The Shadow Queen (33 page)

She stepped back and smiled. “Of course.”

Theran took the old pot and walked back to the house. One by one the other men picked up a pot and followed him.

“Do you think there’s anything left in there?” Shira asked as she looked into the chest and made a face.

“Not likely,” Cassidy replied. “The men can turn it over later just to be sure, but I think we found what we were meant to find.”

Shira gave her a long, odd look. “Theran’s part of the family wasn’t the only part that had stories handed down.”

Black Widow.

This wasn’t idle conversation, but she had the feeling Shira wasn’t willing to share her thoughts right now.

“I’d better get cleaned up, and get this cleaned up before Gray starts fretting.” She held up her hand.

Still giving Cassidy an odd look, Shira nodded. “And you’ll come by the healing room so I can take a look at that slice in your finger. Since you must have used Craft to keep it bleeding while you planted those pears, I imagine the wound is clean, but we shouldn’t get careless about such things. Not now.”

“What’s different about now?” Cassidy asked.

Shira smiled gently. “I think you’re right. Maybe we have found what we were meant to find.”

CHAPTER 20

TERREILLE

 

Cassidy folded the message carefully and vanished it before picking up the small gold key that had been inside the paper when she’d first opened it yesterday.

Thank the Darkness she hadn’t told anyone about finding the message in the compartment. The possibility of finding the treasure would have ended before it began.

“I have a message that has to remain a secret, and a gold key that fits an unknown lock,” Cassidy said. “Lia, could you have made it any harder?”

The search wasn’t meant to be hard, because she wasn’t meant to search.

“Neither is as easy as you might think,” Cassidy muttered as she put the key in a trinket box her father had made for her years ago. “Your descendant is a very stubborn, pigheaded man.”

Her life. Not the same thing as her duties as a Queen.

She might have to allow Theran to restrict her actions as a Queen, but it was time to reclaim her life.

When she reached the breakfast room, Ranon looked like he was about to be backed into a corner, Shira looked amused, and Theran looked wary. Powell was clearly lingering over his breakfast, and Cassidy didn’t think her Steward was waiting because he needed to discuss some business with her that couldn’t wait for an hour. He probably didn’t want to miss today’s chapter of the Grayhaven drama.

“Where is Gray?” she asked. He’d relaxed enough about being in the house to come in and eat with the rest of them, so she felt worry scratching her heart when he wasn’t there.

“He’s on the terrace, explaining the facts of life to the honey pears,” Theran said.

Cassidy clamped her lips together and didn’t dare ask what that meant.

Shira carefully spread some jam on a piece of toast. Since it was the second one on her plate, Cassidy figured Shira was doing it simply to have something to do.

“Do you play an instrument, Lady Cassidy?” Shira asked.

Ranon growled in response, so the question clearly wasn’t as innocent as it sounded.

“That depends on how you define ‘play,’ ” Cassidy replied, quickly filling a plate and pulling out a chair next to Shira. “I can read music, and I can pick out a tune on a piano. Why?”

“Gray thinks the honey pears would enjoy having someone play music to them for a little while each day, and I think you’re the only one he hasn’t questioned yet about your proficiency with an instrument.”

Ranon seemed to be giving his scrambled eggs a lot more attention than they required. Or deserved.

“Do you play?” Cassidy asked Shira.

“Drums,” Shira replied as Cassidy took one of her pieces of toast. “Too much sound for tender seedlings-to-be.”

Theran snorted.

Powell fiddled with his coffee cup but didn’t try to drink—and didn’t look at anyone else around the table.

“Ranon plays the Shalador flute,” Shira said brightly.

“I am not going to stand out there and play music for thirteen pots of dirt,” Ranon growled.

“I’ve never heard a Shalador flute,” Cassidy said—and watched the color drain from his face as he realized playing for the pear trees really wasn’t his choice to make.

“Whenever it gives the Lady pleasure,” Ranon said.

Either that phrase had remained in the training, or Ranon had been studying the books of Protocol.

“Speaking of music,Theran,” Cassidy began, noticing the way his body jerked and the wary look he gave her,“I’m planning to attend the outdoor concert. I heard this was a weekly event in the town. You and the Master of the Guard may take whatever precautions you feel necessary, but this isn’t a formal visit by the Queen, so discretion is preferred.”

“No,” Theran said. “It isn’t safe.”

Cassidy pushed her plate away and locked her fingers together. “Prince, I’m not talking about visiting a Province that is still recovering from all the things that have caused upheaval in this Territory. I’m talking about spending a few hours in what amounts to the home village. Grayhaven is the town connected with this estate. It grew up
around
this estate. This is the place where I’ll do my personal shopping, attend the theater and concerts. This is the town where I live. If I’m not safe here, I’m not safe anywhere. If you can’t relent enough for me to informally meet the people in this one town, then my being here is nothing more than a fool’s dream. On both our parts,” she finished softly.

Theran looked shaken—and even more wary.

She intended to visit the town. She couldn’t spend the rest of the year confined to this estate.

Now there was a bitterness in his face—a look that was, sadly, becoming too familiar.

He called in an envelope and slid it across the table. “That came for you this morning.”

She wasn’t sure she recognized the writing until she turned the envelope over and saw the SaDiablo seal pressed into the black wax. Feeling a flash of concern that the High Lord might be writing to tell her bad news about her family, she relaxed when she opened the envelope and realized what she held.

“It’s an invitation,” she said, smiling in anticipation. As she absorbed the significance of the phrasing, a trickle of worry began to seep in. “You, Gray, and I are invited to dine at the Keep.”

Theran clenched his hands. The muscles in his tightened jaw twitched. “Invitation.”

“More or less.” She held out the invitation so he could read it.

He hesitated, then took the invitation and read it. And relaxed. “It isn’t convenient to go.”

He’s afraid,
she thought.
And if he’s afraid of spending an evening with those men, how will Gray react?

Unfortunately, it wasn’t as simple as Theran seemed to think.

“Look at the phrasing,Theran,” Cassidy said.

He read it again, and she saw no understanding in his eyes.

“There is only one correct response to an invitation like this when it is made by someone like the High Lord,” she said.

He understood her then. “But . . . Gray.”

She nodded. “That has been taken into account. Lady Angelline being the kind of Healer she is . . . Believe me, that has been taken into account.”

“No choice, then,” Theran said.

“None.”

“Then going to the town and hearing some of our music would be a good idea,” Shira said, her voice sounding far more confident than the look in her eyes. “It will give you all something to talk about.”

CHAPTER 21

KAELEER

D
aemon glided through the Hall’s corridors, a vessel for the cold, silent fury that held a single thought: how many of these bitches would he need to kill before the rest of them finally learned to
leave him alone
?

The silence held until he reached his suite. Then he slammed the door, letting temper and Craft enhance the sound until it thundered through the Hall, warning everyone of what they faced if anyone dared disturb him.

Moments after that came the knock on the door between his bedroom and Jaenelle’s.

He ignored it, so moments after that, Jaenelle opened the door just enough to stick her head in the room.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“You do not want to step into this room,” he snarled, knowing his eyes were glazed and his temper was lethal.

It didn’t matter if she wanted to enter his room or not.
He
didn’t want her there. Not now.

“That doesn’t answer the question,” she said.

She pushed the door all the way open but stayed on her side of the threshold, which infuriated him even more. Especially because she was wearing one of his white silk shirts over a pair of slim black trousers—and her feet were deliciously bare, revealing toenails painted an enticing rose color.

The only reason she painted her toenails was that he enjoyed seeing them that way—and since she did it rarely, it never failed to catch his attention.

She must have painted them as a “welcome home” surprise for him, which only stoked his fury. Warlord Princes were passionately violent and violently passionate. Trouble was, he was spinning between violence and passion too fast to know which emotion would dominate if
anyone
gave him the slightest push.

He wanted to pounce on her. He just didn’t know which kind of pouncing he wanted to do. Which was her fault, actually, because she’d painted her damn toenails, but it was clearly Jaenelle the Healer rather than Jaenelle the Wife who was studying him.

And because he knew why the
Healer
would be asking the question, he let his temper slip the leash for a moment.

“I’m not sick, I’m not damaged, and as sure as the sun doesn’t shine in Hell, I’m not feeling fragile in any damn way,” he roared. “What I am feeling is
angry
. So leave. Me. Alone.”

Those sapphire eyes stared at him. Stared through him.

She stepped into the room.

Not sure if he was acting on temper or sheer possessiveness, he slapped a Black shield around the room, sealing her in with him.

If she noticed, she didn’t react. She just took another step toward him.

“You’re riding a lot of temper, Prince,” Jaenelle said. “But something was the cause of that temper, and that something is going to be dealt with one way or the other. If we have to work through all the temper first, so be it.”

Hot. Cold. One moment he was Daemon, feeling furious and cornered; the next he was the Sadist, wanting to step up for this dance. And, oh, how he wanted to dance!

That particular truth scared him enough to be furious with
her
, so he dropped the Black shield and punched up his temper for the kind of fight that would get her angry enough to storm out of the room. Which would be the safest thing for both of them.

Turning his back on her, he removed his black jacket.

“You don’t want to be in this room right now,” he said in the cold, brutally dismissive voice that used to flay women’s feelings so successfully.

“Why not?”

Her tone was so snippy, he saw the room through a red haze and stopped thinking.

“Because you can’t defend yourself against what I am!”As he said the words, he swung the jacket at her, intending to smack her with it and
prove
that she shouldn’t be in a room with him when his temper was barely chained.

Her right hand lashed out.

Daemon stared at the slices that went all the way through the back of the jacket. He flicked a look at her right hand. Had he really seen claws instead of fingernails for just that moment when she lashed out?

“Tell me again I can’t defend myself,” she said too softly.

Not while he still wanted to live.

His temper fizzled and a giddy joy filled him as he acknowledged that truth.

It was completely ruined, but he hung the jacket on the clothes stand to have something to do.

Mother Night, those claws were impressive.
She
was impressive. And such a vital,
needed
part of his life.

How could some bitch think a few superficial tricks could make her a substitute for Jaenelle?

That thought brought his temper roaring back to a cold, deadly edge.

Which his Lady recognized—and chose to ignore.

“You went to visit two of the Province Queens,” Jaenelle said. “You came home a day early and furious. What happened?”