Anne Bishop - Shalador's Lady

“Does he need looking after?”

He heard the concern in her voice and made a rude noise. “No more than you do, but real need is never the point of these conversations.”

Her expression changed from concern to cautious delight. “Just how often do you get pinned to the wall because Rainier obstinately refuses to recognize this particular duty?”

“Weekly. So if you’re serious about being my second-in-command, you’re shouldering this particular nuisance.”

Laughing, she rose and stepped up to the desk. “Done.” Then she pressed her hands on the blackwood and leaned toward him, that fierce and feral something back in her eyes.

“One question. Does Lucivar have to worry about Falonar coming up behind him in any way?”

Ice ran in his blood, and he knew his gold eyes had turned glazed and sleepy. No one else had dared ask that question. Not even Lucivar. A few weeks ago, before she spent time with the Dea al Mon, Surreal wouldn’t have dared ask that question either.

He smiled at her—a cold, brutally gentle smile—and the Sadist said too softly, “No one has to worry about Falonar anymore.”

Gray watched Cassie from the corner of his eye and tried not to hover and fuss. Uncle Saetan had sent a note by special messenger warning him that hovering and fussing too much could turn even the most mild-tempered woman into a snarling bitch. Not that Uncle Saetan had put it in those terms, but that was the message.

It was hard not to hover when he was sitting with Cassie, Ranon, and Shira in one of the four-seat squares in the Coach. Powell had claimed one of the seats around the table so he could catch up on paperwork, the other men were split into small groups to talk or not, and Vae was sprawled on the floor where she’d be in the way of the most people, snoring lightly. Talon was in the small bedroom at the back of the Coach. Cassie had insisted he take it so he could stay inside until sunset and not be disturbed by the rest of them when they returned to Grayhaven.

It was hard not to hover when they were sitting side by side. Even harder not to fuss, but she hadn’t snarled at him yet, so he figured he was keeping that tendency fairly well leashed.

Until she marked her spot, vanished the book she was reading, and closed her eyes.

“Tired?” Gray asked, trying to keep his voice casual while everything in him went on alert.

“Just feeling lazy,” she replied.

He glanced at Ranon, whose attention had also sharpened.

Then Shira said, “Thank the Darkness. I wasn’t sure you even knew the word.”

Cassie smiled—and Gray relaxed. He slipped his arm around her and shifted them both so her head rested on his shoulder. He brushed his lips against her hair. “There’s nothing to do for the next little while, so rest, Cassie. Rest.”

“Ranon, why don’t you play for us?” Shira said.

Ranon glared at his lover. Before he could make some excuse or just refuse, Cassie said, “That would be nice.”

Trap set and sprung , Gray thought, fighting to keep a straight face while looking at his friend’s sour expression. Then Ranon called in the Shalador flute and began to play.

The notes meandered like a stream winding its way through a summer meadow. Soft. Easy. Gray wasn’t sure if it was a song or just one note following another. Either way it was peaceful. Within minutes, both women were asleep.

The rustle of paper and the murmur of male voices twined with the flute, and Gray sensed the men relaxing. Their Queen was safe and she was content, so they could afford to let down their guard and rest.

*They’re proud of her,* Ranon said on a psychic spear thread. *She scared the shit out of all of us when she drained herself like that, but there’s a feeling of pride now. Even more than when she defended that landen family.*

*Why wouldn’t they be proud to serve Cassie?* Gray asked.

Ranon didn’t answer for a minute, but the music became bittersweet. *We’ve all seen too much, Gray. We’ve all done too much in defense of our people to trust without reservation. When she stood in front of us that first day, we knew we belonged to her, and that scared every one of us. We didn’t know what kind of woman claimed our loyalty and honor. Now we’ve got a better measure of what kind of Queen we serve, and we’re proud to be in her First Circle, almost to the last man.*

Almost.

Theran sat across from Powell, his face turned to the Coach’s outer wall, shutting them all out, holding himself separate from the rest of them.

It was a shame that Cassie and Theran were back to strained tolerance with each other. The tentative peace that had begun between them after she found Lia’s treasure broke under the strain of her draining her power into the land. They were all back to enduring Theran’s undisguised unhappiness with the Queen he had brought from Kaeleer.

He was sorry that Theran was unhappy, but everyone else at Grayhaven—including the servants—was pleased to be serving Cassie, so Theran was the one who needed to accept the way she ruled. Hopefully once Theran saw how her understanding of the Queen’s connection to the land would help all their people, he would be able to accept her as the Lady who could restore Dena Nehele.

“Do you play chess?” Cassidy asked Shira as they walked from the landing web up to the Grayhaven mansion.

“Yes, I do,” Shira replied at the same time Ranon said, “No, she doesn’t.”

Cassidy laughed. “I was told chess is not a game that should be played between genders. Our style of playing is too different to be compatible.”

“Style of playing?” Ranon muttered. “Being irrational is not a ‘style.’ ”

“In the Dark Court, if a male couldn’t behave himself when playing chess with a female, he was required to play a game of cradle with her as compensation.”

“Cradle?” Shira asked.

“A card game Jaenelle played when she was young and then expanded on later. Well, she and the coven expanded on the basic game. The men loathed playing it because their thinking just wasn’t flexible enough.”

Gray snorted. Ranon growled.

Cassidy looked at Shira, who winked at her but otherwise kept a straight face.

She felt good. Rested. Ready for the next challenge. Tomorrow she would write a general letter to all the Queens in Dena Nehele, gently reminding them of the basic ritual for enriching the land with power. If they, like the Shalador Queens, no longer remembered that ritual, they would be welcome to come to Grayhaven where she would teach them.

She would ask Powell to help her smooth out the writing—or find someone who had skill with words. There had to be a wordsmith or two in a town this size.

As she pondered that, the door opened and Dryden, the butler, stared at her with a peculiar look of relief. For a moment, she thought he was going to lift her off her feet and hug her. Since she was almost as tall as he and had a bit more muscle, the intensity of his psychic scent and expression made her shift her weight and take a step back, bumping into Gray.

“Lady,” Dryden said.

One word. Gray stiffened, but she felt the change in Ranon and knew the Shalador Warlord Prince was rising to the killing edge in response to Dryden’s voice. She reached back and planted her hand against Ranon’s chest, her touch a light chain that was the only thing holding him back.

The other men, who had been loitering to stretch their legs after the Coach ride, moved with purpose now, and the Warlord Princes among them were all rising to the killing edge. As Talon’s second-in-command, if Ranon’s temper snapped the leash, the others would go with him.