Shalador's Lady (33 page)

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 Theran 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.

“When a man was hunted down and executed by a Warlord Prince, his ring finger and his ring, drained of power, were sent back to his family.” Usually the hunt was done because the bastard’s offense had been

“forgiven” by a twisted Queen. But one way or another, the people of Dena Nehele got justice—and the fingers were an assurance that no one needed to worry about the bastard coming back to hurt them again.

He wasn’t going to share that part with the men who served Kermilla. That would tell them too clearly what Talon thought of her, and they might try to convince her to go back to Dharo and her safe little village.

“Mother Night,” Jhorma said softly. “I didn’t meet them. I gathered from Bardoc that those two were little pricks, but surely escorting a Queen traveling in a questionable part of town shouldn’t warrant execution.”

“It didn’t. This did.” Theran handed the paper to Jhorma—and watched the man pale.

“Can you verify they tried to do this?” Jhorma asked.

“Talon wouldn’t have executed them if he wasn’t sure of their intentions.” And he would have been sure after he ripped open Garth and Brok’s inner barriers and got the truth from their own minds.

No, Talon would have been certain even before he took that action. The confirmation from their own minds before the execution was only a formality.

“They were hers.” Trae looked sick and confused. “She’d gone to meet them and found out Talon had taken them away. On the ride back here, she kept saying he had no right to touch a male who belonged to her.”

They couldn’t belong to her. Theran’s stomach rolled. Not the same way I do. She couldn’t mean that.

How could I belong to a Queen who would claim men capable of raping a child? Trae’s mistaken. Or he’s lying. He has to be.

“Are we talking about Prince Talon, Lady Cassidy’s Master of the Guard?” Jhorma sounded wary.

“Yes.” Theran’s stomach rolled again. He knew exactly why Talon had left the fingers here instead of on their father’s doorstep—because he, as the ruler of this town, should have exiled Garth and Brok for breaking the Queen’s command.

“Do you have anyone who could deliver this to the Warlords’ family?” Trae asked.

Theran shook his head.

“Then I’ll do it for you.”

Theran looked at Trae with grudging respect. He’d thought of Kermilla’s escorts as useless appendages, unwanted chaperons who restricted what he could say to his lover—and to the woman who should rule his people. But these men were First Circle. If they’d been home, they would be taking care of the business of the court, just like Cassidy’s First Circle did.

Offering to take the box to the Warlords’ father was a kindness he hadn’t expected from Kermilla’s present court.

“Take Laska with you,” Jhorma said. “There has been enough death over a foolish decision, and I don’t imagine anyone reacts well when they receive one of those boxes—unless they’re truly relieved to receive it.”“Thank you.” Theran nodded at the paper Jhorma still held. “You can give him that too. He should know why his sons were forfeit.”

As soon as Jhorma and Trae left, Theran called in a bottle of brandy. He had downed his first large glass before Kermilla stomped daintily into the room.

“Did Trae tell you about the dreadful thing that happened in town today?” Kermilla put her hands on her hips and looked stern. “You should tell Talon he has no business interfering with this town. You rule here.”

“Garth and Brok are forfeit, Kermilla. There is nothing anyone can do about that.”

“You have to do something! They’re mine, Theran. They’re—”

“Dead.” Hell’s fire. He hadn’t meant to be that blunt.

She paled. Pouring more brandy in the glass, he guided her to a chair. “Drink this.” He waited until she chugged the brandy. “I’m sorry, Kermilla, but Garth and Brok are dead. They were executed.”

She gasped for air, then wailed, “Why?”

He pulled up a footstool and sat in front of her. “They went to a landen’s house with the intention of raping the wife and daughter. That’s unforgivable, even here where we’ve forgotten so much of the Old Ways of the Blood.”

“They wouldn’t do that,” Kermilla protested.

She didn’t believe them capable of that obscenity. She hadn’t realized what kind of men they were when she’d claimed them. Thank the Darkness for that. “They did.”

Calling in a small, lace-edged handkerchief, she looked at him with big blue eyes and sniffled, turning an ordinary body sound into something feminine and delicate.

“What about Correne?” Kermilla asked. “I know she went off with you this morning, which is very naughty of you, Theran. She hasn’t had her Virgin Night yet. She shouldn’t go anywhere with a man without a chaperon.”

“I took her home,” Theran said quietly. “She’s back in her home village now.”

“Why? She was my only friend here. My only female friend,” she added hastily when he stiffened.

He took the glass from her and set it on the table next to the chair. Then he took her hands. “She wasn’t a friend to you, although she hid her intentions well.”

She jerked her hands out of his. “Whatever are you talking about? Of course she’s my friend.”

The headache was still there, gnawing inside his skull. So he spoke without softening the blow. “Because of her, you made enemies at dinner the other night.” He pulled back. He should have asked this question before. He had asked this question before. But not so bluntly that he would have to have an answer.

“Maybe I’ve presumed too much from your staying here after Cassidy moved her court to Eyota. If I have, I apologize. I thought you were willing to become the Queen here next spring. I thought you had stayed to learn what the people here need from their Queen. I’ve been bringing influential people here to meet you so that they would support your intention to rule.”

“What influential people?” Kermilla snapped. “There are only a handful of aristo families in this town and I’m not allowed to go anywhere else.”

“Influential doesn’t always mean aristo,” Theran said, tightening the leash on his temper. “Ferall is an example. He’s a savage fighter, and he’s respected by other Warlord Princes and the surviving Queens because of it.”

“He wasn’t very nice at dinner.”

Kermilla stuck out her lower lip. The pout usually made him think of carnal things he’d like to do with her.

Today, with his head pounding unmercifully, it just made her mouth look puffy and unattractive.

“You should have slapped Correne down when she made that remark about Cassidy.”

“Well, she was called Lady Freckledy.”

“That doesn’t matter. She wasn’t the Queen of a Territory then. Ferall didn’t join Cassidy’s court and he may not serve her directly, but he was insulted on her behalf. When you did nothing, you lost his support—and the support of the other three Warlord Princes who came with him. That means you lost the support of any of the Queens who pay attention to how Ferall reacts to people who might have great influence in our land.”