Shalador's Lady bj-8 Read online

  “No reason,” Garth muttered. “We were just having a little fun, and then she and that damn dog started raving.”

  “Dog?” Kermilla frowned. “Oh, the kindred Sceltie.”

  “Why don’t you have one of those smart dogs?” Correne asked. “When I set up my court, I’m going to insist on having one of them. I think it would be quite amusing.”

  “They’re more trouble than they’re worth,” Kermilla muttered. But there was a kind of status in having one of the kindred as a companion. Just not a bitch like that Vae. “Anyway, gentlemen, you needn’t be concerned with any orders given by Lady Freckledy.” She waited until Garth and Brok stopped guffawing, then tapped her Summer-sky ring. “I outrank her, which means I can countermand any order she gives. So I am formally requesting your presence while Correne and I do some shopping in the landen marketplace.” Since her escorts were behind her and couldn’t see her face, she gave her boys a significant smile. “Maybe you could even point out a likely place for us to pick up a gift or two.”

  Brok smiled back. “Yes, Lady, we could.”

  “Poppi!” Ignoring the other two men who were standing with Gray and Ranon, Cassidy threw herself into her father’s arms.

  “There’s my Kitten.” Burle hugged her breathless, then took a step back to study her face. His eyes got misty. He sniffed and nodded sharply before turning to the men. “Prince Gray. Prince Ranon.”

  “It’s a pleasure to see you again, sir,” Gray said.

  Burle frowned. “Sir? Huh.”

  Cassidy linked arms with her father. “Come inside and tell me all the gossip.”

  “Men do not gossip,” Burle said. “We share news.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, come in and—”

  “Time for that later. There’s work to be done.”

  “You’ve got time for a little visit before you start,” Cassidy protested. She wanted to have him to herself for a little while before he got involved in the whirlwind of work Prince Sadi’s loan was about to create.

  “I’ll be here a whole month,” Burle said.

  She recognized the gleam in her father’s eyes. She didn’t know what kind of arrangement Daemon Sadi had made with Burle—and she was certain neither man would tell her the exact terms of that arrangement—but Burle was excited by the possibilities.

  “It’s your decision, of course, Lord Burle,” Rainier said with a smile, “but I’ve heard the High Lord say more than once that a daughter takes priority over any other kind of work.”

  “Over any other kind of work, huh?” Burle laughed.

  Rainier indicated the man standing on his left. “Lady Cassidy, may I introduce Lord Marcus, Prince Sadi’s man of business?”

  “It’s a pleasure to have you with us,” Cassidy said.

  “I suggest that Gray and Ranon show Marcus and me the buildings for the shops,” Rainier said. “You can spend some time with your father, and then Lord Burle can look at what needs to be done in the Queen’s Residence and the Healer’s House. Prince Sadi did emphasize that those two places were to be done first.”

  “In that case, Cassie and I will have a little visit before we get down to work,” Burle said.

  She waited until the men climbed into the open carriage with Ranon in the driver’s seat. Then she turned to her father. “I’m so glad you could come to help us.”

  “You’re my girl. Of course I would help. Besides, training a few youngsters to have a trade, that’s important too, and that’s one of the reasons I’m here.”

  “Is Mother going to come for a visit?”

  “She is. She had some things she wanted to look into first. Then she’ll be along. And your brother’s planning to come and help out for a few days too.” Burle turned, looked at the Residence, and said wistfully, “Hate to waste good daylight.”

  Since she felt the same way about gardening as he did about building, she smiled. “In that case, let’s get you settled into one of the guest rooms. We’ll get a quick bite to eat so that we don’t have to fib when we’re asked if we took time for it, and then we can visit while I help you take measurements at the Healer’s House.”

  “That’s a deal, Kitten. That is a deal.”

  “Lady, I think it would be wiser to do your shopping in another part of the town.”

  “Oh, la, Kenjim,” Kermilla said. “There’s no need to be fussing about this.” Besides, until Theran paid the bills at the few aristo shops she had found in this dung-heap town, the merchants weren’t going to extend any more credit.

  “Your companions have a questionable kind of honor,” Kenjim said.

  “How can you say that?” Kenjim served her, but Garth and Brok were hers. “How dare you say that?”

  “I dare because I’m First Circle. Lady, we’re not in Dharo. We aren’t even in our own Realm. This isn’t a friendly place, and those young studs could pull you into the kind of trouble that ends in bloodshed.”

  “That’s ridiculous!”

  “Is it?”

  Lower lip trembling, she walked away from him. The fact that he stayed at the carriage instead of accompanying her to the tables of goods told her plainly enough that he wouldn’t serve her one minute past his contract. And that made her angry as well as sad. Kenjim used to think she was a “delight to the senses.” Now all he did was criticize.

  They called this a craftsmen’s courtyard? Kermilla looked at the half-empty tables and the sullen landen faces. They watched her with a look in their eyes that made her nervous. Maybe Kenjim was right. Maybe this wasn’t a good part of town for her to be in. But giving in now would mean taking orders from a male who was supposed to serve her, and no Queen with any pride would do that.

  She joined Correne, who had been studying a selection of leather belts.

  “This one would be acceptable,” Correne said. “The buckle is almost pretty.”

  The leather was lusciously soft and meant to accept the sweet curve of a woman’s hips, and the pewter buckle was in the shape of an arbor and bench, a highly suggestive piece implying the pleasure that could be sampled in a garden—if a woman wore it in the right place.

  “This is a fine piece, Lady,” the landen said. “The price is thirty silver marks.”

  “Thirty!” Correne said. “You think I would pay a landen thirty silver marks for anything?”

  Rage flashed in the landen’s face, quickly masked but not quickly enough.

  Brok and Garth stepped up to the table.

  “You trying to give the Ladies trouble?” Brok snarled.

  “Gentlemen,” Kermilla said firmly. “There is no reason to be uncivil because of a simple misunderstanding.” She looked at the landen and used the same tone that effectively cowed the landens in sheep-shit Woolskin. “I’m sure this man didn’t realize aQueen was interested in the belt, and it is customary that when a Queen expresses interest in an item, it is given to her as a gift.” She picked up the belt and handed it to Correne. “Therefore, haggling over the price isn’t necessary. Is it?”

  The landen looked at Brok and Garth. Then he shook his head. “No, it’s not necessary. Please accept this belt as a gift, Lady.”

  “The guards are coming,” Garth said. “Let’s go.”

  Something in his voice had Kermilla walking back to their carriage. And something in Brok’s voice when he looked at a weaver and said, “Tell your little bitch to keep an eye out for us,” made her shiver.

  Then the guards rode up and surrounded them—hard men with honed tempers.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Kermilla demanded.

  “These two Warlords were forbidden to come into the landen part of town,” a guard said. “The penalty for disobeying the Queen’s command is exile. Or death.”

  “No!” Kermilla’s heart pounded. How could this man be such a brute? He had no business threatening her boys. None! “You can’t do that.”

  “The Queen’s command—”

  “I outrank Cassidy, and I say these men are free to come and go as t
hey please!”

  The guard looked at her, and there was no indication he was going to yield.

  “Your Jewels may outrank Lady Cassidy’s, but she rules Dena Nehele.”

  “For now,” Kermilla snapped. “Come spring, I will be the law here, and I won’t forget who caused trouble for me and mine.”

  A humming, terrible silence.

  “Warlord,” Kenjim said politely as he stepped up to stand at her left. “The Ladies were not aware of this command when they asked these two Warlords to stand as additional escorts.”

  “Garth and Brok were aware of it,” the guard said. “They almost blinded a young girl. That’s why they were banned from this part of town.”

  “If Lord Bardoc and I had been aware of this, we would have opposed those Warlords coming with us,” Kenjim said.

  Kenjim’s anger was a scalding heat against her skin. Kermilla took a half step away from him.

  “We’ll escort you all back to the line,” the guard said. “And we’ll take Garth and Brok back to their father’s house. This will be reported to the Master of the Guard. If he feels that more needs to be done, he’ll take care of it.”

  If more needs to be done? Kermilla frowned. What did that mean?

  “Fair enough,” Kenjim said.

  “Fair enough?” Kermilla stared at Kenjim in disbelief. Then she glared at the guard. “You won’t report to anyone. Grayhaven is Theran’s town.”

  “Last I heard, it was still part of Dena Nehele. Prince Grayhaven may rule here, but he still has to answer to the Queen and her court. And that includes Talon, the Master of the Guard.”

  Theran would be furious if Talon came here and started chewing on him over this.

  She offered no other protests as Kenjim and Bardoc helped her and Correne into the carriage.

  *I vanished the belt before the guards arrived,* Correne said once they were all seated.

  As if that was the least bit important right now, Kermilla thought.

  Two of the guards escorted them all the way back to the spot where she had met up with Brok and Garth. Then they rode off with her two boys, leaving her with Bardoc’s discomfort and Kenjim’s simmering anger.

  As soon as they returned to the mansion, Correne scurried to her room and Bardoc made some excuse about needing to talk to Jhorma. Which left her alone with Kenjim, who followed her right into her room.

  “What in the name of Hell are you doing, associating with bastards who would try to blind a child?” Kenjim growled.

  “Garth and Brok are mine.” Kermilla thumped a fist against her chest. “Mine!”

  “They tried to blind a child!”

  “A stupid landen!” Kermilla shouted. “Who cares about landens?”

  He stared at her before saying quietly, “A Queen with honor.”

  The insult silenced her. She studied his eyes, felt the sharp heat of his temper. She tried a delicate psychic probe to find out what was under the moment’s temper—and found disgust, disappointment, and contempt.

  “If Garth and Brok belong to you, then I don’t.” Kenjim’s voice was dangerously quiet. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, claiming that you’re going to be Queen here—”

  “I am going to be Queen! Theran promised me!”

  Kenjim let out a huffing laugh that held no humor. “Then he’s as much of a fool as we were.”

  Kermilla walked over to the window and stared at nothing. Bardoc was unhappy about this misunderstanding with those stupid guards who were protecting landens, but she could talk him around. Kenjim, however, was now a danger to her. He wouldn’t be able to turn Theran against her, but his anger could sour the opinion of the Warlord Princes who were coming to meet her. He might even try to ruin her chance of becoming the Queen of Dena Nehele.

  She turned back to face him. “Pack your things. You’re returning to Bhak immediately. I’ll have Gallard assign another in the First Circle to stand escort here.”

  “As the Lady wishes.” Kenjim’s smile held a sharp, terrible edge. “Before you, I served an honest—and honorable—Queen for five years. But that doesn’t mean I don’t understand the value of negotiating.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “If you try to smear my reputation by distorting what happened today or by misrepresenting this conversation, I will go to Lady Darlena and counter your report with a charge of mistreatment.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!”

  “Wouldn’t I?”

  Kermilla paled. As a District Queen, she ruled under the hand of a Province Queen who, in turn, ruled her piece of Dharo under the hand of the Territory Queen. If Kenjim went to Darlena with a charge of mistreatment, more than the Province Queen would be taking a look at her court. And that wouldn’t do at all. Not when spring was so many months away. If Darlena—or even worse, Sabrina—took Kenjim’s side in this and released him from his contract right now, it would break her court, and she wouldn’t have the income from Bhak and Woolskin to support her, as insufficient as it was.

  If she asked Theran to kill Kenjim, would he do it without asking questions?

  No. Not without questions. Even if Theran would do that for her, Jhorma and Bardoc would insist on some justification—and would insist on her leaving Dena Nehele, which would ruin everything.

  Kenjim has already considered that. He knows the knife he’s holding against my throat is sharper than any I can hold against his. I can’t strike against him without hurting myself more.

  “Very well,” she said coldly. “We’ll just say that you’ve completed your rotation as escort and are returning to Bhak to take up other duties on behalf of your Queen. Is that satisfactory?”

  “Quite satisfactory.”

  “In that case, get out.”

  He reached for the door but didn’t open it. When he looked at her, she thought she saw regret, maybe even sorrow, in his eyes.

  “Do yourself a favor, Kermilla. Cut the acquaintance with those two young Warlords. Stop playing these games. Go back to Bhak and start taking care of what is already yours. If you don’t, I won’t be the only man who walks away from your court.” He opened the door and walked out.

  She didn’t go down to dinner that night, claiming a sick headache. And that wasn’t far from the truth, since she had blurred the afternoon with many generous glasses of brandy.

  Tonight she would brood and sulk and get gloriously drunk. Tomorrow, when those Warlord Princes came to dinner, she needed to shine.

  CHAPTER 19

  KAELEER

  *Bastard?*

  Daemon opened his eyes, not sure if the call that had broken his sleep had been real or part of a dream.

  *Bastard?*

  Ebon-gray psychic thread. No doubt now that the call was real. *Prick?* He waited. Didn’t get a response. Just a sense of pain running through that psychic thread. *Lucivar?*

  *I need help.*

  Daemon flung the sheet aside and rolled out of bed, startling Jaenelle. *Where are you?*

  *Home.*

  *Are you hurt?*

  *No. Marian . . .* Pain. Grief.

  Mother Night. *I’ll be there as soon as I can.*

  He rushed into the adjoining bedroom to dress. Jaenelle rushed in right behind him.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.” He pulled on trousers and a shirt that he didn’t bother to button. He grabbed a jacket, shoes, and socks, then vanished them. “Something about Marian.”

  “May the Darkness have mercy.” Jaenelle ran back to her bedroom, hollering as she went, “Get one of the Coaches. I’m going with you.”

  He hesitated, even considered arguing with her. She was still in the days of her moontime when she couldn’t use more than basic Craft without causing herself excruciating pain. But she was a Healer, the best Healer in the whole damn Realm, and she was Lucivar’s sister and Queen. If Marian needed more help than the Eyrien Healer could provide, Jaenelle would step in, no matter the cost.

  And t
his time, as long as her own life wasn’t at risk, he wouldn’t try to stop her.

  “I’ll wait for you downstairs.” He was out of the room and running through the Hall to reach the outer door closest to the stables and the building that housed the carriages and Coaches.

  The footmen who were on night duty didn’t call to him, but word must have passed as they figured out his direction because Beale was waiting at the outer door for him.

  “Because of your haste and the late hour, I assumed the small Coach would be sufficient,” Beale said. “It’s being brought around to the landing web since that would be more convenient for the Lady.”

  Still panting from the run, Daemon nodded. It seemed Beale was thinking a lot more clearly than he was. “Guess I should have contacted you to begin with.”

  “You have other things on your mind.”

  He hurried through the corridors, buttoning his shirt as he went, and reached the great hall at the same time Jaenelle came running down the stairs. They raced out the open front door to the Coach on the landing web.

  Holt waited beside the Coach, dressed in nothing but a pair of short trousers. As Jaenelle entered the Coach, a basket suddenly appeared beside the footman. He grabbed it and shoved it into Daemon’s hands.

  “The best Mrs. Beale could do in the time,” Holt said.

  Daemon handed the basket to Jaenelle and took the driver’s seat while Holt closed the door and moved away from the landing web.

  Jaenelle took the seat beside Daemon, still holding the basket. “Did Lucivar say anything?”

  “He’s scared, he’s grieving, and he’s in pain.”

  She didn’t ask anything else.

  He raised the Coach off the landing web, caught the Black Wind, and raced to Ebon Rih as fast as the Black could take them.

  “Wait until I set this thing down,” Daemon snapped as Jaenelle started to rise from her seat. “If you fall off the damn mountain, you won’t help any of us.”

  She gave him a look that normally produced a cold sweat. He ignored the look, just as he ignored the odd way his hands trembled when he remembered the way Lucivar sounded.