Anne Bishop - Shalador's Lady

“Gentlemen,” Saetan said as they crossed the sitting room and stopped at the precise distance that was deemed courteous according to Protocol and gave him the precise bows owed his rank.

All that precision gave him a headache.

“High Lord,” Gray said.

When Gray hesitated, Saetan supplied the rest. “You have something you want to discuss, but it needs to be in confidence.”

“Yes,” Gray said.

“Will my keeping this confidence put anyone I care about at risk?”

A hesitation before Ranon said, “No one in Kaeleer.”

Interesting answer. “Very well.”

As soon as they had that much assurance from him, they both relaxed.

Gray called in a folded paper and held it out. “We’d like you to read this and tell us what we should fix. Powell said this is a copy, so you can mark it up if you want to.”

Saetan called in his half-moon glasses, unfolded the paper, and read the carefully written words.

Mother Night. These children had balls.

“Are you trying to start a war or avoid one?” he asked.

“Avoid one,” they replied.

Thank the Darkness for that. “Then there are a few phrases that should be reworded.”

As he turned toward a chair where he could work, he felt another dark presence in the Keep. Ranon and Gray felt it too and knew who was approaching the room. Since neither of them asked him to do anything to keep this meeting private, he settled into the chair, called in a lap desk and a pen, and began rereading the document that would break a Territory.

Lucivar walked into the room. A slashing glance at Gray and Ranon, an assessing look at him, and his Eyrien son had seen enough to know this wasn’t a battlefield.

Which didn’t mean Lucivar wouldn’t turn it into one if he decided there was a reason.

“Gray,” Lucivar said. “Ranon. What brings you here?”

The question wasn’t as idle as it sounded. Ebon-gray was asking Purple Dusk and Opal to explain their presence—and would get an explanation one way or another.

Since dealing with Lucivar had been a valuable lesson for all the boyos in Jaenelle’s First Circle, Saetan pretended to be unaware of this particular pissing contest. He didn’t want Gray and Ranon to get hurt, but he wasn’t going to step in unless it was necessary because every man needed to know when to stand and when to yield.

Gray glanced at Ranon, who nodded slightly.

“The Shalador reserves and the five southern Provinces are breaking from the rest of Dena Nehele to form a new Territory,” Gray said.

“That makes the Heartsblood River your northern boundary?” Lucivar asked.

“How did you know?” Ranon asked.

Foolish boy , Saetan thought, looking up to watch this part of the drama. An Eyrien could see a great deal from the air while riding the currents. Especially when that Eyrien was an Ebon-gray Warlord Prince.

Lucivar shrugged—and then winced so slightly no one but family would notice. “It’s a natural border, not to mention a means of travel and a source of water. Stands to reason you’d want to hold on to one side of it. How many Warlord Princes on your side of the line?”

“About forty,” Gray said. “That’s almost half of the adult Warlord Princes in Dena Nehele.”

“Adult,” Lucivar said. He gave Ranon a long look. “If this gets messy, your brother will end up on the killing fields with the rest of you. You know that.”

“I know,” Ranon said quietly.

“That’s why I’m looking over this document,” Saetan said. “To try to avoid the necessity of anyone standing on a killing field because of a preference for one Queen over another.”

Another assessing look at him before Lucivar focused on the other two men. “Have Talon deliver the copy of the document to Grayhaven. He’s the one man Theran won’t challenge.”

Saetan crossed out a sentence and wrote his changes in the margin. “And be sure to have a copy of the final, signed document brought here to the Keep. Documents can be lost or destroyed in a Territory when it’s convenient to hide information. Nothing can touch them here.”

That wasn’t quite true, but there was no one else in the room, including Lucivar, who could destroy a race so completely that all trace of them was eliminated from all the Realms.

Gray had brought a map of Dena Nehele, so while he, Ranon, and Lucivar reviewed how to make the best use of the trained warriors they had, Saetan worked through Powell’s draft, making subtle word changes that would place the burden of war squarely on Theran Grayhaven’s shoulders. Only a fool would start a war under these circumstances.

Of course, a man driven to serve a particular Queen could be ten times a fool. He might hate himself for it, but he’d still follow the Queen’s command and be her instrument.

They would all have to wait and see how firmly Kermilla held Theran’s leash.

He finished his changes, read them again, and then handed the document back to Gray. The Warlord Princes from Dena Nehele didn’t linger, and Saetan thought that was wise. News would travel. Rumors would begin. The sooner the official document was in the open, the better.

When they were gone, Saetan looked at Lucivar. “Well?”

“Gray and Ranon are solid,” Lucivar replied, rubbing his left biceps. “And they’re a good team. You fix their paper?”

“Yes, I did. It’s still possible that Kermilla can goad Theran hard enough to try to start a war, but I don’t think he’ll be equally successful in convincing enough Warlord Princes to join him on that particular killing field.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Saetan waited a moment. “What’s wrong with your arm?”

“Nothing.”

“Would you like to answer that question again without lying to your father?”

Lucivar made a face. “It’s nothing. A bruise. She didn’t break skin.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Well, Hell’s fire, the woman’s got some temper when she’s riled.”

“What did you do to upset Marian?”

“I was being considerate. Don’t women want men to be considerate?” Lucivar looked like a puppy who had gotten smacked and had no idea what he’d done wrong.

It took a formidable amount of self-control to convey nothing but calm interest, but he did it. “Of course they do, but wives also expect to have sex with their husbands on occasion.” After waiting a beat, he added, “I take it you and Marian have resumed making love.”

“I don’t think there was any love in this particular bite,” Lucivar growled. “But, yeah, we had sex.”

“In that case, my darling, why are you here?”

This time Lucivar didn’t try to hide the wince. “The village theater group is putting on a play tonight. It’s a comedy. With singing. More or less.”

Saetan waited. “Are you asking me to watch Daemonar this evening or accompany Marian to the play?”

Lucivar gave him a pained look.

Everything has a price, boyo. “What time should I come over to watch the boy?” Saetan tipped his head to indicate the clock on the mantel.

Lucivar looked at the clock and sighed. “Now?”

Saetan headed for the closest courtyard that had a landing web. “You are planning to get cleaned up, aren’t you?” It wasn’t really a question.

“If I can have the damn bathroom to myself, it doesn’t take me more than five minutes,” Lucivar muttered.

If she really wants to see this play, she’s going to clobber him , Saetan thought. “Go. Tell Marian I’ll be there by the time you’re ready to leave. And Lucivar? If you’re smart, you’re going to give your Lady more than just sex tonight.”

Lucivar went out the first available exit and launched himself skyward.