure. Thera, I think. And Talon’s wife.”
“I’ve seen so much of this stuff growing in Dena Nehele— and in the Shalador reserves,” Ranon said. “Was told it was just a weed, an invasive weed. Mother Night.”
Feeling timid, Gray touched Cassie’s shoulder. “What do we do now?”
“It’s overgrown with weeds and hasn’t been tended for too long,” Cassie said. “So we’ll tend that ground and the witchblood that grows there.” She paused. “The Black Widows in the Dark Court told me that witchblood knows the name of the one who has gone, and if you know how, the plant can tell you whose blood nourished the seed.”
Mutters. Murmurs. Shira shuddered.
“I can ask how it’s done—if you want to know,” Cassie said, looking at Shira.
“I—Grayhaven?” Shira said, looking at Theran.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know if . . . I don’t know.”
Cassie nodded. When she shifted position, Theran offered a hand to help her stand up.
Gray got to his feet, wincing a little and pretending he didn’t see the way Shira was studying him before Ranon pulled her up.
“We’re going to clean up that ground,” Cassie said.
*Gray and Cassie need to rest,* Vae said.
“Yes, they do,” Shira said. “Lady Cassidy’s hands are still fragile, and if she’s going to stay out here and supervise, I want Gray to stay close by and keep her company. But I’d like to help clean up that part of the garden.”
“So would I,” Ranon said.
“Gray?” Theran said. “Do you have tools we could use?”
Gray called in the tools he’d vanished, handing them out as Theran, Ranon, and Archerr came up to claim them.
“The short-handled claws would work better for the tight places,” he said. “They’re still in the shed.”
“I’ll get them,” Ranon said, handing the hoe to Shira.
They worked in the garden the rest of the morning, moving carefully between plants that now held a different meaning.
Gray watched them, frustrated because all he could do was watch. There was an odd comfort in knowing Cassie was just as frustrated that she couldn’t help.
And there was no comfort at all in the way Theran kept looking at Cassie when he thought no one was watching.
CHAPTER 16
TERREILLE
“ I don’t know which one is harder to get through,” Cassidy muttered a couple of days later as she stomped to the garden to work off a little frustration. “A man’s head or ground as solid as rock.”
The day they’d all worked together to clean up the part of the garden filled with witchblood, she’d thought she and Theran had finally settled into some kind of understanding, that he might actually listen to what she was saying instead of telling her it couldn’t be done “that way.” Hell’s fire! Anyone with a pebble’s worth of brain could figure out Dena Nehele couldn’t be ruled in “the ordinary way.” They didn’t have enough Queens to rule in “the ordinary way.” That had been the point! And there was nothing unusual about males ruling on a Queen’s behalf. It was done all the time in Kaeleer. Her cousin Aaron ruled Tajrana, the capital city of Nharkhava, on his Queen’s behalf. And Prince Yaslana ruled Ebon Rih. And she knew there were Warlords assigned to be a Queen’s representative who, in essence, ruled their home villages.
How in the name of Hell was she supposed to decide which available Queens might be able—and willing—to rule more than their little villages if she couldn’t talk to them? But Prince Grayhaven kept finding reasons for her not to travel and see other parts of Dena Nehele, and he was just as quick with the excuses for why the other Queens—even with an escort of Warlord Princes—couldn’t come to Grayhaven to talk to her.
And none of the other Warlord Princes challenged his asinine statements because he was Grayhaven.
“The man farts every time he opens his mouth,” Cassidy muttered as she reached the big stone shed.
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and blew it out. “And Poppi would whack your butt if he heard you say that,” she scolded herself.
“I’m Grayhaven.”
Cassidy took a step closer to the shed’s open door. Nobody in the part of the shed she could see. Most of the tools were stored neatly now, except for that jumble of things in the back left corner.
She looked at the old blanket that separated Gray’s room from the rest of the shed.
“I’m Grayhaven.”
“Gray?” she called softly. Theran was still in the house, so who was talking to Gray? The voice sounded familiar, but it was muffled too much for her to be sure, except it sounded male—and young.
Then Gray’s voice rose in a kind of desperate keening. “I’m Grayhaven! I’m Grayhaven!”
“Gray!”
She rushed to the doorway and pulled the blanket aside—and saw him shivering on a pathetic excuse of a bed, caught in some kind of nightmare. He was wearing trousers and nothing else, and she felt her knees grow weak as she stared at the scars on his back.
“Mother Night, Gray,” she whispered. “What did they do to you?”
“I’m Grayhaven!”
She wanted to touch him, wanted to shake him out of the nightmare—or the memory—but she was afraid touching him might frighten him even more.
She braced herself and said in a firm voice, “Prince Gray, your presence is requested.”
He jerked, whimpered. But she thought her use of Protocol had pulled him out of the dream-memory, because the next thing he said was, “Cassie?”
It took him a couple of tries to turn himself so he was facing the doorway. “Cassie?”
His dark hair was matted with sweat, and his face had the drawn, exhausted look of a man who had endured too much.
“What’s your name?” Cassidy asked, keeping her voice Queen firm. “What’s your full name? Your real name?”
He hesitated, then said, “Jared Blaed Grayhaven.”
She looked at the room—at the straight-backed chair that had a flat stone under one leg to keep it from wobbling, at the broken-down chest of drawers that had a single lamp, at the bookcase that had only one unbroken shelf.
“This is the best he could do?” she asked too softly as she looked at the room, piece by piece. “You’re his family, and this is the best he would do?”
She backed out of the room, letting the blanket fall across the opening.
“Cassie?” Gray called.
She walked out of the shed, her stride lengthening with every step she took toward the house.
“Cassie!”
She couldn’t stop, couldn’t answer. Because every step stoked her fury just a little more.
* * *
“This was your idea to begin with,” Ranon said, dogging Theran’s footsteps with as much persistence as that damn Sceltie. “Why are you so determined now to stand in the way?”
“I’m not standing in the way,” Theran tossed over his shoulder.
“You won’t even give Cassidy the courtesy of listening to what she has to say.”
He turned on Ranon. “If Warlord Princes are going to rule Dena Nehele, what was the point of tr
ying to get a Queen?”
“And what’s the point of having a Queen if you won’t let her do anything?” Ranon snapped. “I can understand not wanting her to travel around the Territory right now, but why are you so determined not to have the few Queens who are left come to Grayhaven to meet her? After all, she rules them now.”
“And how many of those Queens that we passed over are going to be impressed with a witch who wears a Rose Jewel?” Theran asked, feeling bitter again. He had to hide that bitterness from Talon, but he’d be damned if he’d hide it from the rest of the First Circle. Especially Ranon.
“The Shalador Queens might be willing to come and talk to her—and listen to what she has to say,” Ranon said.
“Shalador. Shalador. That’s all you harp about, isn’t it? Every meeting of the First Circle, you bring up something about the reserves.”
“Someone has to remember our people,” Ranon said with his own touch of bitterness.
“Just because our Queen has given her consent for you to mount a Black Widow—”
“Watch your tongue, Grayhaven,” Ranon snarled.
Theran caught a movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to see Cassidy coming toward him, her hands clenched and a look on her face....
“You coldhearted son of a whoring bitch!”
She rammed him with a force that knocked him into the wall.
Instinct and temper took over, and he shoved her hard enough that she would have fallen if Ranon hadn’t caught her. She shook off the Opal-Jeweled Warlord Prince, and the expression on Ranon’s face would have been amusing if the woman didn’t look ready to kill someone.
“You made such a point of family, you bastard,” Cassidy snarled. “The family wing was to be off-limits to the court because this had been the Grayhaven family home.”
“Why are you so pissed about that now?” Theran shouted.
“Because he’s family!” she shouted back. “But you stick him in a damn gardening shed, don’t even let him come in for meals, all because someone hurt him, scarred him so he isn’t perfect anymore, and you won’t accept anyone or anything that isn’t perfect, will you? Well, you’re not perfect either, Grayhaven. Far from it.”
Theran looked at her in disbelief. “This is about Gray?”