Shalador's Lady (61 page)

Another change of mood. Watching her eyes, he knew the moment when she considered raking his face with her nails—and knew the moment when she realized he was wearing a Green shield to prevent her from doing just that.

Taking a firm grip on her arm, he escorted her out of his family’s home to the Coach waiting at the landing web.

Kermilla huddled in the passenger compartment of the Coach with no one for company but that horrid Julien, who was giving her a smothering kind of attention while Theran, who turned out to have no spine or balls at all, hid with the driver in the locked front compartment.

She had lost. Instead of ruling a Territory for a few years and being admired, she was being sent home to nothing. No court, no men, no income. Nothing. Her mother was being stingy, so if she went back to her parents’ house, her father wouldn’t give her anything. Besides, running back home was what old Freckledy had done, and she was never going to be like Cassidy in any way. Never.

But she had to do something. How long would they let her stay at the Keep? Were there any interesting men who worked there? Men who could be coaxed into helping a young, pretty Queen who had been misled by a nasty Warlord Prince whose honor was, at best, questionable?

That much decided, she settled in more comfortably, had Julien bring her a plate of food and some coffee, and spent the rest of the journey considering how to turn this loss to her advantage.

EBON ASKAVI

Theran breathed a quiet sigh of relief when he walked out of the Coach and stepped on the landing web in one of the Keep’s courtyards. He’d kept away from Kermilla for the whole journey, afraid that if he stayed in that small compartment with her he would give in to her demands or his own desires.

But here at the Keep, the tug and pull of her presence faded, unable to compete with the mountain and its inhabitants.

Better that way for both of them.

He held out his left hand to her as she left the Coach. She ignored it and marched to the door. She rang the bell before he could join her, then stood there with her arms crossed and one foot tapping.

The man who opened the door had black eyes, black hair with a prominent widow’s peak, white skin, and sensuous bloodred lips. Geoffrey, the Keep’s historian/librarian.

“Lady,” he said. “Prince Grayhaven.”

“I’m returning to Kaeleer,” Kermilla said, raising her chin. “Please summon whoever opens the Gate.”

Those black eyes glittered queerly. “I’ll ask the Seneschal if the Gate is available.”

“How can it not be available?” Kermilla demanded.

“We don’t let everyone into the Shadow Realm. However, if you wanted to go to Hell, that could be arranged easily.”

“Geoffrey, why don’t I handle this?”

Theran trembled at the sound of the High Lord’s voice. Never thought I’d be glad to see him.

“Why?” Geoffrey asked as Saetan joined them.

“Because for some reason, you’re even more pissed off with this Lady than my sons are, and I wouldn’t have thought that possible.”

“Maybe it’s because I read history—and have a long memory,” Geoffrey replied too softly.

“I, too, read history and have a long memory,” Saetan replied just as softly. “But the Queen commands, Geoffrey. The Queen commands.”

Tension hummed between the two men as black eyes stared into gold.

Then the tension eased and Geoffrey smiled. “In order for our guests to remain safe, she tossed your boys out of the Keep, didn’t she?”

“She did. It was quite entertaining—and exciting—to watch.”

Geoffrey laughed. “In that case, High Lord, I will yield and leave our guests in your care.” As he turned to leave, he added, “In whichever Realm you care to have them.”

Kermilla looked like she was ready to faint, so Theran cupped a hand under one elbow to offer a little warmth and support. It was damn cold up in the mountains, but when he obeyed Saetan’s subtle gesture and led Kermilla into the Keep, the outside cold couldn’t compete with the freezing remnants of temper on the other side of the door.

Kermilla linked an arm through his and held on as Saetan led them deeper and higher into the mountain.

When they reached the room that held the Gate, Theran gently unhooked her arm from his.

She looked at him. “Aren’t you coming with me?”

“No.” He smiled sadly. “This is as far as I go.” As far as he dared to go. “May the Darkness embrace you, Kermilla. I’ll never forget you.” Or stop loving you.

He stepped back, stepped out of reach.

Saetan opened the door.

*High Lord?* Theran said.

“Why don’t you go in?” Saetan told Kermilla. “I’ll join you in a moment.”

She walked inside the room. Saetan closed the door and looked at him, one eyebrow raised.

Theran called in a package that was carefully wrapped in paper and sealed with wax. He held it out and waited for Saetan to take it.

“Four hundred gold marks,” Theran said. “I’d like Kermilla to have it. That’s a year’s income for me, and she’ll probably spend it in a week, but I’d like her to have it.”

“Why didn’t you give it to her yourself?” Saetan asked.

I didn’t want her to think it was a payment of some kind—or that she would get any more. “It’s complicated.”

“I’ll see that she gets it.”

“High Lord? Is Kermilla going to be all right?”

Saetan stared at him for a long time. “Lady Sabrina and her Steward are on their way to the Keep. They’ll see that Kermilla gets back to Dharo safely.” He looked behind Theran. “This Warlord will escort you back to the Coach and retrieve Lady Kermilla’s trunks.”

“Thank you.”

Nothing more to say, so he bowed to the High Lord of Hell and followed the servant to the Coach.

On the way back to Dena Nehele, Julien fixed him coffee and a plate of food. He didn’t touch either. He sat in the passenger compartment of the Coach, breathing in Kermilla’s lingering physical and psychic scents

—and wondered if this feeling of being torn and broken would ever go away.

After going through the Gate and arriving at the Keep in Kaeleer, Kermilla followed the High Lord to a sitting room. He’d been awfully scary when she’d first seen him, but he was a handsome man. A little too old for her tastes. Older men could be so serious about everything. And they didn’t have enough stamina to be fun. But the way he had handled that other strange man . . . Yes, he could be helpful. Very helpful.

“I’m glad Theran didn’t come with us,” she said, giving him a sideways glance through her lashes. “That way we can get to know each other better.”

She started to link her arm through his, but when she touched his jacket, the air turned so bitingly cold it burned her skin.

He said nothing about the cold or the way she jerked away from him. When he opened the sitting room’s door, she darted inside and went straight to the fireplace, hoping to warm up.

Her hands finally thawed enough to stop burning. She turned around and found him staring at her, his gold eyes glazed and sleepy.

“I was ordered to give you a gift,” he said. “It was created especially for you.”

“A gift?” That warmed her even better than the fire. She clapped her hands in delight and gave him a brilliant smile. “What is it?”

He stepped closer, raised his right hand, and pressed his fingers lightly against her chest.

At first it felt like a delicate necklace that rested on her skin in a web of fine metal. Then it melted into her skin, and threads of power flowed around her and through her, creating an odd flood of warmth that was there and gone.

Only moments passed before he raised his hand and stepped back to look at her.

“How appropriate,” he said in a singsong croon.

She placed a hand on her chest, but she felt nothing.

“Look,” he said. A turn of his hand, and a large gilt-framed mirror floated in the air nearby. “Look.”

She looked. Then she screamed.

And the High Lord of Hell laughed.

“Don’t worry, my dear. It’s only an illusion spell, but it’s a powerful one—and unbreakable. You’ll wear that face for a year and a day. Then the spell will fade gradually over the months that follow. Within two years, you’ll have your own face again and, hopefully, a great deal more.”

“Why?” Kermilla wailed as she stared at a face that was even more homely than Freckledy’s. Everyone would see this when they looked at her? “Why?”

“The tangled webs all said the same thing,” the High Lord replied. “If you continue to be nothing more than a greedy little girl, you will be dead within a year. While some of us welcomed that solution to a noxious problem, the Queen decided to give you a second chance. Your pretty face was the tool you used to get what you wanted, regardless of what it cost anyone else. Now you’ll have to earn what you want by proving your worth as a Queen. You’re being given a chance to grow up, Lady Kermilla, instead of dying young. I hope you eventually appreciate the gift. If you don’t, we’ll meet again soon in Hell.”

She trailed after him as he walked to the sitting room’s door. Then a gleam of silver caught her eye, drawing her toward one of the small tables scattered around the room. Plenty of expensive little nothings in this room. Who would notice if there were one or two less?

The silence turned heavy and cold and peculiar.

She looked at the High Lord, who studied her with those sleepy gold eyes.

“If you steal something from the Keep, what guards this place will let you take it,” he crooned. “But they will take your hand in exchange.”

He walked out of the room and closed the door.

Something moved in the wall. A shadow where there shouldn’t be a shadow.

Kermilla backed away from the table. Curling up in a chair, she remained there until Sabrina arrived to take her back to Dharo.

“Is it done?” Witch asked.

“It’s done,” the High Lord replied. “Will it make a difference?”

She rolled up the threads of her tangled web and dropped them in a shallow bowl of witchfire. “That’s up to Kermilla now.”

F
rustrated and heartsore, Theran sat at his desk, his head braced in his hands.

What was the point of the other Warlord Princes making him the ruler of Dena Nehele if they weren’t going to work with him, weren’t going to help him?

They didn’t trust him. That’s what it came down to. As far as they were concerned, his bond with Kermilla had not only fouled his judgment, it had ruined the opportunities they would have had to bring in needed help for their people. And every time his efforts to restore Dena Nehele failed, he lost a little more of their conditional support.

They wanted the same things people were receiving from Cassidy’s court, so he tried to approach Daemon Sadi about a loan similar to the one Gray had negotiated for Cassidy. Sadi’s coldly civil reply made it clear that Theran would get no help from the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan.

He tried to contact the Queens in Kaeleer to hire Protocol instructors to teach the courts in Dena Nehele.

The Queens didn’t answer him at all.

He tried to talk to Cassidy, but her First Circle refused to grant him an audience. The only thing he received from that visit was an assurance from Talon that Lady Cassidy had no desire to start a war and no intention to seize any land. The Warlord Princes of Dena Nehele didn’t need to worry about having Lady Cassidy for a neighbor.

No one wanted to work for him. The people in the town barely spoke to him.

And too many nights lately, he wondered if the Warlord Princes were waiting for him to fail enough for them to justify using their knives.

Julien rushed into the study without knocking and thrust an envelope into Theran’s hand. “You have a visitor. Lady Rhahn from the Isle of Scelt. She said you should read the letter before you speak to her.”

Theran stared at Julien. The butler looked dazed, dazzled, almost giddy with excitement.

“Read it,” Julien said. “Hell’s fire, man, read.” He sprang for the door. “Refreshments! I should get the Lady some refreshments!”

He was gone as quickly as he’d come in.

“What in the name of Hell is wrong with him?” Theran muttered as he broke the black wax seal and removed the single sheet of paper.

Prince Grayhaven,

I am aware that you have become the Warlord Prince of Dena Nehele and have taken responsibility for ruling your people. I am also aware that you still need a Queen who can help your people remember Protocol and the Old Ways. Therefore, I have asked Lady Rhahn to stay with you for a year.

A second chance, Theran. If you turn away from this one, there wil be no other.

Jaenelle Angelline

Theran folded the letter and vanished it.

Mother Night. Witch was giving him a second chance.

He straightened his clothes, ran his fingers through his hair in an effort to tidy it, and sprang to the study door much as Julien had. Then he paused. Would the Warlord Princes accept another Queen from Kaeleer if she was associated with him? Could they ever trust her with the well-being of their people?

He opened the study door.

The answer to those questions looked up at him and wagged her tail.

“I
t was a lovely wedding, Daughter.” Devra lifted Cassidy’s left hand.

“And that is a beautiful ring.”

A lovely, dizzy warmth spread through Cassidy. “Yes, it is.” Not just the amber ring’s design, but what the ring stood for. Something she knew her mother understood.

She looked at the people milling around the backyard of the Residence and was glad her First Circle had declared the sitting area under the tree to be the Queen’s private spot—a place to catch her breath and a moment’s quiet before talking to the next group of well-wishers.

“This was supposed to be a small wedding,” she said as she caught sight of her cousin Aaron and his wife Kalush talking with Ranon, Shira, Reyhana, and Janos.

Devra chuckled. “I imagine it is for a Territory Queen. You managed to limit the guest list to two Warlord Princes and two Queens from each of your Provinces, plus the elders and Tradition Keepers in Eyota, plus your court, family and personal friends. And everyone you invited accepted the invitation.”