After spending two weeks in Ebon Rih, Surreal returned to the Hall, took one look at Daemon, and went hunting for Jaenelle.
She finally tracked Jaenelle down-actually, Graysfang tracked down Ladvarian, who was with Jaenelle-in a part of the Hall so far away from the family’s living quarters that it practically guaranteed no one would think to look there.
Jaenelle stepped out of a room and noticed Surreal striding down the corridor. Her face lit up with pleasure. ”Surreal! I didn’t expect you back so-”
Surreal grabbed Jaenelle’s arm and hauled the younger woman back into the room. ”This is girl talk,” she growled at Graysfang and Ladvarian. ”Go water some bushes.” Then she slammed the door on two startled, furry faces.
”Surreal,” Jaenelle said, shaking free of the hard grip, ”did something happen in-”
”What in the name of Hell are you doing?” Surreal shouted.
Jaenelle looked wary and baffled. ”I was reading.”
”I’m not talking about what you were doing five minutes ago. I’m talking about Daemon. Why are you doing this to him?”
Jaenelle flinched and said defensively, ”I’m not doing anything to him.”
”That’s exactly the point. Damn it, Jaenelle, he’s your Consort. Why aren’t you using him?”
In the flick of a moment, she saw a defensive young woman change into an angry Queen.
”He’s been used enough, don’t you think?” Jaenelle said quietly in her midnight voice. ”And I am not going to be the next in a long list of women who have forced him into physical intimacy.”
”But-” Surreal took a mental step back. She hadn’t expected this to be the reason for Jaenelle’s resistance- and she was sure Daemon had no idea this was why he was getting locked out of the bedroom. Ah, sugar, she thought sadly. You made all the wrong moves for all the right reasons. ”That was different. He was a pleasure slave then, not a Consort.”
”Is there that much difference, Surreal?”
Remember who you’re talking to. Remember what she must have seen in Briarwood-and what sort of conclusions a twelve-year-old girl who knew about that side of sex would come to about the time Daemon had spent as a pleasure slave.
”The boyos who are Consorts don’t seem to mind performing their duties. Quite the opposite, in fact.”
”They’ve never been pleasure slaves. They’ve never been forced. All right, yes, sometimes a Consort is asked to give more than he feels like giving at that moment, but when a man accepts the Consort’s ring, he goes into that kind of service willingly and by his own choice.”
”Daemon made that choice,” Surreal pointed out quietly. ”Not because he wants the status of being the Consort and is willing to put up with the duties that go along with it, but because he wants to be your lover.” She studied Jaenelle. ”You do care about him, don’t you?”
”I love him.”
Surreal heard such a deep river of feelings in those simple words.
”Besides,” Jaenelle said, shifting back into a nervous young woman, ”I’m not sure he really does want to do… that. He hasn’t even tried to kiss me,” she added sadly.
Surreal hooked her hair behind her pointed ears. Damn, damn, damn. How had the ground gotten so boggy so fast? ”If I understand the rules a Consort is supposed to play by, isn’t the Queen supposed to initiate the first kiss so that the Consort knows his attentions will be welcome?”
”Yes,” Jaenelle said reluctantly.
”But you haven’t kissed him either?”
Jaenelle snarled in frustration and started pacing. ”I’m not twelve anymore.”
Surreal braced her hands on her hips. ”Sugar, from where I’m standing, that’s all to the good.”
Jaenelle threw up her hands and shouted, ”Don’t you understand? I don’t know how to do any of this!”
Surreal just stared. ”You’ve never been kissed? Family kisses and friendly kisses don’t count,” she quickly amended.
A disgusted look filled Jaenelle’s face. ”Teeth, tongues, and drool.”
”Wolves and dogs don’t count either.”
Jaenelle let out a huff of laughter, and said dryly, ”I wasn’t referring to the kindred.”
Shit. ”Haven’t you received even one kiss you liked?”
Jaenelle hesitated. ”Well, Daemon kissed me once.”
”Well, there you-”
”When I was twelve.”
Surreal bristled automatically at the thought of a grown man kissing a child, then took a moment to consider the man. There were kisses and there were kisses. And Daemon would know exactly how to kiss a young girl without crossing the line-especially when that girl had been Jaenelle. ”He kissed you when you were twelve,” she said carefully.
Jaenelle shrugged and looked uncomfortable. ”It was at Winsol, just before… everything happened. He had given me a silver bracelet, and I thought a kiss was a more grownup way of saying thank you.”
”Okay,” Surreal said, nodding. ”So you kissed him, and then he kissed you.”
”Yes.”
”And he didn’t drool on you?”
Jaenelle’s lips twitched. ”No, he didn’t drool.”
”So why can’t you kiss him now?”
”Because I’m not twelve anymore!” Jaenelle shouted.
”What’s that got to do with it?” Surreal shouted back.
”I don’t want him to laugh at me!”
”I doubt laughing would be his first response. As a matter of fact, I don’t think it would even occur to him.” Surreal paused. Hell’s fire, this is as bad as talking to an adolescent girl.
She let that thought sink in and settle. If she put age aside and only considered experience, wasn’t she talking to an adolescent girl? There had to be some key she could turn, some way to make it seem like Daemon desperately needed help. If he needed help, Jaenelle would…
”You know, sugar, Daemon is as nervous as you are.”
”Why would Daemon be nervous?” Jaenelle asked warily. ”He knows how to kiss, and he’s-”
”A virgin.”
Jaenelle’s mouth fell open. ”But… But he’s-”
”A virgin. Granted, he may know a bit about kissing, but there’s a whole lot he only knows in theory.”
”But… Surreal, he can’t be.”
”Trust me, he is.”
”Oh.”
”So you can see why he’d be nervous,” Surreal said, feeling a little nervous herself. If Daemon ever found out about this little chat, she could end up the main ingredient in a carnivore’s stew. ”Frankly, sugar, if push comes to shove, all you have to do is lie there. But if he’s nervous about his ability to perform well…” Cocking her elbow, Surreal stiffened her hand and fingers, then let them droop.
Jaenelle studied the drooping hand long enough for Surreal to start to sweat before saying, ”Oh.” Her eyes widened. ”Oooh.” Then she shook her head. ”No, that wouldn’t happen to Daemon.”
That naive assurance of Daemon’s ability was touching. Scary, but touching. And not something she was going to introduce to reality.
”Let’s sit down,” Surreal said, heading for a couch. ”Thirty minutes ought to be enough, but we might as well be comfortable.”
”Enough for what?” Jaenelle said, settling on the other end of the couch.
”I’m going to explain the basics of kissing.” There was a slight edge to Surreal’s smile. ”You would agree that I know a few things about kissing?”
”All right,” Jaenelle replied cautiously.
”And you never thought to ask me about it in the month that I’ve been in Kaeleer?” And that rankled.
”I thought about it,” Jaenelle muttered. ”It didn’t seem polite.”
Oh, Mother Night. Well, that would explain the glazed look she sometimes noticed in the High Lord’s eyes. How many nights had he sat in his study totally flummoxed by dealing with a Queen this powerful who still worried about being polite?
”I thank you for your concern, but, since we’re family, I wouldn’t have been offended by a little girl talk.”
There was speculation in Jaenelle’s eyes. Surreal could almost see the questions piling up.
”For today, let’s just stick to basic kissing.”
”Should I take notes?” Jaenelle asked earnestly.
”No,” Surreal replied slowly, ”but I think you should try some hands-on practice as soon as possible.”
Surreal quietly closed the door and hurried down the corridor. She wasn’t sure that look of intense concentration that had been on Jaenelle’s face boded well for the man on the receiving end of that attention, but she’d done her best. Any further instructions would have to come from Daemon-and good luck to him. For a woman who had grown up around some of the most sensual males Surreal had ever met, Jaenelle was appallingly dense about sex. Maybe it had taken Daemon’s arrival to wake her up sexually, but you would think she would have picked up some clues.
How in the name of Hell did two inexperienced lovers ever figure out how to do anything? Surreal wondered. Which made her think about how many things could go wrong once Daemon and Jaenelle got past kissing.
Which made her think that, maybe, she should tell the High Lord about this little chat. Maybe she should. Just in case.
She turned a corner and almost ran into the very last person she wanted to see right now.
”What’s wrong?” Daemon asked.
”Wrong?” Surreal said, taking a step back. ”Why should anything be wrong?”
”You look pale.”
Oh, shit. ”Um.” Maybe she should tell him about that little chat, just to give him a little warning. Daemon, Jaenelle and I had a little talk about sex. I think you’ll enjoy the results.
Maybe not.
”Surreal?” Daemon said, an edge coming into his voice.
Surreal took a deep breath. ”Act nervous. It will help.”
Then she was past him, running through the corridors. A few minutes later, breathless, she burst into Saetan’s study.
Saetan froze, his pen poised above the papers on his desk. ”Surreal,” he said cautiously.
She sat down in the chair in front of his desk and smiled a bit desperately. ”Hi. I thought I would keep you company for a while.”
”Why?”
”Do I need a reason?”
Apparently that question meant something different to him because he carefully put the pen back in its holder, set his half-moon glasses on the desk, leaned back in his chair, and stared at the study door before fixing that stare on her.
”If you’re intending to watch me do paperwork, would you like to move that chair behind the desk?” he asked mildly.
That would put him between her and any irate male- namely Daemon-who might come through the door. ”What a marvelous idea,” Surreal said. She picked up the chair and brought it around the desk.
Before she could sit down, Saetan picked the chair up again and moved it closer to the bookcases that filled the back of the alcove. ”Sit down,” he said as he walked his fingers over the titles on one shelf. Selecting a book, he handed it to her. ”This is a history of the Dea al Mon. You should learn a bit more about your mother’s people. And it will be a reasonable excuse for why you’re sitting there should anyone come in and wonder about it.” He paused. Waited. ”Are you expecting anyone?”
”No, I’m not expecting anyone.”
”I see. In that case, I’ll do a bit more paperwork while you catch your breath. Then we’ll have a little chat.”
Surreal gave him a weak smile. ”It seems to be my day for little chats.”
Fortunately, his response to that was muttered softly enough that she could pretend she didn’t hear it.
Daemon stared at the empty corridor, shook his head, then kept walking. He’d spent the day walking, first on the grounds of the estate and now along the corridors of the Hall.
In the month that he’d been in Kaeleer, he’d come to love the place. Loved the feel of it, the sprawling mass of it, the furnishings in it.
And he was going to have to leave it.
He’d come to that conclusion after another long, sleepless night. Oh, the boyos had tried to help with their stories about pursuing their Ladies, but it was becoming painfully clear that there was no hope for him. Maybe if he wasn’t wearing the Consort’s ring, wasn’t reminded every minute of the relationship it implied, he could accept being just a friend or-may the Darkness help him-another older brother. Maybe he could get past desire that had become painful and just…
Just what? Watch Jaenelle accept another man one day? Pretend he could quench the fire raging inside him?
A month wasn’t long, was no time at all in the courtship dance. But he had already waited so long for Witch to appear. Then, when she’d offered him the Consort’s ring, he had hoped…
He would talk to Saetan, give back the ring, see if there was a remote court somewhere in the Realm where he could serve out the required time in order to remain in Kaeleer. He would…
A door opened. Jaenelle stepped into the corridor. Her face turned pale at the sight of him.
He stopped walking. He might have to give up everything else, but he wouldn’t give up loving her.
”Um. Daemon,” Jaenelle said in an odd voice. ”Do you have a minute?”
”Of course.” It cost him, but he gave her a warm, reassuring smile and followed her into the room.
Standing out of reach, she stared at the floor, looking uneasy and intense-as if she was trying to find the right way to break bad news.
She’s going to ask me to return the Consort’s ring. As soon as that thought formed, Daemon ruthlessly buried any ideas about noble sacrifices. He wasn’t going to give up that easily. And he wasn’t going to return the Consort’s ring without a fight.
”How hard can it be?” Jaenelle muttered.
Daemon just waited.
Letting out a big sigh, Jaenelle walked up to him, braced her hands on his shoulders, rose up on her toes a little, mashed her lips against his, then scampered back out of reach and eyed him warily.
Daemon wasn’t sure what to say about this unexpected move. As a kiss, it left a lot to be desired. As a kiss from Jaenelle…
It took effort not to lick his lips.
”Are you nervous?” Jaenelle asked, still eyeing him warily.
He was going to have a little chat with Surreal about the uselessness of cryptic advice. But at least he had some idea what the right answer should be.
”Actually, I’m terrified that I may say or do something stupid and you won’t want to kiss me again.”
Maybe that was too much of the right answer. Now she looked worried. Then she threw up her hands in a gesture of exasperated helplessness.
”I don’t know what I’m doing,” she almost wailed. And then added under her breath, ”Surreal should have let me take notes.”
Daemon clamped his tongue between his teeth. Yes, he really needed to have a little chat with Surreal.
Jaenelle began pacing. ”It always sounds so easy in love stories.”
”Kissing isn’t difficult,” Daemon said carefully.
She glared at him as she paced past him. ”Lucivar said the same thing about cooking,” she growled. ”The wolves didn’t even wait for it to come out of the oven before they were digging the hole to bury it.”
That sounded like an interesting story. He’d have a little chat with Lucivar, too.
”Kissing isn’t difficult,” Daemon said firmly. ”You just kissed me.”
”Not very well,” she grumbled.
Knowing better than to answer that, Daemon studied her. Frustration. Embarrassment. And an emotion that knocked the wind out of him-longing. ”Why did you ask Surreal about kissing?”
”She told you that?”
”No, I guessed.” And between overhearing Jaenelle’s remark about taking notes and receiving Surreal’s succinct instructions, it wasn’t difficult to reach the correct conclusion.
Jaenelle grumbled and snarled a few comments in a language he thankfully didn’t understand. Then, ”I wanted to impress you, and I didn’t want you to laugh.”
”Laughing isn’t what comes to mind at the moment,” Daemon said dryly. He raked his fingers through his hair. ”Sweetheart, if it’s any comfort, I want to impress you, too.”
”You do?” She sounded astonished.
He started to wonder what had happened in the past thirteen years that would make her so stunned by that idea-but he already knew. She had told him the first time he’d ended up in the misty place, when he’d tried to bring Witch back to heal her wounded body. When it came to physical pleasure, the males wanted to indulge themselves in the body without having to deal with the one who lived inside it. And Jaenelle, with the horrors of Briarwood in her past, would never yield that way.
”Yes, I do,” he said.
She pondered this. ”Kaelas is annoyed with you.”
It seemed like an abrupt shift in topic-and not a welcome one. ”Why?” he asked cautiously.
”Because I haven’t been sleeping well lately and I keep kicking him. He’s decided it’s your fault.”
Oh, wonderful. ”I haven’t been sleeping well either.”
She turned away, looking distressed.
Enough, Daemon thought. It was more his fault than hers that they had struggled through the past month. Saetan had told him she’d never had a lover, and yet he’d expected an open-armed welcome to her bed. He had acted as if she were an experienced woman who would take advantage of his availability.
That had been his biggest mistake. Jaenelle didn’t have it in her to take advantage of anyone who served in her court. Well, she had made the first stumbling move. Now it was his turn.
He loosened the choke-hold control on his sexuality just enough to produce a subtle feel in the air, without it being strong enough for her to recognize it.
”Come here,” he said quietly.
Looking baffled, she obeyed.
Setting his hands lightly on her waist, he drew her close to him. ”Kiss me again. Like this.” He brushed his lips against hers, softly, delicately. ”And this.” He kissed the corner of her mouth. ”And this.” He kissed her throat.
She imitated each move-until she kissed his throat. When the tip of her tongue licked his skin, he tilted her head up, lightly fastened his mouth on hers, and kissed her in earnest. Kissed her with all the hunger that had been building inside him during the past month, during a lifetime. Kissed her while his hands roamed over her back and hips and delicately explored her breasts. Kissed her until she moaned. Kissed her until she opened for him and let his tongue dance with hers. Kissed her until her hands slid up his back and clamped on his shoulders. Kissed her until the moan turned into a hungry snarl and he felt her nails prick his skin through the shirt and jacket.
And then realized he had taken them farther than he had meant to right now. Returning his hands to her waist, he eased back to the light, easy kisses.
Sensing his withdrawal, she snarled again-and there was anger as well as hunger in the sound. ”You don’t want me?” she asked in her midnight voice.
He nudged her hips toward him just enough to prove his answer. ”Yes, I want you.” He gave in for one more moment, fastened his mouth on her neck and sucked hard enough to leave a love bite. Tearing his mouth away, he gave her little butterfly kisses from jaw to temple. ”But this is just playtime, just an appetizer.”
”Playtime?” Witch said suspiciously.
”Mmm,” he replied, licking the spot on her forehead where the tiny spiral horn would be if they were in the abyss. ”This isn’t the right place for more than playtime.”
”Why?”
”Because I’d like my first time to be in a bed.”
Her anger vanished instantly. ”Oh. Yes, that would be more comfortable,” Jaenelle said.
Will you invite me to your bed tonight? He knew better than to ask so bluntly, but he also knew he had to ask. ”May I come to you tonight?” Feeling her tense, he quickly pressed a finger against her lips. ”No words. Just a kiss will be answer enough.”
Her answer was everything he had hoped it would be.
Daemon braced his hands on the dresser and closed his eyes.
Breathe, damn you, he thought fiercely. Just breathe.
How in the name of Hell did men do this the first time? Maybe, for a youth, the thrill was enough to push him past the doubts. Maybe it was easier the first time when the woman wasn’t quite so special-or when the next hour wouldn’t determine whether the woman you desperately wanted would have you.
He knew dozens upon dozens of ways to kiss, to caress, to arouse a woman and make her crave having him in her bed.
He couldn’t remember a single one.
Daemon straightened up, retied the belt on the robe he wore over silk pajama bottoms… and swore with heartfelt intensity.
He should have just followed where those kisses had been leading them this afternoon, should have given in to the hunger he had awakened in Jaenelle, should have acted instead of stepping back and giving himself the past several hours to think himself into a panic.
But, wanting more than sex for his own sake as well as hers, he had stepped back-and now sincerely hoped that when he walked into her bedroom…
He smiled at the bitter irony of it, that the one thing he had never done with a woman, the one thing he had never wanted to do and now wanted more than anything, was the one thing he might not be able to do.
What got him moving was the concern that if he delayed much longer, Jaenelle might perceive it as a kind of rejection.
When he tapped on the door between their bedrooms, he took the muffled sound for an invitation and went in.
The only light in the room came from the fire burning in the hearth and scented candles grouped here and there throughout the room. The covers of the huge bed were turned down. Covered dishes, two glasses, and a bottle of sparkling wine filled a table near the hearth.
Jaenelle stood in the middle of the room, twisting her laced fingers. The edge of what looked like a sheer nightgown made of black spidersilk peeked beneath the hem of a thick, shabby robe-one he imagined she wore on rainy evenings when she snuggled up in her room to read. She looked like a lost waif rather than a sex-hungry woman.
She studied him a moment. ”You look like I feel.”
”Sick and terrified?” He winced, wished he hadn’t said that.
She nodded. ”I thought… some food…” She glanced at the covered dishes and turned pale. Then she glanced at the bed and turned paler. ”What are we going to do?” she whispered.
He hadn’t done either of them any favors by giving them time to think. ”Basics,” he said. ”We’ll start with something extremely simple.” He took a step forward and opened his arms. ”A hug.”
She considered this a moment. ”That sounds easy enough,” she said, and stepped into his embrace.
He closed his eyes and held her lightly. Just held her. Breathed in the scent of her.
After a while, his fingers flexed. There was a comforting appeal to the texture of her shabby robe, to the way her hair brushed against his hand.
His arms tightened, drew her closer as his hand stroked up and down her back, just for the simple pleasure of it.
She sighed. The tension in her muscles eased a bit, and she rested against him more fully.
He wasn’t thinking of seduction when his hands began to wander over her-or when her hands hesitantly stroked him.
He wasn’t thinking of seduction when his body delighted in how different the silky skin of her neck felt under his mouth compared to the robe beneath his hands.
He wasn’t thinking of sex when he opened his robe and then hers so that only that film of spidersilk separated skin from skin. Or when even the spidersilk no longer separated them.
He wasn’t thinking of sex when his mouth settled over hers and he sent them both sliding into dark, hot desire.
And by the time he found himself in bed, listening to her purr with pleasure while he moved inside her, he wasn’t able to think at all.
Dorothea held up a letter. ”It seems Kartane has become acquainted with Lord Jorval and Lord Hobart.”
Hekatah’s lips curved in an awful grin. ”Such useful males. One gathers Kartane got no satisfaction from the High Lord.”
”It appears not,” Dorothea replied, striving to sound indifferent while the fury of Kartane’s betrayal singed her blood. ”He suggests that Lord Hobart would welcome any assistance Hayll can provide to wrest Glacia away from the bitch-Queen niece. He will remain in Little Terreille to act as a liaison.”
”It sounds as if your son finally understands to whom he owes his loyalty.”
Dorothea crushed the letter. ”He’s not my son. Not anymore. He’s just a tool like any other.”
Lucivar walked to the far end of the low-walled garden that bordered one side of his home. Marian was reading a bedtime story to Daemonar, and the wolves had gathered in the room to listen, too, so he knew whatever Prothvar wanted to tell him wouldn’t be overheard.
Two weeks ago, Saetan had sent Surreal back to Ebon Rih with a terse-and oddly harried-note, bluntly telling him to stay away from the Hall. The only reason he had obeyed was because Saetan had signed it as the Steward of the Court. After two weeks of silence, Andulvar, as Master of the Guard, had sent Prothvar to the Hall to request more information from the Steward. Now Prothvar was here, wanting to see him away from anyone. ”Problem?” Lucivar asked quietly.
Prothvar’s teeth gleamed as his mouth curved in a feral smile. ”Not as long as you stay away from the Hall. I gathered it’s rather uncomfortable living there right now if you wear Jewels darker than the Red.”
”Mother Night,” Lucivar muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. What in the name of Hell had happened? ”Maybe the High Lord should send Daemon here for a while.”
”Oh, I don’t think it would be wise to try to shift Daemon away from the Hall.”
Lucivar just stared at Prothvar for a moment. Then he grinned. ”Well, it’s about time.”
”For both of them.”
”So why does Saetan have his back up?”
”Because, despite Daemon’s efforts to shield the bedroom, the… um… revelry tends to leak through the shields and makes the darker-Jeweled residents itchy. And neither of them wants to broach the subject with Jaenelle to ask her to create the shields since she’s happily oblivious to anything but her Consort at the moment-and Saetan, not to mention Daemon, wants to keep it that way.”
”Well,” Lucivar said blandly, ”if Saetan needs a respite from the frolic going on in the Hall, he could always spend an evening-or two-with Sylvia.”
”Now, Lucivar,” Prothvar scolded, ”you know they’re just friends.”
”Of course they are.” Noticing the moon, Lucivar did a quick mental tally, then gave Prothvar a sharp look. ”Has anyone talked to Daemon about drinking a contraceptive brew?”
”That was taken care of. I had the impression that Daemon would welcome a child in the future, but, right now, he wants to enjoy his Lady’s bed.”
”In that case, Saetan should have a few days’ reprieve fairly soon.” Lucivar glanced back at the lights shining from the windows of his home and thought about enjoying his own Lady’s bed as soon as Daemonar was asleep. But he asked politely, ”Do you want to come in? I have some yarbarah.”
”Thanks, but no,” Prothvar replied. ”I still have to report to Andulvar.” He said good night, spread his dark wings, and vaulted into the night sky.
As Lucivar walked back to his home, a lone wolf howled. He grinned. Since the sound was coming from the direction of Falonar’s eyrie, he didn’t have to ask where Surreal was spending the night.
So Surreal was snuggled up with Falonar, Jaenelle was snuggled up with Daemon, and Marian…
When he entered the eyrie, she was standing in the kitchen doorway. She smiled in that quiet way that always excited his body and thrilled his heart.
”I was going to make some tea,” she said. ”It’s cold tonight.”
He returned the smile, then gave her a long, very thorough kiss. ”I have a better way to warm you up.”
The Arachnian Queen floated in the air in front of her tangled web of dreams and visions-the web she had linked to the web Witch had spun. The cold season was almost upon them. It was time for the Dream Weavers to settle into the caves and burrows, but she needed to see this web once more… just to be sure.
She studied Witch’s tangled web first.
One small thread was dark, dark, dark. The first death.
There would be more. Many more.
Then she studied her own tangled web.
But not until the warming earth season. Even humans tended to remain in their lairs during the cold season.
So then. She could settle into her own lair in the sacred cave where she would rest and dream the soft dreams. When the seasons turned again, she would speak to the brown dog, Ladvarian. He was the link between kindred and human Blood. The kindred obeyed him and humans listened to him. And she needed him for what had to be done.
Because when the earth warmed next time, she would need all her strength and skill-and all the strength and skill the brown dog would gather for her-in order to save Kaeleer’s Heart.