“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 guest, recognized herself. He might have survived if several other guests hadn’t also recognized her by those details.

Jared had wondered afterward if the man was the only one who didn’t know why he’d had his tongue cut out before he was gutted.

“Well, spicy enough to distract an elderly Queen who’s convalescing,” Jared said, pushing aside the darker memories. Brock was about his age, old enough to understand walking the knife edge.

Brock understood very well, if his muttering was anything to go by.

“Look,” Jared said testily, “Thera is as subtle as an avalanche and doesn’t use a grain of caution about what she says or who she says it to. It hasn’t been an hour yet and she’s already calling the Gray Lady ‘Lady Grumpy.’ If we don’t do something, those two are either going to end up in a spitting fight, which could end up with Thera being very dead, or she’s going to try to brain the rest of us out of frustration.”

Brock ran a hand over his short, light-brown hair. “For a broken witch, that one’s scary. Hell’s fire, there’s not much to choose from, is there?” He gave Jared a quick, assessing, hopeful look. “You’re trained for personal service. Couldn’t you handle it?”

Jared clenched his teeth. He might not be able to stop himself from feeling ashamed because he was a pleasure slave, but he didn’t have to let anyone see it.