Well, he’d be damned if he’d let her get away with it.
Fuming, Jared vanished the traveling bag and called in his Jewels. Two thin, wooden, rectangular boxes floated in front of him. He opened the first one and stared at his Birthright Opal, the gold jewelry gleaming against the box’s black-velvet lining. He brushed his finger over the ring and pendant. He’d worn the pendant since the Birthright Ceremony he’d had when he was seven, but the Opal ring had been made just before he’d made the Offering to the Darkness and came away with the Red. It had been a gift from his parents for his eighteenth birthday.
That was the only day he’d ever worn it.
He closed that box and vanished it, then opened the box that held the Red. Except for a few desperate moments over the years when he’d slipped on the ring, craving the feel of it on his finger, he hadn’t worn the Red Jewels— hadn’t wornany Jewels—since the night he was Ringed. Slaves weren’t allowed to acknowledge their strength openly, not even the strength that was their birthright.
He slipped the Red-Jeweled ring onto the third finger of his right hand. His left hand covered it protectively as he savored the bond that had been denied for nine years.
Taking a steadying breath, he licked his lips and picked up the pendant. No clasp to break or open. Just a chain of carefully formed gold links, long enough to let the power in that reservoir rest beside his heart.
He used Craft to put on the pendant. The cool gold settled around his neck, then warmed against his skin.
As he vanished the wooden box, Jared realized it was very quiet on the other side of the blanket.
Quiet and tense.
They knew he’d called in the Jewels. Even during her moontime, the one thing a witch continued to channel power through was the controlling ring linked to the Rings of Obedience. The controlling ring—and the males in the court who served her—were her only defense against slaves who would have taken advantage of her vulnerability to break free or destroy her.
Right now it didn’t matter if the Invisible Ring was linked to the controlling ring. The Queen who wore that ring was in no condition to fight him.
Which made him angry all over again.
He pushed the blanket aside.
Thera rose from the other bench, defiant.
Ignoring her. he looked at the young Queen now dressed in a long gray skirt and gray sweater.
“Even if we don’t push the horses, we’ll be able to get back to the clearing before dark,” he said.
“No.” The Lady chewed her lower lip. “We have to go on.”
“There’s nowhere else to go,” Jared said, biting back his temper. “Short of dragging them, you’re not going to get anyone to go back to that creek. This road didn’t branch off anywhere between here and the clearing. We won’t make it any farther before nightfall anyway. We’re going back.”
“We have to go on,” she said stubbornly.
Jared ground his teeth and tried to find something to say that he wouldn’t have to apologize for later.
“Jared’s right,” Thera said after a moment. “We need time to rest—and to prepare. The clearing is the best place to do both.”
“That attack might not have been meant for us,” the Lady said quietly.
“Doesn’t really matter, does it?” Thera said just as quietly. “We were lucky this time. If we’re not up to strength and able to think clearly, we might not be as lucky next time.”
The Lady sighed. “All right. We’ll go back to the clearing.”
“Thank you, Lady,” Jared said testily. It galled him that she had argued with him but had yielded to Thera.
Squeezing past them, he reached the door.
“One thing,” he said, looking over his shoulder at Thera. “Since you’re not broken, what Jewels do you wear?”
Thera looked amused. “I wear the Green, Lord Jared.”
Mother Night.
Two of a kind, Jared thought, flinging open the door. He strode to the bay gelding and mounted. “We’re going back to the clearing,” he told Brock. “I’ll take point. You and Randolf take the rear guard. Thayne, you lead the team. Blaed, you’re with me.” He looked at Eryk and Tomas, who were huddled in blankets, and little Cathryn, who was clinging to Corry. “You children ride inside the wagon.”
Brock gave one pointed look at the Red-Jeweled ring on Jared’s right hand and nodded.
As Jared nudged the gelding forward, he heard Tomas say, “You know, I thought she was kind of frisky for an old lady.”
Great. Wonderful.
Was he the only one who hadn’t figured it out?
As soon as he passed the wagon, he urged the gelding into a trot, not waiting for Blaed.
A minute later, he caught up to Garth. The big man hadn’t changed his wet clothes before heading back down the road. Jared slowed the gelding to a walk and waited for Garth to look at him.
He studied the man’s face. What lay behind those pale blue eyes? “Thank you for saving Eryk and Tomas.”
Garth just looked at him. Then his lips curved in a slow smile. He raised one huge hand in a casual salute and turned his attention back to the road.
Too many things hidden, Jared thought, as Blaed joined him. A Green-Jeweled Queen pretending to be a Gray. A broken Black Widow who wasn’t broken. A mind-damaged man who kept showing flashes of training and intelligence.
And, possibly, an enemy who might wear the face of a friend.
Too many questions.
Jared put those thoughts aside. There wasn’t time for questions. But later, when they were all safely tucked away in the clearing, he intended to get some answers.
Using Craft to balance the two steaming mugs, Jared rapped once on the wagon’s door and went in without waiting for a response.
The witchlight he’d created earlier had grown small and dim, the power that had sustained it almost exhausted. He couldn’t see her face in the gloom, but opening his first inner barrier a crack was enough to sense her pain—and her fear of the male strength that might descend on her now that her ability to protect herself was so impaired. Wasn’t that why she’d chosen the cold solitude of the wagon to the warmth and company in the stone building?
After feeding the witchlight a few drops of his Red strength so that they’d be able to see each other, he thought about using a warming spell to make the wagon more comfortable.
And decided against it.
“Here,” Jared said, handing her one of the mugs. ‘“This brew won’t help your bruises or your knee, but it should ease the other discomfort a little.”
She cradled the mug for its warmth. “Thank you,” she said quietly.
Jared sat on the opposite bench and sipped his coffee. He understood the hesitation. One of the first things the Blood learned when they began their formal training was how to probe food and drink for substances that shouldn’t be there. It didn’t always work. There were subtle poisons, substances that were harmless until they were added to something else, sedatives that could react fast enough to leave a person at the mercy of an unsuspected enemy. She’d be a fool not to test it.
Watching her rub her finger around the mug’s rim, he wondered if she could do even that much Craft right now.
“I made a cup for Thera, too,” Jared said.
She took a tiny sip, then stared at the mug in surprise. “It tastes good.” She studied him without quite looking at him. “Where did you learn to make a healing brew?”
“My mother is a Healer. I picked up a few things.” Which wasn’t quite a lie. Hehad picked up some basic healing Craft from Reyna. The moontime brews just didn’t happen to be part of it.
But the words did what he’d expected them to do. A Healer was a respected woman, and there was the implicit faith that a Healer wouldn’t create a brew that would harm.
He knew better. In places that stood in Hayll's shadow, Healers weren’t always well trained or respected, and some had made the choice to harm others in order to save themselves.
Watching her shoulders relax as she took another sip, he felt relieved that the healing Craft was still strong in Dena Nehele.
He didn’t want to hurt her. She was hurting so much already. But her self-imposed exile had made it possible for him to talk with her privately without calling attention to it, and there were questions he had put aside while they returned to the clearing, ate, and settled in for the evening, too weary to do anything more.
So he tried to keep his voice gentle and soothing, and sent out psychic tendrils of reassurance so that his strength and maleness wouldn’t intimidate her so much she wouldn’t talk to him.
“Lady . . .” Jared paused. Frowning, he sipped his coffee. What was he supposed to call her? Did the people in the court address her as Lady Arabella Ardelia? Formally perhaps, but surely not in a normal conversation. Lady Arabella? That made him think of a fair, dainty woman who wore ruffles and lace, not this tall, strong-boned, solid-muscled young woman with generous curves. Lady Ardelia?
Yes.
A woman as strong as the land, with a heart of fire.
The Lady, on the other hand, might have a different opinion.
“What do your people call you?” he asked, surprised at how much her answer might disappoint him.
For the first time since he’d entered the wagon, she looked directly at him. Her lips twitched. “My father calls me Bella. My mother calls me Belle.” Her expression darkened, and her lips curled in a silent snarl. “My cousin calls me belly button.” She sipped the brew and muttered under her breath, “I never liked my cousin.”
Jared wisely raised his mug to his lips, covering the smile. “Which do you prefer?”
“Lia,” she said. “When I was seven, I decided I wanted to be called Lia. So that’s what everyone calls me now— except my parents.”
“And your cousin,” Jared added, not bothering to hide the grin.
She muttered something extremely uncomplimentary.
Lia. The name flowed over him like a warm summer wind. Lady Lia. He could imagine the village children calling to her to see the new puppy, the new kitten, the new bit of Craft that had been learned. He could hear the affectionate way the men and older women talked about her. Have you heard what Lady Lia’s been up to lately?