Shalador's Lady (43 page)

They piled out again in front of the Queen’s Residence. The silver twins headed back to the stables with the horse. Ranon and Shira headed around the back of the house while Gray grabbed Cassidy’s hand again and headed into the house.

Ranon and Shira hadn’t moved into their own place yet, but it seemed they were going to spend the night there. Probably just as well, considering the way Gray hustled her up the stairs and into her room.

He took her in his arms and pressed a soft kiss on her temple—a kiss that trembled with tenderness as well as the violence inherent in a Warlord Prince.

“Cassie,” he whispered. “Let me love you. Let me be your partner in this dance.”

She shifted enough to look at his face, to look into his eyes. The Fire Dance had burned out what was left of the scarred boy he had been. A man stood before her, waiting for her answer.

“What about Lucivar’s rules?” Not that she gave a damn about Lucivar’s rules right now, but she had to ask while she could still think.

“A useful leash that kept us both safe. But a man doesn’t need someone else to hold the leash. This has nothing to do with Lucivar. Not anymore. Just you and me, Cassie. Now it’s just you and me.”

“Yes,” she said. “I’ll take you as my partner, as my lover.”

“Cassie.” That was all he said. All he needed to say.

Soft. Sweet. Hot. Hard. They touched and tasted, learning each other’s bodies as sweat-slicked skin slid across skin. He surrounded her—and she surrounded him—a claiming that went beyond the body. When he brought her up and over the crest a final time and poured himself into her, she knew everything had changed.

Gray woke instantly, his arm tightening over Cassie as he listened for whatever had snapped him out of a sound sleep.

Nothing. And yet, something kept scratching at his senses, demanding acknowledgment.

He slipped out of bed and pulled on a robe. Whatever he was sensing wasn’t in this room.

He reached for the door that opened onto the hallway. The scratchy, demanding feeling faded. When he stepped back from the door, the feeling returned.

He probed the room again—and felt his temper sharpen, felt himself rising to the killing edge as a natural response to a potential threat to his Queen.

That something wasn’t in Cassie’s room and it wasn’t beyond her room either. That left . . .

He slipped into the adjoining bedroom. His room.

A glint of light near the dresser caught his attention. Despite the scratchy feeling, he sensed nothing dangerous, so he walked over to the dresser, then used Craft to form a small ball of witchlight.

He stared for a long time as his temper eased back from the killing edge. Then he extinguished the witchlight and went back to Cassie’s room.

“You okay?” Cassie murmured when he slipped back into bed.

“I’m fine.” He wrapped an arm around her and kissed the sweet spot on her neck. “Go back to sleep, love. It’s early yet.”

She dropped back into sleep instantly, but he didn’t. He waited until there was enough daylight; then he went back to his room and stared at the globe Tersa had given him.

The dragon, the symbol of himself as a whole man, stared back at him.

J
ulien stood in the breakfast room doorway. “There is a man digging in the garden. He says he’s your cousin.”

Theran set his coffee cup down, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and pushed away from the table. “Gray’s here?”

Gray. Digging in the garden. Not coming near the house.

Mother Night.

He glanced at Kermilla and suppressed a sigh. This morning she wasn’t pleased with anyone who had a cock. Jhorma hadn’t returned. Neither had Bardoc. And the escorts who should have arrived for their rotation of service were still in Dharo.

She’d accused him of not sending her letters to her court, claiming he was jealous of her men. That was true, up to a point. He craved her in a way he’d never craved anything else. She was a fever in his blood, and even when she did things that made him uneasy or they argued about money, he knew the problems were simply because she was a young, inexperienced Queen—and because she came from a family who had wealth he couldn’t imagine—and he still wanted to shape things to meet her wishes and will as much as he could.

So, yes, he was jealous. But he was practical enough to recognize that having a couple of her First Circle here to help entertain her would have worked to his advantage.

All in all, this wasn’t a good day to ask her to talk to Gray.

“I’d better go out and see him,” he said.

“Your cousin is the gardener, isn’t he?” Kermilla spread jam over her toast in a fussy manner and didn’t look at him. “It’s good he’s come back. The flower beds have been looking very weedy and unkempt lately.

It gives visitors a bad impression.”

Theran saw Julien’s face tighten. The butler worked in the garden as a way to relax and was doing what he could to keep things tidy. But the grounds weren’t part of Julien’s duties, and Kermilla preferred to enjoy the results of someone else’s labor—and complained when the results didn’t meet her expectations.

“Julien, bring another pot of coffee,” Kermilla said, not looking at either man as she continued to spread the jam on the toast. “And tell the cook to pay attention to what she’s doing this time. This last pot tasted like wash water.”

Julien turned and walked away. Theran followed him.

“Julien?” Kermilla yelled. “Did you hear me?”

Julien stopped and turned to Theran. There was a queer look in the butler’s eyes. “I’m not going back in that room. I have other duties.”

“What are you doing this morning?” Theran asked.

Julien’s mouth curved in an unnerving smile. “I’m sharpening the cook’s knives.”

Theran hurried out to the garden. He hadn’t heard from Gray since Cassidy ran away to Eyota. Talon had written to him a couple of times early on, Master of the Guard to First Escort, and news filtered through from some of the Warlord Princes he knew, but he hadn’t heard from Gray.

A large woven basket sat at the edge of the Queen’s flower bed. The bottom of it was filled with bulbs.

“Gray?”

Gray looked over and smiled at him. “Morning.” He brushed the dirt off two more bulbs and put them in the basket. Then he pushed the spade’s head into the soil to keep the handle upright. “This bed could use some water. So could the rest of them. I guess you haven’t had rain up here for the past few days.”

“No, we haven’t.” Theran’s heart lightened. “I’m glad to have you back—and not just for the gardens.”

Gray gave him a puzzled look and shook his head, still smiling. “I’m not staying. I just came by to pick up some of the bulbs I got for Cassie. Figured I’d divide them. That will leave this bed looking a little sparse next spring, but it will fill in.”

“You came back to Grayhaven for bulbs?”

Gray shrugged. “I planted them for Cassie, and I paid a hefty sum for a few of them. Besides . . .” He looked around the garden. “I didn’t think you would care.”

“That’s not the point.”

“What is the point?” Gray looked past Theran’s shoulder, and a dark, feral look came into his green eyes.

Before Theran could ask what was wrong, Gray pulled the spade out of the soil. Except it was no longer a spade. It was a pitchfork, and Gray held it more like a weapon than a tool.

For a moment, Theran just stared. It took a lot of skill in using Craft to vanish one object and call in another so smoothly a person couldn’t see the transition. Where had Gray learned to do that?

Then he remembered that something had sparked his cousin’s temper and looked behind him.

Kermilla pranced over the lawn toward them, her expression one of sharp delight. That expression usually meant she was going to delight in using the sharp side of her tongue.

“It’s Gray, isn’t it?” Kermilla said. “The gardener? Have you finally remembered your duties and come back to be useful?”

What Theran saw in Gray’s eyes made the queer look in Julien’s seem warm and comforting in comparison.

“I don’t work for you, bitch,” Gray snarled. “I never will.”

“Gray,” Theran said, shocked.

Kermilla’s face went white with anger. “You should be careful about saying ‘never,’ gardener. Things change.”

“Some things change,” Gray agreed. “Some things don’t.”

Kermilla took a step closer. Gray raised the pitchfork, and there was no doubt of how he would use it if she came any closer.

“I’m a Queen,” Kermilla hissed.

“You don’t outrank me, and I don’t serve you, so that means nothing,” Gray snarled. “And nothing like you is ever going to lay a hand on me again.”

A moment of choice.

Theran put himself between Kermilla and Gray. “That’s enough, Gray. Kermilla, please go back inside.”

“I want—”

“Kermilla.” He’d pay for giving her an order in front of someone, but Gray would try to hurt her, maybe even try to kill her, if she didn’t get out of sight.

He waited until Kermilla was safely inside the house; then he focused his anger on his cousin.

“What in the name of Hell do you think you’re doing?”

Gray stared at him. “Do you actually serve that bitch? Sleep with that bitch?”

“Stop calling her that!”

“I’ll call her what she is.”

“You don’t even know her.”

“I may not know her, but I knew one just like her. I have the scars to prove it.”

“She’s not like that! She’s nothing like that! And you better mind your tongue, boy. When Kermilla becomes the Queen of Dena Nehele, she is not going to forget your insults.”

“Then it’s fortunate she’s not going to become the Queen.” Gray drove the pitchfork deep into the soil.

“Cassie is the Queen of Dena Nehele.”

“Only until spring. When her contract runs out, Kermilla will rule.”

“No,” Gray said. “Cassie is the Queen.”

“One-year contract, Gray. Then she’s gone.”

“No. She’s settled in. She’s chosen to rule.”

“I’m not serving a minute beyond my contract, and when I leave, Cassidy’s court will break and re-form around Kermilla as the new Queen.”

Gray laughed. “You really think men like Archerr and Shaddo are going to serve Kermilla? You think Ranon is going to serve someone like her?”

“They’ll serve if I say they’ll serve. Or have you immersed yourself so much in that shitty little Shalador slum that you’ve forgotten who I am?”

He regretted saying the words the moment he gave them voice—and regretted them even more when Gray’s eyes filled with something frigid and bitter.

“How could I forget who you are?” Gray said. “You’re Grayhaven. You’re the last of the line, the one who needed to be protected and defended at any cost. For what, Theran? So you can play the pony now for her? If that’s what you wanted, you should have come down from the mountains years ago and given yourself to the Queens who were here. They were no different than her, and they would have used you just fine. If you don’t believe me, I’ll take off my shirt and show you my back. I guess you’ve forgotten what it looks like.” He paused. “I paid a high price to protect you.”

“And now you regret it?”

“Yes, I do. Today, I do. Today, I wish I’d told you to get your own damn box of sweets if you wanted them that much. But you wanted the box of sweets from the bakery and the sweets between that girl’s thighs—and you got them both. What did I get? Two years of pain and fear and nightmares about things you will never know, and ten years beyond that of being frozen in a shroud of boyhood. And for what, Theran? For what?”

Theran took a step back.

“Because of you, I’m less than what I could have been, and I have to live with that. Every day, I have to live with that.”

The air between them crackled.

“You’re not thinking this through, Gray. You’re not seeing this clearly.”

“Oh, but I am, Prince Grayhaven. I am seeing things quite clearly. You’re the one who wants to ignore what you’ve done and pretend someone else is to blame.”

“And what have I done?”

“You drew the line, and now you don’t want to admit that we’re standing on opposite sides. If you make Kermilla the Queen, I will fight her with everything I am—because I would rather die than live one day under her hand.” Gray flung out his right hand, aiming for the flower bed. All the plants and bulbs exploded out of the ground and hung in the air for a moment. The bulbs vanished; the plants fell back into the flower bed.

A moment later, the basket vanished too.

“I changed my mind,” Gray said. “I’m taking all the bulbs I planted for Cassie. If your bitch wants a spring garden, she can plant one herself.” He walked away, heading around the house to reach the landing web beyond the gates.

“Gray!” Theran yelled.

Gray stopped and turned. “My name is Jared Blaed.”

EBON ASKAVI

Saetan opened the Gate and stepped through to the Keep in Terreille.

He was going to have to talk to Gray about the timing of these unscheduled visits. The boy had a knack for catching him at the end of his waking hours.

He opened the door of the sitting room, then stayed in the doorway, assessing the changes in the man who furiously paced the length of the room.

“Prince,” he said as he stepped into the room and closed the door.

Gray rushed toward him, those green eyes filled with a fury that must have been building every minute of the journey here.

“You have to teach me how to be a Consort,” Gray said.

“Boyo, I don’t have to teach you anything,” Saetan replied mildly.

“Theran’s going to break the court,” Gray snapped. “He’s planning to push Cassie out come spring and put that bitch Kermilla in her place.”

“Gray . . .”

“It’s not fair! After all the work Cassie has done, all the good she’s done, and he thinks he can snap his fingers and everyone will drop to their knees and lick Kermilla’s ass.”

“Gray . . .”

“Well, I’m not licking anyone’s ass, not again, and he is not going to break Cassie’s court. So you—”

“Gray!”

Gray drew in one deep breath after another, as if he’d been running hard. His hands were clenched, and there was a wild look in his eyes. “My name is Jared Blaed.”