The Queen's Bargain Read online

  ALSO BY ANNE BISHOP

  THE OTHERS SERIES

  Written in Red

  Murder of Crows

  Vision in Silver

  Marked in Flesh

  Etched in Bone

  THE WORLD OF THE OTHERS

  Lake Silence

  Wild Country

  THE BLACK JEWELS SERIES

  Daughter of the Blood

  Heir to the Shadows

  Queen of the Darkness

  The Invisible Ring

  Dreams Made Flesh

  Tangled Webs

  The Shadow Queen

  Shalador’s Lady

  Twilight’s Dawn

  THE EPHEMERA SERIES

  Sebastian

  Belladonna

  Bridge of Dreams

  THE TIR ALAINN TRILOGY

  The Pillars of the World

  Shadows and Light

  The House of Gaian

  ACE

  Published by Berkley

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  penguinrandomhouse.com

  Copyright © 2020 by Anne Bishop

  Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.

  ACE is a registered trademark and the A colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Bishop, Anne, author.

  Title: The queen’s bargain / Anne Bishop.

  Description: First edition. | New York : Ace, 2020. | Series: A black jewels novel

  Identifiers: LCCN 2019030398 (print) | LCCN 2019030399 (ebook) | ISBN 9781984806628 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781984806642 (ebook)

  Subjects: GSAFD: Fantasy fiction.

  Classification: LCC PS3552.I7594 Q44 2020 (print) | LCC PS3552.I7594 (ebook) | DDC 813/.54--dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019030398

  LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019030399

  First Edition: March 2020

  Jacket image of woman © Ashvini Sihra / EyeEm / Getty Images

  Jacket design by Adam Auerbach

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  pid_prh_5.5.0_c0_r0

  Contents

  Also by Anne Bishop

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Jewels

  Blood Hierarchy/Castes

  Part OneChapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Part TwoChapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-one

  Chapter Forty-two

  Chapter Forty-three

  Chapter Forty-four

  Chapter Forty-five

  About the Author

  For all the readers who asked for another story. Welcome back to the Realms.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  My thanks to Blair Boone for continuing to be my first reader and for providing encouragement and feedback in the story’s roughest stage; to Debra Dixon for being second reader; to Doranna Durgin for maintaining the website; to Adrienne Roehrich for running the official fan page on Facebook; to Jennifer Crow for being a sounding board during our dinner-and-book-binge evenings; to Anne Sowards and Jennifer Jackson for the feedback that helps me write a better story; to Alexis Nixon and all the other publicity and marketing folks at PRH who help get the book into readers’ hands; and to Pat Feidner for always being supportive and encouraging.

  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.

  Note: The “Sc” in the names Scelt and Sceltie is pronounced “Sh.”

  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 of 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 and w
eaves 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

  PART ONE

  ONE

  Facing the freestanding mirror in her bedroom, Jillian used Craft to secure the pendant that held her Purple Dusk Jewel to her green tunic so that it wouldn’t swing when she moved or flew. Then she spread her dark, membranous wings to their full length before closing them in a relaxed position.

  Was she plain? Was she pretty? Until that brief touch of Tamnar’s lips against hers, Jillian hadn’t considered the question at all, let alone wondered whether such a thing was important. She was Eyrien, one of the long-lived races, and she was strong. That had been important to her for a very long time. Now being strong didn’t give her the same satisfaction, and she wasn’t sure why.

  She turned to the side and studied her shape in the mirror. Her breasts had been developing for the past few years, and she had noticeable breasts now and had to wear undergarments that kept the bounce to a minimum, especially when she was training with Eyrien weapons. But . . . Did this tunic make her look fat? Was it the wrong color green for someone who had brown skin and gold eyes? Nurian had said that shade of green was a good color on her, but her elder sister, who was an excellent Healer, wasn’t necessarily the best judge of clothing. There had been too many years before they had come to live in Ebon Rih when any clothing that covered the body and wasn’t worn to rags was good, regardless of color or style.

  Then again, there weren’t that many styles that suited a winged race.

  Combing out her long, straight black hair, Jillian swiftly worked the hair into a multistranded braid that began high on the back of her head and ended at the base of her neck, leaving the rest of the hair to flow down her back in a loose tail. After securing the braided hair with a decorative clasp, she studied herself in the mirror again and wondered whether a man would find the hairstyle attractive.

  Since there was a man spending time in their home again, maybe she didn’t want to look attractive. Not that Lord Rothvar had said or done anything inappropriate, but Prince Falonar had seemed like a good man until he became Nurian’s lover. It wasn’t long after that the Eyriens who were loyal to Prince Yaslana found out Falonar wasn’t a good man at all.

  She needed to stop fretting. She didn’t have time for it, not if she wanted to do a morning warm-up with her sparring stick before flying over to the Yaslana eyrie and helping Marian with some of the early chores before escorting Yaslana’s two elder children to the Eyrien school.

  She crept out of her bedroom, listening for any sound that would tell her whether Rothvar was still in her sister’s bedroom. Once she passed Nurian’s door, she fled to the kitchen and started the coffee for Nurian and the . . . guest.

  There were a vegetable casserole and some muffins left over from yesterday. Enough for two people.

  A glance at the kitchen clock told her there wasn’t time to cook anything else.

  Looks like I’m skipping breakfast.

  “You’re up early.”

  Jillian gasped and almost dropped the casserole dish. Seeing only Nurian standing in the kitchen archway, she offered a wobbly smile. “The day starts early in Prince Yaslana’s household.” She put the casserole in the oven. “There’s plenty here, and there are some muffins. Coffee will be ready in a few minutes. Yours always tastes like rubbish, so I—”

  “Rothvar didn’t stay over.” Nurian studied her. “He’s not here, Jillian.”

  But his psychic scent and physical scent still lingered in their home, reminding her that he’d been spending enough time there for wood and stone to absorb his presence.

  Jillian rubbed sweaty hands on her tunic. “I have to get going. Don’t forget to take the casserole out of the oven once it’s warmed up.”

  “Jillian . . .”

  “I have to go.”

  Sadness filled Nurian’s eyes, but she sounded brisk when she said, “I made more tonic for Marian. Can you take it to her?”

  “Of course.” Jillian walked over to the archway, then hesitated. “She had the baby months ago. Shouldn’t she be well by now?”

  “It was a hard birthing.” Nurian sounded like each word could start a fatal avalanche. “Sometimes it takes an Eyrien woman a long time to recover.”

  And some never recover. That was the thing no one said and everyone who lived in and around the valley feared—that Marian Yaslana, wife of the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih, would be one of those women robbed of vitality by childbirth and would fade away, despite Nurian’s best efforts to heal her.

  “Do you know what’s wrong?” Jillian asked.

  Nurian shook her head. “I’ll get the tonic.” She went to her workroom and returned a minute later, handing the shielded bottle to Jillian.

  Using Craft, Jillian vanished the bottle, then hugged her sister. “It will be all right.”

  “Will it?”

  Were they talking about Marian’s health or Rothvar’s presence in Nurian’s—and Jillian’s—life?

  “Don’t forget to take the casserole out of the oven,” Jillian said again as she stepped back. Nurian’s focus and attention when it came to the precise timing required to make tonics and healing brews didn’t extend to the kitchen.

  Stepping out of their eyrie, Jillian studied the Eyrien men who were already flying over the valley. Was one of them Rothvar? Was he watching her? Or was he at the communal eyrie, sparring to keep his fighting skills sharp?

  She would do a brief warm-up when she reached Yaslana’s home. There should be enough time for that.

  She spread her wings and launched herself skyward. As she flew, she wished she’d put on the belted cape that Eyriens used in colder weather. Autumn mornings were crisp, but today the air held a sharp reminder that winter would be there soon.

  Landing on the flagstone courtyard in front of the eyrie, she walked up to the front door and put her left hand on a stone inset next to the door. Eyries were built from the stone of the mountains or were built into the mountains themselves, but this stone didn’t come from this particular mountain and had a specific purpose. The Yaslana eyrie was shielded inside and out—inside so that frisky children couldn’t scamper off before their parents were awake, and outside so that no one who wasn’t keyed into the spells placed in that stone could enter when the doors were locked and the shields were up.

  There had been enemies. They were gone now, destroyed years ago, but Lucivar Yaslana didn’t take chances with his family’s safety.

  Jillian set her hand on the stone and waited until she felt the shields part around the door. She opened the door and slipped inside. Moments later, the shields were back in place.

  Using Craft, she called in the bottle of tonic and left it on the kitchen counter where Marian would see it. Since no one seemed to be up yet—was she really that early?—she left the kitchen, crossed the large front room that held nothing but a coat-tree near the door, and opened the glass doors that led to the yard where the children played. Fortunately the shields that protected the eyrie extended around the yard, so she wouldn’t be stuck out there if she finished her warm-up before the household woke up.

  She called in her sparring stick. It wasn’t as thick or as long as the sticks used by the adult males, which meant the wood might snap in a real fight against one of them, but it fit her hands.

  She went through the slow, precise movements, warming up muscles in her arms, shoulders, back, and legs. Her body had been going through changes for years, but lately she felt like a stranger in her own skin, and she didn’t know—

  A finger ran down her back between her wings, right where Prince Falonar had . . .

  She spun around and struck out, her stick hitting another already in position to counter her atta
ck.

  Mother Night! Had she been so lost in thought that she hadn’t heard him approach?

  Lucivar Yaslana gave her a long look before taking a step back. “Let’s talk.”

  She didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to be told she was being selfish and unreasonable because she wasn’t comfortable with Rothvar staying overnight. She didn’t want to be told she was spoiling Nurian’s first relationship in decades because of the memory of a man who had been gone for just as many decades. She knew that already, but she couldn’t explain why it wasn’t easy to accept Lord Rothvar into their lives.

  Daemonar and Titian, Yaslana’s two elder children, rushed out of the eyrie, their own sparring sticks in hand, and headed toward them.

  “You two stay near the house and go through the sparring warm-up.” Yaslana’s mild tone didn’t make the words any less a command.

  “But, Papa . . . ,” Daemonar began. The expression on his father’s face silenced him. “Yes, sir.” He looked at Jillian with concern and asked on a psychic communication thread, ٭Are you in trouble?٭

  ٭No.٭ At least, she didn’t think so.

  “Let’s talk,” Yaslana said again, tipping his head to indicate the far end of the yard, where a mountain stream filled a small pool before spilling over and continuing its journey to the valley below.

  She led the way with him a step behind her. She stiffened and jerked to a stop when his hand closed over her tail of hair, turning it into a tether.

  He leaned over her shoulder. She tightened her wings.

  “Listen to me, witchling,” he said softly. “Are you listening?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “If Rothvar ever raises a hand to you in anger, if he ever does anything that isn’t appropriate, I will skin him alive.”

  His words thrilled her—and scared her. Lucivar Yaslana didn’t say anything he didn’t mean.

  “But he’s your second-in-command,” she protested. Rothvar, wearing the Green Jewel, was the most powerful Eyrien Warlord and the second most powerful Eyrien male living in Ebon Rih.