A man made helpless by a Ring was an easy man to kill.

Jared didn’t think Garth had that much cunning left, which really didn’t matter since Garth wouldn’t need Craft to snap him in half, and he wouldn’t stand a chance in a fight without it.

Jared dodged, slipped, tried to scramble out of reach.

Garth grabbed the back of Jared’s coat and set him on his feet hard enough to make his teeth rattle.

“Jared,” Garth said, holding out his huge, clenched hand.

Swallowing hard, Jared held out his hand. He shuddered with revulsion as the brass button Garth had been holding dropped into his palm. The button had the same slimy feel as Garth’s psychic scent.

Anger washed through Jared. All this over abutton ?

He looked up just in time to see the knife leave Randolf’s hand, aimed straight for Garth’s back. “NO!”

Garth spun around, knocking the knife away with his forearm.

Randolf looked shocked.

Jared stared at Garth and wondered what the man had been before he’d ended up on the auction block at Raej.

Cold fury filled Garth’s face as he walked over to where the knife lay in the road. He stepped on the blade, grabbed the hilt, and snapped the knife in half. Returning to Jared, he pointed at Jared’s hand. Sweat ran down his face and his hand shook as if he were fiercely struggling against something.

“Jared,” Garth said. The glitter faded from his eyes, replaced by the confused, imploring, familiar look.

“It’s a button. Garth.”

Garth made a frustrated sound.

Jared waited, but he could see Garth was losing the inner battle.

Garth raised his arms and let them fall, his big hands slapping his thighs in a gesture of defeat. Shaking his head, he walked away.

Randolf didn’t move until Garth was well past him. Then he turned on Jared. “Now do you understand why I don’t like him?”

Jared looked at the brass button. Holding a handful of phlegm wouldn’t make his stomach any queasier.

His face twisting with disgust, Randolf walked over to Jared, plucked the button out of his hand, and tossed it into the bushes beside the road.

Jared rubbed his hand on his trousers.

Randolf bared his teeth. “What’s it going to take to convince you that he’s a danger to us?”

“Leave him alone,” Jared snapped. “He’s not dangerous unless he’s pushed. He can’t help being broken.”

“He’s not just broken, he’stainted .”

Jared’s body tightened until it shook. To call one of the Blood tainted was a vicious insult, because blood was the connection between the body and the psychic strength. Someone who was condemned as being tainted was considered so fouled that his blood would contaminate whatever it was used for. That person’s blood couldn’t be given for an offering, couldn’t be used for any Blood ceremony, couldn’t be used for a healing.

“You don’t know that,” Jared said, forcing the words out.

“And you don’t know he’s not. He’s out of sight half of the time, and whenever he’s around the rest of us, he’s always watching.”

“He’s mind-damaged, Randolf.”

“Oh, I won’t argue that someone tampered with him, but after seeing him just now. do you still believe he’s as mind-damaged as he seems?”

Jared said nothing.

The anger gradually drained out of Randolf. “It’s your decision, Lord Jared. You do what you think is best.” He turned and walked away.

Jared waited until Randolf was out of sight before he walked over to the knife lying in the road.

The blade was broken into small pieces. A man’s foot couldn’t break tempered steel like that. Craft could.

Hell’s fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful.

If Garth wasn’t as damaged as he seemed to be ...

Jared raised his hand but stopped before he raked his fingers through his hair. His hand still felt slimy, fouled.

If someone had created a spell around Garth so that he wouldappear to be mind-damaged, in the same way Sadi had created a spell to hide Blaed’s true nature ... Butwhy ?

His snarl echoed the wild stranger’s fiercer one.

“Pet.” A word slaves despised even more than “tainted.”

The wild stranger circled the thought and snarled again.

Pet.

Whyhad the Gray Lady excluded the adult males from the story time? Because she thought they wouldn’t be interested, or because she didn’t want them to hear a tale about an escape to a land where the Blood still lived with honor?

Pet.

Jared started up the road at a fast walk.

Could a man be a pet without being aware of it?

Thera would know. Being broken didn’t erase her knowledge or training, merely kept her from using it.

Jared looked around.

He couldn’t see the wagon.

He couldn’t see any sign of Randolf or Garth.

He started running.

Thera was the only person in their group who might have the answers he needed; was the only one who understood the Black Widows’ Craft.

The Gray Lady was the only person in the entire Realm of Terreille who wore the Gray Jewels; was the only Queen and the onlyfree person who outranked Dorothea SaDiablo.

Both of them were lying in the wagon, feeling unwell enough to be vulnerable to an unexpected attack.

And until he had some answers, there was no one he could trust to help keep them safe.

Jared stared at the swift-moving, mud-colored water. On either side of the swollen creek were the remains of the bridge they needed to cross. As he watched, the water seduced another plank of the bridge and took it for a wild ride downstream, abandoning it at the tangle of branches and debris that had piled up at the curve.

Brock hooked his thumbs into his leather belt, took a deep breath, and blew it out. “Well, that’s inconvenient.”

“For us,” Jared agreed.

Brock narrowed his eyes. “I wondered if it could be a marauder ambush, so I took a chance and probed the area. There’s no Blood around here but us. We’ve been visible long enough to have company if it was coming.” He shook his head. “I think one of the trees that had been uprooted in the flood smashed into the bridge and pulled it down.”

“Maybe.” Jared wished he had insisted on talking to Thera. But when he caught up with the others, Blaed had curtly informed him that both women were sleeping, and there had been an edge to the young Warlord Prince’s voice that had warned him not to push. Since his own anxiety had diminished once he could keep an eye on the women, and he didn’t see any reason to aggravate the aggressive, protective instincts Blaed was fighting to keep leashed, he’d decided to wait until he could talk to Thera without drawing the other men’s attention. Now, looking at the remains of the bridge and wondering if it had been the flood or Craft that had destroyed it. he regretted that decision.

“Maybe,” Jared said again. “Or maybe the company just hasn’t gotten here yet. Or maybe there’s Blood out there who outrank you and are shielded so you’re not aware of them.”

He tensed when Brock’s hand closed on his arm, forcing him to turn and face the other man.

“I was a First Circle guard, Warlord,” Brock said, anger simmering in his voice. “The Purple Dusk may not be one of the darker Jewels, but I’ve got the training, and I know what to look for. When I probe to find something, I find it, if it’s there at all.”

Jared wasn’t sure of that, but he didn’t know that much about a guard’s training, so he didn’t disagree.

“What’s happened, Jared?” Brock said, releasing Jared’s arm. “You’ve been straight with me since we started out, and now all of a sudden you’re talking smoke.”

Jared turned to face the water, not so much to turn away from Brock but to keep his back to the others. He and Brock worked well together, and he liked the man. But liking and trusting weren’t the same thing, and trust was what Brock was asking for now.

Keeping his voice neutral, Jared said, “If you could kill the Gray Lady, would you do it?” He flicked a glance at Brock, whose face and eyes were carefully blank.

“If she died out here, we’d be free,” Brock answered, his voice giving nothing away.

“Would you kill her?” Jared pressed.

Brock seemed reluctant to answer, but finally said, “No.”

Brock’s answer should have made Jared feel easier. It didn’t. He watched the water steal another plank from the bridge. “It could have been marauders.”

Brock huffed.

“It could have,” Jared insisted. “What if they destroyed the bridge to force us to take another road, find another bridge where they’ll be waiting for us?”

“You mean waiting for her,” Brock said slowly, rubbing his chin. “They’d have no reason to think we’d fight. Slaves, if they’re smart, don’t take sides. If their owner wins, they wouldn’t survive the punishment if they’d helped her enemy, and they wouldn’t survive what the others would do to them if they fought for her and the enemy won. By doing nothing, a slave wouldn’t be any worse off and might even be granted the freedom to serve without a Ring.”

“The only thing he’d be granted is the chance to whore his honor for the illusion of freedom,” Jared snapped. “He’d never really be trusted, never really be free. He wouldn’t be wearing a Ring he could feel or see, but—” The words suddenly stuck in Jared’s throat. “But he’d be trapped by it all the same,” he finished softly.

Freedom from pain. Freedom from the constant physical reminder that your body belonged to someone else who could use you, hurt you, sell you, maim you simply because she wanted to. Freedom to have a lover, maybe even children. Freedom, for the price of giving up honor.

And all a man would have to do was blindly obey.

Like he’d been doing since they’d started this fool’s journey.