The Invisible Ring

eat and rest within the confines of the wagon.
    Telling himself that he just wanted to check on Tomas and see if they could start moving again, Jared walked to the back of the wagon.
    Tomas wasn’t in sight. Jared sighed and raked his wet hair away from his face. He didn’t relish stumbling around in the trees and bushes on either side of the road in order to find the boy. Well, the Lady’s controlling ring would be able to locate Tomas quickly enough.
    After giving the roan mare and bay gelding friendly pats, Jared stood on the bottom step and knocked once on the wagon’s door.
    Thera opened the door, shifting her body slightly to block his view of the inside. But he heard Tomas sternly tell someone to drink up the brew ‘cause it wasn’t doing any good while it was still in the cup.
    Thera looked at Jared and shrugged.
    Relieved to see humor instead of temper in her eyes, Jared shrugged in reply, as if to say, “He’s male. What can you expect?”
    “How is she?” Jared asked quietly.
    “She wrenched her knee,” Thera replied just as quietly. Then she added thoughtfully, as if she were trying to work out a puzzle that still had too many pieces missing, “I knew she had healing supplies in that private box of hers—I saw them when she took care of you. But when I suggested that she open it so that I could see if there was anything that might help her, she refused to let Polli or me touch it. Then Tomas stuck his head in to see what was going on and heard us ... discussing things. He just stomped in and started scolding.” Thera smiled. “He’s a good scolder.”
    “I know,” Jared said dryly. “So you got the healing supplies.”
    “I got the supplies,” Thera replied.
    But Jared was no longer listening to her. His thoughts were on the small chest the Gray Lady had brought with her. With the spell-lock on it, he’d assumed, along with everyone else, that it held gold and silver marks and other things she wouldn’t want slaves to have access to.
    Except he’d realized the first time he’d seen it that the chest had a Green-strength spell-lock. Which wouldn’t have meant anything if there wasn’t one slave who wore a Red Jewel and who could have easily broken that lock, if that same slave hadn’t been singled out from the very beginning as being different from the others.
    He wasn’t sure if there was something Thera suspected about the chest that she wasn’t going to mention.
    Why hadn’t the Gray Lady used a Gray lock on that chest?
    “Anything else?” Thera said.
    Did she sound a little defensive?
    “Can we get moving?” Jared asked. “We should use what daylight is left and start looking for a place to camp.”
    “Sure. We’ll keep her comfortable enough.” Thera paused. “Are you coming in now? It’s your rest period.”
    “In a few minutes.” When Thera started to close the door, Jared put his hand against it and asked the question he really wanted to ask. “Is her knee the only place she’s hurt?”
    Thera didn’t pretend not to understand. “There are a couple of bruises. Nothing that won’t easily heal.”
    No anger. No criticism. Somehow that made it worse.
    Thera opened the door a fraction wider, a silent invitation.
    Jared stepped down and back.
    “Shriveled balls won’t be tolerated,” Thera said tartly. “I may need you to sit on her if Tomas and I can’t convince Lady Grumpy to stay put and let that knee heal.”
    “Not a good patient?” Jared asked blandly.
    Thera snorted and shut the door.
    Feeling a little better, Jared walked around the wagon and gave Blaed the nod to move out. It couldn’t be a serious injury if she was already snarling and snipping. Painful, yes, but not something they’d need to find a Healer to deal with.
    Brock was waiting for him. “How is she?”
    Jared noted that the Purple Dusk-Jeweled Warlord automatically swung to Jared’s left, an acknowledgment of subordinate rank.
    “Already bored with the sickbed,” Jared answered. He felt Brock relax. “Do you know any outrageous stories?”
    Brock looked startled, then wary. “Depends on what you mean. Campfire talk? Things like that?”
    Jared felt a shiver of apprehension. He knew the dangers of telling tales. In one of the courts he’d been in, a male guest, wanting to entertain one of the Ladies enough to receive an invitation to her bed, had repeated a funny but extremely unflattering story about an aristo witch. He’d named no names, recounting it as he’d heard it, but the story had been rich in detail—and the Lady, who was also a