“The boardinghouse looks shabby, but it’s solid, has running water and a kitchen, and it’s big enough to accommodate all of the First Circle,” Ranon said.
Since this was the fourth time he’d told her that—and sounded both defensive and apologetic—Cassidy figured the Shalador Warlord Prince wasn’t as calm or confident about this visit as he appeared to be. And Shira’s composure had become more frayed as this day approached.
“It will be fine, Ranon,” Cassidy said. “I’m sure everything will be fine.” She hoped so, because the success of this visit would determine if she would be allowed to be a Queen to these people in the truest sense or only a symbol the Warlord Princes would use to try to rebuild Dena Nehele. The witch storm unleashed by Jaenelle Angelline two years ago had swept away the Blood who had been tainted by Dorothea SaDiablo, and the landen uprisings that followed had killed so many more. The survivors not only had to worry about keeping peace within their own Territory, they had to remain strong enough to stop any Blood from other Territories who might try to encroach on Dena Nehele’s land and take whatever resources could be won from a fight.
“It will be fine,” Shira echoed.
Noticing the way Ranon stopped himself from looking at Shira, as if a look at that moment might betray some confidence, Cassidy wondered what the Black Widow knew that could make the two Shaladorans so doubtful that anything would be fine.
They were a proud, ragged people.
Since he wasn’t an official member of Cassie’s First Circle, Gray stood back and watched as Lady Nimarr, the eldest Shalador Queen, formally introduced Cassie to the other Queens who ruled in the Shalador reserves. Cassie had met several of the women a few days before when they came to Grayhaven and requested an audience, so Gray figured this introduction was for the benefit of the people who had gathered to get a look at the Queen of Dena Nehele.
Then some of the Tradition Keepers were introduced, including Ranon’s grandfather Yairen, who was a Keeper of Music.
Gray looked at Theran, whose face seemed frozen in an expression between stubbornness and forced courtesy, then at Ranon, who stood tall and proud—but not confident, despite his effort to appear so. Too much depended on this meeting for Ranon to feel confident of the outcome.
Gray watched Cassie talk to the Tradition Keepers. Her eyes never left Lord Yairen’s face, but he knew her well enough to appreciate how much effort it took for her not to look at the old man’s crippled hands. And he was certain she understood that the crippling hadn’t been caused by age or accident.
The Queens wore new dresses that were simple in design. Over those dresses were finely embroidered vests—old vests that were tended carefully and probably only worn for special occasions. The Tradition Keepers had worn their best clothes too, but even skilled seamstresses couldn’t hide all the mending and patches in those clothes, and Gray admired the men and women for not using illusion spells to cover one truth about the reserves.
He had lived a rough life in the rogue camps hidden in the Tamanara Mountains. These people had lived a desperate life, had endured more—and worse—than anyone else in Dena Nehele because of Dorothea SaDiablo’s hatred for Jared.
Was it any wonder that Ranon felt so bitter and angry about the way his people had been treated? Was it any wonder that he took every opportunity to call attention to the way the Shaladorans lived—and what they lived without?
But was Ranon hoping for more than Cassie could give?
Thank the Darkness, the ceremonies were over. At least until that evening when she would be the special guest at a feast held in her honor.
Honor,Cassidy thought as she brushed her hair. The Shaladorans had held on to honor when they could hold on to nothing else. She saw that truth in their dark eyes, heard it in the quiet voices. Unlike Ranon, who was vocal on his people’s behalf, the Queens and elders had said nothing. They didn’t have to. Just looking at them, just hearing the dignity in their voices told her more than words.
The boardinghouse told her even more. Shabby? Yes. But there was a new mattress on the bed in her room, new linens. The room had been scrubbed free of every speck of dirt, although the wallpaper still showed signs of water stains. Andeverything was free of psychic scents. There was no psychic residue on the bed or linens or carpets to reveal the previous owners.
Who in the village had given up these new things in order to furnish this room for her visit?
She didn’t know how much she could do for these people, but she knew where to begin—if the Shaladorans, and Theran, would let her do this much.
She looked at the door that opened into the adjoining bedroom. By rights it should have been her First Escort’s room, but Ranon must have said something to the elders, and Gray had been assigned that room. His need to be close to her had been so obvious, Theran had said nothing about taking the room on the other side of hers—the room without an adjoining door. Ranon and Shira were across the hall from her, sharing a room. At some point she would ask Shira if the elders’ eyes had widened because it was a Black Widow and a Warlord Prince sharing a room or just because it was unusual in the reserves for unmarried lovers to share a room so openly.
For now, she would go outside and take a look at the boardinghouse’s gardens and see what she could do.
When she opened the bedroom door, there were no guards waiting for her in the hallway, there were no escorts. There were no males of any kind.
But there was a Sceltie, who took one look at her and said, *Hat, Cassie.*
“I’m just—”
*Hat.*
She fetched the brown, open-weave hat she had bought for this visit. Gray insisted she wear a hat to protect her skin, and Shira had talked her into shopping for one and had gone so far as to buy a hat too, laughingly saying it would become a trademark of the court—any Lady serving in the First Circle would wear a hat as a symbol of her service to the Queen.
At the time, Cassidy had accepted the teasing and Shira’s purchase of a hat without a second thought. Now she wondered how dear the cost of the hat had been for the Shalador witch.Her hat had been put on the court account, and its price would be deducted from the tithe the shopkeeper owed at the end of summer. But Shira had paid for her own hat.
Prince Sadi had offered to help pay some of her expenses while she was in Dena Nehele. Would he be willing to extend the Queen’s gift to a small loan so she could pay her First Circle an advance against their quarterly wages? Would she have the courage to ask him?