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  The Invisible Ring

  ( Black Jewels - 4 )

  Anne Bishop

  In a world where magic is power and social status is everything, the color of the jewel you wear determines the course of your life. . .

  Jared is a Red-Jeweled Warlord bound as a pleasure slave by the Ring of Obedience. After suffering nine years of torment as a slave, he murdered his owner and escaped—only to be caught and sold into slavery once again.

  Purchased by a notorious queen, Jared fears he will share the mysterious fate of her other slaves—never to be seen again—and so prepares himself for death. But the Gray Lady may not be what she seems and Jared soon faces a difficult decision: his freedom, or his honor. . ..

  The Invisible Ring

  (The fourth book in the Black Jewels series)

  A novel by Anne Bishop

  For Merri Lee and Michael Debany

  Acknowledgments

  My thanks to Jennifer Jackson, for her continued enthusiasm and support of my work; to Laura Anne Gilman who, among her many other talents as an editor, has the ability to turn a phrase in a way that makes me laugh—even when she says that terrifying word, “clarify”; to Pat York and Lynn Flewelling for their insights; to the Circle, who understand what it means to dance with the Muse; to Kandra, webmaster extraordinaire; to Vince and Felicia for all the wonderful dinners sent over the fence; and to Pat and Bill Feidner for just being there.

  Jewels

  White

  Yellow

  Tiger Eye

  Rose

  Summer-sky

  Purple Dusk

  Opal*

  Green

  Sapphire

  Red

  Gray

  Ebon-gray

  Black

  *Opal is the dividing line between lighter and darker Jewels because it can be either.

  When making the offering to the Darkness, a person can descend a maximum of three ranks from his/her Birthright Jewel.

  Example: Birthright White could descend to Rose.

  Blood Hierarchy/Castes

  Males:

  landen—non-Blood of any race

  Blood male—a general term for all males of the Blood; also refers to any Blood male who doesn’t wear Jewels

  Warlord—a Jeweled male equal in status to a witch

  Prince—a Jeweled male equal in status to a Priestess or a Healer

  Warlord Prince—a dangerous, extremely aggressive Jeweled male; in status, slightly lower than a Queen

  Females:

  landen—non-Blood of any race

  Blood female—a general term for all females of the Blood; mostly refers to any Blood female who doesn’t wear Jewels

  witch—a Blood female who wears Jewels but isn’t one of the other hierarchical levels; also refers to any Jeweled female

  Healer—a witch who heals physical wounds and illnesses; equal in status to a Priestess and a Prince

  Priestess—a witch who cares for altars, Sanctuaries, and Dark Altars; witnesses handfasts and marriages; performs offerings; equal in status to a Healer and a Prince

  Black Widow—a witch who heals the mind; weaves the tangled webs of dreams and visions; is trained in illusions and poisons

  Queen—a witch who rules the Blood; is considered to be the land’s heart and the Blood’s moral center; as such, she is the focal point of their society

  Prologue

  Lord Krelis, the new Master of the Guard, tried not to fidget as he watched Dorothea SaDiablo slowly pace the length of her private audience room. If she’d been any other woman, he might have openly admired her slender body, might have wondered if the black hair gracefully coiled around her head felt as silky as it looked, might have dared to run a hand over the brown skin that wasn’t covered by her long red dress. He might have enjoyed the way the dress swished in counter rhythm to her swaying hips. He might have wondered if the way she caressed her chin with that large white feather was a subtle invitation for other kinds of caresses.

  But Dorothea SaDiablo was a Black Widow, a member of the Hourglass, the most dangerous and feared covens in the Realm of Terreille. Black Widows specialized in poisons and journeys of the mind, in shadows and illusions, in dreamscapes that could ensnare a man and leave him locked in an endless nightmare.

  She was also the Red-Jeweled High Priestess of Hayll. Since there were no Queens in the Hayllian Territory who could match the psychic strength that Jewel signified, and since no weaker Queen who wanted to stay whole and healthy challenged her authority, Dorothea ruled as she pleased—which was something no male in Hayll dared to forget.

  “Have you seen your predecessor lately?” Dorothea purred as she swished past him. Her coquettish smile didn’t match the vicious pleasure in her gold eyes.

  “Yes, Priestess,” Krelis replied, trying to keep his voice neutral. When he and a troop of men had gone into the slums of Draega, Hayll’s capital, to round up some of the dregs for expendable labor, he had seen his former commander stumbling out of a filthy alleyway.

  The former Master of the Guard was now a maimed, tortured mockery of the man he’d been. Worse, his inner web, that intimate core of Self that made the Blood who and what they were, had been shattered so that he could no longer wear the Jewels, could do no more than basic Craft, if even that. The keen tactical mind that had protected Dorothea for so many decades had been split open like a melon and scraped clean. But not completely. If the haunted eyes in the scarred face were any indication, enough thought had been left for him to remember what he had been. And who had done this to him.

  Dorothea swished past Krelis again. Sweat beaded his forehead as he blanked his mind and prayed to the Darkness that she wouldn’t sense anything that would make her want to open his inner barriers and sample his thoughts.

  “I gave your predecessor an important task, and he failed me.” Stopping in front of him, Dorothea smiled as she brushed the feather against his cheek. “Now he belongs to the Brotherhood of the Quill.”

  Krelis shuddered. Mother Night! To be shaved of all the organs that made a man a man. To need one of those large quills to . . .

  “Are you going to fail me?” Dorothea purred, leaning close to him.

  “No, Priestess,” Krelis stammered. “Tell me what you wish of me, and I’ll do it.”

  “A wise man.” She tickled his lips with the feather before turning away. “You know of the Gray Lady?”

  Had he failed already? Oh, he’d heard vague whispers a few months ago, but he’d still been a Third Circle guard at the time—and commanders weren’t in the habit of telling their men more than was necessary. Feeling sick, he swallowed hard, and managed to whisper, “No, Priestess.”

  Dorothea flashed a malicious, amused look at him before resuming her leisurely pacing. “She’s a dangerous enemy, a Gray-Jeweled Queen who rules the Territory called Dena Nehele on the other side of the Tamanara Mountains. She’s been a thorn in my side since she set up her court forty years ago, and she continues to fight my attempts to bring the Realm of Terreille under the beneficent guidance of Hayll.”

  Krelis said hesitantly, “Since she’s not from one of the long-lived races, surely she must be old by now.”

  “But still strong,” Dorothea snapped. “As long as she continues to live, Dena Nehele will be able to resist being drawn into Hayll’s shadow, and the Territories bordering it will be strengthened by that resistance. Even if she died tomorrow, it would still take at least one of their generations to eliminate her influence.”

  “You intend to declare war on this Gray Lady?”

  Dorothea’s gold eyes turned hard yellow. “Hayll does not lower itself to such barbarities as war. What would be the point of acquiring a Territory that had been
savaged by the kind of war the Blood fight?” She tapped the feather against her chin. “There are subtler ways of making a Territory ripe for the plucking. But that doesn’t concern you.”

  Krelis stared at the floor. “No, Priestess.”

  “Your task is to eliminate the Gray Lady.”

  He didn’t think before he blurted out, “How?”

  She looked disgusted. Was she regretting savaging the old Master and losing that tactical mind? Then her expression changed.

  “Poor boy,” she murmured, gently stroking his cheek. “I’ve been cruel to you, haven’t I? No, darling”—she pressed her fingers against his lips—“you needn’t deny it. There’s no reason why you would know that bitch’s habits.” She stepped back and sighed. “Grizelle is too well protected in her own Territory for you to reach her there. However, over the past few years, she’s come out of her lair twice each year for the slave auctions at Raej.”

  “Slave auctions.” Krelis’s gold eyes lit up.

  Dorothea shook her head. “Raej is considered neutral ground. If a Queen were killed there for any reason, others might hesitate to visit, and then how would everyone sell the toys they’re ready to discard and buy new ones?”

  “A slave could be replaced with a loyal servant and then—”

  “She doesn’t buy anyone from Hayll, and there are no loyal servants outside of our own people. Sometimes not even within our own people.”

  Krelis leashed his frustration. This was the first important task she’d given him since he became Master of the Guard a few months ago. He wouldn’t fail. He wouldn’t. “Then what should I do, Priestess?”

  Dorothea stopped pacing. “Lord Krelis, you’re the Master of the Guard. How you accomplish this is entirely up to you.” Her expression softened. “However, if you wish me to, I’ll use my particular Craft to assist you in whatever way I can.”

  He breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Priestess.”

  Dorothea studied him for just a little too long. Then she smiled. “I knew I’d made the right choice in my new Master of the Guard. I made the same offer to your predecessor, but he didn’t want my help. Since the bitch escaped his trap rather easily, that was reason enough to doubt his loyalty, don’t you think?”

  Remembering what the former Master’s face looked like now, Krelis shivered. “Yes, Priestess.”

  “I’m not going to have to worry about your loyalty, am I?”

  “No, Priestess.”

  Dorothea walked up to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. “You know, darling, I’m very generous with a male who pleases me.” She rubbed her breasts against his chest, kissed him thoroughly, then purred, “That’s to remind you of the rewards that come from serving me well. And this”—she tucked the large white feather into his belt—“will remind you of the penalties of failure.”

  Chapter One

  Nothing that had been done to him over the past nine years had hurt as much as the harsh truth that he had brought this on himself. With one error in judgment, the eighteen-year-old boy he had been, that young strutting buck who had been so sure of himself, had sent him down this pain-filled road. A road that would soon end in the brutality that waited for men in the salt mines of Pruul.

  Over the past few days, while he had waited to be brought to the slave auction, he had tried very hard to forgive that boy for ignoring the uneasiness his friends had felt and the warnings the older Warlords had given him when that witch had walked into the inn. He had tried to forgive him for not looking beneath the surface, for not sensing the rot that existed beneath the beautiful face and lush body, for grabbing that musky bait with such enthusiasm. He had tried to forgive him for believing the whispered words that had promised a forever filled with nighttime romps, for being so caught up in the pleasure between his legs that he’d let her put that gold ring around his cock because she’d poutingly told him about all the naughty things she wanted to do with him and for him—but not until he wore a Ring of Obedience because she needed a little control over his passion.

  She’d played with him for a day before he learned just how cruel the Ring of Obedience could be when it was used by someone who enjoyed inflicting pain.

  Having been a pleasure slave for the past nine years, he couldn’t remember why he’d ever wanted to get into bed with a woman.

  And he blamed that boy, bitterly. With the salt mines of Pruul waiting for him, oh, yes, he blamed that boy.

  * * *

  “What’s a Red-Jeweled Warlord doing in this pen?” one of the slaves whispered. “They don’t usually put the likes of him down here.”

  Another slave spat. “Don’t matter what Jewels a slave wears.”

  “True enough, but . . . I remember seeing him before. I thought he was a pleasure slave.”

  “He was,” a third man answered, “until he became a Queen killer.”

  “A Queen killer!”

  Queen killer. Queen killer.

  Jared remained in the corner of the slave pen he had claimed for himself, ignoring the whispers that swirled around him, pretending he didn’t see the way the other men avoided him. Even here, in the vilest slave pen, Blood males who were now considered unmanageable for anything but the meanest labor didn’t want to be contaminated by a man who had a Queen’s blood on his hands.

  He understood that. When the blinding rage had faded enough for him to see the bodies of the Queen and her Prince brother, he had been horrified by what he’d done.

  His breath hitched as emotional pain ripped through him again, threatening to tear him apart.

  One part of himself had been horrified, that was true enough—the part that had learned the Warlord’s code of honor from his father, the part that had been raised to serve the distaff gender. But another part, a savage part that he hadn’t known existed, had howled in triumph.

  The pain eased, again, while that wild stranger inside him prowled the edges of his mind and heart.

  He didn’t trust that stranger, even feared its presence. It wasn’t him. But he would use its savagery one more time for just one reason: He wanted, needed, to get home just long enough to see his mother and take back the words he’d had years to regret saying. After that . . .

  There was no point thinking there would be anything after that. But it would be enough. Had to be enough.

  Which meant he had to escape tonight. Tomorrow, Raej’s autumn slave auction would begin. The witches who came to this island to buy and sell would be on the auction grounds accompanied by hired guards, and the guards watching the pens would be too edgy, too quick to react to a slave did.

  So tonight he would find a way to get close enough to the official landing place outside the fairgrounds and catch one of the Winds, those webs of psychic roadways that allowed the Blood to travel through the Darkness. He would catch one and ride it all the way back to Ranon’s Wood.

  The decision made, Jared watched the sun set and the quarter moon rise while he thought about his mother, his father and brothers, his home . . . and the boy he used to be.

  Chapter Two

  Krelis closed the small wooden box Dorothea had given him, then used Craft to vanish it.

  All the plans were made. There was nothing he could do but wait.

  Staying in the Master’s office made him feel too confined, so he left the building that housed the First Circle guards and began walking aimlessly across the practice fields.

  Thank the Darkness Dorothea hadn’t demanded his presence at dinner tonight. While his bloodlines could be traced to two of Hayll’s Hundred Families, his family on both sides was from minor branches. He’d grown up in a small village, and he still wasn’t comfortable in the jaded, glittering aristo society that made up the social power of Hayll. A man on guard duty during one of these functions could watch the seductions and the games, could listen to the double-edged conversations, could observe the dance of wealth and power without having to participate. But the Master of the Guard was one of the three most important males in a co
urt, and, when required, he was expected to socialize with the people who gathered around his Lady. He was expected to talk with the other men and dance with the women, was expected to flirt just enough not to give offense, without flirting so much that servicing the woman would be required.

  He’d already sweated through a couple of smaller functions. He didn’t need to dance on the knife edge tonight.

  Leaving the practice fields, Krelis followed a bridle path until he reached a small reflecting pool. Sitting on a stone bench near the pool, he watched the still water.

  Either the former Master of the Guard had become arrogantly foolish or he’d turned traitor. That was the only way Krelis could explain the failed attack on the Gray Lady when she was returning to Dena Nehele after the spring auction at Raej.

  It wasn’t strange that the Master hadn’t led the attack. Along with the Steward and the Consort, the Master seldom left the court unless he was accompanying his Lady. His duties were no longer in the field. But one of those duties was to choose the right men for an assignment.

  The old Master had sent a handful of lighter-Jeweled, Fifth Circle guards and a small band of marauders to destroy a Gray-Jeweled Queen and the escort waiting for her at the Coach station. There had been no time to overwhelm the escort before the Gray bitch’s arrival. There had been no backup force to attack her if she tried to escape on the Winds. There had been nothing.

  Only one of those lighter-Jeweled Hayllian guards had returned to report the failure.

  One was all Dorothea had needed.

  Well, he hadn’t made that mistake. He had tame marauder bands waiting at the Coach stations the Gray Lady would most likely use on her return from the auction. They would eliminate any escorts waiting for her and send a messenger to Lord Maryk, his second-in-command. Maryk, along with carefully selected, experienced First and Second Circle guards, would arrive at the station just ahead of the Gray Lady to finish the kill. If that ambush wasn’t completely successful, and Maryk and the men were killed, he still had a way to keep track of the bitch and leave a trail the marauder bands could follow. The hunt would continue until the Gray Lady was destroyed.