The Invisible Ring bj-4 Read online

  Daemon smiled, a sweetly murderous smile. “Puppy, when you wailed for help, and I answered, you made it my business.”

  Hell’s fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful. Why hadn’t he thought of that sooner?

  “Although,” Daemon added, “I hadn’t expected you to show up shielding some battered slut.”

  “She’s not a slut,” Jared said hotly, pushing away from the wall.

  The phantom hand slammed him back again, hard enough to make him wonder if he’d have cracked ribs as well as a crushed throat.

  Daemon said nothing.

  “I told you,” Jared said through gritted teeth. “The witch who owns me ordered me to bring her—”

  The phantom nails stabbed him, breaking the skin. Blood trickled down his neck.

  “Liar,” Daemon snarled quietly.

  Jared shivered as he watched the gold eyes glaze with cold fury. He bit his tongue to keep from whimpering.

  “She owns me,” he said weakly as the fingers tightened a bit more.

  Contempt joined the fury in Daemon’s eyes. He looked pointedly at Jared’s groin. “You wear no Ring, Warlord. And you’re down to your last chance.”

  “I do wear a Ring,” Jared said, gasping for breath. “I wear the Invisible Ring.”

  Unexpectedly, the phantom hand eased its vicious grip.

  Daemon studied Jared. Then one finely shaped black eyebrow rose, and he asked mildly, “Which one? The Silver or the Gold?”

  Which one? Jared thought desperately. Which one? How in the name of Hell was he supposed to know which one?

  It was invisible! “I. . .”

  A loud thump came from his room.

  Jared turned toward the door without thinking. Releasing the Red lock, he rushed inside.

  Lia was crawling toward the door, her eyes glazed and unseeing. Her right arm was curled, as if she were still dragging Tomas’s body away from the viper rats’ nest.

  “Lia,” Jared murmured, hurrying to reach her.

  As he crouched in front of her, he heard the door quietly close. Heard the snick of a lock.

  He slowly straightened and turned.

  Daemon leaned against the closed door, his hands still tucked in his trouser pockets. In silence, he watched Lia’s efforts.

  “Who is she?” Daemon asked quietly.

  Jared took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Lady Arabella Ardelia. The Gray Lady’s granddaughter.”

  Daemon didn’t move, but Jared sensed a change. Not exactly surprise, but a swift reassessment.

  “Viper rats?” Daemon said, his eyes narrowing as he studied Lia.

  Jared nodded. He had no chance against the Sadist, but he’d make Daemon go through him in order to get to Lia.

  Daemon shrugged out of his tailored black jacket, tossed it on a chair, and began rolling up the sleeves of his white-silk shirt. “Get her on the bed. We’ll finish this discussion later.” He stepped through the bathroom door.

  Daemon returned before Jared had a chance to settle Lia.

  “Wait,” Daemon said. He unfolded two sheets, then refolded them to make a pad. Placing them on the left side of the double bed, he smoothed the sheets.

  What kind of spells was Daemon putting on the sheets? Jared wondered, holding Lia a little tighter to his chest.

  Satisfied, Daemon said, “Put her on those. It’ll be easier than stripping the bed later and disturbing her.”

  Jared did as he was told. He bit back a snarl when Daemon knelt on the bed beside Lia. “Is there a Healer in the village?”

  Daemon’s hands glided over Lia’s head, slid down her swollen neck. “Even if there is, I doubt she’d be much help. You need someone who has some skill in healing Craft and a knowledge of poisons.” His hands glided over her shoulders, over her breasts.

  Thera had said the same thing, Jared reminded himself as he watched Daemon’s hands move over Lia’s body. There was nothing personal or sexual about the way Daemon explored her, but Jared couldn’t push aside the memory of watching those hands with their long, black-tinted nails roam over other female bodies for a very different purpose.

  Especially when those strong, slender fingers drifted through the triangle of hair between Lia’s legs and curved to cup her.

  Jared snarled at the intimacy.

  “If you don’t know how to behave in a sickroom, get out,” Daemon said mildly, giving Jared one piercing look before he turned his attention back to Lia.

  Stung, Jared clenched his teeth. Of course he knew how to behave in a sickroom. His mother was a Healer. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to steady himself.

  The first rule of a sickroom was that no anger, no fear, no violent emotions were permitted because they could be absorbed into a healing, neutralizing or even destroying a Healer’s efforts.

  He opened his eyes when Daemon sat back.

  “If someone hadn’t taught her how to contain an injected poison, she’d be dead by now,” Daemon said.

  “Her mother is a Black Widow.” The bites looked bigger, darker. “Isn’t there anyone . . .” Jared’s voice faded.

  Daemon got off the bed. He called in two leather carrying boxes, opened them, and started looking through the various jars. “I know enough healing Craft.” Amusement and something else Jared couldn’t identify flickered in Daemon’s eyes. “And poisons are an interest of mine. Those bites have to be opened and the venom drawn out. If you don’t have a strong stomach, you’ve got five minutes to acquire one.”

  Jared swallowed hard. Frowning, he gingerly touched his throat.

  Daemon gave him a knowing look before calling in a mortar and pestle. “There’s no physical damage. Well, not much. I didn’t think I’d actually have to crush your throat to convince you to be reasonable. There are many kinds of illusions, Jared.”

  Jared winced when his fingers brushed against one of the cuts made by the phantom nails. “But you would have.”

  Daemon poured a jar of dried herbs into the mortar. “If you’d done something to harm the Gray Lady, yes, I would have.”

  “Why are you so interested in the Gray Lady?”

  Daemon’s golden eyes turned to hard, yellow stones. “Because she stands against Dorothea.”

  “There’s nothing more we can do,” Daemon said wearily, wiping his hands on a soiled towel.

  Jared braced his forearms on the bed, too tired to sit up straight.

  They had done all they could, but had they done enough?

  They’d worked for hours, applying herb poultices to draw the venom, draining the pus and fluid that Daemon had explained were the result of the healing Craft Lia had used. They’d gone through the cycle three times. In between those cycles, Daemon stroked Lia’s body, soothing her while she burned with fever. Sure that Reyna had never used her hands quite that way, Jared had clenched his teeth and leashed his emotions while he assisted by doing all the mundane tasks required.

  At the end of it, though, the swelling had gone down and the ugly, malignant look of the bites had faded to the color of pale bruises. Lia was breathing easily and no longer feverish.

  Jared smoothed the already smooth covers and stood up. He swayed from fatigue.

  “Here,” Daemon said, calling in a long dressing robe. “Get cleaned up. I’ll see about getting something to eat.”

  Jared took the robe. Maybe a hot bath would ease his aching muscles enough to convince his body to keep going. “I’m not hungry.”

  “Being tired is no excuse for being an idiot.” Daemon finished putting the empty jars back into the leather carrying cases. He vanished them, along with the mortar and pestle. “If you expect to be of any use to her tomorrow when she needs you, you’ll eat and get some rest tonight.”

  Jared didn’t argue. What was the point of arguing with someone who was right?

  Nodding agreement, he stumbled into the bathroom. It was a bit primitive, but it had running water and indoor plumbing. He fit the plug into the bottom of the bathtub, turned th
e single faucet, and stifled a yelp when cold water gushed out.

  He sank to his knees and stared at the rising water, wondering how he was going to convince himself to get into that tub of cold water.

  He scrubbed his hands over his face, trying to clear away enough of the fatigue to think. If the innkeeper wasn’t supplying hot water, that meant the guests were expected to make their own.

  Jared lowered his hands. Of course. This wasn’t an aristo inn where servants would be responsible for the warming spells that would keep tanks of water hot for the guests. He’d have to use Craft to heat the water. A small thing, really. Certainly nothing a Red-Jeweled Warlord would have to think twice about.

  It took several tries before he got the water to the temperature he wanted, too mentally and physically drained to get even the simplest spell right the first time.

  Finally, he got in the tub and let the hot water soak away the sweat and grime, the ache in his muscles, and the tension that had ridden him hard since he’d seen the brass button among the boulders.

  By the time he returned to the bedroom, a square wooden table and two straight-backed chairs were positioned in front of the fire. The table held two steaming bowls of beef stew, a small loaf of bread, a dish of butter, cheese, fruit, a bottle of wine, and two glasses.

  Daemon sat comfortably in one of the chairs, smoking one of his black cigarettes. “You’re almost recognizable now,” he said as he flicked the cigarette into the fire. “Come and eat.”

  Jared went to the bed first to check on Lia. He noticed a cup on the bedside table.

  “A healing brew,” Daemon said.

  “She woke?” Jared leashed the emotion that bubbled up before he had a chance to identify it. Before he had to acknowledge it.

  “No. I brought her up out of the healing sleep enough for her to drink, but she wasn’t aware of anything.”

  So she didn’t know he hadn’t been in the room. Didn’t know it had been Daemon who had held her and coaxed her to drink.

  Feeling his body relax, Jared joined Daemon at the table.

  “Eat,” Daemon said, picking up his spoon.

  They concentrated on their food for a few minutes.

  “Will she be all right?” Jared asked, carefully buttering a thick slice of bread.

  “You’ll know by morning.”

  Jared forced a mouthful of bread past the lump in his throat. Right now, he couldn’t bear kindness or understanding from Daemon. “Could you tell anything else?” he asked.

  One of Daemon’s eyebrows rose. “Do you have something specific in mind?” He sounded amused. “Could I tell she’s still a virgin? Considering how many centuries I’ve been playing bedroom games, it’s a little insulting if you think a detail like that would slip past me. Or did you mean, could I tell that she’s recently injured her knee and hasn’t stayed off it enough to let it fully heal? Or that she hasn’t made the Offering to the Darkness yet? Is that what you meant?”

  Jared dropped his spoon. His body went ice cold. “What?”

  “She hasn’t made the Offering to the Darkness yet.”

  “You can’t—” Jared raked his fingers through his hair. “You can’t be sure of that.”

  “Jared,” Daemon said patiently, “you wear the Opal and the Red. I can sense both levels of strength in you. I only sense one level in her—the Green—and the . . . potential . . . for a much darker strength. If nothing interferes when she makes the Offering, my guess is she’ll wear the Gray.”

  “No one can tell beforehand what Jewels a person will wear after the Offering,” Jared protested.

  Daemon mopped up the last of his stew with a piece of bread. “She carried off the masquerade of being Grizelle so successfully, no one had doubted they were seeing a Gray-Jeweled Queen.” Mild irritation flickered across his face and was gone.

  “She had good illusion spells,” Jared argued.

  “An illusion spell wouldn’t have hidden the truth from someone who wears a Jewel darker than the Gray.”

  There was something in Daemon’s voice that told Jared that was as far as he would go toward acknowledging the rumors that he wore the. rare Black Jewel.

  “Which means,” Daemon continued, “that there must be something in her that resonates with the Gray in order to complete that illusion. That’s why I think Lady Arabella Ardelia is a Gray-Jeweled Queen who hasn’t taken the final step necessary to actually wear the Gray Jewels.” He paused, gave Jared a considering look. “But you had sensed the illusion before she revealed the truth. How?”

  Frowning, Jared ate a spoonful of stew. It was a guess that hit the target. Since he didn’t want to admit it was his body not his brain that had picked up the signals, which he then dismissed as being wrong, he mumbled, “Maybe it’s because of the Invisible Ring.”

  “Yes, I imagine it is,” Daemon replied dryly. Before Jared could say anything, he added, “Why don’t you tell me how you ended up here.”

  So Jared told Daemon everything that had happened since he left Raej. Well, almost everything. He couldn’t bring himself to mention the Fire Dance and the rut. But he told Daemon what he knew about the others. He told him about Thera’s tangled webs. He told him about Blaed’s romantic interest in the young Black Widow. He told him about the brass buttons and Garth . . . and about the fight that had ended with a half-Blood boy dead and Lia desperately ill.

  Using Craft and his thumbnail, Daemon delicately pealed an apple. “Why didn’t she buy passage on another Coach and head for the Tamanara Mountains as fast as possible?”

  A bite of cheese stuck in Jared’s throat. He took a large swallow of wine to force it down. “After she sensed the wrongness, she didn’t know whom she could trust, and she wasn’t willing to bring an unknown enemy into Dena Nehele. Traveling cross-country was the only way she could bring everyone with her and give herself the time to find Dorothea’s pet.” He struggled to take a deep breath. “And she didn’t have enough marks to buy a second passage for all of us because she bought me.”

  Daemon stared at Jared. Then he swore softly, viciously.

  Jared’s eyes widened. “You put the compulsion spell on her.”

  “Nothing so crude,” Daemon snapped. He drained his wineglass, filled it, and drained it again. “I didn’t force her to buy you, Jared. I nudged her toward that part of the auction grounds, and that’s all I did. I knew if she was the Queen she seemed to be, she wouldn’t let a Red-Jeweled Warlord like you be destroyed in the salt mines of Pruul. Not if there was a chance of winning your loyalty.” He swore again. “It never occurred to me that she might not have brought enough marks with her.”

  Jared cut two more slabs out of the half wheel of cheese and offered one to Daemon. “Apparently, everything was more expensive than the Gray Lady’s court had anticipated, from the guard escorts to the slaves. There’s no way you could have known that. There’s no way you could have known she’d spend more than she could afford in order to get one more person out of Raej.”

  “Perhaps not,” Daemon agreed. “But, Hell’s fire, if I’d suspected she was cutting it that tight, I’d have slipped her enough marks to cover the extra expenses when I had that note delivered.”

  “You—” Jared’s voice cracked. He hastily swallowed some wine. “You sent that note? But you were in Raej. How could you know?”

  Daemon smiled indulgently. “Let’s just say that, after the attack on the Gray Lady last spring, I wondered what might be waiting for her at the Coach stations she’d be most likely to head for and made arrangements to be informed. Unfortunately, my source arrived too late to help the men who walked into that trap. But she sent the warning—and I’d guess there were fewer males who saw the sun rise than saw it set.” He paused. “Would you like some coffee?”

  Jared pushed his plate to one side and nodded. He toyed with the silverware and watched Daemon smoke another cigarette while they waited. “You said ‘she.’ ” Jared’s hand curled into a fist. “Knowing it might be dangerous, you still
sent a witch to check out a trap?”

  “Yes.”

  “She could have been hurt. How could you be so careless, so—”

  “Cruel?” Daemon said too softly. His face changed subtly when Jared didn’t answer.

  Jared recognized that cold mask. He winced when Daemon’s deep voice lost every hint of color. That bored tone could cut someone as mercilessly as a sharp knife.

  “Have you ever heard of Surreal?” Daemon asked, lighting another black cigarette.

  Jared swallowed. Oh, yes, he’d heard about the most expensive whore in the entire Realm of Terreille. When he was seventeen and trying to gather up enough nerve to ask Reyna’s permission to visit a Red Moon house, he’d spent several sweaty nights fantasizing that Surreal would come to Ranon’s Wood for some reason and find him interesting enough to waive her usual fee.

  “She’s a whore,” Jared said tightly. Had Daemon ever . . .? “What was she supposed to do? Distract an entire troop of guards?”

  “I’m sure she could have if she wanted to,” Daemon said with such dismissive casualness it made Jared clench his teeth.

  A chime sounded. A moment later a tray floated beside the table. The dirty dishes vanished. Daemon transferred the pot of coffee, mugs, cream, and sugar to the table and vanished the tray. He poured the coffee, making a small sound of approval after his first sip.

  “However,” Daemon continued as Jared spooned sugar into the other mug, “she’s also a first-rate assassin. So gracefully vicious when she’s holding a knife.” His eyes narrowed. “Puppy, do you have any idea how much sugar you’ve just dumped into your coffee?”

  Because his mind had stuttered on the word “assassin” and he really didn’t know, Jared poured the heaping spoonful of sugar back into the sugar bowl. He stirred carefully, trying not to disturb the half inch of sugary sludge at the bottom of the mug. He raised the mug to his lips and hesitated.

  Daemon coughed politely. Several times.

  Jared took a sip. Shuddered. Set the mug down.

  Daemon’s shoulders quivered. He pressed a fist against his mouth.

  “Good coffee,” Jared murmured. Hell’s fire, his teeth itched.