Prologue
Lord Krelis, the new Master of the Guard, tried not to fidget as he watched Dorothea SaDiablo slowly pace the length of her private audience room. If she’d been any other woman, he might have openly admired her slender body, might have wondered if the black hair gracefully coiled around her head felt as silky as it looked, might have dared to run a hand over the brown skin that wasn’t covered by her long red dress. He might have enjoyed the way the dress swished in counter rhythm to her swaying hips. He might have wondered if the way she caressed her chin with that large white feather was a subtle invitation for other kinds of caresses.
But Dorothea SaDiablo was a Black Widow, a member of the Hourglass, the most dangerous and feared covens in the Realm of Terreille. Black Widows specialized in poisons and journeys of the mind, in shadows and illusions, in dreamscapes that could ensnare a man and leave him locked in an endless nightmare.
She was also the Red-Jeweled High Priestess of Hayll. Since there were noQueensin theHayllianTerritorywho could match the psychic strength that Jewel signified, and since no weaker Queen who wanted to stay whole and healthy challenged her authority, Dorothea ruled as she pleased—which was something no male in Hayll dared to forget.
“Have you seen your predecessor lately?” Dorothea purred as she swished past him. Her coquettish smile didn’t match the vicious pleasure in her gold eyes.
“Yes, Priestess,” Krelis replied, trying to keep his voice neutral. When he and a troop of men had gone into the slums of Draega, Hayll’s capital, to round up some of the dregs for expendable labor, he had seen his former commander stumbling out of a filthy alleyway.
The former Master of the Guard was now a maimed, tortured mockery of the man he’d been. Worse, his inner web, that intimate core of Self that made the Blood who and what they were, had been shattered so that he could no longer wear the Jewels, could do no more than basic Craft, if even that. The keen tactical mind that had protected Dorothea for so many decades had been split open like a melon and scraped clean. But not completely. If the haunted eyes in the scarred face were any indication, enough thought had been left for him to remember what he had been. And who had done this to him.
Dorothea swished past Krelis again. Sweat beaded his forehead as he blanked his mind and prayed to the Darkness that she wouldn’t sense anything that would make her want to open his inner barriers and sample his thoughts.
“I gave your predecessor an important task, and he failed me.” Stopping in front of him, Dorothea smiled as she brushed the feather against his cheek. “Now he belongs to the Brotherhood of the Quill.”
Krelis shuddered. Mother Night! To be shaved of all the organs that made a man a man. To need one of those large quills to ...
“Areyou going to fail me?” Dorothea purred, leaning close to him.
“No, Priestess,” Krelis stammered. “Tell me what you wish of me, and I’ll do it.”
“A wise man.” She tickled his lips with the feather before turning away. “You know of the Gray Lady?”
Had he failed already? Oh, he’d heard vague whispers a few months ago, but he’d still been aThird Circleguard at the time—and commanders weren’t in the habit of telling their men more than was necessary. Feeling sick, he swallowed hard, and managed to whisper, “No, Priestess.”
Dorothea flashed a malicious, amused look at him before resuming her leisurely pacing. “She’s a dangerous enemy, a Gray-Jeweled Queen who rules the Territory called Dena Nehele on the other side of theTamanaraMountains. She’s been a thorn in my side since she set up her court forty years ago, and she continues to fight my attempts to bring the Realm of Terreille under the beneficent guidance of Hayll.”
Krelis said hesitantly, “Since she’s not from one of the long-lived races, surely she must be old by now.”
“But still strong,” Dorothea snapped. “As long as she continues to live, Dena Nehele will be able to resist being drawn into Hayll’s shadow, and the Territories bordering it will be strengthened by that resistance. Even if she died tomorrow, it would still take at least one of their generations to eliminate her influence.”
“You intend to declare war on this Gray Lady?”
Dorothea’s gold eyes turned hard yellow. “Hayll does not lower itself to such barbarities as war. What would be the point of acquiring a Territory that had been savaged by the kind of war the Blood fight?” She tapped the feather against her chin. “There are subtler ways of making a Territory ripe for the plucking. But that doesn’t concern you.”
Krelis stared at the floor. “No, Priestess.”
“Your task is to eliminate the Gray Lady.”
He didn’t think before he blurted out, “How?”
She looked disgusted. Was she regretting savaging the old Master and losing that tactical mind? Then her expression changed.
“Poor boy,” she murmured, gently stroking his cheek. “I’ve been cruel to you, haven’t I? No, darling”—she pressed her fingers against his lips—“you needn’t deny it. There’s no reason why you would know that bitch’s habits.” She stepped back and sighed. “Grizelle is too well protected in her own Territory for you to reach her there. However, over the past few years, she’s come out of her lair twice each year for the slave auctions at Raej.”
“Slave auctions.” Krelis’s gold eyes lit up.
Dorothea shook her head. “Raej is considered neutral ground. If a Queen were killed there for any reason, others might hesitate to visit, and then how would everyone sell the toys they’re ready to discard and buy new ones?”
“A slave could be replaced with a loyal servant and then—”
“She doesn’t buy anyone from Hayll, and there are no loyal servants outside of our own people. Sometimes not even within our own people.”
Krelis leashed his frustration. This was the first important task she’d given him since he became Master of the Guard a few months ago. He wouldn’t fail. He wouldn’t. “Then what should I do, Priestess?”
Dorothea stopped pacing. “Lord Krelis, you’re the Master of the Guard. How you accomplish this is entirely up to you.” Her expression softened. “However, if you wish me to, I’ll use my particular Craft to assist you in whatever way I can.”
He breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Priestess.”
Dorothea studied him for just a little too long. Then she smiled. “I knew I’d made the right choice in my new Master of the Guard. I made the same offer to your predecessor, but he didn’t want my help. Since the bitch escaped his trap rather easily, that was reason enough to doubt his loyalty, don’t you think?”
Remembering what the former Master’s face looked like now, Krelis shivered. “Yes, Priestess.”
“I’m not going to have to worry aboutyour loyalty, am I?”
“No, Priestess.”
Dorothea walked up to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. “You know, darling, I’m very generous with a male who pleases me.” She rubbed her breasts against his chest, kissed him thoroughly, then purred, “That’s to remind you of the rewards that come from serving me well. And this”—she tucked the large white feather into his belt—“will remind you of the penalties of failure.”
Chapter One
Nothing that had been done to him over the past nine years had hurt as much as the harsh truth that he had brought this on himself. With one error in judgment, the eighteen-year-old boy he had been, that young strutting buck who had been so sure of himself, had sent him down this pain-filled road. A road that would soon end in the brutality that waited for men in the salt mines of Pruul.
Over the past few days, while he had waited to be brought to the slave auction, he had tried very hard to forgive that boy for ignoring the uneasiness his friends had felt and the warnings the older Warlords had given him when that witch had walked into the inn. He had tried to forgive him for not looking beneath the surface, for not sensing the rot that existed beneath the beautiful face and lush body, for grabbing that musky bait with such enthusiasm. He had tried to forgive him for believing the whispered words that had promised a forever filled with nighttime romps, for being so caught up in the pleasure between his legs that he’d let her put that gold ring around his cock because she’d poutingly told him about all the naughty things she wanted to do with him and for him—but not until he wore a Ring of Obedience because she needed alittlecontrol over his passion .
She’d played with him for a day before he learned just how cruel the Ring of Obedience could be when it was used by someone who enjoyed inflicting pain.
Having been a pleasure slave for the past nine years, he couldn’t remember why he’d ever wanted to get into bed with a woman.
And he blamed that boy, bitterly. With the salt mines of Pruul waiting for him, oh, yes, he blamed that boy.
“What’s a Red-Jeweled Warlord doing inthis pen?” one of the slaves whispered. “They don’t usually put the likes ofhim downhere .”
Another slave spat. “Don’t matter what Jewels a slave wears.”
“True enough, but ... I remember seeing him before. I thought he was a pleasure slave.”
“He was,” a third man answered, “until he became a Queen killer.”
“A Queen killer!”
Queen killer. Queen killer.
Jared remained in the corner of the slave pen he had claimed for himself, ignoring the whispers that swirled around him, pretending he didn’t see the way the other men avoided him. Even here, in the vilest slave pen, Blood males who were now considered unmanageable for anything but the meanest labor didn’t want to be contaminated by a man who had a Queen’s blood on his hands.
He understood that. When the blinding rage had faded enough for him to see the bodies of the Queen and her Prince brother, he had been horrified by what he’d done.
His breath hitched as emotional pain ripped through him again, threatening to tear him apart.