Shalador's Lady (20 page)

“I’m glad there’s a way the Queens can use their gift without spilling their own blood,” Gray said.

“Shira is pleased about that too,” Ranon replied. “She wasn’t happy about Cassidy opening a vein every time to siphon some power into the land. The men who serve can accept blood being given once a year in a ceremony when the rest of the time it’s just the Ladies releasing a bit of power into the land or water.”

He paused. “Even using restraint and letting other Queens demonstrate, Cassidy has drained herself more than she should have.”

“Well, she’s going to go home and rest for a day,” Gray said, feeling his temper sharpen at the thought of her collapsing again.

Ranon snorted. “Good luck getting her to do that.”

Gray closed his eyes and began counting. “Her moontime is coming. She has to rest during those first three days. It’s a rule.”

He could feel Ranon watching him.

“And that fussing thing,” he said, opening his eyes enough to keep track of Cassie. “That first time, Lucivar said something about being allowed to fuss during those days, but I wasn’t paying attention.”

He heard Ranon try to choke it back, but the laughter burst out.

“Hell’s fire, Gray,” Ranon said when he was able to speak again. “You’re turning into a pain in the ass.”

Something inside him shifted, settled. Felt solid—and right. He looked at his friend and said, “No, I’m turning into a Warlord Prince.”

Kermilla lay back on her bed and smiled.

The Queen of Dena Nehele. She finally understood what all of Theran’s circling had been about. He wanted to know if she was interested in ruling Dena Nehele after Cassidy’s contract ran out. He didn’t want Freckledy; he wanted her.

A Territory Queen. La, wasn’t that wonderful? All right, it wasn’t a rich, exciting Territory, and it was in Terreille, but the tithes had to be worth the responsibilities, so they would be so much better than that little sheep-shit village of Bhak or, worse, Woolskin. She’d try for a five-year contract. Theran would get it for her. And she wouldn’t shirk her duties. Really, she wouldn’t. But she’d make sure there was some fun too.

It had been satisfying to teach those other Queens about draining power into the land. Such a basic thing, and they didn’t know it. La! They weren’t much better than landens. Not that she’d said that. She supposed they were nice enough, but most of them were older than her and they looked so tatty and didn’t talk about anything interesting. How could they expect anyone to take them seriously as Queens when they dressed like that and didn’t know how to be interesting?

She would set an example, even set the fashion trends. Wouldn’t that be fun? Of course, because Freckledy had gotten into a snit, she was stuck here in Grayhaven, which was supposed to be the capital of Dena Nehele and an Important Town. There wasn’t anything here that she considered impressive. If this was the best they could do, maybe she didn’t want to rule here after all.

No, of course she wanted to rule here. When would she get another opportunity to rule a whole Territory? Sabrina was going to be ruling Dharo for years and years, and there were too many other strong Queens to choose from when it came time for a successor. She could continue to rule Bhak and keep a connection with Dharo that way. A few days each season would be sufficient for whatever required her attention. Her Steward could run Bhak and landen Woolskin the rest of the time and just send her reports—and the all-important income from the tithes. Then, if she decided not to stay in Dena Nehele and nothing better turned up in Terreille, she could go home, a seasoned Queen who might not be offered a Province—yet—but should be given her pick of the larger cities that could offer more diversity in terms of society and entertainment—and shops.

If she was going to stay here, she would need more company. Not too much company, since Theran was more than a bit stingy and he would have to support any Ladies who were her companions. But that one young Queen who had come with the others—she and Correne had become friends within minutes, and the girl was enough like her to fit right in. At sixteen, Correne wasn’t a baby, but she was still too young to be serious competition, despite being pretty. No Queen was serious competition until she had her Virgin Night and could offer some enticement to the males without risking her own power.

A knock on her door.

“Come in,” she said gaily.

Jhorma slipped into the room and closed the door.

Kermilla watched him as he approached the bed. He was a handsome man and a skilled lover, but there wasn’t the heat in his eyes for her that there had been while he was chained to Cassidy’s bed. Oh, he came to her bed hungry to please—and to take his own relief as a reward—and he never made excuses to get out of performing the way he did with Freckledy toward the end of his contract. But he didn’t look at her the way Theran did. She was getting the impression that Jhorma could swap her with any female body and be just as thorough and enthusiastic—as long as he got his own pleasure at the end. Theran looked at her as if she was the only one he wanted, the only one who could satisfy him.

Jhorma didn’t remove his jacket before sitting beside her on the bed, didn’t make any move to touch her.

“We need to talk,” he said.

She ran a finger down his arm and smiled playfully. “Sex first, talk later.”

He didn’t smile back. “How much longer are we going to be stuck in this place?”

Her smile soured to a frown. “For as long as I say we stay.”

“Cassidy isn’t here, and it doesn’t sound like she’s coming back. When you decided to come here, you told Gallard we would be gone a couple of days. Three at the most. He assigned the escorts according to that information.”

“So?”

“Aston and Ridley have families. They want to go home. They wouldn’t have been given this assignment if the Steward had known we’d be away this long.”

She sat up, stung that Jhorma was more interested in talking about Aston and Ridley than in having sex with her.

“Fine,” she snapped. “Tell the whiny boys who are missing the nipple that they can go home.”

Anger flashed in his eyes before he hid it.

He hadn’t shown her anger since he’d signed a contract to serve as her Consort, but he hadn’t hesitated to give her a verbal slap when she’d been training in Freckledy’s court and had said something cutting about one of the other men.

But he’d always smiled indulgently when she’d referred to Cassidy as Freckledy. She’d just forgotten how testy the males could be when you made fun of one of them.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “That was uncalled for. It’s just . . . I don’t feel like I have any support here.”

“Then maybe we should all go back to Dharo.”

But I have a chance to rule a whole Territory.

Not something she could say to him. He wouldn’t be part of that court. She didn’t pay attention when Theran began droning on and on about Dena Nehele, but she did understand that he and the other Warlord Princes here never would tolerate a ruling court made up of outsiders. Something about courts like that ruling here before and making a mess of things.

Maybe she could go back to Dharo and return here next spring when Cassidy’s contract ended. No, she couldn’t. She had to show these people she was the better Queen, and she couldn’t do that unless she was here showing them she was the better Queen. Just like she’d done in Bhak when she’d won over Freckledy’s court.

“There are reasons why I need to stay,” she said. “If Aston and Ridley need to return to Dharo, they can go. But two others from the First Circle should take their place.”

“I’ll convey the message,” Jhorma said. “Do you want sex now?”

“No, I do not want sex now.” Especially when he might have been asking her if she wanted a cup of tea.

“As you please.” Jhorma rose and walked out of the room.

She had wanted sex, but he’d spoiled her mood.

So maybe she’d take a walk in the moonlight with Theran this evening and see if he had any experience behind that enthusiasm.

Accepting Gray’s assistance, Cassidy stepped out of the carriage and looked at the boardinghouse. Queen’s Residence, she reminded herself. Somehow, while dealing with the snarls and grumbles that had been a constant background during this journey, she had agreed that the boardinghouse now be referred to as the Queen’s Residence.

“It’s good to be home,” she said—and wondered if she would recognize the inside of the place. After all, she’d been gone five days and had told Powell he could do pretty much as he pleased.

“Those cottages across from the Residence weren’t occupied when we left,” Ranon said, studying the street while offering Shira a hand. “Shaddo and Archerr must be back.”

The door of the Residence opened. Talon stepped out and strode over to them.

The way he looked her over—as if assessing a warrior he’d sent out on a difficult mission who had finally returned—she wondered how many reports, and complaints, the Master of the Guard and Steward had received in the past five days.

“Shaddo and Archerr are back?” she asked.

“They are,” Talon replied. “Lady Shira, tomorrow will be soon enough, but I think a visit from the court Healer would be in order for both families. Those people have not had an easy time.”

“Should I go over and welcome them?” Cassidy asked.

“No.”

The finality of that statement shook her.

“Tomorrow afternoon is soon enough for them to have an audience with the Queen,” Talon said.

“Surely we don’t have to be so formal—” She swallowed the rest of her protest. It was clear Talon thought there was reason for that formality.

“Powell has worked out a schedule of afternoons when you are available to give audiences,” Talon said.

“Afternoons?” Cassidy stammered. “Audiences? Hell’s fire! I thought Powell was going to rearrange the furniture, not my life!”

“Did you?”

The amusement under the dry words made her take a step back. “Is tomorrow morning soon enough to go over my social calendar?”

“I think so,” Talon replied.

“Good. Then there’s enough time for a quick bite to eat before I meet Lord Yairen for my drumming lesson.”

“No.” Ranon backed away from her, his dark eyes filled with fear. “No, he can’t do that.”

Staggered by his distress, she said nothing as he strode down the street toward his grandfather’s house.

Then she turned to Shira.

“Yairen offered to teach you?” Shira asked, her voice breaking as tears filled her eyes.

“Yes. When Ranon brought me back here, Yairen stayed with me and we talked. He offered to teach me the drums. He said drums were a woman’s instrument because they were the sound of the land’s heartbeat. Shira, why is Ranon so upset? Is it against Shaladoran customs to teach an outsider?”

Tears spilled over. Shira shuddered with the effort to maintain some control. “We weren’t forbidden music or stories or dances as long as they were from Dena Nehele—or Hayll. But anything that came from Shalador, that came from the hearts of our people was forbidden. Ranon’s grandfather is a Tradition Keeper of Music. He taught people how to play drums and the flute. He wasn’t as skilled with the fiddle and only taught the basics. But he defied the Queens who ruled here and taught the Shalador drum rhythms and the Shalador songs. So they broke his hands as punishment. And when his hands healed the first time, he continued to teach the music of our people. So they broke his hands again. The third time, the Queens’

Healers made sure the fingers healed wrong so that Yairen could no longer play. Ranon was a small boy the last time Yairen’s hands were broken. But, somehow, Yairen still taught Ranon to play the Shalador flute—and taught him the songs of our people.”

Cassidy stood frozen while Shira dried her eyes and the men shifted uneasily.

How much trust had gone into what she’d thought was Yairen’s friendly offer? How much fear had ridden alongside that trust?

“I want all the Tradition Keepers in this village here within the hour,” Cassidy said quietly.

“Cassie . . .” Gray began.

She raised a hand, cutting him off. Then she looked at her Master of the Guard. “See that it’s done, Prince Talon.”

She walked into the Residence. Powell took one look at her face and swallowed whatever greeting or comment he intended to make.

She went up to her room, blind to whatever changes had been made in her absence. All she could see was the fear on Ranon’s face before he walked away.

Cassidy stood in the street in front of the Queen’s Residence. The Tradition Keepers stood before her in their shabby best clothes. Filling the streets around them were the people of the village.

“Lord Yairen.” Cassidy used Craft to enhance her voice. She wanted everyone who had come to stand witness to hear her words.

Yairen stepped forward, standing tall. “How may I serve the Queen?”

“I have just learned today that your people have been forbidden to play the music that was born of Shalador, that you have been forbidden to perform the traditional dances, or teach the young the stories of your people. Is this true?”

“It is true, Lady,” Yairen said. “All have been forbidden for many generations.”

“But the Tradition Keepers have remembered these forbidden things?”

Yairen hesitated. How many times had one of the Keepers been cornered into answering a question that would condemn them?

She didn’t have an actual psychic link to Ranon, but his psychic scent was filled with distress. Wouldn’t know it to look at him, standing cold and arrogant with the rest of her First Circle, but the worry that he might have misjudged her was eating his heart out.

“Some things have been lost,” Yairen finally said, “but those of us who are the memory of our people have held on to enough.”

Cassidy nodded. “In that case, as of this hour, the music of the Shalador people will be taught and will be played openly. The dances of the Shalador people will be taught and performed openly. The stories of the Shalador people will be taught and told openly. The Queens in the Shalador reserves will be given a written decree so they will know these words are true. But it will be up to the Tradition Keepers to return Shalador’s heart to its people. This is my will.”