“You eat that, now. All of it,” Rosemary said at dinner that night, after all had risen to break fast, even Dontaine, who had managed to catch a few hours of sleep. Rosemary had been a cook at High Court. She had left her coveted position there to follow me out to this hot and humid southern clime because of her Mixed Blood children, Jamie and Tersa. Because she knew I would do my best to protect them. At least you’ll try, she’d said. No one else will do even that.
She was a natural, caring mother. And let me tell you, that was a rare thing among the Monère, at least toward their Mixed Blood offspring, which were often looked upon as little more than garbage to be gotten rid of.
She turned the brunt of her mothering nature on me now. “Eat,” she said, and I did. Not a hard thing to do when the food was so delicious. Tender roasted lamb with mashed potato, rich gravy, and the light salad greens that I enjoyed. Rosemary had taken over the general management of the household upon our arrival here. Good thing, because I wouldn’t have known what to do or who to ask to do it. Though she no longer cooked, she oversaw the kitchen, her first love, with a keen, critical eye.
I ate to please her and myself, and because it was wisest not to go against her in this matter that fell in her domain—a domain over which she ruthlessly presided, and which basically stretched to include any and all sundry matters pertaining to the household. Not only did I fear her tongue lashing, which could be quite blunt and biting, but one tended to fear her physically as well. She was huge, both in height, almost six feet tall, and in girth. She was built like an Amazon, with strong, capable hands that could wring a squawking chicken’s neck with one easy twist. I’d seen her do it once.
Only when I cleaned my plate, the last one to finish, did she release us from the table. Hard to believe that cheerful, freckled Jamie, reed tall and slender, and tiny, petite Tersa, walking beside me, had come from her massive body.
“Is Wiley all right?” I asked Tersa now. Wiley was actually short for Wild Boy—what I had called the feral Mixed Blood that the previous Queen had left behind as a snarling welcome present for me. He’d been half-starved and completely wild, having grown up in the swamps, abandoned there by his Monère mother.
Wiley, who was no older than thirteen or fourteen, had bonded with the tiny Tersa, trusting her as he trusted no one else.
“He was upset but unhurt,” Tersa said in that soft way she had of speaking. “He led us to where you were taken in the forest and did his best to tell us what happened.” Meaning that he had come to the house, dragged Tersa out into the woods, and the others had followed.
“He can talk?” I asked with lifted brow.
“A few words that I taught him. He learns quickly,” Tersa said with a smile. That was one of the changes the wild boy had wrought in her, those smiles. “He showed us what happened, mostly through gestures. Then he left. He didn’t stay.”
“He’ll be back,” I assured her. He was drawn as irresistibly to quiet, solemn Tersa as she was to him.
“I know,” she said with simple confidence, and quietly slipped away.
Our guests, the Morells, following behind us, watched our small byplay with interest. I sensed curiosity from Quentin, watchfulness from Dante, and puzzlement from Nolan and Hannah. Couldn’t blame them. The dynamics in this household were puzzling even to me, always shifting as we all tried to find the harmony that was necessary for a happy home. And that was what I was trying to make this, a happy home for all of us…adding one more to the mix this morning—Dontaine. Rested and fed, he was much more cheerful, eager to see to the new arrangements we had agreed upon.
As good a time as any to debrief him on the past day’s events, and to talk to him about Nolan. Amber and the rest of my guards needed to be debriefed also.
Our meeting took place in the front parlor, and if Hannah was unsettled by all the male testosterone squeezing the large room small, she didn’t show it. I guess she was used to it, having spent the last twenty years being the sole woman in a household of men. She sat serenely as I explained to my guys what I should have explained the previous day but had been too tired to. I told them about the snatch, my breaking free, falling into the river, and the fight with the other group of outlaw rogues.
“They were in our territory?” Dontaine asked, frowning.
“Yes, near the border fringing Texas,” I said.
“I’ll bring some men and see to them tonight,” he said curtly.
“Have they bothered us or disturbed any humans?”
“Not that I am aware of.”
“Then there is no need to.”
“They are rogues,” Dontaine said. As if that statement said it all.
“Who have harmed no one,” I returned.
“They threatened you.”
“Because I literally washed up in their laps. Who could blame them? If they’ve harmed no one, we will offer them no harm in turn. Besides, I doubt they’re still there.”
Nolan concurred with me. “They will have left the area by now.”
“I should have been aware of them,” Dontaine said, revealing the core of his frustration. What really ate at him.
“Do you perform regular sweeps of your outer area?” Nolan asked.
Dontaine eyed the bigger man with arrogance. “Every fortnight.”
“If you like, I’ll be happy to come along with you on your next patrol. Show you what to look for.”
Pride warred with need for a moment. Practicability won out. “Your assistance would be most welcome,” Dontaine said stiffly.
As good a lead as any for what I had to say next. Keeping my fingers crossed, I told them how Nolan had supported himself operating his self-defense school, and that I had asked him to set one up locally. “He will not just run the place, but own it, keeping all the profit as before, except for a twenty percent portion. Ten percent of that will go toward High Court’s per annum tithe.”
This didn’t just surprise everyone, it shocked them. They looked at me as if I had suddenly sprouted two heads.
“Why would you do this, Mona Lisa?” It was Amber who asked. Amber who ruled the western Mississippi part of my territory for me. He seemed truly curious, wanting to know my reasoning.
“Because Nolan and his family have managed to support themselves for over twenty years this way. Why should I strip them of this hard-earned independence and expect them to go back to being wholly dependent on me for everything they eat and drink and wear? What does it hurt me to let them continue on as they have, and share a little in their profit?”
“You wish them to remain separate from our community?” Chami, my chameleon, asked. He was six feet tall, with a lean, wiry build like a greyhound. With his almost boyish slenderness and curly brown hair, one could be fooled into thinking that he was just an average guard and not very powerful, at that. But that would have been a sore miscalculation. He was a chameleon, old both in years and experience, able to blend in with his environment, become invisible. And even more deadly, he was able to mute his presence so that he could creep up silently on his target, unseen, unfelt, until he killed you. The perfect assassin. At the moment, though, with his violet eyes as puzzled as the rest of his fellow guards, he looked little older than Nolan’s twenty-year-old sons.
“No, Chami. They will be full members of our community, sharing in the benefits and responsibilities.”
“What particular responsibilities, milady?” Tomas asked, his voice once more flowing with that easy Southern twang. With his wheat-colored hair and light brown eyes, he was the plainest looking among my men. Sweet, honest, loyal Tomas. Plain only in looks, not in his presence, which reflected his long span of years and accumulated power. All the guards here in this room, my most trusted men, were older in years, strong in power. The type usually discarded by their Queens. Or killed by them.