The Invisible Ring

check the last couple of layers of spells just to be certain his idea would work.
    It should work. If he formed a Red shield around everyone, and if the Gray Lady formed a Gray shield just behind it, they should be able to withstand the storm. They might lose the horses, but even all the spells combined shouldn’t be able to completely destroy a Gr—
    As his Red probe touched the last layer, his heart stuttered. He forgot how to breathe.
    They weren’t going to survive.
    Forming a tight net above all the other layers of strength was the Ebon-gray, the second-darkest Jewel.
    The only Ebon-gray in the Realm of Terreille was Lucivar Yaslana, a half-breed Eyrien Warlord Prince who was Daemon Sadi’s half brother.
    He’d only heard stories about Yaslana. They made the Sadist sound like an amiable man. He didn’t want to imagine what had been added to that Ebon-gray spell, but he was certain it would be able to smash through Red and Gray shields—and smash through their minds as well.
    A shriek of terror and an anguished cry made him focus on the physical world.
    Little Cathryn was doubled over, clutching her head. So was Tomas. Thera and the Gray Lady were reaching for the children.
    Savage rage flooded through him, cooled by a growing fear as all the power around the clearing began to constrict and press down on their minds. He didn’t feel anything yet except a pressure coming from beyond himself, but the weakest of them would be the first to be destroyed. And the weakest were the children and the two adults who were broken—Garth and Thera.
    Hell’s fire, the rain had drowned his wits. The Warlord Prince would have told the Gray Lady! Not enough time to reach her physically, and no time to worry about breaking rules. He directed a Red communication thread at her. *Lady... *
    Nothing.
    She was holding on to Tomas, probably shielding the boy’s mind with her strength.
    Which was no reason not to answer him!
    Jared tried again. Hell’s fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful! She wore the Gray. Of course she could hear the Red!
    Painfully aware he was losing precious seconds, he tried a Sapphire thread. When he got no answer, he used a Green communication thread, putting a bit of temper in the sending. *Lady.*
    The Gray Lady whipped around to face him.
    *How do we quiet the protection spells?* Jared demanded.
    Her fear pounded against him. *He said you’d know the key. I thought he told you.*
    Jared’s mind blanked for a second. *Why in the name of Hell would he think I’d know?*
    *I don’t know.*
    With the words, Jared caught a whiff of memory from her. Your Warlord will know the key .
    Your Warlord. The words assumed a bond a slave would never dream of, an honorable bond of service between a male and his Queen.
    Damn that rogue bastard to the bowels of Hell, was this some kind of test !
    It didn’t matter. If they were going to survive, he had to stop thinking like a slave and start thinking like a Warlord.
    Jared turned back to the posts. Garth had sensed—or understood—something about them, and it made sense that the key wouldn’t be hard to reach if the rogues weren’t going to put themselves at risk every time they entered the clearing. Which meant it had to be here!
    Damn you , he thought as he felt the wild stranger pushing at him. Damn you. Help me !
    It exploded from its hiding place. He wanted to howl as its savagery filled him, flooded him, as razor-edged instincts blinded his ability to think. A moment later, it retreated, leaving him feeling raw and viciously clear-minded.
    Sweating heavily despite the cold and the rain, Jared created a large ball of witchlight.
    On the facing sides of the posts, someone had carved the thirteen ancient symbols of power deep into the stone—six on the left post, seven on the right.
    How was he supposed to choose the right three?
    Jared paused, then shook his head. Of course it was three.
    He found the symbol for male on the left stone. His finger hesitated over it before moving to the triangle beneath it. Using Craft, he traced the triangle’s deep lines with one finger, filling them with witchlight.
    In a court, the male triangle of Consort, Steward, and Master of the Guard formed the tightest bond with the Queen. They were companions, advisors, protectors.
    None of the other symbols on the left post pulled him, so he turned to the right. His finger traced the outline of the symbol for female.
    The male triangle was the core of a court, but the Queen, the