“He can’t stay here.”
“Why?”
Something snapped inside him. Something that had festered for a lot of years. Something that cut him every time he’d heard that desperate keening.
“Because he was tortured here,” Theran shouted. “Here, in this house. For two years they beat him and hurt him and did things he only remembers in nightmares. And do you know why they did that? Because they thought he was me! Because that bitch thought she had captured the last of the Grayhaven line, and she savored every wound she inflicted.
“And he never told them they’d caught the wrong boy. Never told them he wasn’t Grayhaven. Jared Blaed. That was his name then. Cousins through our mothers, who could trace their line back to Thera and Blaed. He protected me in the only way he could for two years.”
Theran turned, paced, circled. Wanted to beat her with words.
“Do you think I want him out in that damn shed? No, Lady, I don’t.” He blinked back the tears stinging his eyes—and refused to see the tears in hers. “But he’s terrified to come into this house. He won’t even come to the kitchen door to get food. We bring it out to the stables for him. He had to come with us. We couldn’t leave him in the mountain camp, even though the other rogues up there were willing to look after him. But he’s in that shed because it’s the best he can do. All he can tolerate.”
Cassidy squared her shoulders and raised her chin. “I’m sorry for that. I didn’t know. But that doesn’t change anything, Theran. He is your family, and he will have a room in the family wing.”
“Haven’t you been listening?”
“I don’t care if he never sets foot in this house or never sets foot in that room, but he will have a proper room in the family wing, just like you and Talon. He will know it is there if he wants it. And if he’s more comfortable staying in the shed, then it will be fixed up.”
“We can’t afford to be—” Theran began.
“This isn’t a suggestion, and it’s not a request,” Cassidy snapped. “This is an order, Prince. Get it done.”
She started to turn away, then turned back. “And I think we should agree on a division of labor from here on in, Grayhaven. You do what you can—and I’ll do what’s important.”
She turned to leave the room—and Ranon skipped out of her way, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. The other men who had come in scrambled to give her a clear path to the door.
“Hell’s fire, Theran,” Ranon said softly. “That woman is pissed.”
“Yeah,” Theran said. “I guess she is.” He felt shaky, as if he’d clashed with an enemy far more deadly than he’d expected.
“Theran?”
Mother Night. Gray.
Theran turned to find Gray standing in the other doorway—the doorway Cassidy had originally come in by. He watched, not sure if offering assistance would help or harm, as Gray walked into the room, shaking more and more with every step.
Unable to stand it any longer, Theran covered the distance between them, oddly grateful that Ranon came with him as additional support.
As he put his hands on Gray’s shoulders, he saw Ranon’s face tighten as the man got a look at Gray’s back.
“She doesn’t understand,” Gray said. “That’s why she’s so mad at you.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Theran said.
“Yes, it does. Family is important to Cassie. Family matters. That’s why she’s mad at you. She doesn’t know that it matters to you too.”
“Gray . . .”
“I’ll take the room, Theran. Then she won’t be mad at you anymore.”
“You don’t have to do this. Not for her.”
Gray gave him an odd smile. “That’s exactly why I have to do it. For her.”
Theran stiffened at the sound of someone running. Footsteps too light to be a man’s, so who . . . ?
Shira barreled into the room, pulled up short, and stared at Gray’s back for a long moment before she whispered, “Mother Night.”
Theran felt a reluctant admiration for her when she quickly regained her composure and her professional attitude.
“Would it hurt you if I touch your back?” Shira asked Gray.
“No.” But his voice was becoming a tight whisper, a prelude to the pain that usually left him helpless.
Gray shook, shuddered—and Theran saw the shame in his cousin’s eyes when Gray couldn’t stop himself from whimpering. Not because Shira’s light, gentle touch was hurting him, but because he was afraid of being touched by a female. Because that touch brought back too many memories.
“We’ll start simple,” Shira finally said after her examination. “I’ve got a good, strong liniment that will help relax those tight muscles and ease the pain. And I’m recommending you take a mild sedative that will let you sleep.”
“I have work,” Gray said, sounding too close to desperate.
Damn the work! Theran thought.
“Not today,” Shira said. “Today your only work is to rest and heal. If you do that, by tomorrow you and Lady Cassidy can go back to digging in the garden for an hour or so—under Vae’s supervision.”
Despite the fact that he was still shaking, Gray tried to smile. “Vae bites.”
“Which makes her the perfect choice for watching over the two of you,” Shira replied tartly. Then her voice softened. “Come on, now. Let’s get you settled wherever you feel comfortable. Then I can do something about the pain.”
Gray didn’t argue when Shira led him away, his expression once more that of a docile boy.
Theran watched Gray and Shira, ignoring the sounds of the other men leaving the room.
“It took a lot of courage for him to walk into this house,” Ranon said.
Theran continued to stare at that doorway, even though Shira and Gray were gone. Then he swallowed hard and said, “He’s always had courage.”
The door of the Steward’s office was open, but Talon knocked on the wood anyway before entering.
“You wanted to see me?”
Powell’s smile of greeting wobbled for a moment, then failed altogether. “Yes. Please close the door.”
Not good, Talon thought as he closed the door and settled himself in the visitor’s chair. This was not good.
Powell lifted the corners of a few papers on his desk, removed an envelope, and handed it to Talon. “This needs to go to the Keep.”
Talon stared at the name on the front of the envelope, then studied the seal on the back. “When did the Queen give this to you?”
“Shortly after the midday meal.”
“It’s marked ‘urgent.’ ”
“It was . . . misplaced . . . for a few hours,” Powell said. “I wanted to discuss the situation with you before I sent this message . . . there.”
“Situation.” He hadn’t needed a message slipped under his door, asking him to meet with Powell, to know something had happened today. He’d felt the tension the moment he left the family wing.
“Lady Cassidy and Prince Theran had an altercation this morning. Sharp words were exchanged—and a few shoves.”
“Hell’s fire,” Talon muttered.
“Afterward, Lady Cassidy retired to her rooms and hasn’t come down since.”
“She’s not hurt?” Talon asked, making it more of a demand for the right answer than a question.
“No, no. Neither of them were hurt.” Powell hesitated. “But that—and the order to get it to the Keep as soon as possible—was the only communication any of us have had from her since then.”
Telling tales, Cassidy? Talon wondered. It was tempting to toss it into the fire, but someone would have to shoulder the blame for failing to deliver the message—and sometimes the first break in trust was the one that could never be fully repaired.