Brock grinned at him in perfect understanding.
“My father is the Warlord of Ranon’s Wood, so he was the Lady’s escort while she was there. He had gone to the official landing place outside of Ranon’s Wood to meet her Coach and wasn’t home when I came downstairs, dressed in my best clothes. I casually told my mother I was going to meet a couple of friends—which was true since we were all going to be on the main street. She never said a word about my clothes, never asked where I was going. She just smoothed my collar and said, equally casual, that my younger brothers would be staying home with her that day.
“Ranon’s Wood is a fair-sized village, but there weren’t that many boys within that age group, so we all had a little piece of the walkway on either side of the street staked out as our territory. At the time, I thought we’d just been clever enough not to draw the notice of the older youths. I learned much later that they’d been asked to stay in the background unless specifically summoned.”
“If your father wasn’t there, who’d have that much influence?”
“My mother. She’s a Healer.” Warmed by the memory that was now as bittersweet as all of his memories of Reyna, Jared’s voice swelled with unmistakable pride.
Brock nodded, silently respectful.
“My father’s eyes glazed when the carriage reached the beginning of the main street and he saw all of us spread out like that. But the Queen ordered the carriage to stop and said she wanted to walk a bit. And walk she did. I was the first one on that side of the street, and my father, may the Darkness embrace him, never said a word. I don’t know what the Queen was thinking, but I saw her glance at the street and immediately offered to escort her across so she wouldn’t get run over by another carriage—not that there were any carriages moving on the street. She accepted my hand, and I led her across. Except then her official escort was on one side of the street and she was on the other. Naturally, the nearest boy offered to escort her back across.
“She never laughed at us, never gave us the slightest impression that there was something odd about being shepherded back and forth as she slowly made her way up the street. The last boy at the top of the street handed her back to my father, who had been keeping pace, and he took her into the coffeehouse.
“To this day, I have no idea where he was supposed to have taken her or if she got any refreshment before he slipped her out the back door to avoid more assistance.” Jared smiled.
“Did he tell your mother?” Brock asked.
The mud and the rain—what did they matter compared to this?
“My mother and several other witches dined with the Queen that evening. Since it was Ladies only, my father stayed home with my brothers and me. For several days after that, every so often my mother would glance at him and giggle while his face turned red.”
They walked for a minute in companionable silence.
Then Brock said, “Corry and Cathryn are walking up ahead. Randolf’s keeping an eye on them, and keeping Eryk away from them.” He paused. “They’re holding hands.”
Jared and Brock grinned at each other.
“Go on,” Brock said, hitching a thumb toward the wagon. “Go warm up for a bit and make yourself useful. You might tell her that story. I think Thera would like it, too.”
More than willing to get out of the rain and give his legs a rest, Jared waited until the wagon caught up to him. Then he let it pass. He stared at the back of it, turning the thought over and over in his mind, testing it against instincts sharpened by the cruelty he’d seen, and endured, over the past nine years.
Then he hurried to catch up, suddenly wanting the warmth, wanting something to eat, wanting to see if he could read anything in those hard gray eyes when he told her the story.
He wasn’t sure he trusted the Gray Lady. Yet he felt certain that in some other village on some other street, she, too, had allowed herself to be needlessly shepherded so that a few young boys could proudly say they had served.
Chapter Eight
Krelis stared at the spelled brass button in his hand and then at the uneasy guard. “Are you sure?”
The guard’s face tightened. “I made no mistake, Lord Krelis.”
Krelis waved his hand, an oblique apology for insulting the man’s skill. His voice thickened with frustration. “What in the name of Hell is she doing?”
The guard shrugged. “There’s a Coach station less than a mile from that inn—but there’s a better inn right next to the station if she’d intended to buy passage and go on to the Tamanara Mountains.”
Which is precisely what the bitch should have done.
“The innkeeper was sure it was the Gray Lady?”
“An old Queen dressed in gray with twelve slaves. I found that button in the guest servants’ quarters because the slave quarters weren’t ‘comfortable’ enough for her new toys. Maybe she’s trying to tame the Queen killer with sugar instead of the lash.”
Krelis felt his blood chill. “What Queen killer?”
“The Shalador pleasure slave who showed his temper a couple of weeks ago. He would have gone to the salt mines of Pruul, but she fancied him.”
Krelis let his breath out slowly. Fool! He’d already seen the list of slaves, and the Sadist wasn’t on it. Besides, the High Priestess only sold Daemon Sadi’s services. She’d never sell him outright—and she’d never let a dangerous enemy have any kind of control over a male that deadly.
The name on the list had meant nothing to him, but he’d heard about that Shalador Warlord’s butchery. Would that work in his favor? A dark-Jeweled male turned vicious wouldn’t be tamed again easily. He might even hate the next witch holding the leash enough to strike a crippling blow with no provocation. Doubtful he’d survive if he tangled with the Gray—no loss if he didn’t—but if he weakened her, it would make it that much easier to finish the kill once they found the Gray Lady.
“There’s a Coach station in easy reach that would get her out of a Territory that stands in Hayll’s shadow. Instead of going there, she buys an old pedlar’s wagon, a team of horses, two saddle horses, and supplies.” Krelis’s voice rose. “To do what? What’s the bitch’s game?”
The guard shrugged again. “She set out on the road heading northeast, or so the innkeeper said. Lots of small roads branch off it, traveling west and northwest. She could have changed direction. Been lots of rain around there. She can’t be traveling fast, and she’s not traveling light. She packed that wagon with supplies.”
Krelis’s hand closed around the button. “Which still doesn’t explain what she’s doing!”
The guard shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Maybe that attack in the spring was more successful than anybody thought. She’s an old woman.”
Krelis let the idea take root. “It was a vicious attack.” The Gray Lady had escaped last spring, but the violent unleashing of power might have left her mentally unstable. Could she be wandering aimlessly, all the time thinking she was heading for the Tamanara Mountains and safety?
Krelis slipped the brass button into his pocket. At least he had something to report. “Let the marauder bands know where she was last seen. They’ll know the land around there better than we do.”
After dismissing the guard, Krelis slumped in his chair. So far his plan was working. If his pet hadn’t left the spelled button, though, he would have had no idea where to start looking for her.