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.
Jared walked to the counter and carefully set down his armful of pears at the same time Blaed set down a large bag of potatoes.
“These are practical,” Blaed said, smiling indulgently at the pears. When Jared didn’t respond, he shrugged and went back to gathering supplies.
It was the hardest thing he’d done in a long, long time, but Jared kept his voice casual as he asked, “How far is it to Shalador?”
“Two full days’ ride north, Lord,” the old woman replied.
Nodding, Jared turned away to select some apples.
Two days to the border. Three days to Ranon’s Wood.
If he rode the Red Wind, he could be home in less than an hour.
He could send Blaed back to the wagon with the supplies and stable the gelding here. By the time they cooked and ate the midday meal, he’d be home. Rested, the gelding could catch up to them easily before they stopped for the night.
An hour. All he needed was an hour to see his family, to talk to Reyna. He’d be gone three hours altogether, four at the most.
He . . . couldn’t go.
The pain almost doubled him over.
He couldn’t go. Three hours, three days, it made no difference. If it wasn’t for Lia’s compassion, he’d be in the salt mines of Pruul right now. And she’d be home. Oh, the unknown enemy Dorothea SaDiablo had set among them still would have been there, the danger still would have walked beside her, but surely the Gray Lady’s warriors would have been waiting for her at the mountain pass and would have protected their young Queen at any cost.
But out here? Brock and Randolf still believed they were slaves, and both were bitter enough to step aside rather than risk themselves for their owner. Eryk and Corry wore Birthright Jewels, but they were too young and had too little training. Whatever useful knowledge Garth had was locked inside him. Little Cathryn had few defenses; Tomas, none. Thayne was a light-Jeweled Warlord but not a fighter. Blaed would fight, if for no other reason than to protect Thera.
And Thera would fight for reasons of her own.
Jared straightened up. A shiver ran down his spine.
Unless she really served elsewhere.
Unless her past was just a story shrouded in a Black Widow’s Craft.
Unless there was another reason why she’d changed her name.
She wasn’t among the ones Lia had been sent to bring back. She’d admitted she’d used a spell to draw the right kind of owner.
Or just a particular one?
She and Lia spent a lot of time in the wagon. Alone.
Green against Green. But if one of those Greens was somehow backed by a Red-Jeweled Black Widow High Priestess?Hastily gathering the apples, Jared set them on the counter, noticing that Blaed had added a bag of flour, a small block of salt, and two bags of sugar.
“I think that will do it,” Jared said, fighting the urge to abandon the supplies and race back to the wagon.
Fool! Thrice-times fool for leaving her. She was too trusting, too gentle. She’d see the enemy’s smile but not the knife until it was too late. She didn’t have any experience with this kind of treachery.
“I think we should add a few vegetables to this,” Blaed said. “Onions, at least. And we need meat.”
Why was Blaed watching him like that? Why was Blaedreally here? To help? Or to warn Thera if he returned sooner than expected?
*What’s wrong, Jared?* Blaed asked. *All of a sudden, you’re jumping at shadows.*
Jared added a braid of onions to the supplies. *Am I?*
A flash of Opal-strength anger touched him.
*I’m worried about them, too. Lia’s upset, Thera’s edgy Neither of them will say why.* Blaed’s temper flared. *You’re not the only one who believes in honor, Warlord.*
They turned away from each other and began selecting vegetables at random, ignoring the old woman who watched them anxiously.
Jared took a deep breath. Returning to the full counter, he used Craft to float the vegetables so they wouldn’t bruise the fruit and offered the wide-eyed woman a shrug and a smile.
Deciding that he, at least, was finished, he watched Blaed pick up winter squashes and put them down without choosing any of them. And remembered something about the Warlord Prince’s training that he shouldn’t have discounted.
*What do you think Sadi would do if he were here?* Jared asked.
*I wish he was,* Blaed replied, facing Jared. *Then whatever was troubling Thera and Lia wouldn’t trouble them for long.*
Their eyes met and held.
Yes, if the Sadist had been with them, at least one of their group would have quietly disappeared by now.
Jared turned to the old woman. “Meat?”
“No, Lord,” she said. “There is a butcher just down the street.”
“Fine. What do we owe you?”
“What I have is yours, good Lords,” she whispered.
Blaed’s snarl had her backing away from the counter, her hands protecting her throat.
“We came here to buy supplies, not steal them,” Blaed said.
The woman looked pleadingly at Jared. “I meant no insult, Lord.”
“I know,” Jared soothed. “I know.” Worried that she might collapse, he waited until she seemed a little calmer. “How much?”
Her eyes darting from him to Blaed and back again, she pulled a piece of coarse paper and a slim stick of charcoal from beneath the counter and began writing figures. She totaled them, then licked her lips and said nothing.
Jared tugged the paper out from under her hand, read the total, called in the wad of silver marks, and paid her.
“If you’re thinking of telling me it’s fair that we carry what we each selected, think again,” Blaed said dryly.
Relieved that Blaed had shaken off his anger so quickly, Jared gave him a wicked grin and obligingly vanished half the supplies, including the bag of potatoes. The Warlord Prince could have taken all the supplies without thinking twice. It was just the principle of sharing the work. “Happy?”
“Ecstatic.” Blaed vanished his half. Facing the old woman, he gave her the slight bow that denoted courtesy to a woman of less rank.
Flustered, she smiled shyly.
“A moment, Lord,” she said when Jared started to leave.
Nodding to Blaed, who went out, he turned back to the old woman.
She went to a small shelf behind the counter and took down a sealed glass jar. “Fruit preserves,” she said, handing the jar to Jared. “I make it myself. It’s good on morning biscuits.”
“Thank you. How—”
“A gift, Lord. Please take it.”
Touched, Jared kissed her hand. He vanished the jar and gave her the same slight bow. “Lady.”
When he turned again to leave, she placed a hand on his arm. “Don’t go back to Shalador, Lord,” she said hurriedly. “There’s nothing for you there. Shalador lies in ruins. They say all the good Queens are dead, and those who are left have sold themselves for Hayll’s pleasure.”
“Why?” Jared said sharply. “How?”
“War.” She shook her head. “Terrible war.”
Jared braced his hands on the counter and closed his eyes.