Lucivar and Falonar stood back at a prudent distance and watched the women at archery practice. Hallevar stood a few feet behind the women, giving instructions that could be heard in the still morning air as clearly as the smack of sticks coming from the arms practice field.
The weather had turned overnight, bringing the warm promise of spring. It wouldn’t last, but while it did, Lucivar intended to have the women on the practice field for a couple of hours every morning. This was the first day they were actually aiming an arrow at a target. Watching them would have been amusing if he hadn’t felt so edgy.
A day and a half had passed since Daemon’s order to ”stay put and stand guard” had been relayed through the First Circle-an order which, a couple of hours later, had been reinforced by Jaenelle. The only other message he had received had been equally brief: Karla had been poisoned and Morton was missing.
He would have disregarded the order if Daemon hadn’t been with Jaenelle, but he knew that if anyone could protect the Queen better than he could, it was the Sadist.
So he’d stayed… and watched… and waited.
Falonar huffed out a breath as a spattering of arrows made a pathetic attempt to reach the targets. ”Do you really think they can do this?” he asked doubtfully.
Lucivar snorted. ”During your first six months in the hunting camps, you couldn’t hit anything smaller than the side of a mountain.”
Falonar just looked at him. ”But I didn’t whine about taking up time that could be used to air out the bedding. What’s the point of pretending they can use a-shit.” That when a woman with a bow fully drawn started to turn toward Hallevar as he added instructions. Hallevar leaped forward and shoved her so that the arrow skittered along the grass instead of into the woman next to her.
Lucivar and Falonar both winced at the language Hallevar used to explain that little error.
”Do you see?” Falonar demanded.
”Hallevar didn’t learn to leap like that because this was the first time someone had done something so stupid,” Lucivar replied. He paused, then added, ”What’s really biting your ass about this?”
Falonar scuffed a boot over the ground. ”If we aren’t the warriors and protectors, we don’t have much to offer- until a woman is looking for a stud. And that’s not easy to stomach.”
”Can you cook?” Lucivar asked mildly.
Falonar glared at him. ”Of course I can cook. Any Eyrien who’s been in the hunting camps knows how to do rough-and-ready cooking.”
Lucivar nodded. ”Then relax. Just because a woman knows how to catch her own dinner doesn’t mean she’s going to grow balls any more than you’re going to grow tits just because you know how to cook it.” He watched Surreal put an arrow into the outer ring of the target and smiled. ”Do you want to go over and tell her you don’t think she’s capable of handling a bow?”
”Not while she’s got a weapon in her hand,” Falonar muttered.
They jumped when one of the women let out a loud yelp.
Lucivar relaxed when he noticed the way Hallevar was rubbing one hand over his mouth and the woman was surreptitiously rubbing her forearm against her right breast.
”Five minutes of free practice,” Hallevar called before hurrying toward the other two men.
”What happened?” Falonar demanded.
”Damnedest thing,” Hallevar said, breaking into a wide grin. ”Didn’t think to warn them about it ’cause… well, Hell’s fire, I’ve never had to consider it before. How was I supposed to know you could catch a tit with a bowstring?”
”Catch a-” Falonar looked at the women-who had all turned to glare at the men. He looked at the ground and cleared his throat-several times. ”Bet it stings.”
Lucivar felt his jaw muscles cramp with the effort to keep from laughing. ”Yes, I’m sure it does. I didn’t think to warn Marian when I taught her, and I’d already worked with Jaenelle. But Marian’s got … a bit more chest.”
Falonar choked.
Hallevar just nodded solemnly. ”That’s a fine, respectful way to phrase it-especially when there’s a handful of women out there who might just get mad enough to actually hit something if you phrased it any other way.”
”Precisely,” Lucivar said dryly. ”Work them through one more quiver and-”
He was running toward the arms practice field before the first panicked scream could be drowned out by furious shouts. He leaped up on the low stone wall that separated the two fields. Ice formed around his heart when he saw Kaelas give a Green-Jeweled Eyrien Warlord Prince a casual swat that opened up the back of one thigh. The ice became a painful cage when he saw Rothvar and Zaranar running toward the stranger with weapons drawn.
NO! he shouted on a spear thread. I’ll gut any man who raises a weapon!
They skidded to a stop, their shock at his order rivaling their fury. But they, and the other men on the practice field, obeyed.
”Help me!” the stranger yelled as he swung his war blade at Kaelas, trying to keep the cat in front of him while he limped backward toward the other men. ”Damn you all to the bowels of Hell, help me!”
Lucivar turned, looked back at the women. Marian, take all the women up to our eyrie. Close the shutters.
Lucivar, what-
Do it!
He strode toward the loose circle of men, Falonar and Hallevar right behind him. A gut-sick satisfaction filled him as he watched how easily Kaelas dodged the stranger’s attempts to counterattack-and he wondered what the other men would say if they knew he had been the one who had taught the cat how to move with and against human weapons.
As soon as the Eyrien shifted into a fighting stance, Kaelas charged. The speed and the sheer weight behind the charge knocked the man back several feet. The claws ripped open the Eyrien’s shoulders and followed through down the arms, leaving them useless. The cat leaped away and began lazily circling a man barely able to get to his feet.
Falonar looked behind them and cursed softly, viciously. Turning and opening his wings to hide the practice field, he snarled, ”Go back with the other women.”
”Don’t give me any of that-oh, shit,” Surreal said as she dodged Falonar and got a good look at the man and cat.
Kaelas continued the light, almost playful swats, inflicting surface wounds that would slowly bleed out his prey. He continued until the Eyrien stranger spread his torn wings and tried to fly. The cat leaped with the man, then landed lightly. The man, with his back ripped open, fell heavily.
”Mother Night,” Surreal whispered, ”he’s playing with that man.”
”He’s playing,” Lucivar said grimly as nerves twisted his belly, ”but it’s not a game. This is an Arcerian execution.”
Surreal understood before Falonar did. Lucivar saw her face tighten-and he saw her eyes fill with cool professional interest.
”Yaslana,” Falonar warned.
Lucivar sensed the growing tension in the other men and knew it wouldn’t be long before one of them disobeyed his order and joined the ”fight.” He started to move closer.
Kaelas must have sensed it, too, because the playfulness ended. The Eyrien stranger screamed as the claws ripped his chest open, ripped his thighs to the bone.
”Kaelas,” Lucivar said firmly, ”that’s-” He felt the crackle of Red-Jeweled power as the paw lashed out again. The object flew at him so fast, he instinctively caught it before it slammed into his chest. For a second or two, Lucivar stared at the head that had been severed at the base of the neck. Then he dropped it.
”Mother Night,” Surreal said softly.
The Eyrien’s right hand, with its Green-Jeweled ring, sailed through the air and plopped on the ground next to the head.
With a full-throated snarl of rage, Kaelas gutted the man, then defecated in the open belly before moving away from the corpse. Finally, he looked at Lucivar. That one is still inside … for the High Lord.
Lucivar tried to swallow. Kaelas had deliberately not finished the kill. Why?
He killed Morton, Kaelas replied, making the effort to use a communication thread that could be heard by all the humans present. And he killed the pale humans that belonged to Lady Karla.
Fury washed through Lucivar, a cleansing fire. Where?
An image appeared in his mind, oddly focused but clear enough for him to identify the place. My thanks, Brother, he said, using a spear thread directed specifically at the cat.
Kaelas leaped, caught the Winds, and disappeared.
”I’ve done a lot of things as an assassin,” Surreal said, hooking her hair behind her ears, ”but I’ve never shit on the body. Is that some kind of feline quirk?”
”It’s the way Arcerians show contempt for an enemy,” Lucivar said. He looked at Falonar, who seemed to be fighting not to be sick. A quick glance was enough to confirm that most of the men were doing the same, despite their experience on battlefields. ”I don’t recognize him. Do you?”
Falonar shook his head.
”I do,” Rothvar said heavily as he approached them. ”When he found out I was immigrating to Kaeleer, he offered me a place in his company. Said he wasn’t going to have to lick any bitch’s boots, that he’d be ruling a fine piece of land before a year was out. I never liked him, so I said no. But…” He glanced at the head, then away. ”I heard… thought I heard… Did the cat speak true?”
”He wouldn’t lie.” Lucivar took a deep breath. ”Falonar, select four men to go with us.” Looking around, he realized Surreal was no longer with them.
Falonar turned, too, and swore. ”Damn it, she’s probably off someplace puking her guts-”
Surreal leaped over the low stone wall and trotted toward them, a large, dented metal bucket in one hand. When they just looked at her, she huffed and said tartly to Lucivar, ”Were you planning to tuck that thing under your arm to take it to the High Lord?”
Lucivar smiled reluctantly. ”Thanks, Surreal.” He hesitated. His hands were already bloody, but he still hesitated.
She didn’t. With another huff, she dumped the head and hand into the bucket, then covered the bucket with a piece of dark cloth.
The men winced. She snarled at them.
Seeing the wariness in Falonar’s eyes, Lucivar said, ”You have your orders, Prince.”
Falonar and Rothvar left with more speed than discretion.
”Tell me he hasn’t done as much on a battlefield,” Surreal said with a hint of bitterness. ”I suppose everything would have been just fine if I’d clung to his arm and begged for smelling salts.”
”Don’t condemn him out of hand,” Lucivar said quietly. ”He isn’t used to a woman like you.”
Surreal turned on him. ”And what kind of woman is that?”
”A Dea al Mon witch.”
Her smile came slowly, but it was genuine. ”I suppose I should have been more tactful.” She waved a hand at the bucket, then hesitated. ”I’d like to go with you.”
”No. I want you to stay here with the other women.”
Her eyes frosted. ”Why?”
Abruptly impatient, he snarled, ”Because you wear the Gray, and I trust you.” He waited until he knew she understood. ”My eyrie has Ebon-gray shields, but Marian can key them. Don’t let anyone in that she doesn’t know-for any reason. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Surreal nodded. ”All right. But you be careful. If you get hurt, I’ll smack you.”
Lucivar waited until she was out of earshot before he waved Hallevar over to him. ”Send Palanar to my mother’s house. He’s to escort Lady Luthvian to my eyrie without delay.”
Hallevar shifted uneasily. ”She’ll take a strip out of the boy.”
”Tell her it’s an order from the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih,” Lucivar said. ”Then I want you to keep an eye open around here. If you see anything, hear anything, sense anything you don’t like, you send one of the boys to the Keep and the other to the Hall for help. The wolf pack will also keep watch. If you see anyone who doesn’t live right here, whether you knew them well in Terreille or not, treat them as an enemy. Understand?”
Nodding, Hallevar went off to attend his duties.
A short time later, Lucivar and five of his men were flying toward the Keep.
Lucivar set the metal bucket on the opposite end of the worktable and watched Saetan pour fresh blood into a bowl of simmering liquid. ”I thought you would be at the Hall, waiting for the reports to come in.”
”Draca sent for me,” Saetan replied, lightly stirring the bowl’s contents. ”What brings you here?”
”Morton is dead.”
Saetan’s hand hesitated a moment, then resumed stirring. ”I know.”
Lucivar tensed, then said cautiously, ”He’s in the Dark Realm?”
”No, he’s here. That’s why Draca sent for me. He came to report.”
Lucivar paced restlessly. ”Good. I’ll talk to him before-”
”No.”
The implacable tone in Saetan’s voice stopped him-for a moment. ”I don’t care if he’s demon-dead now.”
”He does.” Saetan’s voice gentled. ”He doesn’t want to see you, Lucivar. Not any of you.”
”Why in the name of Hell not?” Lucivar shouted.
Saetan snarled. ”Do you think it’s easy making the transition? Do you think anything will be the same for him? He’s dead, Lucivar. He’s a young man who will never do a great many things now, who is no longer who and what he used to be. There are reasons why the dead remain, for the most part, among the dead.”
Lucivar resumed his pacing. ”It’s not like the First Circle isn’t used to being around the demon-dead.”
”You didn’t know them when they walked among the living,” Saetan said softly. ”There were no ties with them that needed to be cut. Yes, the ties do need to be cut,” he said, overriding Lucivar’s protest. ”The living have to move on-and so do the dead. If you can’t respect that, at least respect the fact that he needs time to adjust before he has to deal with the rest of you.”
Lucivar swore softly. ”How bad…?”
Saetan set the spoon down and moved to the other end of the table. ”The wounds aren’t visible when he’s dressed. In fact, they wouldn’t have been fatal if the arrows hadn’t been poisoned.”
”Poisoned,” Lucivar said flatly as he stared down at the bucket.
”There’s not much Morton could tell you, and without more information, even what he knows doesn’t help us much.”
Lucivar pointed at the bucket. ”You may find your answers in there.”
Saetan lifted the dark cloth, looked inside the bucket, then let the cloth drop.
”Kaelas,” Lucivar said, answering the unspoken question.
”I see,” Saetan said quietly. ”You’re returning to Ebon Rih?”
Lucivar shook his head. ”I’m taking a few men to the Dark Altar in Glacia to look around, see if there are any answers there.”
”Our Queen’s order was quite direct,” Saetan said mildly.
”I’ll risk her anger.”
Saetan nodded. ”Then, as Steward of the Court, I formally request that you go to the Dark Altar in Glacia to determine what happened.”
”I don’t need to hide behind your title,” Lucivar snapped.
Saetan smiled dryly. ”I’m doing this as much for Jaenelle as for you. This way, she can gracefully back away from having to confront you about disobeying a direct order.”
”Oh. In that case…”
”Get going, boyo. Report to me at the Hall. And Prince Yaslana,” Saetan added when Lucivar reached the door, ”remember Glacia isn’t your territory. You’re not the law there.”
”Yes, sir, I’ll remember. We just witness and report.”
Seeing the guarded look in Marian’s eyes and the way Luthvian managed to convey silently her disapproval of her son’s choice of a wife, Surreal wondered how pissed off Lucivar would be if they took his mother into the garden and used her for target practice.
”How did you manage to bake anything this morning?” Nurian, the journeymaid Healer, asked as she accepted a nutcake from the plate Marian was passing around. ”And how do you get anything else done after these morning workouts?”
”Oh,” Marian said with a shy smile, ”I’m used to it by now, and-”
”You’re a Healer,” Luthvian interrupted, giving Nurian a cool stare. ”Your finding it difficult to practice a demanding Craft after these workouts is understandable. But they’re hardly an excuse for neglecting one’s duties when you’re talking about hearth Craft. After all-”
”If you’ll excuse us,” Surreal said, hauling Luthvian to her feet. ”There’s something Lady Luthvian and I need to discuss.”
”Let go of me,” Luthvian snarled as Surreal dragged her out of the room. ”You don’t treat a Black Widow Healer like she was-”
”A hearth-witch?” Surreal said with venomous sweetness as she shoved Luthvian into the garden.
”Exactly,” Luthvian replied darkly. ”But I don’t suppose a whore-”
”Shut up, bitch,” Surreal said too quietly.
Luthvian sucked in air. ”You forget your place!”
”No, sugar, that’s exactly what I’m not forgetting. You may belong to a higher caste, but my Jewels outrank yours. I figure that evens things out-at least within the family. You don’t like me, and that suits me just fine because I don’t like you either.”
”Crossing a Black Widow isn’t wise,” Luthvian said softly.
”Crossing an assassin isn’t wise either.” Surreal smiled when Luthvian’s eyes widened. ”So let’s make this simple. If you make one more disparaging remark about Marian, I’m going to bang your face against the wall until some sense gets knocked into you.”
”What do you think Lucivar would say about that? Luthvian’s voice sounded certain, but there was doubt in her eyes.
”Oh,” Surreal replied, ”I don’t think Lucivar would say anything to me.” Watching the verbal thrust hit the mark, she felt a brief moment of pity for Luthvian. The woman drove people away, and then seemed bewildered to find herself alone.
”He could have done better,” Luthvian grumbled. ”He didn’t have to settle for a Purple Dusk hearth-witch.”
Surreal studied Luthvian. ”This doesn’t have anything to do with Lucivar, does it? You’re embarrassed because your son married a hearth-witch. Marian is just a gentle, caring woman who loves him and whose presence makes him happy. If he had married a Black Widow Healer and was miserable, well, that would have been all right because he had married a woman worthy of a Warlord Prince. Right?” Besides, she added silently, the High Lord approves of his son’s choice. Which, she suspected, was the major reason Luthvian never would. ”Remember what I said, Luthvian.” She started to walk away.
”Just because the High Lord tolerates your using the SaDiablo name doesn’t change what you were-and still are,” Luthvian said nastily.
Surreal looked over her shoulder. ”No,” she said, ”it doesn’t. You would do well to remember that, too.”
Lucivar felt the tingle of residual power the moment he stepped off the landing web. While the other Eyriens stared at the dead bodies and muttered uneasily, he kept his eyes on the pressed-down snow a few feet in front of him. He moved toward it, then skirted around it.
”What?” Falonar asked as he avoided the spot, too.
”Morton died there,” Lucivar said quietly.
”He’s not the only one who died,” Rothvar said grimly, looking at the savaged Eyrien corpses.
”No, he’s not the only one,” Lucivar replied. But he’s the one I watched grow from a decent youth into a fine man. ”Rothvar, you and Endar-”
If he hadn’t spent the past eight years living around kindred, he never would have picked up that particular psychic scent-and wouldn’t have known the Arcerian cats were there until it was far too late.
He scanned the village roofs with a seemingly casual eye while he quietly sank to the depth of his Ebon-gray Jewel and probed the area. Eight Arcerians. Two of them Warlord Princes. All of them wearing darker Jewels.
”Keep your hands away from your weapons,” Lucivar said, keeping his voice low and even. ”We’ve got company.” Moving slowly, he unbelted the short wool cape and opened it to expose his chest and the Ebon-gray Jewel that hung from the chain around his neck. He held his arms out, away from his weapons. ”I am Lucivar Yaslana,” he said in a loud voice. ”I belong to the Lady. And these males belong to me.”
I’m not sensing anything, Falonar said on a Sapphire spear thread.
Kindred don’t usually announce their presence, Lucivar said dryly. Especially the Arcerians.
Mother Night! Falonar looked at the savaged Eyrien bodies. Those cats are still here? How many?
Eight of them. Let’s hope they decide we’re friends, or this is going to turn into a mess.
Lucivar waited until his arms began to ache. Finally there was a wary psychic touch. You are Kaelas’s Brother, said a growling voice.
And he is my Brother, Lucivar replied. He lowered his arms.
Why are you here? the cat demanded.
To stand witness for the Lady.
A long pause. Kaelas told us to guard this place so that no more bad meat comes through the Gate.
Lucivar hoped the cats watching him thought the shiver was due to the cold and not the reference to Eyriens being ”bad meat.” Kaelas is wise.
You look and then go. That wasn’t a question.
Lucivar turned toward his men. He raised his voice to make sure the nearest Arcerian cat would hear the orders. ”Raise basic shields.”
Five men gave him blank looks followed by swift comprehension. Protective shields snapped up around them.
• Will these shields protect us?* Falonar asked Lucivar, using a Sapphire thread so that the other men couldn’t hear him.
No, Lucivar replied shortly. ”Weapons to hand.” He called in his Eyrien war blade, then nodded when the others followed his example. ”Kohlvar, you and Endar keep watch at the landing web. Rothvar and Zaranar, take the left side of the village. Falonar, with me.” And if one of the Arcerians actually shows himself, give him the same courtesy you would give any other warrior, he added on a general spear thread.
They moved slowly, carefully, fully aware that the cats watched every movement, every gesture.
”How did those cats manage to kill this many Eyriens without anyone sounding an alarm?” Falonar asked quietly when they had checked half the houses on their side of the village. It was obvious that a number of the men hadn’t suspected a thing before the attack.
”When an Arcerian is hunting, you don’t usually know he’s there until he kills you,” Lucivar replied absently as he quickly checked through another house. There was evidence of at least minimal fighting in all the houses, but that had been Glacian against Eyrien. ”That makes them very efficient.”
When they reached the living quarters in the Sanctuary, they both stared at the young Priestess-or what was left of her.
”Hell’s fire,” Falonar said, disgust filling his voice as he backed away from the door. ”Well, I guess gang rape is a kind of slow execution. But why keep just this one? And why beat her to death when they’d probably already done enough to kill her?”
”Because the other women fought, while this one expected a different kind of reward,” Lucivar replied. When Falonar stared at him with horror-filled eyes, he laughed, a low, nasty sound. ”You spent enough time in the Terreillean courts to know how to get dirty, Prince Falonar. Someone had to help that Green-Jeweled bastard go through the Gate to get back to Terreille-or at least keep the old Priestess from realizing the Gate was being used without her knowledge or consent. As for the beating … I guess when the bastard realized he was trapped in here, he needed to take it out on someone.”
”The cat didn’t kill him slow enough,” Falonar muttered, turning away from the room. ”Not nearly slow enough.”
I imagine the High Lord will know how to extract the final payment for the debt, Lucivar thought, but he didn’t tell Falonar that.
As they left the Sanctuary, Zaranar made a ”come here” gesture.
”Rothvar’s at the back door,” Zaranar said uneasily. ”I think you should handle this. All we’ve done is keep an eye on the doors,” he added quickly.
Before Lucivar could move, Kohlvar sent an urgent message. Prince, there’s a Glacian at the landing web who says he’s Lady Karla’s Master of the Guard. He’s got forty guards with him.
Tell him to stay put, Lucivar replied sharply as he and Falonar headed for the back of the house. I’ll talk to him in a few minutes.
Before he reached the back door, he could hear the nervous snarls coming from inside the house. Rothvar stepped aside. Lucivar started to go in, then stopped abruptly.
The Arcerian Warlord was almost full-grown, so there wasn’t much room in the small kitchen for a cat his size to pace. On the table was an odd assortment of food. On the floor was a goat, neatly killed.
When Lucivar took a step toward the goat, the cat pounced on it and snarled.
Mine, the cat said.
”All right,” Lucivar replied mildly.
The cat seemed puzzled by his easy agreement. Payment for work.
Interesting, Lucivar thought. Was this a kindred testing of a human idea? ”Since you’re guarding this place instead of hunting, it’s fair that you be paid with meat.”
Relaxing a little, the cat looked at the table. So did Lucivar. There wasn’t anything on it he thought a cat would want to eat. ”Is that also payment for work?”
Human food. The cat made it sound more like a hopeful question.
”Yes, it is.”
A she-kitten would like this food?
Lucivar rubbed his chin. ”I don’t know.”
The cat growled, but the sound was filled with discouragement. We burned some meat for her, but she would not eat. He wrinkled his lips to indicate what he thought of ruining good meat by cooking it. I promised to bring human food.
A chill whispered down Lucivar’s spine. ”A child survived this place?”
Yes. The she-kitten. KaeAskavi’s friend. The cat studied him, then asked hesitantly, You will help?
Lucivar blinked away tears that would only confuse the cat. ”Yes, I will help.”
”Did we do the right thing?” Daemon asked as he and Lucivar air walked above the deep snow toward the place that was designated as an official landing web. They weren’t making that effort just to avoid floundering in waist-high snow; tracks might have shown an enemy where the Arcerian dens were located.
”What else could we do?” Lucivar replied wearily. ”The girl has lost her mother, her village, everyone she knew. KaeAskavi’s the only friend she has left. There are pockets of fighting going on throughout Glacia, so placing her in another village… There’s no guarantee she would survive the next time a place is attacked. Marian and I would take her to live with us, but …”
Daemon shook his head. ”You were right about that. She wouldn’t be able to handle being around Eyriens right now.” Which was why Lucivar had insisted that Daemon come with him to Arceria in the first place.
”And we can’t take her anywhere else,” Lucivar added grimly. ”Not until we know if this attack was part of Hobart’s attempt to regain control of Glacia or if it’s something more. You said the girl was physically all right.”
”She sprained an ankle, but the Arcerian Healers have the Craft to take care of injured limbs. Other than that, she was… unharmed.” He couldn’t say the word ”rape.” He would never forget the fear that had jolted through him when he had crawled into that den and seen Delia-fair-haired, blue-eyed, ten-year-old Delia. She didn’t look anything like Jaenelle, except in coloring, but that had been enough to cause the memories of what had happened in Chaillot thirteen years ago to come rushing back at him. His hands had trembled as he’d cautiously examined her for injuries, as he had used a delicate psychic probe to answer that particular question. His hands had also trembled because she had been gripping a stuffed toy cat in one hand and a fistful of KaeAskavi’s fur in the other-which meant the cat had been literally breathing down his neck. It was the way she had held on to KaeAskavi that had forced him to leave her there. She needed to feel safe in order to heal-and snuggling up to four hundred pounds of muscle and fur obviously made her feel very safe.
Lucivar rested a hand on Daemon’s shoulder. ”A few weeks among the Arcerians won’t hurt her. At least this way she can be ’mothered’ without feeling like she’s letting someone take her mother’s place.”
Daemon nodded. ”Are you going back to Ebon Rih?” He had been planning to go to the Keep since Jaenelle was on her way there with Karla and Morghann.
Lucivar shook his head. ”The High Lord asked me to report to him at the Hall. This side trip has delayed that report for a couple of days, so I’d better get my ass there before he decides to take a piece out of it.”
”Then I’ll go with you.”
When they reached the place where they could catch the Winds, Lucivar hesitated. ”How is Karla? I didn’t get to see her before they left for the Keep.”
Daemon stared at the unbroken snow. ”She’ll live. Jaenelle thinks she can heal the legs enough for Karla to walk again.”
”Jaenelle thinks she can?” Lucivar paled. ”Mother Night, Daemon, if Jaenelle isn’t sure, what was done-”
”Don’t ask,” Daemon said too sharply. He made an effort to soften his voice. ”Don’t ask. I… don’t want to talk about it.” But this was Lucivar who was asking, so he tried. ”There’s no antidote for witchblood. The poison had to be drawn into some part of the body in order to save the internal organs and then drawn out. It … killed a lot of the muscle, and that muscle had to be…” His gorge rose as he thought of the withered limbs that had been healthy legs.
”Let it go,” Lucivar said gently. ”Let it go.”
They both took a couple of unsteady breaths before Daemon said, ”The sooner we make our reports, the sooner we can go home.” For him, home wasn’t a place, it was a person-and right then, he needed to know that Jaenelle was safe.
”Kartane sent a report.” Dorothea carefully selected a piece of sugared fruit, took a bite, and chewed slowly just to make Hekatah wait.
”And?” Hekatah finally asked. ”Has the Gate in Glacia been secured for our use? Is the village ready for our handpicked immigrants?”
Dorothea selected another piece of fruit. This time she gave it a couple of delicate licks before answering. ”The villagers were eliminated. So were the Eyriens.”
”What? How?”
”The messenger who met with Kartane couldn’t find out what happened to the Eyriens, only that they had killed the villagers and had, in turn, been killed.” She paused. ”Lord Hobart’s dead as well.”
Hekatah stood perfectly still. ”And the bitch-Queen, Karla? Was that, at least, successful?”
Dorothea shrugged. ”She disappeared during the fighting. But since Ulka died rather… dramatically… one would assume she consumed the poison.”
”Then that’s the end of her,” Hekatah said with a little smile of satisfaction. ”Even if someone manages to figure out an antidote for the Hayllian poison in time, the witchblood will finish things.”
”Our plans for Glacia are also finished. Or hasn’t that occurred to you?”
Hekatah waved that away. ”Considering what we have achieved, that’s a minor inconvenience.”
Dorothea dropped the fruit back into the bowl. ”We’ve achieved nothing*.”
”You’re becoming inflexible, Dorothea,” Hekatah said with venomous sweetness. ”You’re starting to act as old as you look.”
Dorothea’s blood pounded in her temples, and she wanted-oh, how she wanted-to unleash just a little of the feelings that had been growing more virulent. She hated Hekatah, but she also needed the bitch. So she sat back and inflicted a wound that would hurt much deeper than any physical blow. ”At least I still have all my hair. That bald patch is starting to ooze, dearest.”
Hekatah automatically lifted a hand to cover the spot. With effort, she lowered it before it reached her head.
The impotent hatred in Hekatah’s dull gold eyes scared Dorothea a little but also produced a sense of vicious satisfaction.
”We can make do with sneaking through the other Gates,” Hekatah said. ”We have something better now.”
”And what is that?” Dorothea asked politely.
”The excuse we needed to start the war.” Hekatah’s smile was pure malevolence.
”I see,” Dorothea said, returning the smile.
”The immigrants we had picked to replace the villagers will go to Glacia-just as they would have if Hobart had given us that village as payment for our assistance. We’ll also add a few immigrants from other Terreillean Territories. The escorts will be males who don’t know where the original village was located. Only the Coach drivers will be told where to drop off the happy families-and that won’t be anywhere near a settled area, so there won’t be any chance of detection. The escorts will, of course, be dismayed to see no sign of a village waiting for inhabitants.” A dreamy look filled Hekatah’s eyes. ”The company of Eyrien warriors who will be waiting for them will take care of things. The slaughter will be … horrible. But there will be a couple of survivors who will manage to escape. They’ll live long enough to get back to Little Terreille and tell a few people about how Terreilleans are being butchered in Kaeleer. And they’ll live long enough to say that two men had been giving the orders-a Hayllian and an Eyrien.”
”No one in Terreille will think it’s anyone but Sadi and Yaslana,” Dorothea said gleefully. ”They’ll think the High Lord ordered the attack and sent his sons to oversee it.”
”Exactly.”
”Which will prove that all my warnings were justified. And once people start wondering why there has been no word from friends or loved ones…” Dorothea sank back in her chair with a sigh of pleasure. Then she straightened up reluctantly. ”We still have to find a way to contain Jaenelle Angelline.”
”Oh, with the proper incentive, she’ll willingly place herself in our hands.”
Dorothea snorted. ”What kind of incentive would make her do that?”
”Using someone she loves as bait.”
Chilled to the bone, Saetan listened to Lucivar’s and Daemon’s reports. He would have liked to believe Lord Hobart had hired a company of Eyriens to help him seize control of Glacia, would have liked to believe Morton’s death and the attack on Karla were strictly a Glacian concern. But he’d had other reports in the past twenty-four hours. Two District Queens in Dharo had been killed, along with their escorts. A mob of landens had attacked a kindred wolf pack that had recently formed around a young Queen. While the males were dealing with that threat, some Blood had outflanked them, killed the Queen, and vanished, leaving the landens behind to be slaughtered by the enraged males. In Scelt, a Warlord Prince, a youth still not quite old enough to make the Offering to the Darkness, had been found behind the tavern in his home village. His throat had been slit.
Even more troubling, Kalush had been attacked while walking through a park in Tajrana, her own capital city. The only reason neither she nor her infant daughter had been harmed was because her attackers couldn’t break through the protective shield around her-the Ebony shield that was in the ring Jaenelle had given her-and because Aaron, alerted by the link through the Ring of Honor he wore, had arrived riding the killing edge and had destroyed the attackers with a savagery that bordered on insanity.
It didn’t take any effort to see the pattern, especially since he recognized it. Fifty thousand years slipped away as if they had never existed. It might have been Andulvar and Mephis sitting there, voicing their concerns about swift, seemingly random attacks to a man who had insisted that, as a Guardian, he could no longer interfere with the affairs of the living. He was still a Guardian, but he was too entangled in the affairs of the living to obey the rules Guardians abided by.
They were going to war.
He wondered if Daemon and Lucivar realized it yet.
And he wondered how many loved ones he would have to assist through the transition to becoming demon-dead this time-and how many would disappear without a trace. Like Andulvar’s son, Ravenar. Like his own son, his second son, Peyton.
”Father?” Daemon said quietly.
He realized they were both watching him intently, but it was Daemon he focused on. The son who was a mirror, who was his true heir. The son he understood the best- and the least.
Before he could start to tell them about the other attacks, Beale knocked on the study door and walked in.
”Forgive the intrusion, High Lord,” Beale said, ”but there’s a Warlord here to see you. He has a letter.”
”Then take the letter. I don’t want to be disturbed at the moment.”
”I suggested that, High Lord. He said he needs to deliver it in person.”
Saetan waited a moment. ”Very well.”
Lucivar sprang out of his chair and positioned himself so that he would flank anyone standing near the desk. Daemon rose and resettled himself on a corner of the desk.
The intense warrior and the indolent male. Saetan imagined they had played these roles before-and played them well. With Lucivar’s temper so close to the surface, the attention would be on him-but the death blow would come from Daemon.
The Warlord who entered the study was pale, nervous, and sweating. He paled even more when he saw Lucivar and Daemon.
Saetan walked around the desk. ”You have a letter for me?”
The Warlord swallowed hard. ”Yes, sir.” He extended an envelope, the ink a little smeared from his hands.
Saetan probed the envelope. Found nothing. No trace of a spell. No trace of poison. He took it and looked at the Warlord.
”I found that in the guest room desk this morning,” the man said hurriedly. ”I didn’t know it was there.”
Saetan looked at the envelope. There was nothing on it except his name. ”So you found it this morning. Is that significant?”
”I hope not. I mean-” The man took a deep breath, made an effort to steady himself. ”Lord Magstrom is- was-my wife’s grandfather. He came to visit us last fall, just before… Well, before. He seemed disturbed about something, but we weren’t paying much attention. My wife… We had just found out for sure that she was pregnant. She’d had a miscarriage the year before, and we were concerned that it might happen again. The Healer says she has to be careful.”
Why was the man pleading with him? ”Is your wife well?”
”Yes, thank you, she is, but she’s had to be careful. Grandfather Magstrom didn’t mention the letter. At least, I don’t remember him mentioning it, and then, after he… was killed…” The man’s hands trembled. ”I hope it wasn’t something urgent. As soon as I found it, I knew I had to come right away. I hope it wasn’t urgent.”
”I’m sure it’s not,” Saetan replied gently. ”I expect it’s just the usual information Lord Magstrom sent me after a service fair-a confirmation more than anything else.”
The man’s relief was visible.
Saetan glanced at the Warlord’s Yellow Jewel. ”May I offer you the use of a Coach to take you home?”
”Oh, I don’t want to put you through any bother.”
”It’s no bother-and with a driver who can ride the darker Winds, you’ll be home in time to have dinner with your Lady.”
The Warlord hesitated a moment longer. ”Thank you. I-don’t like to be away from her too long.” He looked a little sheepish. ”She says I fuss.”
Saetan smiled. ”You’re going to become a father. You’re entitled to fuss.” He led the man out of the study, gave Beale instructions about the Coach, and returned to Daemon and Lucivar. Using the letter opener on his desk, he carefully slit the envelope. He called in his half-moon glasses, opened the letter, and began to read.
”You got reports from Magstrom about the service fair?” Lucivar asked, accepting the glass of brandy Daemon poured for him.
”No.” And the more he read, the less he liked receiving this one. As he read the letter a second time, he barely listened to Daemon’s and Lucivar’s conversation-until Daemon said something that caught his attention. ”What did you say?”
”I said Lord Magstrom had indicated that he was going to send letters to some of the Queens outside of Little Terreille,” Daemon repeated, swirling the brandy in his glass. ”But after Jorval took over handling my immigration, I was told that the Queens outside of Little Terreille wouldn’t consider a Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince.”
Lucivar snorted. ”Jorval probably arranged for the letters not to be sent. Hell’s fire, Daemon, you’ve met the other Territory Queens. They’re the coven. If a letter had reached any one of them, she would have had her Steward at the service fair to sign the contract as fast as he could travel.”
”Read this,” Saetan said, handing the letter to Daemon.
”I don’t understand,” Daemon said when he’d read half the letter. ”Aren’t the lists supposed to indicate every immigrant at the service fair?”
”Yes, they are,” Lucivar said grimly, reading over Daemon’s shoulder. ”And you weren’t on any of them.” He looked at Saetan. ”I did mention that at the time.”
”Yes, you did,” Saetan replied, ”but, since Daemon did end up in the Dark Court, I failed to appreciate the significance of that remark.”
Daemon handed the letter back to Saetan. ”There must have been a list somewhere. Otherwise, how would the Queens in Little Terreille have known I was available?”
Saetan kept his voice mild. ”What Queens were those?”
”There were four Queens in Little Terreille who were willing to have me,” Daemon said slowly. ”Jorval insisted they were the only ones.”
”So, if you hadn’t met Lucivar by chance…”
Daemon froze. ”I would have signed a contract with one of them.”
Swearing quietly, Lucivar started to pace.
Saetan just nodded. ”You would have signed a contract with one of Jorval’s handpicked Queens, and you would have ended up tucked away somewhere in Little Terreille- with no one else aware that you were there.”
”What would have been the point of that?” Daemon said irritably.
”In Little Terreille they use the Ring of Obedience on immigrating males,” Lucivar snapped. ”That’s the point. It would have been Terreille all over again.”
”Not necessarily,” Saetan said, still keeping his voice mild. ”If Daemon was well treated, was handled with care-which I’m sure was part of the agreement-he would have had no reason not to use the strength of his Jewels against an enemy who was threatening the Queen he served. And after the first unleashing of the Black, there would have been no turning back. The lines would have been drawn.”
Daemon stared at him.
”What does it matter?” Lucivar said, looking at the two of them uneasily. ”Daemon’s with us.”
”Yes,” Saetan said softly, ”he is. But where are the other men whose names disappeared from those lists?”
The golden spider studied the two tangled webs of dreams and visions.
More deaths. Many deaths.
It was time.
Remember this web. Remember every strand, every thread.
Throughout the cold season, she had been pulled away from her own dreaming, compelled to study the web that had shaped this living myth, the Queen who was Witch. And she had realized it would not be enough, because living inside the flesh had changed this dream. It was more now. And, somehow, she needed to add that ”more” to the web. Without it, Kaeleer’s Heart would be gone for too many seasons-and would not be quite the same when the dream returned.
She continued to study the webs.
The brown dog, Ladvarian, was the key. He would be able to bring her the ”more” she needed.
Yes. It was time.
She returned to the chamber within the sacred caves, and began to weave the web for dreams that were already made flesh.