need a favor,” Jaenelle said as she moved stiffly to her worktable and picked up two small glass jars.
”You have only to ask,” Titian replied. She’s been channeling too much power without giving her body time to recover. What is she planning that demands so much?
”A discreet favor.”
”Understood.”
”I need blood from two people who have been tainted by Dorothea or Hekatah. Preferably one of each.”
Titian thought for a very brief moment. ”Lord Jorval lives in the capital of Little Terreille, does he not?”
Jaenelle swallowed. Even that seemed to take effort. ”Yes, Jorval is in Goth. And so, at the moment, is Kartane SaDiablo.”
”Ah.” Looking at the exhausted woman, Titian remembered the child Jaenelle had been. And she remembered other things. ”Will it matter if neither of them sees the next sunrise?”
A deadly cold filled Jaenelle’s sapphire eyes. ”No.”
Titian smiled. ”In that case, with your permission, I’ll take Surreal with me. It’s time to pay some debts.”
In the enormous chamber where the Dark Throne resided, Ladvarian trembled as he looked at Lorn. It wasn’t that he was afraid of Lorn-at least, not usually. It was just that Lorn was the Prince of the Dragons, the legendary race who had created the Blood. Lorn was very, very old, and very wise, and very big. Ladvarian was smaller than one of Lorn’s midnight eyes. Just then, that made him feel very small.
And then there was Draca, the Keep’s Seneschal, who had been Lorn’s mate and the Dragon Queen before she had sacrificed her true form in order to give other creatures the Craft.
Sacrifices. No, he would not think about sacrifices. There was not going to be a sacrifice. The kindred would not allow it.
But being summoned here by Lorn and Draca when the Arachnian Queen was so close to finishing that special web of dreams … It frightened him. If they forbade the kindred from doing this… The kindred would do it anyway, whatever the cost.
Little Brother, Lorn said in his deep, quiet, thundering voice.
Prince Lorn. Ladvarian was trembling enough for them to see it.
I have a gift for you, little Brother. Give thiss to the Weaver of Dreamss.
A flat, beautifully carved box appeared in the air before Ladvarian. When it opened, he saw a simply designed pendant made of white and yellow gold and an equally simple ring. But it was the Jewel in those pieces that made his hackles rise and his ears flatten tight to his head.
It had no color, and yet it wasn’t colorless. Restless, it shimmered, hungry to complete its transformation. It tugged at him, seeking a bond with his mind.
He took a step back. As he looked up at Lorn, angry and confused enough to issue a challenge that would have been foolish as well as futile, he realized Lorn’s scales had that same translucent shimmer. Knowledge crashed in on him. He took another step back and whined.
Do not fear, little Brother. It iss a gift. The Weaver will need it for her web.
Gathering his courage, Ladvarian approached the box. I have never seen a Jewel like this.
And you never will again, Lorn replied gently. There will never be another one like it.
Still cautious, Ladvarian said, It has no rank. It does not know what it is.
It doess not yet know what it iss, Lorn agreed. But it doess have a name: Twilight’ss Dawn.
When Ladvarian was on his way back to Arachna with the box, Draca and Lorn stared at each other.
”You rissk much giving him a Jewel like that,” Draca said.
There iss reasson to rissk much, Lorn replied. Witch hass almosst completed her web?
”Yess.” For the first time since she had met Jaenelle, she felt the weight of her years.
We cannot heal the taint, Draca, Lorn said softly. Sshe can.
”I know. When I gave the gift of magic, I gave it freely, knowing I could never alter what wass done with it.” Draca hesitated. ”If sshe doess thiss, sshe will be desstroyed.”
Sshe iss Kaeleer’ss Heart. Sshe musst not be desstroyed. Lorn paused and added softly, The kindred have alwayss been sstrong dreamerss.
”Will they be sstrong enough?”
The question neither could answer hung between them.
A stealthy movement and the sudden glow of a small ball of witchlight woke Jorval from an uneasy sleep. ”Priestess?”
A hand grabbed his hair, yanked his head up. ”No,” said the silver-haired woman as her knife cut his throat. ”I am vengeance.”
”Enough,” Daemon said, leading Jaenelle into her sitting room. ”You need to rest.”
”The web’s almost complete. I need to-”
”Rest. If you make an error because you’re too exhausted to think clearly, this will all be for nothing.” Making a weak attempt to snarl, she collapsed into a chair.
Daemon wanted to rage at her but knew it wouldn’t do any good. She had dropped weight she couldn’t afford to lose at a frightening speed. Putting obstacles in her path would only force her to waste energy she couldn’t spare, so he took the other path.
”You told me a few minutes ago that you still needed a couple of things to complete the web.”
”Those things will take time,” she protested.
He bent down and kissed her softly, persuasively. When he felt her yield, he murmured against her lips, ”We’ll have a quiet dinner. Then we’ll play a couple of hands of ’cradle.’ I’ll even let you win.”
Her huff of laughter provoked another hunger. His kiss deepened as his hand caressed her breast.
”I think I am hungry,” Jaenelle said breathlessly when he finally gave her a chance to speak.
After they had thoroughly satisfied one hunger, they finally sat down to dinner.
Pain woke him.
Kartane opened his eyes. Two fading balls of witchlight provided enough light for him to clearly see that he was outside. Then he realized he was upside down. Someone had tied him upside down.
Something rustled the bushes nearby.
Turning his head a little, he stared at an odd pile of brown clothing, neatly folded.
Suddenly, his heart pounded. Suddenly, it was hard to breathe.
The surrounding shadows shifted just enough for him to see that the odd pile wasn’t clothing, it was brown skin.
As he drew in a breath to scream, glowing red eyes appeared in the darkness around him.
Even with her head under the water, Surreal heard Kartane scream.
She popped up out of the water, then immediately lowered herself to her neck. The pool, fed by a hot spring, was delightfully warm, but the air was cool enough to bite.
She heard snarls, a howl, a terrified shriek.
The air wasn’t the only thing around there that had a bite.
”So this is Hell,” she said, looking around. It was too dark to see much, but the area around the pool had a kind of stark beauty.
”This is Hell,” Titian replied, a blissful smile on her face. She straightened up and gave Surreal a searching look. ”Has the debt been paid to your satisfaction, Surreal?”
The snarls and shrieks stopped for a moment, then started again.
”Yes,” Surreal said, leaning back with a sigh, ”I’m satisfied.”
”Sometimes the heart reveals more than panes of glass can.”
Saetan turned away from the window, tensed, took a step forward, stopped. ”Tersa, why are you at the Keep?”
Smiling, Tersa walked across the room and held out a thick envelope. ”I came to give you this.”
Even before he took the envelope, he knew who it was from. Sylvia always added a drop of lavender oil to her wax seal.
Laying one hand on his shoulder, Tersa kissed him on the lips-a lingering kiss that surprised him. Worried him.
She stepped back. ”That was the other part of the message.” She was almost at the door before he gathered his wits.
”Tersa, this can’t be the only reason you traveled to the Keep.”
”No?” she said, looking puzzled. Then, ”No, it wasn’t.”
He waited. She said nothing.
”Darling,” he prodded gently, ”why are you here?”
Her eyes cleared, and he felt certain that, for the first time in all the centuries he had known her, he was seeing a glimpse of Tersa as she had been before she was broken. She was formidable-and a bit dazzling.
”I’m needed here,” she said quietly, then walked out of the room.
He stood there for several minutes, staring at the envelope in his hands. ”Show some balls, SaDiablo,” he finally muttered as he carefully opened the envelope. ”No matter what the letter says, it isn’t the end of the world.”
It was a long letter. He read it twice before he tucked it away.
He hadn’t been able to give Sylvia more than words, but apparently, thankfully, that had been enough.
Dorothea prowled around the room. ”Armies are gathering all over Terreille, the Territories in the Shadow Realm have been attacked for weeks now by the people we had hidden in Little Terreille, and Kaeleer still hasn’t formally declared war.”
”That’s because Jaenelle Angelline doesn’t have the backbone to go along with her power,” Hekatah said as she carefully arranged her full-length cape. ”She’s just a mouse scurrying around in her hidey-hole while the cats gather for the feast.”
”Even a mouse will bite,” Dorothea snapped.
”This mouse won’t bite,” Hekatah replied calmly. ”She’s too emotionally squeamish to take the step that would begin a full-scale slaughter.”
Dorothea wasn’t as sure of that as Hekatah seemed to be, but Jaenelle’s sparing Alexandra’s life after the abduction failed certainly seemed to indicate a lack of the proper temperament. She certainly wouldn’t have spared the bitch. That lack in Jaenelle was in their favor, but… ”You seem to be forgetting that the High Lord has fangs and isn’t the least bit squeamish about using them.”
”I forget nothing where Saetan is concerned,” Hekatah snarled. ”His honor hobbles him, just as it always has, and his own emotional failings will muzzle him. With the right persuasion, he’ll tuck his tail between his legs and submit to whatever we require of him.”
She hoped that rotting sack of bones was right. They had to eliminate Saetan, Lucivar, and Daemon. When those three were gone, the Terreillean armies would be able to destroy the Kaeleer Queens and Warlord Princes. Entire armies would be slaughtered in the process, but they would win the war. And then she would rule the Realms-after
she hurried the Dark Priestess to a well-deserved, and permanent, rest.
Pleased by that thought, Dorothea stopped prowling long enough to notice that Hekatah was preparing to go out. ”Where are you going?”
Hekatah smiled malevolently. ”To Kaeleer. It’s time to collect the first part of the bait that will give us control of Jaenelle Angelline.”
Finally admitted to Jaenelle’s sitting room, Andulvar studied her and thought of several things he’d like to do to Daemon Sadi. Damn it, the man was her Consort and should have been taking care of her. She was far too thin, and the skin under her eyes was faintly bruised from exhaustion. And there was a queer, almost desperate glitter in her eyes.
”Prince Yaslana,” Jaenelle said quietly.
So. It was going to be formal.
”Lady,” Andulvar replied stiffly. ”Since I’m obviously not here as your uncle, am I here as your Master of the Guard?” When she flinched, he regretted the harshness of his words. She didn’t look like she could endure too many more emotional blows.
”I-There’s something I need to tell you. And I need your help.”
He did his best to soften his tone. ”Because I’m your Master of the Guard?”
She shook her head. ”Because you’re the Demon Prince. After Saetan, you have the most authority in Hell. The demon-dead will listen to you-and follow you.”
He went to her and hugged her gently, afraid that if he held on to her the way he wanted to she would shatter. ”What is it, waif?”
She eased back just enough to look him in the eyes. ”I’ve found a way to get rid of Dorothea and Hekatah and the taint they’ve left in the Blood. But the rest of the Blood will be at risk unless the demon-dead are willing to help me.”
Thirty minutes later, Andulvar closed the sitting room door, took a couple of steps, then sagged against the wall.
Mother Night.
He didn’t doubt the plan would work. Jaenelle wouldn’t have said she could do it if she had any doubts. But… Mother Night.
He had fought in the last war between Terreille and Kaeleer. That war had devastated both Realms, and millions had died. And it had made no difference. They were standing on the edge of that same cliff, fighting against a greed and ambition that would simply go to ground again if it wasn’t finally, completely eliminated.
Like Mephis and Prothvar, he had known it would be futile to fight another war in the same way. Like them, he had looked around the table when the First Circle argued for a formal declaration of war and had wondered how many would still be among the living when it was over.
Jaenelle hadn’t wondered. She had known none of them would survive. Hell’s fire, no wonder she had been doing anything she could to keep them in the one place where they would be safe.
And now she had a plan that… Mother Night.
Even after she had told him, there was something about it that hadn’t felt quite right-as if she had glossed over something. Saetan would have known what it was, but Saetan…
She was right about that. The coven and the boyos would need Saetan’s wisdom and experience to mend the wounds already inflicted on Kaeleer. So he couldn’t tell his friend what Jaenelle intended to do, couldn’t take the chance that Saetan might choose to throw his strength in with the rest of them instead of staying behind. He couldn’t do that because, after everything was over, the High Lord would be needed by the living.
Ladvarian waited in the shadows until he was sure Andulvar was really gone. Then he slipped into Jaenelle’s sitting room.
She was staring out the window. He wanted to tell her it would be all right, even though he wasn’t sure it would be. Yes, he was. It would be all right. The kindred would not doubt. The kindred would be strong. But he couldn’t tell her that because this was a time for fangs and claws. This was a time for killing. And they weren’t sure she would be able to kill if they told her what was going to happen afterward.
But there was something else he had to tell her.
Jaenelle?
There was as much sadness as pleasure in her eyes when she turned and saw him. ”What is it, little Brother?”
I have a message for you-from the Weaver of Dreams.
She went absolutely still, and he was afraid Witch might look right into him and see what he wanted to hide.
”What is the message?”
She said the triangle must stay together in order to survive. The mirror can keep the others safe, but only if they’re together. He hesitated when she just stared at him. Who is the mirror?
”Daemon,” she replied absently. ”He’s his father’s mirror.”
She seemed lost for a moment, long enough to make him nervous. Do you understand the message?
”No,” she said, looking very pale. ”But I’m sure I will.”
Luthvian heard her bedroom door open, but she continued stuffing clothes into a travel bag and didn’t turn around. Damn Eyrien pup, coming up to her room without permission. And damn Lucivar for insisting that she come to the Keep and insisting that she have an escort. She didn’t need an escort-especially not Palanar, who was barely old enough to wipe his own nose.
As she started to turn around to tell him just that, a caped figure rushed at her. Instantly, instinctively, she threw up a Red shield. A blast of Red power struck her at the same moment, preventing the shield from forming, and the figure was on her. They tumbled to the floor.
Luthvian didn’t realize she’d been knifed until the enemy yanked the blade out of her body.
Being a Healer, she knew it was bad-a killing wound.
Furious, knowing she didn’t have long, she ripped the hood off her enemy and then stared for a moment, frozen. ”You.”
Hekatah rammed the knife into Luthvian’s belly. ”Bitch,” she hissed. ”I could have made something of you. Now I’ll just turn you into carrion.”
Luthvian tried to fight, tried to scratch and claw, but her arms felt too heavy to lift. She couldn’t do anything even when Hekatah’s teeth sank into her throat and her blood fed the vile bitch.
Nothing to be done for the body, but the Self…
Gathering her strength and her rage, she channeled it into her inner barriers.
Hekatah pounded against them as she fed, pounded and pounded, trying to blast them open to finish the kill. But Luthvian hung on, letting rage form the bridge between life and death as she poured her strength into her inner barriers. Poured and poured until there was nothing left. Nothing.
At some point, the pounding stopped, and Luthvian felt a grim satisfaction that the bitch hadn’t been able to break through.
Far, far away, she felt Hekatah roll off her. Somewhere in the vague, misty distance she saw sharp nails descending toward her face.
The hand stopped before the nails touched her eyes.
”No,” Hekatah said. ”If you manage to make the transition to demon-dead, I want you to see what I do to your boy.”
Movement. The bedroom door closed. Silence.
Luthvian felt herself fading. With effort, she flexed her fingers-just a little.
Her rage had burned through the transition without her being aware of it, without Hekatah being able to sense it. She was demon-dead, but she didn’t have the strength to hold on. Her Self would soon become a whisper in the Darkness. Perhaps, someday, when it had rested and regained some strength, the Self would leave the Darkness and return to the living Realms. Perhaps.
How many times had Lucivar told her to set up warning shields around the house? And every time he’d tried, she had dismissed it with a sneer. But she’d been secretly pleased that he had tried.
It had been a test, but she had been the only one who had known that. Every time he had mentioned the shields again after she had dismissed the idea, every time he had endured her sharp tongue while he helped her in some way had been a test to prove that he cared about her.
Oh, there were times when, seeing the tightness in his face and the coolness in his eyes, she had told herself it would be the last time, the last test. The next time he mentioned the shields, she would do what he wanted so that he would know she cared about him, too.
Then the next time would come and she would want, would need, just one more test. One more. And one more. Always one more.
Now there would be no more tests, but her son, her fine Eyrien Warlord Prince, would never know she had loved him.
All she would have needed was an hour as one of the demon-dead. An hour to tell him. She couldn’t even leave him a message. Nothing.
No. Wait. Maybe she could say the most important thing, the thing that had been chewing at her ever since Surreal had lashed out at her.
She gathered everything that was left of her strength, shaped it into a bubble to hold one thought, then pushed it upward, upward, upward until it rested just outside her inner barriers.
Lucivar would find it. She knew he would.
No anchor. Nothing to hold on to. Filled with regrets tempered by one bubble of acknowledged love, she faded away and returned to the Darkness.
Palanar knocked reluctantly on the kitchen door. He supposed being asked to escort Lady Luthvian to the Keep was an honor, but she had made it very clear that she didn’t like Eyrien males. So he wasn’t really sure if this was Hallevar’s way of showing confidence in him or a subtle punishment for something he’d done.
He opened the door and cautiously poked his head into the kitchen. ”Lady Luthvian?”
She was there, standing near the table, staring at him. Then she smiled and said, ”No balls, little warrior?”
Stung, he stepped into the kitchen. ”Are you ready?” he asked, striving to put the same arrogance into his voice that Falonar or Lucivar would have had.
She looked at the traveling bag next to her, then at him.
Since when did Luthvian expect a male to carry anything? The last time he’d tried, she’d almost dented his head. Hallevar had been right when he’d said, ”Best resign yourself to the fact that a female can change her mind faster than you can fart.”
He took a couple of steps toward her, then stopped again.
”What’s wrong?” she asked suspiciously.
She stank. That’s what was wrong. Really stank. But he wasn’t about to say that. Then he noticed she looked a little… strange.
”What’s wrong?” she asked again, taking a step toward him.
He took two steps back.
Her face shifted, wavered. For a moment, he thought he saw someone else. Someone he didn’t know-and didn’t want to know.
And he remembered something else Hallevar had told him: sometimes running was the smartest thing an inexperienced warrior could do.
He ran for the door.
He didn’t reach it. Power blasted through his inner barriers. Needles stabbed into his mind, grew hooks and dug deeper, tore out little bits of his Self. His body vibrated from the fierce tug-of-war as he tried to get out the door while she drew him back into the room.
Helpless, he felt himself turn around-and saw the witch who held him captive. He screamed.
”You will go exactly where I tell you to go,” she said. ”Say exactly what I tell you to say.”
”N-n-no.”
Gold eyes glittered in her decayed face, and pain seared him.
”It’s a small task, puppy. And when it’s done, I’ll set you free.”
She held out a small crystal. It floated through the air. His left hand reached out and took it.
She told him exactly where to go, exactly what to say, exactly what to do with the spell in the crystal. Then he was turned around again, like a marionette with knotted strings. He walked out the door.
A warrior would not do this, no matter the price. A warrior would not do this.
He tried to bring his right hand up to reach his knife. He could cut his throat, cut his wrists, do something to get away from her.
His hand closed on the hilt.
Dying won’t save you, little warrior, the witch said. I am the Dark Priestess. You can’t escape me that way.
His hand dropped to his side, empty.
Now go!
Palanar spread his wings and flew as fast as he could to do what a warrior would not do.
It wasn’t the wind in his face that made him weep.
Lucivar landed at his eyrie, and shouted, ”Marian!” Where in the name of Hell was the woman? he thought as he strode toward the door. She should have arrived at the Keep hours ago.
He walked through the door, saw the neat pile of traveling bags. His heart stopped for a moment. By the time he felt it beat again, he had risen to the killing edge. ”Marian!”
The eyrie was a big place, but it didn’t take him long to give it a thorough search. Marian and Daemonar weren’t there. But she had packed, so what had prevented her from leaving? Maybe Daemonar was ill? Had she taken him over to Nurian’s eyrie to have the Healer look at him?
As the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih, his eyrie was set a little apart from the other eyries nestled in the mountain, but it was only a couple of minutes before he landed in front of Nurian’s home. Before his feet touched the ground, he knew they weren’t there.
”Lucivar!”
Lucivar turned as Hallevar hurried up to him. He noticed Falonar and Kohlvar as they walked out of the communal eyrie that was as close as Eyriens came to having inns and taverns. Both men, hearing the agitation in Hallevar’s voice, moved toward him.
”Have you seen that pup, Palanar?” Hallevar asked.
Before Lucivar could respond, Falonar jumped in. ”Didn’t you send him to escort Lady Luthvian to the Keep?”
”I did,” Hallevar said grimly. ”And told him to get his ass right back here.” He looked at Lucivar. ”I wondered if he might be dawdling at the Keep to dodge some chores.”
”Palanar didn’t arrive at the Keep. Neither did Luthvian. Neither did Marian and Daemonar,” Lucivar added too quietly.
The other men stiffened.
”I sent him first thing this morning,” Hallevar said.
”Any sign of trouble at your eyrie?” Falonar asked sharply.
”No,” Lucivar said. ”The bags were packed and set near the door.” He swore softly, viciously. ”Where in the name of Hell did she go?”
”She went to Lady Luthvian’s,” said a young female voice.
They all turned and stared at Jillian, Nurian’s young sister.
She hunched her shoulders and looked ready to bolt back into the eyrie.
Hallevar pointed a finger at the ground a few feet away from him. ”Here, little warrior,” he said sternly.
Scared now, Jillian crept to the spot, glanced at the large warriors surrounding her, then stared at her feet.
”Make your report,” Hallevar said in that tone that, although encouraging, had made every young male who had trained under him snap to attention.
It had the same effect on Jillian. She stood upright and focused on Hallevar. ”I was doing my stamina run this morning.” She waited until she got Hallevar’s approving nod. ”And I thought I would take the path to Prince Yaslana’s eyrie because I thought, well, maybe Lady Marian would want a little help with Daemonar, that I could look after him for a bit so she could get some of her chores done. It wasn’t like I was shirking the rest of my workout or anything, ’cause looking after Daemonar is work.”
Despite being worried, Lucivar’s lips twitched as he fought not to smile.
”I was almost there when I saw Marian standing at the door talking to Palanar. He looked… sick. He was sweating hard, and … I don’t know. I’ve never seen anyone look like that. And then Marian jerked like someone had hit her, but Palanar didn’t touch her. He said, ’Bring the boy.’ She went inside and came back out with Daemonar.
Daemonar took one look at Palanar and started howling. You know, that sound Daemonar makes when he doesn’t like something?”
Lucivar nodded. He felt a cold sweat forming on his skin.
”Palanar grabbed one of Marian’s arms. He kept saying, ’I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’”
”Did he see you?” Lucivar asked too quietly.
Jillian shook her head. ”But Marian did. She looked right at me, and her face had the same sick look that Palanar’s did, and she said, ’Luthvian’s.’ Then they left.” Having finished her report, her confidence faded as she looked up at the grim-faced men.
”You didn’t report this to anyone?” Lucivar asked.
Pale now, Jillian shook her head again. ”I-Nurian wasn’t home when I got back, and … I didn’t know I was supposed to report,” she finished in a barely audible voice.
And would have been reluctant to go to one of the warriors and be casually dismissed because she was female. A few months of living in Kaeleer weren’t enough to overcome survival tactics that had been learned from the time she had gotten out of the cradle.
”When a warrior sees something strange, he-or she-should report to-her-superiors,” Hallevar said in a firm but gentle voice. ”That’s one of the ways a young warrior gains experience.”
”Yes, sir,” Jillian whispered.
”That was a fine first report, Jillian,” Lucivar said. ”Now go back to your chores.”
Jillian’s shoulders went back. Her eyes shown with pleasure. ”Yes, sir.”
None of them spoke until the girl had gone back inside.
”Sounds like a compulsion spell,” Falonar said quietly.
”Yes,” Lucivar replied grimly, ”it does. Falonar, keep an eye on things here.”
”You’re going to Luthvian’s?” Hallevar asked quickly as Lucivar stepped away from them. ”Then I’m going with you.”
”No, you’re not,” Falonar said. ”Kohlvar, you bring everyone up close to the eyries. Hallevar, you have the most influence with the youngsters. Keep a tight leash on them.”
”And where will you be?” Lucivar asked too softly.
Falonar squared off to face him. ”I’m going with you.”
They found Palanar on the ground outside the kitchen door.
”I’ll look after him,” Falonar said. ”You go on.”
Calling in his Eyrien war blade, Lucivar kicked open the kitchen door and lunged into the room. The stink inside gagged him, reminded him too strongly of carrion.
That thought catapulted him through the other downstairs rooms. Finding them empty, he surged up the stairs. He kicked the bedroom door open-and saw Luthvian. He probed the room swiftly to make sure no one was waiting for the moment when he dropped his guard, then he knelt beside the body.
At first he thought she was still alive. The wounds he could see were bad, but there would have been more blood if she had bled out. When he brushed her hair away from her neck, he saw why there wasn’t a lot of blood.
He rested a hand on her head. All right. The body was dead, but she was strong enough to make the transition to demon-dead. If there was any sign that she was still there, fresh blood would strengthen her.
He probed cautiously so that he wouldn’t punch through her inner barriers and inadvertently finish the kill.
Just outside her inner barriers was an odd little bubble of power. He paused, considered. The bubble had a feeling of emotional warmth that made him suspect. It wasn’t the sort of feelings he associated with Luthvian. But there was nothing he could detect that made him believe he would be in danger, so he brushed a psychic tendril against it, lightly.
Lucivar… I was wrong about Marian. You chose well. I wish you both happy.
Tears stung his eyes. He brushed against the inner barriers. They opened with no resistance. He searched for her, searched for the least little flicker of her spirit. Nothing.
Luthvian had returned to the Darkness.
One tear spilled over. ”Hell’s fire, Luthvian,” he said in a broken voice. ”Why did you have to wait until you were dead to tell me that? Why-”
”Lucivar!”
He shot to his feet, responding to the grief and anger in Falonar’s voice. He paused at the door, looked back. ”May the Darkness embrace you, Mother.”
Falonar was waiting for him in the kitchen.
”Palanar?” Lucivar asked.
Falonar shook his head. He didn’t need to ask about Luthvian. ”I saw that.” He pointed to a folded sheet of paper on the table.
Lucivar stared at the paper that had his name on it. He didn’t recognize the handwriting and felt an instinctive revulsion against touching it. Using Craft, he unfolded the paper, read it, and stormed out the door.
”Lucivar!” Falonar shouted, running after him. ”Where are you going?”
”Get back to the eyries,” Lucivar said as he strapped the fighting gauntlets over his forearms. ”You’re in charge now, Prince Falonar.”
”Where are you going?”
Lucivar rose to the killing edge, felt the sweet, cold rage wash through him. ”I’m going to get my wife and son away from those bitches.”
The attack started the moment Falonar returned to the eyries. His Sapphire shield snapped up around him a second before an arrow would have gone through his back. He called in his longbow, nocked an arrow, added a bit of Sapphire power to the head, and let it fly.
He took a moment to probe the area and assess the enemy. Then he swore viciously. There was a full company of Eyrien warriors out there. None of them wore a Jewel darker than the Green, so his Sapphire Jewels would balance the odds a little, but his own warriors were far outnumbered. Every man would go down fighting, but that wasn’t going to save the women and children.
”The communal eyrie!” Hallevar shouted as he herded women and children in that direction. ”Move! Move!”
Smart move, Falonar thought approvingly as he let another arrow fly. It was big enough to hold all of them and give his warriors one concentrated battleground instead of scattered ones.
His shield deflected a dozen more arrows. Having risen to the killing edge, he embraced the cold rage and fought with a mind cleansed of emotions. His arrows found their targets.
Someone screamed. Looking to his left, he saw Nurian struggling with an Eyrien Warlord. He started to turn, but before he could draw his bow, another warrior rushed at him with a bladed stick. Vanishing the bow and arrow, he called in his own bladed stick and met the attack. As he danced back and looked for an opening, Nurian screamed again.
Screw honor. This was war. When his adversary came at him again, he met the blow with a dirty, nasty maneuver he’d recently learned from Lucivar that dispatched the enemy with a vengeance.
Even as he turned, expecting to be too late to save the Healer, he heard Jillian shout, ”Down, Nurian!”
Hearing Jillian changed Nurian from helpless woman to apprentice warrior. She kicked viciously at the Warlord’s groin at the same time she threw herself backward. The kick didn’t land solidly, but it was enough to startle the man into letting go of her, and the unexpected move threw him off-balance. As he tried to right himself, an arrow whizzed through the air and buried itself in his chest.
Jillian was already nocking another arrow and taking aim while Nurian scrambled to her feet and ran, hunched over to stay out of the line of fire.
He threw a Sapphire shield in front of Jillian just in time to stop the arrows that would have gone right through her. ”Retreat!” he shouted, ready to foam at the mouth when Jillian calmly sent another arrow flying. ”Damn you, warrior, retreat!”
That startled her, but it was Nurian’s shout that made her run.
Ready to cover their retreat, Falonar glanced back-and swore every vicious curse he knew. Nurian was now standing braced to fight with nothing but an Eyrien stick. Not even a bladed stick. What in the name of Hell did the woman think she could do with that? Did she think a warrior was going to come at her barehanded? Fool. Idiot.
He backed toward her, always watching for the next attack. ”Retreat,” he snarled at her-and then noticed that Jillian, instead of running all the way to the communal eyrie, had stopped halfway there to take up a rearguard position. ”Disobey me again and I’ll personally whip the skin off your backs. Both of you. Now retreat!”
They responded the same way any Eyrien warrior would have-they ignored the threat and held their positions. So he retreated, forcing them back with him. That they were willing to do. Lucivar must have been out of his mind to think a woman would obey a sensible order. Which made Falonar extremely grateful that Surreal wasn’t there. The Darkness only knew how he could have held her back in this fight.
When they got close enough to the communal eyrie, Hallevar grabbed Jillian and Kohlvar practically threw Nurian threw the doorway. Falonar was the last one in. As soon as he crossed the threshold, he filled the doorway with a Sapphire shield so that they would be protected but still have a good view. Some of the men had taken up positions at the shielded downstairs’ windows. Others had gone to the upper rooms. The women and children were all huddled in the main community room.
Hallevar joined him at the door. ”You think they’re regrouping?”
”I don’t know.”
Behind them, he heard Tamnar say a bit resentfully, ”Well, little warrior, looks like you made your first kill.”
He and Hallevar both turned and blasted the same message at Tamnar. SHUT UP!
The boy flinched, looked shocked at the harsh reprimand, then slunk over to the window Kohlvar guarded.
Jillian stared at them, her normally brown skin an unhealthy gray. ”I killed him?”
Before Falonar could phrase a cautious reply, Hallevar snorted. ”You just scratched him enough to let Nurian get away.”
Some of the tension drained out of the girl. ”Oh. That’s… Oh.”
”You take a backup position over there,” Hallevar said, pointing to a far corner of the room.
”Okay,” Jillian said, sounding a little dazed.
Falonar turned back to look out the doorway. ”She put that arrow right through the bastard’s heart,” he said, keeping his voice quiet.
”No reason for her to know that right now,” Hallevar replied just as quietly. ”Let her believe she just nicked him. We can’t afford to have her freeze up if it comes down to that.”
”If it comes down to that,” Falonar said softly as he settled in to wait.
Saetan prowled the corridors of the Keep, too restless to stay in one place, too edgy to tolerate being around anyone.
Lucivar should have been back hours ago. He knew Lucivar had slipped out of the Keep late that morning to find out what was delaying Marian’s and Daemonar’s arrival, but the afternoon was waning, and there was no sign of any of them.
He doubted anyone else had noticed. The coven and the boyos were gathered in one of the large sitting rooms, just as they had gathered every day since Jaenelle had ordered them to remain at the Keep. So they wouldn’t realize Lucivar was gone. And Jaenelle and Daemon… Well, they weren’t likely to have noticed either.
Surreal had noticed Lucivar’s absence, but she’d shrugged it off, saying he was probably with Prothvar and Mephis. Which made him realize that he hadn’t seen either of them lately.
Somehow he had to find a way to make Jaenelle listen to him, had to find out why she was keeping such a stranglehold on all of them. Whether they acknowledged it or not, they were at war. The Queens and males in the First Circle weren’t going to tolerate staying there indefinitely while their people were fighting. Something had to change. Someone had to act.
Falonar accepted the mug of ale Kohlvar handed to him.
”Makes no sense,” Kohlvar said, shaking his head. ”No direct attacks anymore, no efforts at a siege, just a few arrows now and then to make sure we know they’re still out there.”
”They’ve got us pinned down,” Falonar replied. ”We’re outnumbered, and they know it.”
”But what’s the sense of pinning us down?”
We can’t go anywhere, Falonar thought. We can’t report anything.
”What’s the sense?” Kohlvar repeated.
”I don’t know. But I expect we’ll find out sooner or later.”
The answer came at twilight. One Warlord openly approached the communal eyrie, his hands held away from his sides, away from his weapons.
”I have a message,” he shouted, holding up a white envelope.
”Put it on the ground,” Falonar shouted back.
The Warlord shrugged, set the envelope on the ground, then placed a small rock over it to keep it from blowing away. He walked back the way he had come.
A few minutes later, Falonar watched the Eyrien company take flight.
He waited another hour before he used Craft to bring the envelope to the doorway. Still standing on the other side of the Sapphire shield, he created a ball of witchlight to illuminate the writing, the name of the recipient.
Dread shivered through him. It was the same handwriting as the note that had been left for Lucivar. But this one was addressed to the High Lord.
He called Kohlvar, Rothvar, Zaranar, and Hallevar over. ”I’m going to take that to the Keep and give my report.”
”Could be a trap,” Hallevar said. ”They could be waiting for you to make a move.”
Yes, he was sure it was a trap-but not for him.
”I don’t think they’re going to bother us anymore, but maintain a watch. Stay sharp. Don’t let anyone in, no matter who they are. I’ll stay at the Keep until morning. If I come back before that … do your best to kill me.”
They understood him. If he came back before that, they should assume he was being controlled and respond accordingly.
”May the Darkness protect you,” Hallevar said.
Falonar passed through the Sapphire shield. Taking the envelope, he launched himself skyward and headed for the Keep.
Saetan stared at the sheet of paper. Too many feelings crowded him, so he pushed them all aside.
I have your son.
Hekatah
Which also meant she had Marian and Daemonar, since that was the only bait she could have used to provoke Lucivar into going to Hayll.
Now Lucivar was being used as the bait for him.
He understood the game. Hekatah and Dorothea would be willing to trade: him for Lucivar, Marian, and Daemonar.
Of course, they wouldn’t let Lucivar go, couldn’t let him go. As soon as he got Marian and Daemonar safely out of reach, he’d turn on Hekatah and Dorothea with all the destructive power that was in him.
So this was a false bargain right from the beginning.
He could go to Hayll and destroy Dorothea and Hekatah. Two Red-Jeweled Priestesses were no match for a Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince. He could go there, throw a Black shield around Lucivar, Marian, and Daemonar to keep them safe, then unleash his strength-and kill every living thing for miles around him.
But it wouldn’t stop the war. Not now. Maybe it never would have. And it was the war that had to be stopped, not just the two witches who had started it.
So he would play their game… because it would finally give him the weapon he needed.
Everything has a price.
He removed the Black-Jeweled pendant and set it on the desk. He removed the Steward’s ring from his left hand- the ring that contained the same Ebony shield Jaenelle had put into the Rings of Honor.
Even if Daemon was influencing Jaenelle, even if he was the reason she was resisting a formal declaration of war, even he couldn’t stop her reacting. Not to this.
Don’t think. Be an instrument.
By walking into the trap Dorothea and Hekatah had set for him, he was going to unleash the one thing he knew would bring out the explosive, savage side of Jaenelle-his own pain.
Of course, he would never be the same after those two bitches were done with him. He would never…
He opened the desk drawer, caressed the lavender-scented envelope. ”Sometimes duty walks a road where the heart can’t follow. I’m sorry, Sylvia. It would have been an honor to be your husband. I’m sorry.”
He closed the drawer, picked up his cape, and quietly left the Keep.
Daemon glided through the Keep’s corridors. He’d spent the past several hours making three months’ worth of tonics for Karla, according to the instructions Jaenelle had given him. When he’d questioned her, reminding her that healing tonics that had blood in them would lose their potency over that amount of time, she had told him she had calculated that so the potency would taper off the way it needed to. And when he’d ask why…
Well, it was to be expected that she would be drained by unleashing the amount of power needed to stop Dorothea and Hekatah completely. The fact that it would take her three months to recover worried him. And now that she was so close to finishing… whatever it was … he was also worried that the boyos might finally slip the leash and throw themselves into battle.
They were feeling too hostile toward him just then to listen to anything he might say, but he hoped Saetan would still be reasonable. He was fairly sure he could say enough for the High Lord to understand that Jaenelle’s evasion had a purpose, that all they needed was a few more days. A few more days and the threat to Kaeleer would end, the threat Dorothea and Hekatah had always been to the Blood would end.
He knocked on Saetan’s door, then went in cautiously when it was Surreal who said, ”Come in.”
She was standing behind the small desk. Falonar stood beside her, looking tired and angry. Surreal didn’t look tired, and she was a long way past angry. ”Look at this,” she said.
Even from where he stood, he could see the pendant and the Steward’s ring. Slipping his hands into his trouser pockets, he walked around the desk, silently acknowledging the emotional cut when she deliberately moved away from him. He read the message and felt a claw-sharp chill rip down his back.
”Now are you finally going to do something?” Surreal asked, slamming her hands on the desk. ”They’re not killing strangers anymore. You can’t keep your distance anymore. Those bitches have your father and brother.”
It cost him dearly, but he managed to get that bored tone in his voice. ”Lucivar and Saetan chose to take the risk when they disobeyed orders. It doesn’t change anything.” Couldn’t change anything. Not if Jaenelle was going to save Kaeleer.
”They’ve also got Marian and Daemonar.”
Of course they did. He felt concerned about Marian, but not really worried. If Marian were raped or harmed in any way, not even a Ring of Obedience would stop Lucivar from starting a full-scale slaughter. So he wasn’t really worried about Marian, but just the thought of Daemonar in those bitches’ hands for even an hour… ”There’s bound to be some kind of ransom demand,” he said dismissively. ”We’ll see what we can accommodate.”
”Accommodate?” Surreal said. ”Accommodate? Don’t you know what Dorothea and Hekatah will do to them?”
Of course he knew, far better than she did.
Surreal’s voice filled with venom. ”Are you at least going to tell Jaenelle?”
”Yes, I suppose the Lady will have to be told about this inconvenience.” He walked out of the room while Surreal was still sputtering curses.
He wished she had cried. He wished she had shouted, screamed, raged, swore, wept bitterly. He didn’t know what to do with this still woman he had cradled on his lap for the past hour.
He had told her as gently as he could. She had said nothing. Just put her head on his shoulder and turned inward, going down so deep into the abyss he couldn’t even feel her.
So he held her. Sometimes his hands stroked, caressed- not to arouse her but to relax her. He could have drawn her back with sex, but it would have violated the trust she had in him, and that he wouldn’t do. When his hand had rested on her chest, it was to reassure himself that her heart was still beating. Each warm breath against his throat was an unspoken promise that she would return to him.
Finally, after almost two hours had passed, she stirred. ”What do you think will happen now?” she asked as if there had been no time at all between the question and his news.
”Even riding the Black Winds, it would have taken Saetan a couple of hours or more to get to Hayll. We don’t know when he left-”
”But he would have gotten there by now.”
”Yes.” He paused, thought it through again. ”Lucivar and Saetan aren’t the prize. They’re the bait. And bait becomes less valuable if it’s damaged. So I think they’re safe enough for the moment.”
”Dorothea and Hekatah expect me to surrender Kaeleer in order to get Lucivar and Papa back, don’t they?” When he didn’t answer, Jaenelle raised her head and studied him. ”No. That would never do, would it? In order to hold on to Kaeteer, they have to be able to control me, use my strength to rule.”
”Yes. Lucivar and Saetan are the bait. You’re the prize.” Daemon brushed her hair away from her face. ”How close are you to finishing your… spell?” He knew it was far more than that, but it was as good a word as any.
”A few more hours.” She stirred a little more. ”I should get back to it.”
His hold on her tightened. ”Not yet. Sit with me a little while longer. Please.”
She relaxed against him. ”We’ll get them back, Daemon.”
Father. Brother. He closed his eyes and pressed his cheek against her head, needing the warmth and contact. ”Yes,” he murmured, ”we’ll get them back.”
Ladvarian studied the chamber that would be Witch’s home for a while. An old carpet that he had brought from the Hall covered the stone floor. He had also taken a couple of lamps that used candlelights and lots of scented candles. The narrow bed Tersa had given him was in the center of the chamber. The trunk was beside it and held a few changes of clothes, a couple of the books Jaenelle liked to read when she needed to snuggle up and rest for a day, her favorite music crystals, and some grooming things.
He had brought no pictures because three walls and the ceiling of the chamber were covered with layers of healing webs. The back of the chamber was filled with the tangled web of dreams and visions that had shaped the living myth, dreams made flesh, Witch.
Is it ready? he respectfully asked the large golden spider who was the Weaver of Dreams.
Web is ready, the Arachnian Queen replied, delicately brushing a leg against one of the drops of blood sealed in shielded water bubbles. I add memories now. But… Need human memories.
Ladvarian bristled. She was our dream more than theirs.
But theirs, too. Need kindred and human memories for this Witch.
Ladvarian’s heart sank. It had been easy with the kindred. He had told them what was required and that it was for the Lady. That’s all the kindred had needed to know. But humans would want to know why, why, why. They would take time to persuade-and time was something he didn’t have.
The Strange One will help you, the spider said.
But the Lady knows packs of humans, whole herds of humans. How-
The First Circle have strong memories. They will be enough. Ask the Gray Black Widow. For a human, she is a good weaver.
She meant Karla. Yes. If he could persuade Karla…
Wait for the right time to ask. After Witch has gone to her own web. The humans will listen better then.
I’ll go to the Keep now and wait. Ladvarian looked around one more time. There was nothing left to do. The chamber was ready. The tangled web was ready. The kindred who belonged to the Lady’s court were gathered on the Arachnians’ island to give their strength to the Weaver’s web when the time came.
One more thing, the spider said. Gray dog. You know this dog?
An image appeared in Ladvarian’s mind. That’s Graysfang. He’s a wolf.
Send him to me. There is something he must learn.
It was a war camp, not the sort of place he would have looked for Hekatah or Dorothea. Around the wide perimeter, metal stakes had been driven into the ground every few yards. Embedded in the stakes were two crystals, one on each side, spelled so that anything going between them would break their contact with the crystal in the next stake and would alert the guards. The camp itself had clusters of tents for the guards, a few small wooden cabins built close together near the camp’s center, and two wooden huts that had heavily barred windows and layers of guard spells around them. In front of the cabins were six thick wooden stakes that had heavy chains attached to them. For prisoners. For bait.
As soon as he walked past the perimeter stakes, they knew he was coming. On the journey there, he had thought again about what he was going to do. He could kill Hekatah and Dorothea. He could unleash the strength of his Black Jewels, destroy everyone in the camp, and take Lucivar, Marian, and Daemonar home. But it wouldn’t stop the war. Terreille needed to be confronted with a power that would terrify the people sufficiently that they wouldn’t dare fight against it. So it always came back to provoking Jaenelle enough for her to unleash her Ebony power and give the Terreilleans a reason to stay in their own Realm.
As he walked toward the center of the camp, guards followed him. No one approached him or tried to touch him.
Round candlelights set on top of tall metal poles lit the bloodstained bare ground at the exact center of the camp. Lucivar was chained to the last stake. The lash wounds on his chest and thighs had scabbed over and didn’t appear to be deep enough to cause him serious harm. There were bruises on his face, but those, too, would cause no permanent damage.
Saetan stopped at the edge of the light. He hadn’t seen Hekatah in ten years-hardly more than a breath of time for someone who had lived as long as he had. And he had known her for most of those years. Even so, despite Dorothea standing beside her, she had withered so much, decayed so much, he wasn’t really sure it was her until she spoke.
”Saetan.”
”Hekatah.” He walked to the center of the bare ground.
”You’ve come to bargain?” Hekatah asked politely.
He nodded. ”A life for a life.”
She smiled. ”For lives. We’ll throw the bitch and the babe into the bargain. We don’t really have any use for them.”
Did she think he didn’t know they would never give up Daemonar? They had been striving for centuries to get a child out of Lucivar or Daemon that they could control and breed in order to bring back a darker bloodline.
”My life for theirs,” he said. Everything has a price.
”NO!” Lucivar shouted, struggling against the spelled chains. ”Kill them!”
Ignoring Lucivar, he focused on Hekatah. ”Do we have a bargain?”
”For a chance to see the High Lord humbled?” Hekatah said sweetly. ”Oh, yes, we have a bargain. As soon as you’re restrained, I’ll set the others free. I swear it on my word of honor.”
They ordered him to strip-and he did.
Removing his Black-Jeweled ring, he tossed it on the ground. He had put a tight shield around it so that no one could actually touch it. If he needed to call it back to him, he didn’t want their foulness absorbed by the gold.
As two guards chained him to the center post, Hekatah slipped a Ring of Obedience over his organ.
”You look well for someone your age,” she said, stepping back to give his naked body a thorough inspection.
He smiled gently. ”Unfortunately, darling, I can’t say the same about you.”
Viciousness twisted Hekatah’s face. ”It’s time you learned a lesson, High Lord.” She raised her hand at the same time Dorothea, with a look of perverted glee, raised hers.
Lucivar had once tried to explain to the boyos why a Ring of Obedience could force a powerful male to submit, so Saetan thought he was ready for it.
Nothing could have prepared him for the pain that filled his cock and balls before it spread through his body. His nerves were on fire, while agony settled between his legs. He couldn’t fight it, could barely think.
His sons had endured this, had fought against Dorothea’s control knowing that this was waiting after every act of defiance. For centuries, they had endured this. How could a man not become twisted by this? How…
He screamed-and kept on screaming until his body just shut down.
Surreal paced back and forth in Karla’s sitting room, growing angrier by the minute. She wasn’t sure why she’d chosen to vent her frustrations to Karla. Maybe it was because Karla had seemed so damned indifferent to everything that had been happening.
All right, that wasn’t fair. The woman was grieving for her cousin, Morton, not to mention that she was slowly recovering from a vicious poisoning. Even so…
”The bastard sounded like it was an inconvenience that would interfere with his manicure,” Surreal raged at Karla. ” ’We’ll see what we can accommodate.’ Hell’s fire, it’s his father and brother!”
”You don’t know what he intends to do,” Karla said blandly.
The blandness pushed Surreal’s temper up another notch. ”He doesn’t plan to do anything!”
”How do you know?”
Surreal sputtered, swore, paced. ”It’s as if he and Jaenelle want us to lose this war.”
For the first time, temper heated Karla’s voice. ”Don’t be an ass.”
”Now, look, sugar-”
”No, you look,” Karla snapped. ”It’s about time all of you looked and thought and remembered a few things. The boyos’ instincts are pushing them toward battle. They can’t change that any more than they can change being male. And the coven is made up of Queens whose instincts are urging them to protect their people.”
”Which is exactly what they should be doing!” Surreal shouted. ”And you don’t seem to have that problem,” she added nastily. Then she glanced at Karla’s covered legs and regretted the words.
”When Jaenelle was fifteen,” Karla said, ”the Dark Council tried to say that Uncle Saetan was unfit to be her legal guardian. They decided to appoint someone else. And she said they could ’when the sun next rises.’ Do you know what happened?”
Finally standing still, Surreal shook her head.
”The sun didn’t rise for three days,” Karla said mildly. ”It didn’t rise until the Council rescinded their decision.”
Surreal sank to the floor. ”Mother Night,” she whispered.
”Jaenelle didn’t want a court, didn’t want to rule. The only reason she became the Queen of Ebon Askavi was to stop the Terreilleans who were coming into the kindred Territories and slaughtering the kindred. Do you really think a woman who would do those things has spent the past three weeks wringing her hands and hoping this will all go away? I don’t. She needs us here for a reason-and she’ll tell us when it’s time to tell us.” Karla paused. ”And I’ll tell you one other thing, just between us: sometimes a friend must become an enemy in order to remain a friend.”
Karla was talking about Daemon. Surreal thought for a moment, then shook her head. ”The way he’s been acting-”
”Daemon Sadi is totally committed to Witch. Whatever he does, he does for her.”
”You don’t know that.”
”Don’t I?” Karla said too softly.
Black Widow. The words bloomed in Surreal’s mind until there wasn’t room for anything else. Black Widow. Maybe Karla wasn’t indifferent to what was happening. Maybe she had seen something in a tangled web. ”Are you sure about Sadi?”
”No,” Karla replied. ”But I’m willing to consider the possibility that what he says in public may be very different from what he does in private.”
Surreal raked her fingers through her hair. ”Well, Hell’s fire, if Daemon and Jaenelle were planning something, they could at least tell the court.”
”I was poisoned by a member of my court,” Karla said quietly. ”And let’s not forget Jaenelle’s grandmother, because I’m sure Jaenelle hasn’t. So tell me, Surreal, if you were trying to find a way to totally destroy those two bitches, who would you trust?”
”She could have trusted the High Lord.”
”And where is he right now?” Karla asked.
Surreal didn’t say anything, since they both knew the answer.
”I think it’s time to let Jaenelle know you’re here,” Hekatah said, circling behind Saetan. ”I think we should send a little gift.”
He felt her grab the little finger of his left hand. He felt the knife cut through skin and bone. And he felt rage when she dropped to her knees and clamped her mouth over the wound to drink his blood. A Guardian’s blood.
Gathering his strength, he sent a blast of heat down his arm, psychic fire that cauterized the wound. Hekatah jerked away from him, screaming. While he had the chance, he used a little healing Craft to cleanse the wound and seal up the flesh enough to keep infection at bay.
Hekatah kept screaming. Dorothea rushed out of her cabin. Guards came running from every direction.
Finally the screaming stopped. He heard Hekatah scrabble for something on the ground, then slowly get to her feet. As she circled around him, he saw what the blast of power had done. Since her mouth had been clamped on the wound, the psychic fire had kept going after it cauterized the blood vessels. It had melted part of her jaw, grotesquely reshaping her face.
In one hand, she held his little finger. In the other, she held the knife. ”You’re going to pay for that,” she said in a slurred voice.
”No,” Dorothea said, stepping forward. ”You said yourself that we have to keep the damage to a minimum until Jaenelle is contained.”
Hekatah turned toward Dorothea. Saetan felt sure the sick revulsion on Dorothea’s face would drive Hekatah past any ability to think rationally.
”Until Jaenelle is contained,” Hekatah said with effort. ”But… that doesn’t mean … he can’t pay.” Turning toward him, she raised her hand.
For the second time, the agony from the Ring of Obedience ripped through him. That was devastating enough. Hearing Lucivar’s pain-filled, but still enraged, war cry as Hekatah also punished the son for the deeds of the father produced an agony in him that cut far deeper.
Daemon wished Surreal hadn’t been around when Geoffrey brought the small, ornately carved box that had been delivered to the Keep in Terreille. He had suggested that, since the verbal message had said it was a ”gift” for Jaenelle, Surreal’s presence wasn’t required. She had countered by saying she was family and had just as much right to know what was going on as he or Jaenelle did. Which, unfortunately, was true.
”Do you want me to open it?” he asked Jaenelle when she had just stood there staring at the box for several minutes.
”No,” she said too calmly. Using Craft, she flipped the lid off the box.
The three of them stared at the little finger nestled in a bed of silk-a little finger with a long, black-tinted nail.
”Well, sugar, I’d say that message is to the point,” Surreal said as she stared at Jaenelle. ”How many more pieces do you need to get back before you do something? We’re running out of time!”
”Yes,” Jaenelle said. ”It’s time.”
She’s in shock, Daemon thought. Then he looked at her eyes-and couldn’t suppress the shudder. They were sapphire ice. But behind the ice was a Queen who had been pushed far beyond even the cold rage males were capable of unleashing. Because he was looking for it, because he could descend far enough into the abyss to feel it, he sensed that Hekatah’s little gift had fully awakened the feral side, the deadly side of Witch. She was no longer a young woman who had received her father’s finger as a demand for her surrender; she was a predator studying the bait laid out by an enemy.
Dorothea and Hekatah had seen the young woman. They had no idea who they were really dealing with.
”Come with me,” Jaenelle said, lightly touching his arm before she walked out of the room.
Even through his shirt and jacket, her hand felt so cold it burned.
Careful to keep his eyes and expression bland, he looked at Surreal-and felt a little dismayed by the fury that looked back at him. That was when he realized that, despite being chilled to the bone, the room was still warm.
Jaenelle had given no outward warning of the rage just underneath the surface, no indication of power being gathered for a strike. Nothing.
He glanced at the finger again, felt his stomach clench. Then he walked out of the room.
Damn them both, Surreal thought as she stared at the finger in the box. Oh, there had been a little flicker of dismay in Sadi’s face when he first saw it, but that had disappeared quickly enough. And from Jaenelle? Nothing. Hell’s fire! She had shown more temper and concern when Aaron had been cornered by Vania! At least then there had been that freezing, terrifying rage. But the woman gets a piece of her father sent to her and… nothing. Not a damn thing. No reaction at all.
Well, fine. If that’s the way those two wanted to play the game, that was just fine. She wore a Gray Jewel and she was a skilled assassin. There was no reason she couldn’t slip into Terreille and get Lucivar and the High Lord-and Marian and Daemonar-away from those two bitches.
Surreal bit her lower lip. Well, getting all of them out in one piece might be a problem.
All right, so she’d think about it a little, work up some kind of plan. At least she was going to do something!
And maybe, while she was thinking, she would mention this little incident to Karla to see if the Black Widow still thought there was more going on than nothing.
By the time Daemon reached her workroom, the ice in Jaenelle’s eyes had shattered into razor-edged shards, and he saw something in them that terrified him: cold, undiluted hatred.
”What do you expect will happen now?” Jaenelle asked too calmly.
Daemon slipped his hands into his trouser pockets to hide the trembling. He quietly cleared his throat. ”I doubt anything more will happen until the messenger returns to Hayll and reports the delivery of the box. It’s almost midmorning now. They aren’t going to expect you to be capable of making any decisions immediately. So we’ve got a few hours. Maybe a little more than that.”
Jaenelle paced slowly. She seemed to be arguing with herself. Finally she sighed-as if she’d lost the argument- and looked at him. ”The Weaver of Dreams sent me a message. She said the triangle must remain together in order to survive, that the other two sides weren’t strong enough without the strength of the mirror-and the mirror would keep them all safe.”
”The mirror?” Daemon asked cautiously.
”You are your father’s mirror, Daemon. You’re one side of the triangle.”
The memory flashed in his mind of Tersa, years ago, tracing a triangle in the palm of his hand, over and over, while she had explained the mystery of the Blood’s four-sided triangle.
”Father, brother, lover,” he murmured. Three sides. And the fourth side was the triangle’s center, the one who ruled all three.
”Exactly,” Jaenelle replied.
”You want me to go to Hayll.”
”Yes.”
He nodded slowly, suddenly feeling like he was on a very thin, shaky footbridge, and one false step would send him plummeting into a chasm he would never escape. ”If I walked in to try another exchange of prisoners, that would buy a few more hours.”
”I never said anything about you handing yourself over to them,” Jaenelle snapped. Her face had been pale since she’d seen Saetan’s finger. Now it got paler. ”Daemon, I need seventy-two hours.”
”Sev-But everything is ready. All you would need to do is gather your strength and unleash it.”
”I need seventy-two hours.”
He stared at her, slowly coming to terms with what she was telling him. In a controlled dive into the abyss, he could descend to the level of his Black Jewels in a few minutes and gather his full strength. It was going to take her seventy-two hours to do the same thing.
Hell’s fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful.
But there was no way for him to …
He saw the knowledge in her eyes-and fought against the shame it produced in him. He should have known he couldn’t hide the Sadist from Witch. And he finally understood what she was asking of him.
Unable to meet her eyes anymore, he turned away and began his own slow prowl around the room.
It was just a game. A dirty, vicious game-the kind the Sadist had always played so well. As he gave that part of himself free rein, the plan took shape as easily as breathing.
But… Everything has a price. If he was going to lose the companionship of almost everyone he had ever cared about, the reward would have to justify the cost.
”I can do this,” he crooned, slowly circling around her. ”I can keep Dorothea and Hekatah off-balance enough to keep the others safe and also prevent those Ladies from giving the orders to send the Terreillean armies into Kaeleer. I can buy you seventy-two hours, Jaenelle. But it’s going to cost me because I’m going to do things I may never be forgiven for, so I want something in return.”
He could taste her slight bafflement before she said, ”All right.”
”I don’t want to wear the Consort’s ring anymore.”
A slash of pain, quickly stifled. ”All right.”
”I want a wedding ring in its place.”
A flash of joy, immediately followed by sorrow. She smiled at him at the same time her eyes filled with tears. ”It would be wonderful.”
She meant that. So why the sorrow, why the anguish? He would have to deal with that when he got back.
His temper was already getting edgy, dangerous. ”I’ll take that as a ’yes.’ There are things I’ll need that I can’t create well enough for this game.”
”Just tell me what you need, Daemon.”
He didn’t want to do this. Didn’t want to go back to that kind of life, not even for seventy-two hours. He was going to mutilate the life he’d begun to build here, and the coven, the boyos, they would never-
”Do you trust me?” he snapped.
”Yes.”
No hesitation, no doubts.
He finally stopped moving and faced her. ”Do you know how desperately I love you?”
Her voice shook when she answered, ”As much as I love you?”
He held her, held on to her as his lifeline, his anchor. It would be all right. As long as he had her, it would be all right.
Finally, reluctantly, he eased back. ”Come on, we’ve got a lot of work to do.”
”That’s the last of it,” Jaenelle said several hours later. She carefully packed the box that held all the spelled items she had created for him. ”Almost the last of it.”
Daemon sipped the coffee he had brewed strong enough to bite. Physically, he was tired. Mentally, he was reeling. As Jaenelle created each of the spells he had asked for, he’d had to learn how to use them-which meant she’d explained the process to him as she created one, then had him practice with it while she created the ones he would take with him. She’d reviewed his efforts, given more instructions on how to hone the effect-and never once asked him what he intended to do, for which he was grateful. Of course, he didn’t know exactly what she was going to do either. There were some things one Black Widow did not ask another.
Jaenelle held up a vial about the size of her index finger that was filled with dark powder. ”This is a stimulant. A strong one. One dose will keep you on your feet for about six hours. You can mix it with any kind of liquid-” She eyed the coffee. ”-but if you mix it with something brewed like that it’s going to have more kick.”
”That’s one dose?” Daemon asked. Then he bit his tongue to keep from laughing and wished he could have a picture of the look on her face.
”There are enough doses in here for the next three days and then some,” she said dryly.
”Well, I’d better find out what it does.” Daemon held out the mug of coffee.
She opened the vial, tapped it lightly over the mug. The sprinkle of powder dissolved instantly.
He took a sip. A little nutty, just a little sharp. Actually quite-
He wheezed. His body suddenly had a kind of battlefield alertness, a fierce need to move. His mind was no longer hazed by mental fatigue. After the first few explosive seconds, he felt himself settle down, but there remained that bright reservoir of energy.
He drained the mug, waited a few seconds. No physical changes, just the feeling that the reservoir got delightfully bigger.
Jaenelle carefully packed the vial into the box. ”Everything has a price, Daemon,” she said firmly. That sobered him. ”It’s addictive?” The look she gave him could have cut a man in half. ”No, it is not. I use this sometimes-which you will not mention to any of the family. They’d throw three kinds of fits if they knew. This will keep you going, even if you don’t get any food or sleep, but if you don’t renew the dose every six hours, your feet are going to go out from under you and you’d better be prepared to sleep for a day.”
”In other words, if I miss a dose, I’m not going to be able to flog myself awake again no matter what’s going on around me.”
She nodded.
”All right, I’ll remember.”
She held up another vial, this one full of a dark liquid. ”This is a tonic for Saetan. I figured he’s going to be weakened physically, so I made it strong. It’s going to have a kick like a team of draft horses. Add it to an equal amount of liquid-wine or fresh blood.”
”If I use the stimulant, can I use my blood for that tonic?”
”Yes,” Jaenelle said, almost managing to keep her lips from twitching. ”But if you do use your blood, make sure you pour it down his throat before you tell him what it is because it’ll kick like two teams of draft horses-and he will not be happy with you for the first couple of minutes.”
”Fair enough.” He just hoped Saetan would be in good enough condition that he could howl about being dosed.
Jaenelle took a deep breath, let it out slowly. ”That’s it then.”
Daemon set the mug down on the worktable. ”I want to supervise making up the food pack. It won’t take long. Will you wait for me?”
Her smile didn’t reach her haunted sapphire eyes. ”I’ll wait.”
”Prince Ssadi.”
Daemon hesitated, turned toward the voice. ”Draca.” She held out one hand, closed in a loose fist. Obediently, he put his hand under hers. When she opened her hand, colored bangles poured into his-the kind of bangles women sewed on dresses to catch the light.
Baffled, he looked at the bangles, then at her.
”When the time iss right, give thesse to Ssaetan. He will undersstand.”
She knows, Daemon thought. She knows, but… No, Draca wouldn’t say anything to the coven or the boyos. The Seneschal of Ebon Askavi would keep her own council for her own reasons.
As she walked away, he slipped the bangles into his jacket pocket.
Surreal jumped when the door to her room flew open.
”What in the name of Hell do you think you’re doing?” Daemon demanded, slamming the door.
”What does it look like I’m doing?” Surreal snapped. Silently, she swore. A few more minutes and she would have been able to slip away undetected.
”It looks like you’re about to ruin several hours of careful planning,” Daemon snapped back.
That stopped her. ”What planning?” she asked suspiciously.
He swore with a creative vileness that surprised her. ”What do you think I’ve been doing since we got that gift this morning? And what did you think you’d be able to do, going in alone?”
”I’ve been an assassin for a lot of years, Sadi. I could have-”
”One-on-one kills,” he snarled. ”That’s not going to get you very far in an armed camp. And if you unleash the Gray to get rid of the guards, you can be sure the four people you’re going in for will be dead by the time you reach them.”
”You don’t know-”
”I do know,” Daemon shouted. ”I grew up under that bitch’s control. I do know.”
Her anger couldn’t match his, especially when he’d been able to put his finger on every doubt she had about succeeding. ”You have a better idea?”
”Yes, Surreal, I have a better idea,” Daemon replied coldly.
Surreal licked her lips, took a careful breath. ”I could help, create a diversion or something. Hell’s fire, Daemon, those people are my family, too, the first family I’ve ever had. They mean something to me. Let me help.”
Something queer filled his eyes as he stared at her. ”Yes,” he said in a silky croon, ”I think you could be very helpful.” His voice shifted, became irritated and efficient as he looked over the supplies piled on her bed. ”At least you had the good sense to realize you would need to bring your own food and water since you won’t be able to trust consuming anything that might be there.” He headed for the door. ”I’ll need a couple more hours. Then we’ll go.”
”But-” The look he gave her had her backing down. ”A couple of hours,” she agreed.
It wasn’t until he was gone that she began to wonder just what it was she had agreed to do.
Little fool, Daemon thought as he stormed back to Jaenelle’s workroom. Idiot. If the kitchen staff hadn’t mentioned that Surreal had requested a similar food pack, he wouldn’t have known she was planning to go to Hayll, wouldn’t have been prepared to deal with her presence. Oh, he could use her help in this game. It hadn’t taken him more than a minute to recognize how many ways she could help. But, damn it, if she’d gone in and gotten everyone riled before he arrived… He had to buy Jaenelle seventy-two hours. A straight, clean fight would have gotten the others out, but it wouldn’t have done that.
So he would play out his game-and Surreal would have a chance to dance with the Sadist.
He walked into the workroom and snarled at Jaenelle, ”I’ll need a couple more items.”
Her eyes widened when he told her what he wanted, but she didn’t say anything except, ”I think I’d better give you a Ring that has a shield no one can get through.”
Since he figured both Lucivar and Surreal would want to tear his heart out in a few hours’ time, he thought that was an excellent idea.
The three of them stood outside the room that held the Dark Altar at the Keep.
Jaenelle hugged Surreal. ”May the Darkness embrace you, Sister.”
”We’ll get them back,” Surreal said, returning the hug. ”Count on it.” Glancing at Daemon, she went into the Altar’s room and quietly closed the door.
Daemon just looked at Jaenelle, his heart too full to say anything. Besides, words seemed so inadequate at the moment. He brushed a thumb across her cheek, kissed her gently. Then he took a deep breath. ”The game begins at midnight.”
”And at midnight, seventy-two hours later, you’re going to be riding the Winds back to the Keep in Terreille. No stops, no delays.” She paused, waited for him to nod agreement, then added, ”Don’t ride any Wind darker than the Red. The others will be unstable.”
It took effort to keep his jaw from dropping. A strong witch storm could create a disturbance on part of the psychic roadways through the Darkness, could even throw someone off the Web to be lost in the Darkness, but ”unstable” sounded much, much worse.
”All right,” he finally said. ”We’ll stay on the Red.”
”Daemon,” Jaenelle said softly, ”I want you to promise me something.”
”Anything.”
Her eyes filled with tears. It took her a moment to regain control. ”Thirteen years ago, you gave everything you had in order to help me.”
”And I’ll give you everything again,” he replied just as softly.
She shook her head fiercely. ”No. No more sacrifices, Daemon. Not from you. That’s what I want you to promise me.” She swallowed hard. ”The Keep is going to be the only safe place. I want your promise that, at the appointed hour, you’ll be on your way there. No matter who you have to walk away from, no matter who you have to leave behind, you must get to the Keep before dawn. Promise me, Daemon.” She gripped his arm hard enough to hurt. ”I have to know you’ll be safe. Promise me.”
Gently, he removed her hand, then raised it to place a kiss in her palm-and smiled. ”I’m not going to do anything that will make me late for my own wedding.”
Pain flashed in her eyes, making him wonder if she really wanted to marry him. No. He wouldn’t begin to doubt, couldn’t afford to doubt. ”I’ll come back to you,” he said. ”I swear it.”
She gave him a brief, fierce kiss. ”See that you do.”
She looked pale and exhausted. There were dark smudges under her eyes. She had never looked more beautiful to him.
”I’ll see you in a few days.”
”Good-bye, Daemon. I love you.”
As he approached the Dark Altar that was a Gate between the Realms, he didn’t find Jaenelle’s last words reassuring.
Karla eased herself into a chair in Jaenelle’s sitting room. She could use Craft to float herself from place to place, and could even stand on her own now for a little while with the help of two canes. But channeling power through her body left her quickly exhausted, and standing made her legs ache. Still, the daily cup of Jaenelle’s tonic was working. But she had an uneasy feeling she would need her strength for something else very soon.
It was the first time since Jaenelle had refused to allow Kaeleer to go to war that Karla had seen her. But even now, when Jaenelle had summoned her and Gabrielle, the Queen of Ebon Askavi was keeping her back to them, just staring out the window.
”I need the two of you to keep the boyos leashed for another few days,” Jaenelle said quietly. ”It won’t be easy, but it’s necessary.”
”Why?” Gabrielle demanded. ”Hell’s fire, Jaenelle, we need to gather into armies and fight. Scattered the way we are now, we’re barely holding our own and we aren’t even fighting the armies that are bound to come in from Terreille, just the Terreilleans who were already in Kaeleer. The bastards. It’s time to go to war. We have to go to war. It’s not just the people who are dying. The land is being destroyed, too.”
”The Queens can heal the land,” Jaenelle replied, still not looking at them. ”That is the Queens’ special gift. And not as many of our people have died as you seem to think.”
”No,” Gabrielle said bitterly, ”they’re just dying of shame because they’ve been ordered to abandon their land.”
”They can survive a little shame.”
Karla laid a hand on Gabrielle’s arm. Trying to keep her voice reasonable, she said, ”I don’t think there’s any choice now, Jaenelle. If we don’t stop retreating and start attacking, we aren’t going to have a place to take a stand when the Terreillean armies do get here.”
”They won’t receive orders to enter Kaeleer for a few more days. By then, it won’t make any difference.”
”Because we’ll be forced to surrender,” Gabrielle snapped.
Karla’s hand tightened on Gabrielle’s arm. She didn’t have much strength, but the gesture was enough to leash the other Queen’s temper-at least for the moment.
”Is Kaeleer finally going to war with Terreille?” she asked.
”No,” Jaenelle said. ”Kaeleer will not go to war with Terreille.”
It was the slight inflection that made ice run through Karla’s body. The way Gabrielle’s arm tensed under her hand, she knew the other woman had heard it, too.
”Then who is going to war with Terreille?”
Jaenelle turned around.
Gabrielle sucked in her breath.
For the first time, they were seeing the dream beneath the flesh.
Karla stared at the pointed ears that had come from the Dea al Mon, the hands with sheathed claws that had come from the Tigre, the hooves peeking out from beneath the black gown that could have come from the centaurs or the horses or the unicorns. Most of all, she stared at the tiny spiral horn.
The living myth. Dreams made flesh. But, oh, had any of them really thought about who the dreamers had been?
No wonder the kindred love her. No wonder we’ve all loved her.
Karla quietly cleared her throat to ask the question she suddenly hoped wouldn’t be answered. ”Who is going to war with Terreille?”
”I am,” Witch said.