The Queen's Price Read online

  BOOKS 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

  Crowbones

  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 Queen’s Bargain

  The Queen’s Weapons

  The Queen’s Price

  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 © 2023 by Anne Bishop

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  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 price : a Black Jewels novel / Anne Bishop.

  Description: New York : Ace, [2023] | Series: The Black Jewels

  Identifiers: LCCN 2022029114 (print) | LCCN 2022029115 (ebook) | ISBN 9780593337363 (hardcover) | ISBN 9780593337387 (ebook)

  Subjects: LCGFT: Fantasy fiction. | Novels. Classification: LCC PS3552.I7594 Q45 2023 (print) | LCC PS3552.I7594 (ebook) | DDC 813/.54--dc23/eng/20220623

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022029114

  LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022029115

  Cover design by Adam Auerbach

  Cover image of woman by People Images / Getty Images

  Book design by Alison Cnockaert, adapted for ebook by Molly Jeszke

  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.

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  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Books by Anne Bishop

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Jewels

  Blood Hierarchy / Castes

  Chapter 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

  Chapter 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

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  Chapter Seventy

  Chapter Seventy-One

  Chapter Seventy-Two

  Chapter Seventy-Three

  Chapter Seventy-Four

  Chapter Seventy-Five

  Chapter Seventy-Six

  Chapter Seventy-Seven

  Chapter Seventy-Eight

  Chapter Seventy-Nine

  Chapter Eighty

  Chapter Eighty-One

  Characters in the Story

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  _142781532_

  For Patricia Briggs and Ann Peters

  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 terms “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; refers mostly to any Blood female who doesn’t wear Jewels

  witch—a Blood female who wears Jewels but isn’t on 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 or 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 or 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

  Note: A list of characters in this story is provided at the back of the book.

  ONE

  SaDiablo Hall

  Daemonar Yaslana spread his dark membranous wings to their full span before letting them settle into a relaxed position—or as relaxed as he could manage, all things considered. Then he blew out a breath and raised a hand to knock on his uncle’s study door.

  The school that wasn’t officially a school had been in operation at SaDiablo Hall for a month. The instructors were still adjusting to teaching a very select group of thirty-six students as well as adjusting to being under the scrutiny of the Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince of Dhemlan, who was not only their employer but also the patriarch of the SaDiablo family—the wealthiest and most powerful family in the entire Realm of Kaeleer. The students were still adjusting to living in a massive gray stone building that, with all its wings and interior courtyards, could be mistaken for a small enclosed village, as well as dealing with that same Black-Jewele
d Warlord Prince as an administrator and benefactor who was benign—most of the time—but could swing to cold, lethal rage in a heartbeat if provoked . . . and was their instructor in Craft and Protocol.

  All that adjusting meant someone had to act as leader or liaison or some other nonsense word that basically meant being the one who explained things to the adults when stuff happened. And who better to do the explaining than the Warlord Prince who wore a Green Birthright Jewel and was the nephew of that Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince?

  He never looked forward to explaining stuff. If his sister hadn’t been involved in this mess, he might have refused, but he couldn’t let Titian fly into a potential storm on her own. Cherish and protect. Those commitments were bred into the bones of Warlord Princes, so he had to get some answers without getting Titian into trouble.

  Daemonar gave the door a quick knock before he stepped into the room, leaving himself partially shielded by the door. He didn’t need the protection, not from his uncle—at least not right now—but it made him feel less . . . exposed.

  The man behind the large blackwood desk looked up from the papers he’d been reading and smiled a welcome.

  Daemon Sadi was still a breathtakingly beautiful man, with a well-toned body, golden-brown skin, and thick black hair that was now silvered at the temples. That he was also the most lethal man in the Realm was something people often forgot when they looked at his face and felt the seductive pull of his potent sexual heat.

  Having seen all the sides of Sadi’s temper, Daemonar never forgot the man’s lethal nature, but it was something he could dismiss—most of the time.

  Giving Daemon what he hoped looked like an easy smile, he said, “Hypothetical question.”

  Did he detect a hint of panic in his uncle’s gold eyes?

  Daemon capped his pen and said in that deep, cultured voice that always held a sensual edge, “All right.”

  “If someone tried a bit of Craft inside the Hall instead of going outside because it’s cold and rainy today, and the spell went a wee bit wrong and punched a hole in a wall, how much trouble would that person be in? Hypothetically.”

  He watched Daemon swallow. Started counting the seconds before getting a reply. Not so different from counting between seeing lightning and hearing thunder to determine the distance of a storm.

  “How big is this hypothetical hole?” Daemon finally asked.

  “More decorative window than door,” Daemonar replied.

  “No risk of any part of the Hall collapsing because of this hole?”

  “Not at all. Easily repaired.” He hoped.

  “Well then. If no one was injured and there is no structural damage that might cause future injuries, I think the person or persons involved in the spell that went a wee bit wrong could make their own arrangements to have the repairs done without requiring me to get involved. Hypothetically.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “However.” Daemon uncapped his pen and made a mark on the paper in front of him.

  Hell’s fire, here it comes, Daemonar thought.

  “I would expect to find a copy of this bit of Craft on my desk when I return to the study after the midday meal so that I can review it and use it as part of the next Craft lesson, since it had gone a wee bit wrong.”

  Daemon looked up and gave Daemonar a smile that made the boy’s knees turn weak.

  “That’s a sensible idea,” Daemonar said.

  “I’m delighted you think so.” The words were purred, and that, in itself, was a warning.

  Daemonar closed the study door, smiled at Beale, the Red-Jeweled Warlord who was the Hall’s butler, and Holt, the Opal-Jeweled Warlord who was Daemon’s secretary, and strode across the great hall, heading for the staircase in the informal receiving room. Once out of sight, he bounded up the stairs and ran to the part of the Hall where the other youngsters waited.

  Seven of the twenty-two girls who were now living at the Hall had been involved in whatever had gone awry. The rest of the girls and the fourteen boys who also lived at the Hall had come running at the sound of something going boom. Everyone had looked at the remains of the table that had held the items used for that spell, then looked at the hole in the wall—and then the other thirty-five youngsters had looked at him.

  When he walked back into the room, they stared at him, their expressions all some variation of “Oh, shit, how much trouble are we in?”

  Granted, they had good reason to be concerned. It was the first time any of them had blown up a piece of Uncle Daemon’s home.

  “Well?” Titian asked, catching her lower lip between her teeth. “Are we in trouble?”

  “What did Prince Sadi say?” Zoey asked.

  “We’ll all chip in to pay for the repairs and get them done quietly.” He was pretty sure there wouldn’t be anything quiet about sawing and hammering and whatever else was needed, but this was a remote part of the Hall, so the noise shouldn’t be too obvious. “Zoey, write out what you and the other girls were trying to do, what you used in the spell, and the steps you took before things went . . .”

  “Out the wall?” Titian suggested.

  “Yeah. That. Don’t leave anything out. I’ll slip it on Prince Sadi’s desk when he’s away from his study.”

  Everyone sucked in a breath. It was Jhett, one of the young Black Widows, who finally said, “Why tell him what we used for the spell?”

  “Because that was his price for allowing us to take care of this ourselves,” Daemonar replied.

  * * *

  * * *

  When Beale and Holt walked into his study, Daemon kept his eyes on the paper and continued to write random words—as if this conversation were casual enough not to require his full attention.

  “There is a hole in a wall?” he asked mildly.

  “There is, Prince,” Beale replied.

  “A big hole?”

  A hesitation. “Big enough to require repairs, but small enough that it shouldn’t require reconstruction of the entire wall.”

  “I see.” Daemon noticed his mind had given up on the challenge of forming words and he was simply writing the same three letters over and over. “No one is at risk from falling debris?”

  “I checked,” Holt said. When Daemon looked up, he shrugged. “One of the Scelties told Mikal there was a boom. Since Mikal was working with me today, we went to take a look. Discreetly.”

  “But you didn’t think to inform me?” Daemon asked, his voice still mild.

  Another shrug. “Daemonar was heading toward the study as Mikal and I headed toward the room, so I didn’t think it was my place to report the incident—unless Daemonar failed to tell you.”

  Unfortunately, that made sense—or as much sense as anything currently made in the Hall.

  “It’s raining,” Beale said. “And it’s cold out.”

  Daemon capped his pen, abandoning the attempt to look unconcerned. “Yes, it is.”

  “I believe the young Ladies would have tried this bit of Craft outdoors if it hadn’t been raining.”

  “That it is cold and rainy has been pointed out to me.” He had to give the youngsters a chance to figure things out for themselves and work together to correct mistakes, just like they would have to do in the future when they were part of a Queen’s court. Wouldn’t his father have done that when Saetan had had the job of teaching and protecting Witch’s coven and the boyos? “Along with correcting whatever Craft has gone wrong, I think a review of creating shields will be in order for this week’s lessons, don’t you?”

  “Absolutely,” Holt said.

  “It would be prudent,” Beale agreed. “Experience indicates this will not be a singular event.”

  Daemon sighed. “Very well.” He waited, but Beale and Holt didn’t leave. “Something else?”

  Beale looked at Holt. Holt looked at Beale.

  “It’s time,” Beale said. “Will you show him, or shall I?”

  Holt hesitated, then said, “I’ll show him.”

  Daemon studied the two men. “Show me what?”

  His study was in the shape of a reversed L, the short end holding floor-to-ceiling bookcases behind his large blackwood desk. The sides of that part of the study were covered in dark red curtains. Behind one set of curtains was a door that opened into a storage room. Large shelves—some open, some with doors—started above Daemon’s head and went to the ceiling. Beneath the shelves were two rows of wooden filing cabinets that held paperwork and records for the family’s various estates and business interests.