Shalador's Lady (25 page)

*Shira,* Cassidy called. *I need you in the visitors’ parlor.*

*Cassie, I really don’t feel . . . *

*The Healer’s attendance is required.*

Shira didn’t reply. Cassidy didn’t expect her to. Shira the woman had been holed up in her room, riding a mood since she’d gone out to look at properties with Gray, but the Healer would arrive in the parlor ready to practice her Craft.

Putting an arm around the maid, Cassidy led Birdie to a sofa and sat down with her. “What happened?”

“I didn’t do anything bad,” Birdie whispered. “I swear by the Jewels, I didn’t.”

“If I may explain, Lady?” Dryden asked.

Cassidy looked past him to the other people in the room. Elle, the housekeeper; Maydra, the cook; and four of the young men who worked in the Grayhaven stable and had befriended Gray before he’d begun to heal from the emotional scars that had their roots in the torture he’d endured.

Shira burst into the room, took one look at Birdie, and said, “Hell’s fire. Let me get some ice from the block in the freeze box.”

“I’ll do that,” Spere said. He slipped out of the room.

“We did use a cold spell on a wet cloth to keep the swelling down,” Elle said. Then she added bitterly,

“Had enough experience dealing with this sort of thing before.”

Cassidy rose and stepped aside, giving Shira room to work. Moving to the other end of the parlor, flanked by Archerr and Powell, she faced Dryden, who was flanked by Elle and Maydra. “Explain, Lord Dryden.”

“Prince Grayhaven’s guest hit Birdie,” Dryden said.

A flash of rage, quickly chained. From Dryden.

“What guest?” Powell asked, but his tone said he already knew the answer.

“That . . . woman.”

Oh, Hell’s fire. This was bad. She’d only had this experience once, when an aristo witch who had been a guest had tried to coerce a footman into doing “bedroom work.” Because of the social difference between an aristo and a servant, her butler had refused to say the woman’s name when he’d come to her and reported the abuse.

Or maybe refusing to say the witch’s name had been the measure of the man’s contempt for her behavior.

“You mean Lady Kermilla?” Powell asked.

Dryden nodded.

Elle said, “Lady Bitch,” under her breath, quietly enough that Cassidy pretended no one had heard the housekeeper’s opinion of the other Dharo Queen.

“Why would she hit Birdie?” Cassidy asked. Her stomach felt like it was full of foaming milk. Hadn’t she voiced concerns about Kermilla when the other Queen had been training with her? The court had adored the pretty, dark-haired girl; the servants had disliked her.

“Birdie was cleaning her room the way I told the girl she could clean—and the way you allowed her to do for you. But that other one didn’t want her things touched, wanted Birdie to be using Craft all the time to lift or move every little thing.”

“That makes no sense,” Cassidy said.

“It does if the Lady doesn’t want anyone picking up an object and noticing something unusual about it,”

Powell said, looking at Dryden.

The butler nodded. “Birdie picked up a bottle of scent from the dresser—a bottle that still had the theft disk on it.”

Frowning, Cassidy looked at Powell for explanation.

“A spelled disk of paper-thin stone,” Powell explained. “It was a common practice in the shops favored by the Queens and their aristo companions to put such a disk on small, expensive items that had a way of going missing. Since he didn’t want to lose an eye or his tongue, the merchant couldn’t acknowledge the theft, even if he saw the person do it. But a bottle of scent, for example, that left the boundaries of the shop with the disk still on the bottle would be spoiled.”

“Spoiled?” Cassidy asked.

“Imagine a dozen rotten eggs breaking on the kitchen floor,” Maydra said. “Of course, the way some of those spells worked, the scent smelled fine until it warmed on the skin for a little while. So the Lady was usually well into her social engagement before she, and everyone else, realized something was wrong.”

“Oh.” Cassidy clamped a hand over her nose in automatic response. Lowering her hand, she smiled sheepishly. Then she glanced at Birdie and found nothing to smile about. “So Birdie picked up a bottle of stolen scent and Kermilla hit her.”

“Yes,” Dryden said. “When I reported the abuse to Prince Grayhaven, Kermilla insisted that she caught Birdie trying to steal from her and that was why she struck the girl.”

“Grayhaven believed that?” Archerr asked.

Dryden looked sad. “Sometimes a man only sees what he wants to see.”

“Shit,” Archerr said softly.

“Birdie was dismissed without references,” Dryden said. “Elle, Maydra, and I talked it over, and handed in our resignations. We have worked for such witches before. We do not want to work for such a one again.

As it turned out, four of the stable lads have no ties to the town, no family to hold them there, and they didn’t want to stay either.” He hesitated, then looked Cassidy in the eyes. “We came in the hope that you might have a place for us here.”

She didn’t know what to say. Powell, however, didn’t have that problem.

“There are servants’ quarters here, including a separate parlor off the kitchen. Didn’t ask to have those rooms cleaned since we weren’t using them.”

Maydra frowned. “If you have no servants here, who’s been cooking for you and your court?”

“Oh, well, I’ve been doing a bit of it, along with some of the women in the village.” Cassidy’s voice trailed away.

“You’ve been doing your own dusting too?” Birdie piped up, sounding shocked.

The Grayhaven servants stared at her.

*I wouldn’t admit to running a dust rag over the furniture,* Powell said, sounding amused. *You’ve shocked them quite enough for one day.*

*As my father is fond of saying, I was born a daughter on the same day as I was born a Queen, and if I can get dirty weeding a garden, I can get dirty washing a floor.*

*Your father is a wise man, but I think it is time to relinquish some of your less-than-Queenly duties.

Besides, they need the work, and we need the help. With your consent, I’ll discuss duties and compensation with them.*

*All right.* She smiled at each of the servants and stable lads—and especially at Birdie. “Welcome to Eyota. There is plenty of work here for all of us. Prince Powell will discuss the details with you.”

She walked out of the room, heading for the back door that would take her to the gardens. Then she changed direction and went up to her room. She wanted solitude. She needed privacy.

*Cassie?* Vae called softly. *Cassie!*

*There is no danger,* Cassidy said. *You can let Reyhana come in now.*

*She wants to talk to you.*

*No. I need to be alone for a little while.*

A hesitation. *We will wait for you.*

Cassidy lay down on her bed and stared at the ceiling. Theran probably would accuse her of telling tales, and Kermilla certainly would accuse her of acting out of jealousy and spite. But it was the bruised look in Birdie’s eyes more than the bruise on her face that had to be the deciding factor. Besides, no matter how hard it was, she had a duty to report Kermilla’s behavior. Since he ruled the town of Grayhaven, Theran should be the one who disciplined Kermilla—something he wouldn’t do if he truly belonged to the other Dharo Queen.

Dharo Queen. That was the sticking point, wasn’t it? Kermilla ruled a village in Dharo. Her conduct was the business of the Queen who ruled that Territory. So Cassidy had a responsibility to Sabrina, Territory Queen to Territory Queen, to inform the Queen of Dharo that the conduct of one of Dharo’s District Queens needed careful review.

If Kermilla, as a guest, had struck a servant, what was she doing to the people in Bhak—people whose lives depended on their Queen’s mercy?

Get it done. This isn’t about you and Kermilla, no matter what anyone else might think. This is about being a Queen.

Sitting up, she called in the lap desk the High Lord had given her, selected a sheet of stationery with her initial on it, and began writing her letter to Sabrina.

“Ranon!”

Seeing Gray trotting toward him from the court’s stables, Ranon stopped at the edge of the street and waited. He’d walked from the northern landing web, wanting the time to contact his grandfather, who would contact Akeelah. For now, two Tradition Keepers were enough to stand witness to what he’d brought home.

“Where’s Shira?” Ranon asked when Gray reached him.

“She’s been home for a while. I had another errand to run and just got back.” Gray cocked a thumb over his shoulder toward the stables. “Four of the stable lads from Grayhaven are working at the stables here.

Just started an hour ago. They’re taking one of the cottages across from the stables as their living quarters.

And some of the other servants from Grayhaven are working at the Residence. Did Cassie say anything to you about this? Or Talon?”

Ranon shook his head. “I just got back myself. Let’s find out—” He stopped when Gray gripped his arm.

“What?”

“I need to go away for a couple of days. Three at the most. I need you to come with me.”

Ranon studied the other Warlord Prince. Something different. Of course, Gray seemed to be changing daily, but this blend of excitement, fear, and determination was new.

“Where are we going?” Ranon asked.

“To Dhemlan. In Kaeleer. To talk to Daemon Sadi.”

A few months ago, Theran had been the one going in search of Daemon Sadi. Now it was Gray.

“There are things we need, for the court and for this village. I have an idea of how we can start to get them. But I need to talk to Daemon, and there are some decisions I can’t make alone.”

“Why me?”

“You’re Shalador’s Warlord Prince.”

The words rocked him. Yes, he was the last adult Warlord Prince until youngsters like his brother Janos came of age, but Gray’s phrasing gave a weight, a duty, to a truth he’d lived with for the past few years.

“If Cassie gives her consent to this journey, I’ll go with you,” Ranon said.

Gray huffed out a breath and smiled. “Good. So let’s find out what everyone else was up to today.”

Plenty, Ranon thought when Dryden opened the door and greeted them.

It looked like they were all going to have something to talk about that evening.

K
ermilla frowned at the toast that was burnt around the edges. She tasted the eggs and made a face. As she pushed her plate away—and noticed Correne doing the same—Theran walked into the small breakfast room.

That was unusual. She and Correne, the “Ladies of the court,” had breakfast alone, leaving the men to a working breakfast where they reviewed their assignments for the day and were allowed to be fools before they had to put on their manners.

It might be unusual to see him in the breakfast room, but his timing was perfect.

“Theran, what in the name of Hell is wrong with the cook today?” Kermilla complained. “The toast is burned, and these eggs are unacceptable. And the beef is . . . Well, I can hardly choke it down.”

“I suggest you try,” Theran said in an odd voice. “The woman who was the cook’s assistant has a blind eye and a weak arm, courtesy of the last Queen she served. She’s doing the best she can.”

“Why is she doing it at all?” Correne asked, sounding pouty.

She was going to have to talk to the girl about when a good pout worked and when it caused nothing but trouble—and judging by the look in Theran’s eyes, being anything but helpful today was going to cause trouble.

Ignoring Correne, Theran watched Kermilla. “The cook, the housekeeper, and the butler resigned yesterday.”

She heard a hint of accusation in his voice. “Because I had to discipline Birdie?”

Theran’s face tightened. “You call it discipline. You said it was necessary, and I’m sure you wouldn’t have struck the girl without good reason. But Dryden called it abuse, said it was the same kind of treatment the purged Queens used to inflict on servants—and the kind of treatment I had promised him no one would endure in this house. So the senior servants resigned, along with four of the stable lads. It may take a while before I can replace them.” He glanced at Correne. “Ladies.”

Stunned, Kermilla watched him walk out of the room. That little bitch Birdie had to be disciplined. The other servants should have accepted that!

“What did he mean by the purged Queens?” Kermilla asked.

Correne pulled her plate back and began eating. “The Queens who were destroyed by that witch storm a couple of years ago.” She shuddered. “I heard it swept through the whole Realm and consumed lots and lots of people.”

“How many Queens?” Kermilla whispered.

“The Territory Queen and all the Province Queens. Lots of the District Queens too. That’s why Cassidy had to come and rule here. There has been talk of letting Queens establish a court when they’re eighteen, which is before the age of majority and before they’re ready to make the Offering to the Darkness.”

“Why would they do that?”

“The old Queens are too old to rule more than one village, so someone has to regain control of the Provinces.” Correne leaned forward. “I got a letter from a friend yesterday. She said some of the Warlord Princes are claiming whole districts as their personal territory and ruling like they were Queens.”

Having males rule on a Queen’s behalf wasn’t that unusual—at least, not in Kaeleer—but Correne sounded shocked. And with good reason. If the most aggressive and dangerous caste of male began taking control and ruling without a Queen’s leash, the young Queens might end up being ruled by Warlord Princes instead of the other way around.

And the Queen who could stop that change would have the loyalty of every other Queen in this land.

“Look, look, look!” Powell danced into the breakfast room, waving a handful of papers over his head.

Momentarily frozen in the act of biting into a piece of toast—which Birdie and Maydra pointed out that she had not had to make for herself—Cassidy finished chewing while she, Shira, and Reyhana watched the gleeful Steward.