“Xyrath has given me to understand he is clever. Dangerous in his own way,” Satia said firmly.
“I’d worry more about Tithanna, the Dowager Queen.” Tarwain glanced toward the city.
“We will see to her. You will arrange an escort?” At his nod, Satia smiled at him. “We have won the Crown, Tarwain. Now we must secure it. We must be seen to be gracious and merciful in public. Retribution will come later.”
Tarwain glanced around, then moved closer and bent his head toward hers. “Perhaps we could discuss the details of our plans in your tent this night?”
Satia gave him a warm smile, then did her trick: half-closed eyes above a slow, sensual smile. She shook her head ever so slightly. “I must celebrate with the King this night, Lord Marshal.” She extended her hand for him to kiss. “Later, perhaps?” She put a promise into her voice.
Tarwain bowed over her hand, letting his lips linger on her skin. “Majesty.” He strode off as the first drops of rain began to fall.
She watched him leave as her Bondmaidens, Mira and Avice, stepped to her side. “The Lord Marshal doesn’t know,” Mira stated. It wasn’t a question.
Avice retrieved the red leather gloves from the ground.
Satia still watched her departing lover. “I see no reason why he should,” she said softly. “In a few weeks, I will proclaim I am with child. Xyrath will puff with pride, and the people will rejoice that I have finally produced an heir. Who will question then?”
Mira smiled, her dark eyes warm as her reddish-brown skin and dark hair caught the last rays of the sun. Such a contrast to Avice, tall, ivory-skinned, and golden-haired, but with a face as cold as it was lovely.
Satia turned and went back into the tent, followed by her Bondmaidens. Where there should have been tables with maps and battle plans, there were only thick carpets and a large, luxurious bed. Xyrath’s command tent was for his personal comfort.
The maps and plans were in her chamber.
The new Queen stepped into one of the smaller sections, where her three other Bondmaidens waited.
Caris and Iris made an odd picture, wearing their black leathers and chain while seated and working at their tatting and knitting. They too were opposites. Caris, with her auburn hair and brown eyes, tawny and tanned. Iris, dark as obsidian, black eyes, black hair, as deadly as she was dark.
No needlework for Nora, she of the sharp cheek bones, her skin like a lustrous pearl, her hair black as night. She merely sat and waiting, poised for action. Now she looked up, eager to be unleashed.
Satia stood for a moment, thinking. Who best for the tasks at hand?
“Avice,” Satia decided. Regal and commanding, one look from those blue-eyes would cut through any who challenged her. “Take some of Tarwain’s men and go secure Wellan’s and Kara’s bodies.”
“She is dead?” Nora asked.
“Yes,” Satia said.
“The babe?” Caris asked.
“Unknown,” Satia sniffed. “And the men did not think to check her body. Avice will make sure,” Satia turned to her and the young woman gave a firm nod. “Make clear our regrets that the babe died within her. Claim her body and Wellan’s on my behalf. Say it is so they are not dishonored, so we might tend to their burial with all due respect.” She made a face, looking at the disgusting wet leather in her hands. “I don’t suppose these gloves will burn.”
Avice shrugged. “Eventually.”
“Bury them with him,” Satia said, then paused. “No. With Kara. She should have worn them.”
Avice bowed her obedience and Satia dropped the gloves into the Bondmaiden’s hands.
“Caris, Iris, Nora, ride to the enemy camp and secure the command tents. I want any documents preserved, as well as any valuables.” Satia narrowed her eyes in thought. “But first seek out Kara’s tent and report what you find. If she gave birth, and the child is there, kill it and any witnesses.”
Caris flinched ever so slightly. “Majesty—”
Satia narrowed her eyes and swiftly sent a pulse of pain through the bond to all of them. Caris stiffened and clenched her right hand about her left wrist.
“You are bound, you are all bound, to me, to my House, to my command.” Satia concentrated harder to drive the point home and now they all flexed their left hands. Nora pulled back her sleeve to expose the bond mark on the pulse point of her inner wrist.
Its red hot glow contented Satia and she eased up on her focus. “That babe, that Airion bloodline, is a threat,” Satia said firmly. “Babes die, from fever, from colic, in their cradles asleep. Smother the get, conceal the body, and bring it here. I would see it with my own eyes.”
“I meant no disrespect,” Caris bowed her head.
