Shaddo said.
“Why?” Ranon asked.
“First Escort and the Master of the Guard’s second-in-command? Your words are going to hold a lot of weight with the other Warlord Princes. You, Ranon, have always stood for the Shalador people. Jared’s people. And Jared Blaed is descended from Thera and Blaed. Balanced against Theran using the Grayhaven name and being Lia’s last descendant, I’d say that evens the field.”
“So we move fast,” Powell said. “Cassie sends the letter to Theran, stripping him of the title of First Escort, citing his failure to honorably perform his duties as the reason for the demotion. As the High Lord suggested.”
“He’ll start recruiting openly in response,” Archerr said.
“In the northern Provinces,” Talon said. “He doesn’t know Kermilla showed her hand, so he’ll start talking to the Warlord Princes farthest away from Eyota. Also, I suspect he’s been giving those men the impression that Cassie is going back to Dharo in the spring, leaving Kermilla a clear field, and that there won’t be an established Queen and court to challenge the upstart. Unless a man is truly drawn to Kermilla, he’ll think twice about signing on to serve in her court when he realizes it means going up against the ruling Queen and her court.”
“I think those of us who have been acting as court liaisons for the southern Provinces should head out tomorrow and set up the meetings,” Haele said. “Make it an official request to meet with the new First Escort and the Master’s second-in-command. It would also be good if we told them the Queens would be welcome to have an audience with Cassidy.”
“They’re always welcome,” Cassidy said, looking at her men. This might not end up being a war, but they were still preparing for a kind of battle.
“One last thing,” Powell said. “What are we going to call this new Territory?”
Cassidy looked at Ranon, who kept his eyes fixed on the table. “Ranon?” she said softly.
Obeying the sound of her voice, he looked at her.
Hope. The fulfillment of a dream. But for the first time since she’d met him, he was holding back, acting with fierce restraint.
“You and your people have dreamed for a long time that you would have a place of your own again,” she said. “That you would live in a land called Shalador.”
Ranon looked around the table. Cassidy’s heart ached with pride as every man nodded, giving his blessing to the name.
Ranon’s dark eyes filled with tears. He blinked them away. Then he said, “We have dreamed of this, but the Shalador people won’t build this new land alone, and the name should reflect all the people who call this land their home.” He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “Shalador Nehele. I would like to call our new land Shalador Nehele.”
Cassidy swallowed hard to push down the lump in her throat. “That’s a fine name.”
“Then it’s settled,” Talon said, looking at her.
“It’s settled,” she agreed.
She’d barely said the words when someone tapped on the door. Dryden and the footman entered, carrying a tray of glasses and bottles of sparkling wine.
Seeing the number of bottles, Talon and Powell glanced at each other, then shrugged. Clearly, they had both sent an order to Dryden in anticipation of reaching an agreement.
Bottles were opened and glasses were filled.
The men and Shira raised their glasses.
“To Lady Cassidy and the Territory of Shalador Nehele,” Talon said.
Their voices rang all around her. “To Lady Cassidy.”
T
he next morning, the First Circle moved quietly, and they moved fast.
By the time Cassidy, Shira, and Reyhana had finished breakfast, Ranon and Gray were sitting down with Eyota’s elders and Tradition Keepers to explain the court’s decision to create a new Territory. By the time Cassidy and Reyhana had settled at the desk in the Queen’s office to sort and review all the requests and invitations again, the liaisons for the five southern Provinces were meeting with the Warlord Princes in those Provinces to arrange a formal visit with Ranon and Jared Blaed.
By the time the messenger arrived at the Grayhaven estate and delivered the letter from Lady Cassidy to Prince Theran Grayhaven, every Warlord Prince who lived south of the Heartsblood River knew something was about to happen—and they began sharpening their knives.
Worn out by a morning of useless meetings and a midday meal that still churned sour in his belly, Theran returned to the Grayhaven mansion and found Julien waiting for him. The look in the butler’s eyes chilled him because it signified another clash between butler and future Queen.
“Prince Grayhaven.”
“Julien?”
Julien called in a letter and held it out to him. “After you left, Lady Kermilla went into your study and opened the mail. All the mail.”
“Why in the name of Hell would she do that?” The words were out before he could stop himself.
“I wouldn’t know.” The tone said the butler knew quite well why a Queen would go through mail that wasn’t addressed to her—and what happened to a man if she found something she didn’t like. “When this letter arrived, I felt it was best to deliver it to you personally since it has Lady Cassidy’s seal.”
Shucking off his heavy coat, Theran handed it to Julien and took the letter. “I’ll be in my study.”
“Lady Kermilla wanted to be informed the moment you returned home.”
Should I take my time delivering the message? That was the underlying question.
“Inform the Lady that I’ve returned,” Theran said as he walked away.
Kermilla wanted Julien dismissed. Actually, she wanted the man banned from the town because, on his best days, Julien was barely courteous to her. On the days when memories rode him hard, he couldn’t stand being around her. Since she was still a guest, she had to tolerate the butler. Once she became Queen . . .
Problem was, Julien was damn good at his job, took on more than a butler’s typical duties, and by standing between Kermilla and the rest of the staff, was the only reason the other servants hadn’t resigned.
Why was everyone so resistant and so resentful? Yes, she was sometimes difficult or inconsiderate, but maturity and work that made full use of her abilities would soften those edges. Sure she had a temper, but that just meant she had spine and spirit. And that spine and spirit were the reasons Kermilla was the right Queen for Dena Nehele—the one who could represent their land and people with grace and skill.
The servants grumbled on a daily basis, which he didn’t understand since he hadn’t seen Kermilla doing anything that justified the grumbles. He could ignore the servants for the most part, and did—as long as Julien managed to keep them from leaving. Couldn’t anyone understand that it was an anxious time for all of them and the next few weeks would be so critical? Nerves were a bit frayed and tempers were sharper than they would be normally. But once Kermilla had the assurance of her place in Dena Nehele, everything would settle down.
Could he give her any assurance?
The Warlord Princes he’d met with today had listened—and had offered nothing. Not one indication that they would be willing to accept Kermilla, let alone serve her. And not one spark of interest in meeting her.
There was wariness over being seen in her company because Talon had declared her an enemy of the current Queen of Dena Nehele, but there wasn’t any sign of the suppressed interest he’d expected once he’d hinted that Talon’s declaration would no longer apply come spring.
What was he supposed to do about that? Having the backing of at least some of the Warlord Princes and minor Queens was crucial.
He riffled through the opened mail. Invitations? Well, he didn’t mind her opening those. Not really. After all, she’d be attending those events with him, so she should have a say in which ones they accepted. But the rest . . .
Uneasiness rippled through him, a warning that something wasn’t good, wasn’t right. Then Kermilla walked into the study, and the uneasiness was buried under his craving to be with her and use everything he was for her pleasure—whatever that pleasure might be. The uneasiness was buried, but not the anger.
“Oh, la, Theran,” Kermilla said. “I was afraid you wouldn’t get back in time. There’s a delightful little party later this afternoon that I must attend and—”
“Why did you open my private correspondence?” He hadn’t realized how much anger he was keeping leashed until he heard the roughness in his voice.
She stopped moving toward the desk. She lowered her head and looked at him through her lashes while her mouth shifted into its sexy pout. “I was just trying to help. And I wanted to learn. You’re always telling me that I need to learn more about Dena Nehele.”
“You learn by talking . . .” Listening. “. . . or asking. Not by violating someone’s privacy.”
“Violating?” She widened her eyes. “That’s a harsh word. I just looked at a few silly old letters.”
“No, it’s not a harsh word.” He fanned the stack of letters and the uneasiness returned. *Julien? How many letters did you put on the desk this morning?*
*Five invitations and seven letters.*
Theran counted them again, then moved them to make sure nothing was hidden.
Five invitations—and five letters.
“What happened to the other two letters, Kermilla?” he asked. Before she could lie to him, he added,
“There were seven letters delivered. There are five here now. Where are the other two?”
“They were very rude.” She enhanced the pout. “I burned them.”
“You burned letters addressed to me?”
“They were rude.”
“I don’t give a damn how rude they were. You had no business reading them, let alone burning them!”
Her eyes flashed with temper. “Nothing is hidden from a Queen, Prince. Nothing.”
A cold fist wrapped around his spine—and squeezed. “Those letters. Who were they from?”
She tossed her head and said dismissively, “I don’t remember.”
His temper slipped the leash for a moment and thundered through the room, knocking a painting off the wall and sending several useless porcelain figurines crashing to the floor.
No color in her face. Fear in her eyes.
“Who were they from?” he snarled.
“Ferall and . . . I don’t remember the other name. I don’t!”
Ferall. Mother Night. He hadn’t expected to get any response from Ferall. He couldn’t ask the man to send the letter again. And outside of being “rude,” which could mean anything, he had no idea what kind of answer he’d been given to his carefully worded inquiries. He knew Ferall wouldn’t serve Kermilla, but he wanted some assurance the other Warlord Prince wouldn’t actively go after Dena Nehele’s new Queen.
“Don’t do it again,” he said, breaking the seal on Cassidy’s letter. “I don’t give a damn what you think a Queen is entitled to do. Any correspondence addressed to me is private. You don’t open it without my consent. Is that clear?”
She pulled her shoulders back and raised her chin, the picture of wounded dignity. “Perfectly clear.”
He began reading Cassidy’s letter. No, not a letter. Some kind of official document that . . .
“Theran, what about the invitation for this afternoon?” Kermilla asked. “It’s really important that I—”
“You bitch,” he snarled. “You cold-blooded bitch.”
“Theran!” She sounded shocked.
He rushed out of the study and roared to release some temper. “Julien! My coat!”
Julien hurried to the entranceway, holding the coat open. “Prince?”
Vanishing the document, Theran shoved his arms into the coat sleeves. *I’ll be gone for the rest of the day,* he said on a spear thread when Kermilla rushed into the entranceway. *Hold on to any mail or messages until I return.*
*Done,* Julien said.
And when he returned he would put Green shields and locks around his study. Kermilla would be insulted, but better that than another error in judgment.
“Theran?” Kermilla’s voice was a blend of distress and whiny-bitchy that he hadn’t heard before. “Where are you going? What about our invitation to—”
“Send your regrets,” he snapped as he headed for the door. “I have an appointment.” With the Queen, he added silently.
Cassidy watched Shira remove the tangled web of dreams and visions from its wooden frame and drop the spider silk into a shallow bowl of witchfire.
“What did you see?” Cassidy asked. “Or can’t the vision be shared?”
Shira looked at her for a long time. Then the Shalador witch finished putting away her Hourglass supplies before saying, “Endings and beginnings. I think most of us left in the Hourglass have seen the end of Dena Nehele—and wept for it. Some of us saw hope and a new beginning, but it wasn’t always there in the visions, so we knew the end was coming but couldn’t be sure if anything good would follow.”
“And now?”
“I used to see orchards of honey pear trees growing out of the bodies of the men who had fallen in the killing fields.”
“Mother Night,” Cassidy whispered.
“Sometimes, in nightmares, I would pick the fruit off one tree. I would bite into one of the pears, and it was better than anything I’d ever tasted before. Then I would look down and see Ranon’s face. The tree was growing out of what was left of Ranon.”
“Shira . . .”
“Today I saw orchards of honey pear trees growing out of rich soil. Soil, Cassie. Not the bodies of our dead. And even though I couldn’t see them, I could hear men talking and laughing, and I knew they were alive and helping with the harvest.” Shira undid the Craft holding her hair up and let that dark hair flow around her shoulders. “You’re the difference. Dena Nehele will break, and Shalador Nehele will rise. A new beginning.”
“There could still be war,” Cassidy said. “Those honey pears might still grow out of the bodies of the dead.”
“That’s a possibility,” Shira agreed. “But before, it was a certainty.”
Shalador’s Lady wil rule this new land?
She wil .
We wil continue to walk the path she has shown us and reclaim the Old Ways of the Blood?
We wil .
Then the people of Shalador wil welcome this change, and we wil strive to be worthy of the honor she has given us by naming her new Territory Shalador Nehele.