The Invisible Ring (27 page)

Jared didn’t know what to say. His grief for her made him ache. “You’ll never look for them, will you?”

“No. My sire lost me two owners ago. The name doesn’t match. The description doesn’t match. And by manipulating the last bastard into putting me on the auction block . . . no name, no land, no people. I became no one and anyone. I’d intended to snare some weak-willed fool who wouldn’t even be able to remember buying a female on the auction block. Once he got me out of Raej, I, too, would vanish.”

Thera bit her lip and shook her head. “But Lia bought me, so I guess I fouled that spell.” Pulling away from Jared, she started walking quickly.

Staggered by what she’d told him, Jared stood in the road for a full minute before he hurried to catch up to her. When he was an arm’s length behind her, he said, “Then your name isn’t Thera?”

She looked over her shoulder. What he saw in her eyes chilled him. “It is now.”

“Landens.” Randolf made the word for the non-Blood of each race sound like an obscenity.

Ignoring Randolf’s surliness, Jared rubbed his chin. The village nestled in the lowland a mile from the hilltop he’d chosen as their midday resting place looked fairly prosperous. From a distance, anyway. His father had always been fair about the tithes required from the landen villages that were bound to Ranon’s Wood, but he’d seen ragged, half-starved people in other Territories who were stripped of so much of their goods and harvests there wasn’t enough left for the whole village to get through the winter months.

“We might be able to get supplies there,” Jared said slowly, turning to look at Lia.

She stared at something in the distance and didn’t answer.

Jared waited, knowing her answer wouldn’t really have anything to do with supplies—because the Winds ran over that landen village, and anyone she sent was going to be tempted to catch one of those psychic roadways for a fast ride home.

Hell’s fire,
he
was certainly tempted, and he
knew
freedom waited at the end of this journey. Would men like Brock and Randolf, who still believed they were slaves, be able to resist a chance to escape?

“You’ll need marks to pay for the supplies,” Lia said abruptly.

Jared narrowed his eyes and studied her stiff back as she slowly walked to the wagon and went inside. He felt the absence of something—as if she’d closed some inner door he hadn’t been aware of, leaving him on the outside.

He couldn’t define it, couldn’t even say what was suddenly missing except that, without warning, she’d taken something away that she’d shared with him until now.

And he resented the loss because he’d done nothing to deserve it.

Fine, he thought as he brushed past the others and strode toward the wagon. If she wanted to give him the cold shoulder all of a sudden, that was just fine with him. He’d be a good boy and run her errands for her. Just see if he didn’t.

Why in the name of Hell had she shut him out?

He pulled up short to keep from knocking her down when she came around the corner of the wagon.

“Here,” Lia said, holding out a thick bundle of folded marks.

Jared stared at her. There was no color in her voice, nothing he could read in her gray eyes.

She was hiding something from him.

Resentment simmered, deepened into hurt.

He took the marks and riffled through the various denominations of gold and silver. She could have bought passage on a Coach for herself, Thera, and the children with what he held in his hand.

Which made him wonder just how much of her remaining funds she’d given him . . . and why.

Working to make his voice as colorless as hers, he said, “Am I supposed to buy supplies or the village with this?”

“You should have enough with you to buy what’s needed,” Lia replied carefully.

“If I needed more, I could contact you?” Jared watched her, not sure what he was looking for. “You could use Craft to send it to me.” Damn her, why was she doing this to him? Why was she holding herself as if he’d just beaten her?

“Take it with you, Jared.” She took a deep breath.

Jared held his breath and waited. There was something else she wanted to say, something she wanted to tell him. He could feel it. Had she discovered something about the danger that traveled with them?

She let her breath out and said nothing.

Vanishing the marks, Jared mounted the bay gelding. “Anything in particular you want me to look for? Any—” No. he wouldn’t ask her about personal needs. She didn’t want him to meet any personal needs.

She was a good Queen. He’d give her that. It was his error that he hadn’t realized it was a Queen acting responsibly toward a strong, distressed male and not a woman responding as a woman when she’d let him hold her, kiss her, caress her.

His mistake. One that wouldn’t be repeated.

Thera approached them, followed by Blaed.

“Take Blaed with you,” Thera said.

Jared knew the words were meant for him, but Thera kept looking at Lia, who hissed in anger.

“Lord Jared’s perfectly capable of obtaining supplies,” Lia said.

“Of course,” Thera agreed calmly. “But two of them will get it done faster.

There’s not enough food left to put together a midday meal. How much daylight do you want to waste?”

The gelding snorted and backed away from the female tempers that gave the air a stormy tang as a silent, vicious argument took place.

“Fine,” Lia finally said through clenched teeth. “Blaed will accompany Jared to the village.”

Circling wide around the two women, Blaed mounted the roan mare.

“Ladies,” Jared said coldly.

Receiving no response, Jared shortened the gelding’s reins and turned the eager horse toward the village. He couldn’t blame it for wanting to get as far away from that anger as possible.

Blaed didn’t break the silence until they reached the bottom of the hill.

“You and Lady Lia have a fight?”

“If we did, I wasn’t invited to participate,” Jared snarled, urging the gelding into an easy canter.

“Lia trusts you,” Blaed said, raising his voice above the rhythmic sound of pounding hooves. “You know that, don’t you?”

Jared reined the gelding in and slowed to a walk. He glared at the younger man, who met his temper with a steadying calm. “Did Thera shove you into coming with me because you were fussing her too much or because she thought I needed a keeper?”

“Maybe she thought you needed a friend,” Blaed replied quietly. “Lia’s upset. It has something to do with you. Stands to reason you might need to do a bit of snarling yourself.”

“Well, your reasoning’s faulty,” Jared snapped. And then swore.

Blaed made no comment, which was all the comment he needed to make.

“It has nothing to do with trust,” Jared said after a minute. He wouldn’t let it hurt him. He wouldn’t. “Who else could she have sent? Randolf with his surly contempt? The children? Garth?”

“Brock,” Blaed countered. “Thera.”

“Thera would have needed an escort.”

“Thera doesn’t need anyone to watch her back.”

Hearing the tightness in Blaed’s voice, Jared studied the Warlord Prince thoughtfully. “No, she doesn’t,” he agreed slowly. “What she needs—although she’d deny it with her last breath—is a patient man who could coax her into letting him warm her feet at night.”

Blaed smiled. “I could say the same about a certain Queen.”

“I suppose you could.”

They sighed in unison.

“Come on,” Jared said. “My mother always said a full belly dulls a sharp temper.”

“Did your mother have a sharp temper?”

“Occasionally, when we’d annoyed her past her formidable endurance. But she was referring to my father, my brothers, and me. Not that any of us could compete with her temper when she was really fired up.” Jared shifted in the saddle to get more comfortable. He smiled wryly. “It wasn’t always easy for her, living with four males. After all, when a boy’s first learning to serve, who better to practice on than his own mother? Shalador boys are given strict boundaries, but an intelligent boy can get into a fair amount of trouble without ever stepping over those lines. And my brothers and I were intelligent boys. Every so often, when all of us had frayed her temper, she’d throw up her hands and shout at the top of her voice, ‘I’m an intelligent woman, a skilled Healer. Why am I living in a house with four males?’ My father would answer meekly, ‘Because you love us?’ And she’d look at him and start to laugh. We always got sent to bed early on those nights. Took me years to figure out it wasn’t just so we wouldn’t annoy her further.”

Blaed’s laughter faded as they approached the village.

Not a good time to stir up memories and unspoken longings, Jared thought. Not when the Winds were within reach.

“Do you ever think about going home?” Blaed asked quietly.

Jared fixed his gaze between the gelding’s ears. “I think about it.” What would he do if Blaed tried to bolt? The Gray Lady was going to send the young Warlord Prince home anyway. Since he was one of the five Lia had been looking for, his family must know the Gray Lady intended to set him free. But what if his family
didn’t
know? What if the request to find him hadn’t come from them? They, and Blaed, would believe he was rogue. His family might hide him for a few days, but after that? No chance to dream. No chance to love. “You’re not going to do anything foolish, are you?”

Blaed stared straight ahead. He swallowed hard. “No, I’m not going to do anything foolish.”

Thank the Darkness.

They rode into the village.

It looked too well kept to be deserted, but the streets were empty.

“Looks like someone spotted us,” Blaed said, watching the buildings on their right.

Jared nodded, keeping an eye on the buildings on their left. The lightest possible psychic probe had confirmed how many people were hiding within those buildings. Most of the time, landens realized it was suicide to attack one of the Blood, especially the Jeweled Blood, but sometimes desperation and sheer numbers could balance out power at a horrific cost.

“Call in your Jewels,” Jared said softly. He reached into his shirt and pulled out the Red Jewel so that it was visible. “Let them see they’re dealing with the Opal and the Red. If anyone has any ideas about tangling with the Blood, that should be enough to discourage them.”

Nodding, Blaed quickly used Craft to settle his Opal pendant around his neck, then slipped the Opal ring on his finger.

As they rode slowly down the empty main street, Jared added, “And stay shielded.”

As if realizing a deserted street would cause suspicion, a door opened a few yards ahead of them. An old man stepped out, leaning on a cane for support.

*The young bucks won’t face us, so they shove an old man into the street to do what they don’t have the balls to do,* Blaed said on a spear thread.

Worried by the bitterness in Blaed’s voice, Jared reined in the gelding and nodded to the old man. “Good day to you.”

“And you, Lords.” The old man clutched the cane with both hands.

Jared scanned the street. “I see we haven’t arrived on market day. Is there a place we can get supplies?”

The old man hesitated. “Don’t have a market day as such, Lord. But the old woman across the street keeps a store. Food and such. Likely you’ll find what pleases you there.”

The Blood couldn’t read landens’ thoughts without linking with them, which usually tore apart minds that had no inner barriers, but landen emotions were on the surface and easily read.

The old man’s sorrow speared Jared. “Thank you,” he said, struggling to keep his voice neutral.

The old man raised a gnarled hand. One finger brushed the brim of his hat. “The Blood are good and kind.”

Blaed turned the mare sharply. *He might as well have cursed us.*

*Leash it,* Jared snarled. *They’re frightened people.*

Blaed took a deep breath. *My apologies, Warlord. I’ll brush off my good manners.*

Jared nodded, not trusting himself to reply. He understood the sting of the old man’s words. He’d never heard that phrase until he became a pleasure slave. Not a compliment and, in the Territories that stood in Hayll’s shadow, far from a truth. Landens said it the same way a person said “good dog” to a snarling, vicious animal—as if saying it might make it true, might allow them to escape the encounter intact.

Tying the horses to a post outside the store, they stood in the doorway, giving their eyes time to adjust to the dim interior.

An old woman stood behind a counter at the back of the store. Her shaking hands were pressed flat on the wood so they could see she held no weapons, would pose no threat.

Jared stepped inside, moving slowly.

“A good day to you, Lords,” the woman said. Her voice shook, but it wasn’t because of age. “May the Darkness shine upon you.”

Jared smiled. “Thank you, Lady. We’re in need of supplies.”

She gestured toward the neat shelves, the small, high-sided tables piled with vegetables and fruits. “What I have is yours, Lords.”

Wondering at the regret he heard in her voice, Jared nodded to Blaed, who began to explore one half of the store while Jared looked over the other half. Since she was obviously a shopkeeper, why would she regret selling her wares?

The woman’s behavior was forgotten as soon as Jared rounded a table and saw the fruit hidden behind the apples.

“Honey pears!” he exclaimed, delighted with the find. Grinning, he cradled one arm and began a careful selection. They’d always been his favorite fruit, all the more special because they ripened after the first harvest celebrations. Small, sweet, and juicy, they didn’t keep well unless they were preserved—Reyna always put up jars of brandied honey pears for the Winsol feast—but he’d always thought the fresh fruit tasted better. And had always thought Reyna’s grandmother extraordinarily farsighted to have planted two honey pear trees on the family land for the gluttonous pleasure of her great-grandsons.

Two apiece, he decided as he gathered the pears and wondered if Lia had ever tasted one. They’d be expensive. Always were since . . .Jared’s mind stuttered to a halt.... since the trees only thrived in the soil of southwestern Shalador . . . and the land that bordered it.