The Invisible Ring (The Black Jewels #4)(59)
Author: Anne Bishop

“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.

Belarr was a Red-Jeweled Warlord. He’d know how to protect Ranon’s Wood. He’d keep Reyna and the boys safe.

Except they weren’t boys anymore. His brothers were old enough to fight. Old enough to die.

He swallowed hard, afraid he was going to be sick.

“Lord?” The old woman patted his arm.

Jared opened his eyes His vision blurred when he saw her concern.

“I … I do not understand this Darkness that the Blood honor,” she said hesitantly. “It is not . . . evil?”

“No,” he replied wearily. “It’s not evil.”

“Then may it watch over you, Lord, and protect you.”

Jared tried to smile. “Thank you.”

She walked around the counter and took his arm. “Come. I’ll walk you to the butcher’s.”

“I can find it.”

She led him out of the store. “I’ll walk you.”

Blaed took one look at him and stiffened. “What’s wrong?”

Jared shook his head. He called in the silver marks and handed them to Blaed. “Go to the tavern and see if you can buy a few bottles of brandy and whiskey. That should be enough. I’ll get the meat.”

*Is it a good idea to dull our wits?* Blaed asked.

*It’s always a good idea to dull pain.*

Jared followed the old woman to the butcher’s. There were a few men on the street now. Silent. Watching. Including a man in a bloodstained apron.

The old woman raised a hand in greeting. “This Lord would like to buy some meat.”

The butcher eyed Jared warily. “The Blood are good and kind.”

Smiling, the old woman reached up and patted Jared’s cheek. “Some of them truly are.”

Jared turned back to the man in time to see his startled expression shift to a more businesslike one.

“You’re traveling, Lord?” the butcher asked once they’d entered the shop and the small glass-enclosed counter was between them.

“Yes.”

“Got some beef that would cook up just fine over a fire.”

“That’s fine.”

“Got some fresh sausages, too. Quick and easy in a skillet.”

“Fine.” Jared watched the butcher efficiently select and wrap up the meat.

The butcher glanced at Jared, then at the packages. When Jared said nothing, he cut and wrapped more meat.

“I don’t think you want more than this, Lord. It would only go bad before you could eat it, even with magic.”

Jared called in the gold marks and handed two of them to the butcher.

“That’s too much, Lord.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Jared vanished the rest of the gold marks and the packages of meat.

The butcher fingered the gold marks thoughtfully. “A gang of men—Blood—came through here two days ago. They were looking for a pedlar’s wagon and a group of travelers. A vicious witch, they said. Dangerous. Thought she might be running to Shalador for some reason. Asked about a Shalador Warlord who might be with her.”

Jared finally focused his attention. “And what did you tell them?”

“What could I tell them? No one like that had come through here, had they?”

His attention sharpened. “And now?”

“Now?” The butcher shrugged. “What could I tell them now that’s any different? Haven’t seen a wagon or a witch. Two Lords rode in to buy supplies. Who can tell what Territory they came from? Was busy with my shop, wasn’t I? Didn’t see what direction they came from … or what direction they took when they rode out.”

“Thank you,” Jared said quietly.

The butcher hesitated, scratched his jaw. “Even in a tucked-away village like this, we hear things. You know?”

Jared nodded.

“If you aren’t heading someplace in particular, I’ve heard some talk that going west is the best choice. The Tamanara Mountains are still some distance away, and they’re full of rogues—vicious bastards who’ll gut you faster than you can spit—-but if you can slip past them …”

“I’ve heard that, too. About the rogues,” Jared said, opening the shop door. “Might be better to head south.”

“It might at that,” the butcher said, smiling.

Outside, Blaed was mounted and waiting for him.

They rode out of the village at a walk.

Blaed caressed the Opal-Jeweled ring on his right hand. “I know I should put it away, but, Hell’s fire, it feels good to wear it again.”

Jared twisted in his saddle. “If you put those Jewels aside before we get to Dena Nehele, I’ll cut your balls off. I swear it.”

Blaed stared at him. Then he lowered his head and pursed his lips. “Since she treats us like a court circle and not bought flesh, we should act like a court circle. Is that what you’re saying?”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

Blaed studied the glowing Red Jewel hanging from the chain around Jared’s neck. “Suits me.” He paused, and added, “You going to insist on the Jewels all around?”

“Everyone who can wear them.”

Blaed nodded thoughtfully. “Shouldn’t be a problem. At least, it shouldn’t add to the ones we already have.”

Jared felt a prickle between his shoulder blades. “What problems are those?”

Blaed snorted. He sounded amused.

Warlord Princes were a law unto themselves, Jared thought as he watched something shift in Blaed’s hazel eyes. A different breed of men, no matter what Jewels they wore. Men who rose to the killing edge as easily as other men slipped on a comfortable coat. Men who spent their lives dancing on the knife edge. Violently passionate—and passionately violent.

“Yes, I’m dangerous,” Blaed said softly, as if he’d heard Jared’s thoughts. “I’m younger than you and less experienced, but you can’t dismiss what I am. You came close to what it’s like to be a Warlord Prince that night when you were in rut. Do you know why you didn’t kill the rest of us? She balanced you, grounded you. If Lia wasn’t the kind of Queen she is, you would have come out of it surrounded by corpses. That’s what’s inside me, all the time. Banked, that’s true, except for those times when it becomes too fierce to control and I have to surrender to the bed and give in to the rut. The only hope I have of not becoming a vicious killer, of not being a butcher when I’m sheathed between a woman’s thighs is serving a Queen who can balance me, ground me. It’s not so fierce then. In fact, as long as there’s no provocation, it’s fairly easy to control when you’re grounded by a strong Queen. Or so my father told me.”