“Your trunks are all packed?” Saetan asked.
“Yes, and they’ve already been taken to the Keep in Terreille and stored in the Coach,” Cassidy replied.
“You’ve brought some personal things with you? Books? Music?”
“Yes. They’re also in the Coach.”
“Winter clothes?”
“Yes,” Cassidy huffed. “And I’ve brought a stack of clean handkerchiefs.”
He stared at her, one eyebrow rising as his mouth curved in that dry, knowing smile.
She winced. I don’t believe I said that to the High Lord.
“So,” Saetan said, “was that on your mother’s list or your father’s list?”
“Both, actually.”
“And which one tucked a few marks about two-thirds of the way down in the stack so you would find the gift about the time you might be feeling homesick?”
“No one . . .” She remembered her father blushing and mumbling something when she’d walked into her room and found him poking around near her trunks. “How did you know?”
Saetan’s smile warmed. “I’m a father.” He leaned against a big stuffed chair and crossed his arms. “Do you want some advice?”
Since that wasn’t actually a question, she nodded obediently.
“According to the conditions Prince Sadi set to have you go to Dena Nehele, you will send him a report once a week. That report is from the Queen of Dena Nehele to the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan and can be nothing more than information about your court and your official meetings for that week. That will tell him how the Queen is doing, but not how you are. He can accept that because you don’t know him beyond a passing acquaintance. Therefore, you should also write a brief note to Jaenelle to let her know how you’re doing. That’s personal and equally important. Don’t shrug it off. If you miss a report, there are Warlord Princes in Kaeleer who are already committed to finding out why, and they will descend on Dena Nehele ready to step onto a killing field. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.” Cassidy hesitated. “Do you really think this will be that dangerous?”
“If I thought you’d be in danger, you wouldn’t be going,” Saetan replied softly. Then he shifted a little and continued in his usual voice. “You should also send a note to your mother when you send the report. We’ll see that it reaches her. That should be a daughter-to-mother note. Tell her about your life. Between those reports and notes, send a note to your father. He won’t be concerned about the court; he wants to know about you.”
“Why don’t I send them both at the same time?” Cassidy asked. “Then the messenger only has to make one trip to the Keep.”
“It will be good exercise for the messenger,” Saetan said dryly. “The point is to reassure. Staggering the notes will make both your parents feel better since they’ll hear from you twice as often. And at least once a month, write a letter to your brother.”
“Clayton?”
“Yes, Clayton. It doesn’t matter if you’ve never sent him a letter before. It doesn’t matter if he’s always gotten news about you from your parents. You won’t be in Dharo anymore, Cassidy. Getting a letter from you that’s just for him will matter.”
“I suppose I should send a note to cousin Aaron too.”
“Not required, but definitely a good idea. This might help.” Saetan called in a lap desk, which floated on air.
“Oh.” Cassidy pulled it closer. The sides and back were decorated with carved flowers. The hinged top was smooth and silky. When she opened the lid, she discovered two sizes of stationery, both decorated with a C that had been made into a formal crest.
“There are drawers on the sides,” Saetan said.
One drawer contained pens and ink. The other contained sticks of wax and three seals. One was a flower, one was the crest of her initial, and the other . . .
“Geoffrey and I did a little digging in the library and found the Grayhaven crest that had been used during the time when the Gray Ladies ruled. We had the seal made for you.”
“But I’m not a Grayhaven,” Cassidy protested.
“I was told it would be appropriate for you to use that crest for your formal correspondence.”
Who told you? She didn’t have to ask. There was only one person Saetan would obey without question. She didn’t know why Jaenelle thought it was appropriate for her to use that particular crest, but she wouldn’t argue.
“Thank you.”
“A couple more things.” He pointed to four large crates. “Two of those contain primers in basic Protocol. The other two crates contain the more advanced study of Protocol.”
“Won’t they be insulted if I bring those?”“They’ll be needed. Also, Prince Sadi has set aside some funds as a Queen’s gift.” He held up a hand, silencing her protest before it could form. “There are things that you will need that you may not be able to find in Terreille. Recognizing that you may hesitate to ask for those things from a people who will have little to spare, Daemon is willing to bear the cost.”
“How much?” Cassidy asked. “It would help to know so that I’m not asking for anything unreasonable.”
“If he feels you’re overspending, I’m sure Daemon will let you know,” Saetan replied mildly. “You don’t have an easy task, Cassidy. You’ll be the only one who knows the Old Ways and the Protocol that goes along with those ways. You’ll be trying to help a people remember who they were. Accept the help we can give you.”
She felt the blood draining out of her head. “I’ll be the only one who knows Protocol?”
“Well.” Saetan looked a little guilty. “You and Vae.”
She frowned, puzzled. “Who is Vae?”
*Hi,Theran! Hi!*
Vae bounced in front of him, doing her happy dance.
*I have my special brushes, so you can brush me properly. And the clippers for my nails. Do you have Healers for kindred? In Scelt we have Healers for kindred. They heal other animals too, but they trained to take care of us. Maybe one of them will have to come and teach your Healer how to properly clip nails.*
He’d fought. He’d proved his worth as a leader. He wore a Green Jewel. He was the dominant living male in Dena Nehele.
And every time he was around these people, he seemed to stand there with his mouth hanging open while they ran right over him.
*I will tell Jaenelle you are here,Vae said. *She and the new Queen are doing fussing things. You cannot eat until they are done doing the fussing things.*
He waited until he was sure the Sceltie was out of the room and out of hearing. Then he turned to Daemon and said, “No. The dog is not coming with us.”
“Yes, she is,” Daemon said in a voice that was pleasant in a way that liquefied the bones in Theran’s legs—and not in a good way. “She knows Craft, which she will not hesitate to tell you, and she knows Protocol, which she will not hesitate to tell you. And she’s decided to go with you.”
“What will it take to keep her here?” Theran asked.
“A lot more than you can afford. Accept it, Prince. You’re taking the Sceltie. Or you’re leaving without a Queen.”
“That’s blackmail!”
“Oooooh, that’s a harsh word.” Daemon smiled. “But I won’t quibble about it.”
“I suppose you want a report on her too,” Theran said, not bothering to hide the bitterness he and the other Warlord Princes felt about these reports. They were too close a reminder of the “reports” that had been sent to Dorothea SaDiablo—and the people who had disappeared one night after those reports were sent.
“No, that isn’t required,” Daemon said, “but Vae has worked out how you’ll do it.”
“How I’ll—”
“You’ll need to remember the basin of warm water so that you can clean the ink off her paw after she’s told you what to write and puts her mark on the bottom of the page.”
“After she—” He gave up trying to form words and just sputtered. He’d avoided capture, avoided being leashed, avoided every damn snare that had been set for him, only to find himself chained to a dog.
“Which side of the triangle are you taking?” Daemon asked.
As a change of topic, it wasn’t any better. He felt some bitterness about that too. “First Escort.” No one else had been willing to do it. A few of the Warlord Princes had offered to fill the position of Master of the Guard, but they still hadn’t found anyone willing to be the Steward either. He’d considered it, but he would have hated being stuck behind a desk, and as Talon had pointed out, since he was being held personally responsible for this new Queen’s well-being, First Escort was really the only choice.
Then Jaenelle Angelline walked into the room, followed by another woman, and Theran’s first thought was, Thank the Darkness I don’t have to bed her.
His second thought was he was mistaken—this large-boned, gawky female with the awful red hair and spots on her face must be a companion or servant for Lady Angelline. If it weren’t for the Rose Jewel she was wearing and the fact that she was here, he would have thought she was a hefty farm girl, all right for a bit of relief—as long as the barn was dark enough—but no one he would consider otherwise.
Mother Night!
Her psychic scent, masked by the power all around him since the High Lord walked into the room behind the women, hit him a moment later.
Queen.
No!
“Prince Theran Grayhaven,” Jaenelle said, “this is Lady Cassidy, the Queen who has consented to rule Dena Nehele. Cassidy, this is Theran Grayhaven”—she glanced at Daemon and her voice took on a strange, sharp edge—“who has offered to stand as First Escort, if he is acceptable to you.”
“Prince Grayhaven honors me.”
She sounded sincere enough, but he couldn’t read any emotion on that plain face.