Lord Magstrom nervously wandered around the room where the records from the service fair were stored. He’d only been home a couple of days and was still catching up on the official business of his own village. But Lord Jorval had urgently requested him to return to Little Terreille’s capital to discuss something of the ”utmost importance.”
He’d spent several days with his eldest granddaughter and her husband-days that had been filled with excitement and apprehension instead of the rest he so badly needed. His granddaughter was pregnant with her first child, and, though delighted, she was also quite ill. So he’d spent most of his time reassuring her husband that his granddaughter wouldn’t divorce a man she loved just because she couldn’t keep her breakfast down for a few weeks.
He shouldn’t have said ”a few weeks.” The younger man had looked ready to faint when he’d said that.
He had written a hurried letter to the High Lord about the discrepancies he had found in the service fair records but then had hesitated over sending it, wondering if his own exhaustion had made something sinister out of what was really just sloppy clerical work.
No matter. As soon as he was home again, he would write a more thoughtful, carefully worded letter, one that expressed concern rather than alarm.
He had just reached this decision when the door swung open and Lord Jorval entered the room.
”I’m glad you came, Magstrom,” Jorval said a little breathlessly. ”I wasn’t sure who else I could trust. But anyone who’s worked with you knows you couldn’t be involved in this.”
”And just what is ’this’?” Magstrom asked cautiously.
Jorval went to the shelves holding the records and pulled out a thick folder.
Magstrom’s stomach tightened. It was the Hayllian folder-the same one he had examined before his hasty departure from Goth.
Jorval’s hands trembled as he leafed through the papers, then put several on the large table. ”Look. There are discrepancies in these lists.” Hurrying to the shelves, he pulled out several folders and dumped them on the table. ”And not only in the Hayllian lists. At first I thought it was a clerical error, but…” Taking a sheet of paper from one of the folders, he pointed. ”Do you remember this man? He was most unsuitable to immigrate to Kaeleer. Most unsuitable.”
”I remember him,” Magstrom said faintly. A brute of a man whose psychic scent had made his skin crawl. ”He was accepted into a court?”
”Yes,” Jorval said grimly. ”This one.”
Magstrom squinted at the scrawled writing. The Queen’s name and the territory she ruled were almost illegible. The only thing he could definitely make out was that the territory was in Little Terreille. ”Who is this… Hektek?”
”I don’t know. There is no Queen named Hektek who rules so much as a village in Little Terreille. But thirty Terreilleans were accepted into this alleged court. Thirty.”
”Then where are these people going?”
Jorval hesitated. ”I think someone is secretly creating an army right under our noses, using the service fair to cover the tracks.”
Magstrom swallowed hard. ”Do you know who?” he asked, half expecting Jorval to accuse the High Lord- which was ridiculous.
”I think so,” Jorval replied, an odd glitter appearing in his eyes. ”If what I suspect is true, the Territory Queens in Kaeleer must be warned immediately. That’s why I asked you to come. I’m to meet someone tonight who claims to have information about the people missing from the lists. I wanted another member of the Council to come with me as a witness to confirm what was said. I wanted you because, if we are in danger, the High Lord will listen to you.”
That decided Magstrom. ”Since there may be some risk in revealing this information, we shouldn’t keep this person waiting.”
”No,” Jorval replied, sounding queer, ”we shouldn’t.”
They found an available horse-drawn cab almost as soon as they left the building. A heavy silence filled the cab until, a few minutes later, it pulled up.
Magstrom stepped out, looked around, and felt a jagged-edged fear. They were at the edge of Goth’s slums, not a place for the unwary-or for an older man at any time.
”I know,” Jorval said hurriedly as he took Magstrom’s arm and began leading him through narrow, dirty streets. ”It seems an unlikely meeting place, but I think that’s why it was chosen. Even if someone recognized us, they would think they were mistaken.”
Breathing heavily, Magstrom struggled to keep up with Jorval. He could feel eyes watching them from shadowed doorways-and he could sense the flickers of power coming from the ones who watched. There were many reasons why a dark-Jeweled male could end up in a place like this.
Finally, they slipped into the back door of a large building and silently climbed the stairs. At a second floor door, Jorval fumbled with a key, then stepped aside to allow Magstrom to enter the suite.
The furnishings in the sitting room were secondhand and shabby. The room itself looked as if even minimal cleaning hadn’t been done in a long time. And it stank of decay.
”Something wrong?” Jorval asked in an oddly gleeful voice.
Magstrom moved toward the narrow windows. A little air might help relieve the smell. ”I think a mouse or a rat must have died behind the walls, so-”
Jorval made a queer sound-a sharp, high-pitched giggle-at the same time the bedroom door opened and a hooded figure stepped into the sitting room.
Magstrom turned-and couldn’t say a word.
Knucklebones peeked out of the split skin as brown hands pushed the hood back.
Magstrom stared at the hate-filled gold eyes in the ravaged, decaying face. She took a step toward him. He took a step back. Then he took another… and another… until there was nowhere to go.
Jorval smiled at him. ”I thought it was time you met the Dark Priestess.”
”Is something wrong?” Daemon asked Saetan. He glanced at Lucivar, who was intently studying their father.
Saetan finally looked up from the sheet of paper lying in the middle of his desk. ”I received a letter from Lord Jorval, informing me that Lord Magstrom was brutally killed last night.”
Daemon let his breath out slowly while Lucivar swore. ”I met Magstrom briefly at the service fair. He seemed to be a decent man.”
”He was,” Saetan replied. ”And he was the only member of the Dark Council Jaenelle was willing to deal with.”
”How did he die?” Lucivar asked bluntly.
Saetan hesitated. ”He was found in an alleyway in the Goth slums. The body was so torn up that speculation is running wild that Magstrom was killed by kindred.”
Daemon said, ”Why would they suspect the kindred?” at the same time Lucivar snarled, ”It was a full death?”
”Yes, it was a full death,” Saetan said grimly, answering Lucivar’s question first. ”So there’s not even a chance of Magstrom being a ghost in the Dark Realm long enough to tell someone what really happened to him. There are feral dog packs, and they can be a danger, but a Craft shield would have protected Magstrom from them. Only a pack of kindred, or one who wore darker Jewels than Magstrom, could have drained his psychic power to finish the kill.”
”Is that likely?” Daemon asked.
”If an unknown human wanders into one of the kindred Territories, it’s almost a given. But in Goth? No.”
”So he was mutilated in order to hide the real death wounds.”
”So it would seem.”
”Does Jorval want to postpone the healing?” Lucivar asked.
Saetan shook his head. ”The meeting is still set for late this afternoon. Is everything ready?” Lucivar nodded. ”We’ll be leaving within the hour.”
”The place you’re taking Jaenelle to is secure?” Saetan asked.
”It’s a guardhouse in Dea al Mon,” Lucivar said. ”Chaosti will come with us, and the Dea al Mon guards will supply the added physical protection. Cat said she has a few errands to run in Amdarh, so we’ll go directly there afterward, and probably stay for a day or two. Chaosti will return here and report.”
With effort, Daemon caged the jealousy that was chewing him up inside. There was no reason for Lucivar to think twice about making plans to spend a couple of days with Jaenelle, despite the Eyriens still waiting to be settled in Askavi before winter set in, despite his having a wife and child. Jaenelle was not only his sister but his Queen. There was no question that he would go with her whenever or wherever she needed him.
Putting those thoughts aside, Daemon concentrated on the timetable. He hadn’t really been aware of the journey from Goth to the Hall, but it had to have taken a couple of hours at the least. Going to this secret location in Dea al Mon would probably take even more time. If Lucivar was planning to leave within the hour to reach the guardhouse, he was planning to arrive so that there would be just enough time for Jaenelle to rest and eat a late midday meal before doing whatever she was going to do. Just enough time…
The Sadist in him woke up. He looked at Saetan and saw his own suspicions reflected in his father’s eyes. ”When was the body found?” he asked too softly.
Lucivar jerked to attention, then swore viciously.
Saetan returned his stare for a moment. ”If Jorval had been informed immediately, there would have been just enough time to pen a hasty note and send it here by courier.”
”Was it hastily written?”
”No, I wouldn’t say so.”
Which meant Jorval had known about Magstrom’s death before the body had been found. And Jorval was the one who had made these arrangements for Jaenelle to come to Little Terreille.
As soon as he and Lucivar were away from Saetan’s study, Daemon settled one hand on Lucivar’s shoulder, his long, black-tinted nails providing just enough bite to ensure that he had his brother’s undivided attention. ”You will do anything you have to in order to keep her safe and take care of her, won’t you?”
”I’ll keep her safe, Bastard. You can count on that.” Then Lucivar smiled that lazy, arrogant smile. ”But you’re the one who’s going to take care of her. You’ve got less than an hour to get packed, old son. Bring enough to get you through a couple of days in Amdarh as well.”
Daemon stared at Lucivar, then stepped back and slipped his hands into his trouser pockets. ”She’s not comfortable with me, Prick.” Not even to Lucivar would he admit how Jaenelle had practically fled her own rooms in order to get away from him after he had spent the night with her. ”My being there would only distress her.”
”You’re her Consort,” Lucivar said sharply. ”Stand your ground.”
”But…”
”She isn’t going to pay attention to either of us before this meeting, and I’ll be with you when you go to Amdarh. While she’s swearing about tripping over me, she isn’t going to have time to feel nervous about being around you.” Lucivar rode over another, more feeble protest. ”I want you at that guardhouse, Daemon.”
He finally understood. Lucivar didn’t want him there because he was the Consort, but because he was the Sadist.
Daemon nodded. ”I’ll be ready to leave when you are.”
Seeing the contained grief in Jaenelle’s eyes, Lucivar didn’t need to ask if she’d been told about Lord Magstrom’s death. He almost asked if she wanted to postpone the meeting, but didn’t bother. There was something else in her eyes that told him she would see this meeting through, for her own reasons.
He eyed the large flat case that stood near her traveling bag. She had several cases like that of different sizes that contained the wooden frames she used to weave her various webs.
”You’re expecting to weave a healing web that size?” he asked.
”It’s not for a healing web; it’s for the shadow.”
He eyed the case again. A ”shadow” was an elaborate illusion that could fool the eye into believing a person was really there. Jaenelle could create one that was so realistic, the only difference between it and her real body was that, while the shadow could pick up or touch anything, it couldn’t be touched. She had made that kind of shadow eight years ago, when she had begun her search for Daemon to bring him out of the Twisted Kingdom, and he still clearly remembered the kind of physical toll it had taken.
”Do you feel well enough to channel that much power through your body to make the shadow capable of doing an extensive healing?”
”There won’t be much healing required,” Jaenelle replied calmly.
That wasn’t the impression he or Saetan had gotten from Jorval’s urgent letters, but he knew better than to say anything. Serving Jaenelle in the past few years had taught him when to yield.
She vanished the case and traveling bag, then picked up a hooded, full-length black cape. ”Shall we go?”
Kartane SaDiablo restlessly paced the sitting room of his suite.
The bitch was late. If he’d been home, the bitch wouldn’t have dared keep Dorothea’s son waiting. Hell’s fire, he’d almost be glad to get back to Hayll.
Working himself up to insulted outrage, he almost missed the quiet knock on the door. He pulled himself together. He needed this bitch, who, Jorval assured him, was the best Healer in Kaeleer. If he was uncivil, nothing and no one could stop her from walking out the door again.
He walked over to the windows and looked out. There was no reason for her to know he had been waiting anxiously, no reason to give her even that little bit of power over him. ”Come in,” he said when the knock sounded again.
He didn’t hear the door open, but when he turned around, a figure shrouded in a hooded black cape stood inside the room.
At first he thought it was that witch Dorothea called the Dark Priestess, but there was something slimy about the Dark Priestess’s psychic scent and this one’s scent…
Kartane frowned. He couldn’t detect a psychic scent at all. ”You’re the Healer?” he asked doubtfully.
”Yes.”
Kartane shivered at the sound of that midnight voice. Trying to ignore his uneasiness, he reached up to unbutton his shirt. ”I suppose you want to examine me.”
”That won’t be necessary. I know what’s wrong with you.”
His fingers froze around the button. ”You’ve seen this before?”
”No.”
”But you know what it is?”
”Yes.”
Annoyed by the terse answers, he tossed aside any effort at civility. ”Then what in the name of Hell is it?”
”It’s called Briarwood,” replied the midnight voice.
The blood drained out of Kartane’s head, leaving him dizzy.
”Briarwood is the pretty poison,” the voice continued as fair-skinned hands reached up and pushed the hood back. ”There is no cure for Briarwood.”
Kartane stared at her. The last time he’d seen her, thirteen years ago, she had been more like a drugged puppet than a child-a plaything locked in one of Briarwood’s cubicles, waiting to be used. But he’d never forgotten those sapphire eyes, or the terror he’d felt after he’d tried to touch her mind.
”You.” The word came out as nothing more than exhaled breath. ”I thought Greer destroyed you.”
”He tried.”
It hit him then. He pointed an accusing finger at her. ”You did this to me. You did this!”
”I created the tangled web, yes. As far as what’s happened to you, Kartane, you did this to yourself.”
”No!”
”Yes. To each is given what he gave. That was the only command I spun into the web.”
”Since you did this, you can damn well undo it!”
She shook her head. ”Many of the children who were the threads of that tangled web have returned to the Darkness. They’re out of reach, even for me, and there’s no way to undo the web without them.”
”You lie,” Kartane shouted. ”If I hand you enough gold, you’d find a way fast enough.”
”There is no cure for Briarwood. But there is an end to this, if that’s any consolation. To each is given what he gave.”
”WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?”
”Every blow, every wound, every rape, every moment of fear that you ever inflicted on another is coming back to you. You’re taking back what you gave, Kartane. When you’ve taken it all back, the debt will be paid, and the web will release you as it did the other males who amused themselves in Briarwood.”
”They’re all dead, you stupid bitch! I’m the last one left. No one survived this web of yours.”
”The web only set the terms. If none of the others survived… How many of the children who were sent to Briarwood survived any of you?”
”Since you didn’t come here to heal me, why did you bother to come? Just to gloat?”
”No. I came to stand as witness for those who are gone.”
Kartane studied her, then shook his head. ”You can end this.”
”I’ve already told you, I can’t.”
”You can end this. You can stop this pain. And you’re damn well going to!”
With a howl of rage, Kartane rushed her-and went right through her. He hit the door, unable to stop himself.
When he turned around, there was no one else in the room.
Daemon approached Jaenelle cautiously, reluctant to disturb her solitude and not sure what to think about the odd blend of sadness and satisfaction on her face. The solitude was an illusion, of course. When she had left her room in the guardhouse and gone out to sit near the creek, Lucivar, Chaosti, and half a dozen Dea al Mon guards had followed her, swiftly disappearing into the woods. He couldn’t see any of them, but he knew they were nearby, watching and listening.
”Here,” he said quietly, handing her a mug. ”It’s just herbal tea. Nothing fancy.” When she thanked him, he slipped his hands into his trouser pockets, feeling self-conscious. ”Is everything all right?”
Jaenelle hesitated. ”I did what I went to do.” She took a sip of the tea, peered into the cup, then looked at him. ”What’s in this?”
”A little of this and that.”
”Uh-huh.”
If that doubtful tone had come from any other woman, he would have felt insulted. But the concentration-and hint of frustration-in her eyes as she took another sip indicated that her doubt was caused by his dismissive ”nothing fancy” rather than the brew itself.
She eyed him speculatively. ”I don’t suppose you would be willing to exchange the recipe for this brew for one of mine?”
Since she liked it that much, it was tempting to refuse so that he would be the only one who could make it for her, but he quickly realized that the time spent with her over a table full of herbs would serve him far better.
Daemon smiled. ”I know a couple of brews you might find interesting.”
Jaenelle returned the smile, then drained the mug and stood up. ”I’d like to head out to Amdarh soon,” she said as they walked back to the guardhouse. ”That way, we can get settled in tonight.”
Despite Lucivar’s and Chaosti’s firm warnings, Daemon had to bite his tongue to keep from suggesting that she eat something first. They had told him her resistance against any attempt to get some food into her would be in direct proportion to her mood when she returned from this meeting. He’d only needed one glance at her face when she came out of her room to know any suggestion would have been pointless.
”I think you’ll like Amdarh,” Jaenelle said. ”It’s a beautiful-” She stopped walking, then sniffed the air. ”Is that stew?”
”I believe it is,” Daemon replied mildly. ”Lucivar and Chaosti made it. It should be just about done.”
”They made wildwood stew?”
”I believe that’s what it’s called.”
Jaenelle eyed him. ”I suppose you’re hungry.”
Even if he had never picked up a cue before in his life, he couldn’t have missed that one. ”Actually, I am. Do you think we could wait until after dinner before heading to Amdarh?”
Jaenelle turned her head away from him, but not enough that he couldn’t see her lick her lips. ”It wouldn’t take that long to have a bowl of stew. Or two,” she added as she hurried toward the guardhouse.
Daemon lengthened his stride to keep up, and wondered how much of a tussle the males were going to have in order to get their fair share.
Kartane burst into Jorval’s dining room. ”Is that bitch alive?” he demanded.
Jorval hurried toward him while a man Kartane had never seen before sat at the table and just stared.
”Lord Kartane,” Jorval said anxiously. ”If I’d known the healing would be done so soon, we would have waited din-”
”Damn you, just answer the question! Is she alive?”
”Lady Angelline? Yes, of course she’s alive. Why do you ask? Didn’t she arrive?”
”She arrived,” Kartane snarled.
”I don’t understand,” Jorval said, almost wailing. ”She’s the best Healer in the Realm. If she-”
”SHE’S THE ONE WHO DID THIS TO ME!”
Jorval’s shocked look was quickly replaced by a sly one. ”I see. Please, come and join us. I can see you’ve had a distressing afternoon. Perhaps some food and company will help.”
”Nothing will help until that bitch is made to heel,” Kartane snapped, accepting a chair at the table and a quickly filled glass of wine. He glared at the other man, who continued to stare at him.
”Lord Kartane,” Jorval said smoothly, ”may I present Lord Hobart? He, too, has reasons to want to see Jaenelle Angelline subdued.”
”Not just Jaenelle Angelline,” Hobart growled.
”Oh?” Kartane said, pushing his anger aside as his interest in Hobart sharpened.
”Lord Hobart had controlled the Territory of Glacia for several years,” Jorval said. ”When his niece became the Territory Queen-”
”The ungrateful bitch EXILED me!” Hobart shouted.
”And you want to regain control,” Kartane said, starting to lose interest.
Then Jorval added, ”Lady Karla is a close friend of Jaenelle’s.”
Kartane randomly selected food from the dishes offered as he nibbled on that bit of information. There was nothing he would have liked better right then than to hurt a close friend of the bitch. ”I may be able to help. My mother is the High Priestess of Hayll.”
Not only didn’t Hobart look sufficiently impressed, he looked distinctly uneasy. He cleared his throat. ”It’s a generous offer, Lord Kartane. A very generous offer, but…”
”But you’re already receiving some assistance from the Dark Priestess,” Kartane guessed. When Hobart paled, he crossed two fingers and held them up. ”Perhaps you’re not aware that my mother and the Dark Priestess are like that.”
Hobart swallowed hard. Jorval merely drank his wine and watched them out of dark eyes filled with sly glee.
”I see,” Hobart finally said. ”In that case, your help is most welcome.”