Shalador's Lady bj-8 Page 25

  They were polite. He couldn’t fault them for their manners. They even extended the courtesy of showing interest they clearly didn’t feel. At least, it was clear to him.

  They were also getting pissed off at Correne’s catty remarks. The girl wasn’t liked in her own village. In fact, she was one of the young Queens the Warlord Princes were vehemently opposed to seeing rule even the smallest village. That she seemed to be trying to compete with Kermilla for the men’s attention—and the fact that Kermilla was taking the bait and blatantly flirting—wasn’t lost on these men.

  “Kermilla has been helping the Queens in the northern Provinces re-learn the aspect of their power that nourishes the land and benefits the harvest,” Theran said, laying his hand lightly on Kermilla’s wrist.

  She gave him an arch look, and for a moment he thought she might say something imprudent. Then she slipped her wrist out from under his hand and smiled at Ferall.

  “Yes,” she said. “I was shocked to learn that my Sisters had forgotten such a basic part of what makes a Queen a Queen.”

  The skin around Ferall’s eyes tightened.

  Kermilla added hastily, “So I was, naturally, pleased to be of some small service to them.”

  “You haven’t set up a court yet?” Ferall asked.

  “Silly man, of course I have a court.” Kermilla gave Ferall a dazzling smile. “I rule a Blood village and a landen village in Dharo.”

  “So who has been taking care of the Queen’s duties there while you’ve been visiting Theran here?”

  Anger flashed through Theran. Had Kermilla heard the criticism in that question?

  Kermilla put aside the flirtatious playfulness as easily as she might put aside a shawl. She gave Ferall a look at the Queen beneath the young-woman banter. “Dharo is an old Territory with a strong web of Queens. The village I rule can be run very well by my Steward and Master of the Guard for the time being. I am kept apprised of what is happening there and would return home in an instant if I was urgently needed.” She placed her hand on Theran’s arm. “I am not negligent in my duties, Prince Ferall, which is what you are implying. But a village that is well established requires little supervision from its Queen, so I offered to stay and give Theran whatever assistance I can in repairing the damage that has been done to his people.”

  Her speech warmed Theran’s heart, but Ferall seemed less impressed. He gave Theran a hard look and said, “I thought that’s why Lady Cassidy came here. I thought that’s why we all agreed to have her as the Queen. And she didn’t leave the people she’d promised to rule in order to ‘give assistance.’ ”

  Where was that anger coming from? Theran wondered. Nothing Kermilla said should have offended Ferall that much. Unless he wanted to be offended for some reason?

  Kermilla, however, felt the punch in Ferall’s words. “No, she didn’t leave her people,” she snapped. “She didn’t have any. She wasn’t Queen enough to hold on to her court!”

  “Kermilla,” Theran said in soft warning, touching her wrist again.

  Kermilla pulled away from him. “And where is Cassidy now? Here in the capital city? No. She’s in some cow-dung village that belongs to a people the rest of you would rather pretend don’t exist.”

  “Hold your tongue, girl,” Ferall snarled. “You don’t know us. Any of us. Especially the Shaladorans.”

  “I know Cassidy is a country girl from a trademan’s family who can’t talk about anything except livestock and crops and wouldn’t know how to sit at a table with a true aristo if all your lives depended on it.”

  Theran’s heart jumped in his throat. Thank the Darkness these men didn’t know about Cassidy’s connection to Sadi and his wife. Those two were as aristo as you could get.

  “Her manners are as rough as her face, and neither is fit for polite company,” Kermilla finished, her chest rising and falling impressively as she sucked in air.

  Correne snickered. “Back in her old village, they called Freckledy the ‘spotted draft horse of Queens.’ ”

  A tense silence shrouded the table for a long, long moment.

  Then Ferall looked Theran in the eyes and pushed back his chair. “We’re done here. There’s nothing more to say.”

  Ferall walked out of the room, followed by the other three Warlord Princes.

  Stunned, Theran didn’t move for several heartbeats. Then he ran after them and caught them at the front door.

  “Ferall, wait.” He grabbed the other man’s arm.

  “There’s nothing more to say.” Ferall pulled out of Theran’s grasp.

  “She’s young and high-spirited.”

  “Too young,” Ferall said. “She should have slapped that little bitch down for insulting the Queen like that. And if people in her old village did say that about Cassidy, who told Correne about it so that it could be slung around here?”

  “Probably one of Kermilla’s escorts,” Theran snapped. “They’re here too, and they come from Dharo.”

  “A court takes its temper from its Queen,” Ferall said. “And what was at that table tonight is not something I want ruling my village. Good night, Theran.”

  He let them walk away. There was nothing else he could do.

  No, he thought as he closed the door, there was something he could do. But he would wait until Kermilla retired for the evening. Maybe he’d even wait until tomorrow when things settled down a little more.

  Hell’s fire, Ranon thought when he led the horse out of the Coaching station stables and ran into Ferall and the other three Warlord Princes. Could his timing be any worse today?

  “Ferall,” he said, then nodded to the other men.

  “More personal business?” Ferall asked.

  Ranon shook his head. “Queen’s business in the town.” Meaning, it wasn’t the business of anyone who lived in the mansion.

  Ferall hesitated. Actually looked uncomfortable. “Does the Queen have any objections to visitors in her home village?”

  What an odd question. “No objections at all,” Ranon said.

  “Would it be all right if the four of us came by a week from today to take a look around?”

  Something was going on. Too bad he didn’t know what it was—and couldn’t afford to care. Not tonight. “I can’t promise Lady Cassidy will be available, but I’ll make sure I’m there. Why don’t you come by in the morning?”

  “We’ll do that. Good evening to you, Ranon.”

  The other Warlord Princes followed Ferall into the Coaching station. Wasn’t any reason for them to hire a Coach to ride the Winds back to their homes—unless they wanted that time to talk among themselves before going their separate ways.

  “That’s a worry for another day,” Ranon muttered as he mounted the horse. Good thing they hadn’t seen him leaving the Coach he’d brought. There would have been questions about that—and about Burne and Haele being with him if they’d been spotted by the other men.

  He kept the horse at a walk, waiting for his Brothers in the court to catch up. When they did, the first thing Haele said was, “What was Ferall doing in town?”

  “Not our business,” Ranon replied.

  “You know better,” Burne said. “Ferall is a savage fighter, even beyond what you’d expect from the Opal. And it’s said he’s the eyes and ears of a half dozen Queens in the Province where he lives.”

  Like me, Ranon thought. The Shalador Queens hadn’t left the reserves for a few generations. That had kept at least some of them safe from the twisted Queens. But that didn’t mean they hadn’t been aware of what was happening in the rest of Dena Nehele, because there had always been men who reported back to them.

  And some of those men had paid for being a Queen’s eyes and ears by losing their eyes and ears—and tongue.

  Ranon said, “Maybe we’ll have a better idea of what Ferall was doing here today when he comes to visit us in a week.”

  Haele swore softly. They respected Ferall as a man, but he was a savage fighter. The thought of Ferall being in their vill
age for any reason that wasn’t peaceful was a reason to sweat.

  Don’t borrow trouble, Ranon thought. We’ve already got plenty.

  They didn’t speak again until they reached the craftsmen’s courtyard and found it empty.

  “Are we ahead of time?” Burne asked as he scanned the surrounding buildings and the street.

  “No,” Ranon replied. “And if we were late, someone would have waited.”

  “Unless they decided not to come,” Haele said.

  Not likely.

  Lord Rogir rode up a minute later.

  “Those Warlord pricks found out where Weaver’s family lived. They tried to force their way in. My wife and daughter were there. I figured if we worked in teams and used some Craft we could get the households packed up faster.”

  “Is everyone all right?” Ranon asked.

  Rogir nodded. “My wife threw shields around the room where the females were and held on long enough for me and two other guards to arrive. We forced Garth and Brok to leave, but they’ll be back.”

  “Won’t matter,” Ranon said. “Where is everyone?”

  “Weaver’s wife and daughter are with mine at our house. Weaver and his son took off with their wagon, heading on the south road. They’ll reach his brother’s place by morning. I sent one of my men with them. Tanner almost has his family and tools packed up. His wife is also with mine. He and his sons are taking the wagon and heading out to his cousin’s place. Potter and two other families are still packing up. They’ve agreed to go to the Dairyman’s place.”

  “That’s it?”

  The guard nodded. “Don’t think the other landens around here believed any good would come of it, so they’re not leaving.”

  Ranon called in the letters of passage. “You’ll need to get one of these to Weaver and make sure the other two parties have one, as well as a guard riding as escort.”

  “Done,” Rogir said.

  “I’ll need you to come with us to represent your men.”

  Some nerves now, but Rogir nodded.

  “We’ve got a Coach at the station. We’ll take the women and children and as much of the household goods as we can pack into the thing.”

  “Appreciate it. We’ve all used Craft to vanish things and store them, but that takes power, and we’re all holding more than is comfortable.”

  And compromising their ability to fight by draining the reserves in the Jewels that way.

  “The men at the Coaching station said they have a Coach and driver we can use if we’re relocating folks,” Haele said. “I did tell them some of those people would be landens, and he said as a courtesy to the Queen, he’d charge the same price for each passenger.”

  Another message, Ranon thought. Landens weren’t forbidden from buying passage on the Coaches that could ride the Winds, but they were usually charged double—sometimes triple—what any of the Blood would pay, so most couldn’t afford the luxury of speed.

  A feeling crawled just under his skin, scratching at him. He used to feel like this when he was trying to finish an assignment and get out before a Queen’s guards arrived.

  “Let’s do this and get out of here,” he growled.

  Maybe he wasn’t the only one who had that feeling because they all settled into their tasks with grim efficiency, and by the quiet hours of deep night, they were all out of Grayhaven and traveling, by one means or another, to Eyota.

  CHAPTER 21

  TERREILLE

  Two days after that disastrous dinner party, Theran went into the Steward’s office, sat behind the desk, and pressed his hands against his forehead. The damn headache had teeth, and it wasn’t going to let him have the hour of peace he needed before he had to face the rest of a miserable day.

  Then he noticed the neat stack of papers placed in the center of the desk and swore as he read the first merchant’s bill. The swearing, and the headache, increased in intensity as he looked through the rest of the stack and realized what they were.

  “How in the name of Hell could she spend this much?” he muttered. Yes, he’d offered to pay for the expenses Kermilla would have because she was staying here, but obviously he hadn’t been explicit enough about how much she could spend.

  Feeling sick, he added up the bills three times, hoping he’d find some mistake that would reduce the total.

  No mistake. He vanished all the bills and pushed away from the desk. He had to talk to the merchants now. And he’d have to pay the price of Kermilla’s misunderstanding.

  And that would make this day a whole lot worse.

  Kermilla lifted her chin to indicate the tavern two doors down from where she had arranged to meet Garth and Brok. She hadn’t heard from her boys since they’d been taken away by those nasty guards the other day, so it was a good thing they’d set up this meeting before they separated. “Trae, go inside and see if they’re still in there.”

  Trae hesitated. “I’m the only escort you brought today. I can’t leave you unattended, Lady.”

  “You can if I say you can.” She tapped her foot to indicate she was annoyed. He used to smile and give in when she did that. Now he looked uneasy. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll walk down with you and stand outside. It isn’t suitable for me to go into a tavern.”

  “You went into the tavern back home,” Trae said.

  Kermilla stiffened. “I never did. That was an aristo establishment for fine wines and conversation.”

  “As the Lady pleases,” Trae replied.

  As good as calling her a liar without saying anything that could justify discipline.

  They walked to the tavern, and Trae stepped inside the doorway. Moments later he stepped out with a young Warlord. “This is a friend of Garth’s.”

  “Please tell Lords Garth and Brok that I’m waiting.” Kermilla put a little chill in her voice.

  “Can’t,” the Warlord replied. “They’re gone.”

  She frowned. “Gone? Gone where?”

  The Warlord shifted his weight from one foot to the other and looked at Trae instead of her. “They weren’t supposed to go into the landen part of town. Queen’s command.”

  Kermilla rolled her eyes. “Oh, la. I countermanded that order.”

  “Well, you should have told that to the Master of the Guard,” the Warlord said hotly. “Talon came for them last night, and now they’re gone.”

  She forgot how to breathe. That fierce, maimed old Warlord Prince had come for her boys? “He exiled them?”

  “Don’t know. The courtesy fingers weren’t on their father’s doorstep this morning, so maybe they were just sent away.”

  “Courtesy fingers?” Trae asked.

  The Warlord shook his head and backed away. “I’ve said enough. You want to know anything more, you ask Prince Grayhaven.”

  “I will,” Kermilla huffed as the Warlord hurried away. “I certainly will.”

  “Lady,” Trae said quietly. “I think it would be better if Jhorma and I asked about the fingers. I don’t think you’re going to like the answer.”

  “Let’s go back to the mansion,” Kermilla said. “That’s not the only answer I want from Prince Grayhaven.”

  The biggest one being where he had gone so early this morning. And why Correne had gone with him.

  When he got back from his discussions with all the merchants, Theran found another package on his desk: a small, plain wooden box.

  He knew what that box meant. Anyone who lived in Dena Nehele knew what it meant.

  Using a psychic thread, he summoned Julien, his new butler. He picked up the folded and wax-sealed paper that had been on top of the box, but he didn’t break the seal or open the paper.

  “Prince Grayhaven?” Julien took one step into the room and came no farther until he looked around and confirmed there were no females present. Then he approached the desk.

  Julien was a Warlord who had a handsome face and a cold temper. Like Gray, his body had been tortured—and scarred. When he applied for the butler’s position, he’d told Ther
an straight out that he would gut any woman who tried to ride him, but as long as Theran kept the Ladies away from him, he’d be pleased to have the job.

  After seeing Julien sharpen the cook’s knives one afternoon, Theran made sure the man was never alone with Kermilla or Correne.

  “When did this arrive?” Theran asked.

  “I found it early this morning on the table where visitors’ calling cards are left,” Julien replied. “You were already gone, so I put it in the butler’s pantry to avoid upsetting the other servants. I meant to give it to you when you returned this morning, but you left so soon after . . .”

  So Talon had been here last night. Had he still been home, or had he been riding the Winds to return one problem to her home village?

  If he’d been home, if Talon had slipped in and out of here without even trying to talk to him . . . that was as much a warning as the box.

  “Is Lady Kermilla in?” Theran asked.

  “She’s in her room. She seemed distressed when she returned from the village. She wants to speak with you, but Lords Trae and Jhorma have requested an audience before you talk to the Lady.”

  “Send them in.”

  He waited until Julien was out of the room before breaking the seal and opening the paper. Simple words with nothing wasted—and an unflinching and unforgiving judgment.

  Garth and Brok disobeyed the Queen and went into the landen part of town. For that alone, they would have been exiled, as the Queen commanded. But they went to the weaver’s home intending to rape the wife and little girl. This I know as fact.

  They are forfeit.

  No signature. There never was a signature on a note like this, but he recognized Talon’s writing.

  A quick knock on the door. Then Jhorma and Trae walked into the room.

  “Lady Kermilla had a disturbing experience today,” Jhorma said. “A Warlord mentioned something about ‘courtesy fingers,’ but wouldn’t explain further.”

  Theran pointed at the box. “You can open it.”

  Leaving the box on the desk, Trae raised the lid. Then he stumbled back, swearing.