He wanted to call them back, wanted to demand some kind of answer. But there was nothing he could say to them right now—and apparently, there was nothing they wanted to say to him.
“L
ibrary, library, library.” Ranon set those three letters on the stack marked for Gray to handle. Only a week had passed since the official creation of Shalador Nehele, and the mail coming in for Queen and court had tripled.
The day had turned cold and snowy, with a wind that cut like a mean-tempered bitch. Cassie was tucked in for the afternoon and he was the escort on duty, so he’d offered to sort the mail since Powell had more than enough to do right now. It wasn’t a job he enjoyed, but he didn’t mind it either, and doing something productive for the court made him feel less guilty about being warm and comfortable today while other members of the First Circle were out in that white misery fulfilling their own assignments.
“Request for a loan to repair a printing press and open a print shop and bookbindery.” He frowned at that letter for a moment, then put it in Gray’s stack. “Request for lessons with the Protocol instructors. Well, Gray can deal with that too.”
Then he hesitated and wondered if they were dumping too much on Gray, especially since he was the First Escort and his first priority was taking care of the Queen.
“We really need a Second Circle to assist the First Circle,” he muttered. The problem was paying a Second Circle, although Powell had hinted they could afford to bring in a few more people to work for the court.
Well, for the time being, they would do the best they could with what they had.
Could a Sceltie learn to sort mail?
While he pondered what the dogs might be able to do with the reading skills they had, Dryden tapped on the door and said, “Prince Ferall is asking to see you.”
“Me?” When Dryden nodded, Ranon set the unsorted letters at one end of the big meeting table. Nothing really confidential in the stacks he’d sorted so far, but he used Craft to make a layer of witchlight over the papers, effectively preventing anyone from reading them. “Send him in.”
Ferall entered the room, still wearing his heavy winter coat and a shapeless hat.
He didn’t sense any shields around the man, but Ranon instinctively put a skintight Opal shield around himself under his clothing, just in case. A warrior like Ferall usually held on to his outer gear when he figured he’d have to leave in a hurry—and that usually meant after splattering the walls with blood.
He smiled and took a step forward as if he didn’t see the fury in the other man’s eyes.
Then Ferall grabbed two fistfuls of Ranon’s shirt and slammed his back against the wall.
“You self-serving son of a whoring bitch,” Ferall snarled. “Got what you wanted so you just let the rest of us flounder, is that it?”
Clamping his hands around Ferall’s wrists to prevent a grab for his throat, Ranon snarled back, “What in the name of Hell are you talking about?”
“You. This.” Ferall shook him. “Didn’t we work hard enough, try hard enough? Couldn’t you give us a chance before you cut us loose? I almost had a life. Damn you to the bowels of Hell, Ranon, I almost had a life! A widow with two young children, a boy and a girl. Lost her husband to one of those twisted bitches a few years back. Had the courage to let me into her life and into her bed. Let me be around her children.
You know what that means, Ranon. You know.”
Yes, he knew. And he understood now about those special gifts Ferall had purchased for Winsol.
Ferall leaned in, and despite the shield, Ranon could feel his chest muscles bruising under the pressure of the other man’s fists.
“I never had much of a home when I was young, and nothing you could call a home since I was fifteen.
Do you know what it feels like to settle into a place and not have everyone look at you with fear in their eyes because they’ve gotten used to you, gotten used to the idea that you’re there to protect them as well as be an instrument of the Queen’s will? Do you know what it feels like to be with a woman who cares about you? To have a boy waiting to see you at the end of the day to play a game of toss before dinner or have a little girl snuggle up next to you wanting you to read her a story? Do you?”
“I know,” Ranon said quietly. And he did know about that particular dream. He was hoping to have those same things with Shira someday.
“Then why?” Ferall pressed him harder into the wall. “You bastard! Tell me why!”
“Let him go.”
For a moment, Ranon wondered why Vae’s snarled words sounded so strange. Then he looked toward the door and thought, Oh, shit.
Cassie stood there, her red hair flowing down her back and her feet planted in a fighting stance. One hand held that club she’d used to defend James Weaver and his family back in Grayhaven. Vae stood beside her.
Both witches snarled at Ferall.
Pushing away from Ranon—and giving him a last knock into the wall in the process—Ferall took a step toward Cassidy, measured the wild look in her eyes, and took a step back.
“Why didn’t you give us a chance to prove ourselves before cutting us loose like that?” Ferall asked, his voice ringing with frustration and lost hope.
“We weren’t trying to cut anyone loose, Prince Ferall,” Cassidy said.
“Then why set the line at the Heartsblood River?”
She must have heard the same leashed pain in Ferall’s voice that he did because she lost her defensive anger and stammered, “It’s a natural boundary, and we didn’t want to be greedy.”
Oh, the look of frustrated disbelief on Ferall’s face.
Pulling off his hat, Ferall slapped it on his thigh and roared, “Well, Hell’s fire, woman! For just once in your life, be greedy!”
The club slipped from Cassidy’s suddenly limp fingers and almost conked Vae on the head. Cassidy stood there with her mouth hanging open, clearly shocked by the idea of being greedy.
It took her a long moment to gather herself. “If you’re not comfortable having your family live under Kermilla’s hand, you can relocate, move to a village on the other side of the river. There is plenty of room.”
“I could do that,” Ferall agreed. “But what about the other eleven Warlord Princes who live in that Province? What about the people in the towns and villages that I’ve been ruling on behalf of the Queen?
What about the farmers who don’t want to leave land that’s been held in their families for generations?
What about them, Lady? What should I tell them when I pack up my family and move across the river?”
Ranon watched Cassidy turn paler and paler until her freckles were the only color left in her face.
Come on, Cassie, he thought. Step up to the line.
He couldn’t nudge her, couldn’t urge her. She didn’t ask for his opinion. Didn’t even look his way for some kind of sign. Her eyes stayed on Ferall.
Then Cassidy, Queen of Shalador Nehele, squared her shoulders and quietly said, “You’re right, Prince Ferall. So many people should not be asked to leave their homes. But one man should not make such an important choice for so many.” She swallowed hard. “So this is my decision. Go home, Ferall. Talk to the other Warlord Princes. Talk to the District Queens who rule in your Province. If, on behalf of themselves and the people they rule, the majority of them want to break from Dena Nehele and join us as part of Shalador Nehele, you will all be welcome.”
Keeping his eyes on Cassidy, Ferall called in a sheet of paper and held it out. “How about all of them?”
Ranon leaned against the wall for support. Hell’s fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful.
Ferall had come with the document in hand.
Cassidy got paler, if that was possible. But she stepped up to the line. “In that case, welcome to Shalador Nehele. Prince Powell?”
“Lady?”
Powell stepped into the room. Must have gotten a sense of trouble and been hovering in the hallway. He wasn’t a fighter, but if it had come down to a fight, Ranon would have locked with Ferall and Powell would have gotten Cassie out of the room.
“Please review the document Prince Ferall has brought. Then make a copy of it to add to the documents being preserved for us at the Keep.”
“It will be my pleasure, Lady,” Powell said. “Prince Ferall? If you would come to my office?”
Ferall studied Cassidy for a moment. “Thank you, Lady. For all of us, thank you.” He followed Powell out of the room.
The moment Ferall was out of the room, Ranon leaped toward Cassie, grabbing her before her legs buckled. He pulled out a chair. She collapsed into it.
“Head down, darling,” he said, holding one hand between her shoulder blades as she pressed her forehead against her knees. “Just breathe now. That’s a girl.”
“Ranon? What did I just do?”
“You gave a strong man the possibility of a good life.” She’d done a great deal more than that, but he figured she wasn’t ready to hear all of it.
When she pushed up, he rubbed her back to soothe and comfort. She had a little color in her face, but she looked like she’d had the wind knocked out of her.
He felt the same way. “You want some tea or brandy or something?”
“Yes, yes, and yes.”
Suddenly realizing that Vae had been unnaturally quiet, he looked at the Sceltie, who was staring at the club Cassie had dropped. He closed his hand over the club and vanished it. A Sceltie who knew her Craft probably wouldn’t have any trouble burying a club even when the ground was frozen.
As he helped Cassie to her feet, he said, “Come on, Vae. You deserve a treat too.”
*Yes.*
Vae definitely sounded grumpy. Well, he’d be grumpy too if he’d come that close to being conked on the head.
He escorted his two Ladies to the Ladies’ parlor. Within moments, Birdie, Frannie, Elle, and Maydra were all there, fussing over Cassie and Vae. The second time he got stepped on, he took the hint and retreated downstairs to the parlor used by the court.
By the time he’d poured himself a second brandy, he felt steady enough to consider what had happened
—and what it meant.
They had Ferall on their side. Mother Night, they had Ferall, one of the most savage fighters in Dena Nehele. And they had Hikaeda, Elendill, and Rikoma, along with the other eight Warlord Princes who lived in that Province. And they had that land. That would change a lot of things, because that Province ran from the Tamanara Mountains to the western border. As the largest Province, it also meant that, landwise, Dena Nehele and Shalador Nehele were now equal in size. And the addition of those twelve Warlord Princes serving under Cassie’s hand meant their fighting weight was equal or better to anything Theran could send against them.
Yes, this would change a lot of things, and he wondered how Theran and Kermilla were going to respond when they found out.
T
heran stared at the document Archerr had delivered a few minutes ago.
Hikaeda said he wouldn’t have to wait long for an answer from the Warlord Princes who lived in the Province that bordered the Heartsblood River. He just hadn’t been prepared for this answer.
Cassidy now held the leash for twelve more Warlord Princes—including Ferall. Mother Night, she had Ferall on top of Talon and Ranon. Only a fool would stand on a killing field against those three.
And she had Jared Blaed, who had become a formidable, dominant male, even if he didn’t wear the Jewels or have the power he might have had.
Now Cassidy controlled the land and income from another Province. The Warlord Princes and Queens just gave it to her. Didn’t they have any loyalty to their own land, their own heritage?
“Theran?”
He’d left the study door open. It seemed insulting to have Kermilla scratching on the door like a servant asking for admittance. Especially today. Besides, he’d already tucked the correspondence away in a locked drawer in his desk.
He held out the document.
She read it, her brow furrowing.
“What does this mean?” she asked, handing it back to him.
“It means Cassidy holds Ferall’s leash.”
“Well, good riddance. He was a crude man. I didn’t like him.”
“He’s an Opal-Jeweled Warlord Prince. I’ve seen what he’s done on a killing field. He’s no Lucivar Yaslana, but even so he was feared—and with good reason.”
“Oh.”
No real comprehension. He heard that truth in her voice, saw it in her eyes. “And it means that Cassidy now rules half of what used to be Dena Nehele.”
That she understood, and those pretty blue eyes blazed with anger.
“You have to stop this, Theran. You have to get the court formed and stop this.”
Hadn’t he been trying for months to introduce her to the other Warlord Princes and give her a chance to shine? It wasn’t his fault she’d pissed off Ferall and some of the others. But she kept snapping at him because her position was still so tenuous, or she sulked over his tight control of the purse, or pouted over some real—or imagined—insult from Julien. Or wanted sex, which was becoming less and less appealing because there seemed to be less and less heart in the act.
Sometimes he wanted to shout at her to stop being a stupid, selfish girl and start being the Queen he knew she could be.
And yet, despite his growing frustration and anger with her, she still felt so right, and he knew if she could have a little more time to mature, she would be the Queen Dena Nehele so desperately needed.
She was right about one thing: every day that slipped away without a court forming around her made Dena Nehele more vulnerable—and made Cassidy, and her court, look better.
Over the next few days, Theran felt like a man bleeding to death from a wound he couldn’t find.
Thinking that any court was better than no court, and figuring Kermilla wouldn’t object since she considered these Blood acceptable companions socially, he’d gone to visit the aristo families in Grayhaven—and discovered they had all left town on business of one kind or another. The servants couldn’t tell him where the families had gone, couldn’t tell him when they would return.
The message was clear enough: The men were afraid he would require them to serve in Kermilla’s court, so they had removed themselves from his reach.