Half-blinded by the pain inflicted on him during the past two days, Saetan watched Hekatah approach and give him a long, slow study. Whenever the whim had struck either of them, she and Dorothea had used the Ring of Obedience on him, but more carefully now, stopping just before the moment when he would have fainted from the pain. Worse, for him, they had left him chained to the post through the daylight hours. Already weakened by pain, the afternoon sun had drained his psychic strength and stabbed at his eyes, producing a headache so violent even the pain from the Ring couldn’t engulf it.
Bit by bit, pain had chewed away all the revitalizing effects Jaenelle’s tonics had produced in him, changing his body back to where it had been when he’d first met her- closer to the demon-dead than to the living.
If he could have made a fast transition from Guardian to demon-dead, he might have considered it-the kind of transition Andulvar and Prothvar had made on the battlefield all those long centuries ago. They had both been so deep in battle fury, they hadn’t even realized they had received deathblows. If he could have done it that way, he might have. It would be easy enough to slit a vein and bleed himself out, and there would be less pain. But he would be more vulnerable, and without a supply of fresh blood, the sunlight would weaken him to the point that, when Jaenelle finally came, he would be a liability to her instead of finding some way to fight with her.
When Jaenelle finally came. If Jaenelle ever came. She should have reacted by now, should have been there by now-if she was coming at all.
”I think it’s time to send Jaenelle another little gift,” Hekatah said, her girlish voice now slurred by the misshapen jaw. ”Another finger?” She used the same tone another woman might use when trying to decide the merits of serving one dish over another at dinner. ”Perhaps a toe this time. No, too insignificant. An eye? Too disfiguring. We don’t want her to start thinking you’ve become too repulsive to rescue.” Her eyes focused on his balls-and she smiled. ”It’s dead meat now, but it will still be useful for this anyway.”
He didn’t react. Wouldn’t allow himself to react. It was dead meat now-the last part revitalized, the first part to die. He wouldn’t react. And he wouldn’t think of Sylvia. Not now. Not ever again.
With their eyes locked on each other, Hekatah stepped closer, closer. One of her hands stroked him, caressed him, closed around him to hold him for the knife.
An enraged shriek tore through the normal nighttime sounds.
Hekatah jumped back and whirled toward the sound.
Surreal came flying into the camp as if she’d been tossed by a huge hand. Her feet hit the ground first, but she couldn’t stop the forward momentum. She tucked and rolled, coming up on her knees facing the darkness beyond the area illuminated by candlelights.
”YOU COLD-BLOODED, HEARTLESS BASTARD!” Surreal screamed. ”YOU GUTLESS SON OF A WHORING BITCH!”
Dorothea burst out of her cabin, shouting, ”Guards! Guards!”
The guards rushed in from three sides of the camp. No one came out of the darkness facing them.
”GUARDS!” Dorothea shouted again.
From out of that darkness, a deep, amused voice said, ”They aren’t going to answer you, darling. They’ve been permanently detained.”
Daemon Sadi stepped out of the darkness, stopping at the edge of the light. His black hair was a little wind-mussed. His hands were casually tucked in his trouser pockets. His black jacket was open, revealing the white silk shirt that was unbuttoned to the waist. The Black Jewel around his neck glittered with power. His golden eyes glittered, too.
Seeing that queer glitter in Daemon’s eyes, Saetan shivered. Something was wrong here. Very wrong.
Hekatah turned halfway, resting the knife against Saetan’s belly. ”Take one more step and I’ll gut him-and kill the Eyrien, too.”
”Go ahead,” Daemon said pleasantly as he walked into the camp. ”It’ll save me the trouble of arranging a couple of careful accidents, which I would have had to have done soon anyway since the Steward and the First Escort were becoming.. troublesome. So, you kill them, I destroy you- and then I return to Kaeleer to console the grieving Queen. Yes, that will work out quite nicely. You’ll be blamed for their deaths, and Jaenelle will never look at me and wonder why I’m the only male left whom she can depend on.”
”You’re forgetting about the Master of the Guard,” Hekatah said.
Daemon smiled a gentle, brutal smile. ”No, I haven’t. I didn’t forget about Prothvar or Mephis either. They’re no longer a concern.”
For a moment, Saetan thought Hekatah had gutted him. But while the wound wasn’t physical, the pain was. ”No,” he said. ”No. You couldn’t have.”
Daemon laughed. ”Couldn’t I? Then where are they, old man?”
Because he had wondered the same thing, Saetan couldn’t answer that. But he still found himself denying it. ”You couldn’t have. They’re your family.”
”My family,” Daemon said thoughtfully. ”How convenient that they decided to become ’family’ after I became the Consort to the strongest Queen in the history of the Blood.”
”That’s not true,” Saetan said, straining forward despite the knife Hekatah still held against his belly. It was mad to be arguing about this, but all his instincts shouted at him that it had to be now, that there might not be another chance to alter that look in Daemon’s eyes.
”Isn’t it?” Daemon said bitterly. ”Then where were they 1,700 years ago when I was a child? Where were you? Where were any of you during all the years between then and now? Don’t talk to me about family, High Lord.”
Saetan sagged against the post. Mother Night, every worry he’d had about Daemon’s loyalty was coming true.
”How very touching,” Hekatah sneered. ”Do you expect us to believe that? You’re your father’s son.”
Daemon’s gold eyes fastened on Hekatah. ”I think it’s more accurate to say I’m the man my father might have been if he’d had the balls for it.”
”Don’t listen to him,” Dorothea said suddenly. ”It’s a trick, a trap. He’s lying.”
”It seems to be his day for it,” Surreal muttered bitterly.
Giving Surreal a brief, dismissive glance, Daemon shifted his attention to Dorothea. ”Hello, darling. You look like a hag. It suits you.”
Dorothea hissed.
”I brought you a present,” Daemon said, glancing at Surreal again.
Dorothea looked at Surreal’s pointed ears and sneered. ”I’ve heard of her. She’s nothing but a whore.”
”Yes,” Daemon agreed mildly, ”she’s a first-class slut who will spread her legs for anything that will pay her. She’s also your granddaughter. Kartane’s child. The only one he’ll ever sire. The only continuation of your bloodline.”
”No slut is my granddaughter,” Dorothea snarled.
Daemon raised one eyebrow. ”Really, darling, I thought that would be the convincing argument. The only difference between you is she’s under a male most of the time while you’re on top of him. But your legs are spread just as wide.” He paused. ”Well, there is one other difference. Since she was getting paid for it, she had to acquire some skill in bed.”
Dorothea shook with rage. ”Guards! Seize him!”
Twenty men surged forward, then dropped in their tracks.
Daemon just smiled. ”Perhaps I should kill the rest of them now to eliminate further annoyances.”
Hekatah carefully lowered the knife. ”Why are you here, Sadi?”
”Your little schemes are interfering with my plans, and that annoys me.”
”Terreille is going to war with Kaeleer. That’s hardly a ’little scheme.’ ”
”Well, that all depends on whether you have the power to win, doesn’t it?” Daemon crooned. ”However, I’m not interested in ruling a Realm that’s been devastated by a war, so I decided it was time we had a little talk.” Dorothea jumped forward. ”Don’t listen to him!”
”How can you rule a Realm?” Hekatah asked, ignoring Dorothea.
Daemon’s smile became colder, crueler. ”I control the witch who has the strength to kill every living thing in the Realm of Terreille.”
”NO!” Saetan shouted. ”You do not control the Queen.” When Daemon’s eyes fixed on him, he started to shiver again.
”Don’t I?” Daemon purred. ”Haven’t you wondered why she didn’t respond to the ’gift,’ High Lord? Oh, she was greatly distressed. Hasn’t done anything but weep since your finger arrived. But she isn’t here-and she isn’t going to be because she values having my cock inside her more than she values you. Any of you.” For the first time, Daemon glanced at Lucivar.
Saetan shook his head. ”No. You can’t do this, Daemon.”
”Don’t tell me what I can do. You had your chance, old man, and you didn’t have the balls to take it. Now it’s my turn, and I intend to rule.”
”That’s just another lie,” Dorothea snapped. ”You’ve never been interested in ruling.”
Daemon turned searing, cold anger on her. ”What would you know about what I wanted, bitch? You never offered me a chance to rule anything. You just wanted to use my strength without ever offering anything in return.”
”I did offer you something!”
”What? You? You had your use of me, Dorothea. How could you imagine enduring more of that would be any kind of reward?”
”You bastard! You-” She took a step toward him, her hand raised like a claw.
A blow from a phantom hand knocked her off her feet. She fell on top of Surreal, who swore viciously and pushed her off.
Tearing his eyes away from Daemon, Saetan looked at Hekatah-and realized she was shaking, but it wasn’t from anger.
”What is it you want, Sadi?” Hekatah said, unable to keep her voice steady.
A long, chilling moment passed before Daemon turned his attention back to her. ”I came to negotiate on my Queen’s behalf.”
”I told you,” Dorothea muttered-but she didn’t try to get up.
”And what will you tell your Queen?” Hekatah asked.
”That I arrived too late to save any of them. I’m sure I can prod her into a suitably violent reaction.”
”She’ll destroy more than us if she unleashes that kind of power.”
Daemon’s smile was a satisfied one. ”Exactly. She’ll destroy everything. And once all of you are gone… Well, there will have to be a few more battles in Kaeleer to eliminate the more troublesome males in the court. But after that, I think things will settle down quite nicely.” He turned and started to walk away.
He’ll never get her to destroy everyone in Terreille, Saetan thought, closing his eyes against the sick feelings churning in his stomach. He’ll never twist her that much. Not Jaenelle.
”Wait,” Hekatah said.
Saetan opened his eyes.
Daemon was almost at the edge of the light. Turning, he raised one eyebrow in inquiry.
”Was that the only reason you came here?” Hekatah asked.
Daemon glanced at Lucivar again and smiled. ”No. I thought I would settle a few debts while I was here.”
Hekatah returned the smile. ”Then, perhaps. Prince, we do have something to talk about. But not right now. Why don’t you indulge yourself while I-while Dorothea and I think about how we might settle this amicably between us.”
”I’m sure I can find something amusing to do to pass the time,” Daemon said. He walked out of the light, disappeared into the darkness.
Hekatah looked at Saetan. It wasn’t possible for him to keep his feelings hidden right now, to keep his face blank.
Dorothea got to her feet and pointed at Surreal. ”Secure that bitch,” she snapped at a couple of guards. Then she turned to Hekatah. ”You can’t really believe Sadi.”
”The High Lord does,” Hekatah said quietly. ”And that’s very interesting.” She hissed when Dorothea started to protest. ”We’ll discuss this in private.”
She walked to her cabin with Dorothea reluctantly following.
After chaining Surreal to the post on Saetan’s left, the guards gathered up the dead men, and, with uneasy glances at the surrounding darkness, finally returned to their duties.
”Your son’s a cold-blooded bastard,” Surreal said quietly.
Saetan thought about the look in Daemon’s eyes. He thought about the man he should have known well-and didn’t know at all. Closing his eyes, he rested his head against the post, and said, ”I only have one son now-and he’s Eyrien.”
”Hello, Prick.”
Lucivar turned his head, watched Daemon glide out of the darkness and circle around to stand directly in front of him.
He had watched that initial game closely, waiting for some sign from Daemon that it was time to attack. The spelled chains couldn’t have held him by themselves, and, unlike Saetan, the pain from the Ring of Obedience didn’t debilitate him for long-at least, it didn’t drain him the way it seemed to drain the High Lord. No, what had made him hold back and wait was the threat to Marian and Daemonar. There was always a guard inside the far hut that was being used as one of the prisons, and that guard had orders to kill his wife and son if he broke free. So he had waited, especially after Saetan had surrendered to those two bitches, because he had realized that Saetan had known there wouldn’t be an exchange, had walked in expecting to become a prisoner, and had had a reason for doing it.
So when he saw Daemon, he figured the game was about to begin. But now, seeing that bored, sleepy, terrifying look… He’d danced with the Sadist enough times in the past to know that look meant they were all in serious trouble.
”Hello, Bastard,” he said carefully.
Daemon stepped closer. His fingertips drifted up Lucivar’s arm, over the shoulder, traced the collarbone.
”What’s the game?” Lucivar asked quietly. Then he shivered as Daemon’s fingers drifted up his neck, along his jaw.
”It’s simple enough,” Daemon crooned, brushing a finger over Lucivar’s lower lip. ”You’re going to die, and I’m going to rule.” He met Lucivar’s eyes and smiled. ”Do you know what it’s like in the Twisted Kingdom, Prick? Do you have any idea? I spent eight years in that torment because of you.”
”You forgave the debt,” Lucivar snarled softly. ”I gave you the chance to settle it, and you chose to forgive it.”
Daemon’s hand gently settled on Lucivar’s neck. He leaned forward until his lips almost brushed Lucivar’s. ”Did you really think I would forgive you?”
From the far hut, they both heard a child’s outraged howl.
Daemon stepped back. Smiled. Slipped his hands into his trouser pockets. ”You’re going to pay for those years, Prick,” Daemon said softly. ”You’re going to pay dearly.”
Lucivar’s heart pounded in his throat as Daemon glided toward the hut that held Marian and Daemonar. ”Bastard? Bastard, wait. I’m the one who owes the debt. You can’t… Daemon? Daemon!”
Daemon walked into the hut. A moment later, the guard hurried out.
”DAEMON!”
A few minutes after that, Lucivar heard his son scream.
Dorothea’s hands closed into fists. ”I’m telling you, it’s a trick of some kind. I know Sadi.”
”Do you?” Hekatah snapped.
I think it’s more accurate to say I’m the man my father might have been if he’d had the balls for it.
Yes, she had been able to sense the ruthlessness, the ambition, the cruel sexuality in Daemon Sadi. It frightened her a little. It excited her even more.
”He’s never been interested in using his strength to acquire power. He fought against every attempt I made to bring him around.”
”That’s because you handled him wrong,” Hekatah snarled. ”If you had doted on Sadi the way you had doted on that excuse for a son-”
”You used to think it was amusing that I was playing bedroom games with the High Lord’s boy. You said it would make a man out of him.”
And it had. It had honed Sadi’s cruelty, his taste for perverse pleasure. She had sensed that, too. Just as she had sensed that it wouldn’t be easy to get around his deep hatred for Dorothea. Well, she wouldn’t let that interfere with her own ambitions. Besides, Dorothea was becoming difficult, unreliable. She would have had to eliminate the bitch after the war was won anyway.
”I tell you, he’s up to something,” Dorothea insisted. ”And you’re just letting him wander around the camp to do who knows what.”
”What am I supposed to do?” Hekatah snapped. ”Without any leverage, we can’t go up against the Black and expect to win.”
”We’ve got leverage,” Dorothea said through clenched teeth.
Hekatah let out a nasty laugh. ”What leverage? If he really has destroyed Andulvar, Prothvar, and Mephis, he’s not going to squirm because Saetan’s guts are spilling out on the ground.”
”You picked the wrong man, the wrong threat,” Dorothea said irritably, waving a hand. ”He may not give a damn about Saetan, but he’s always buckled when Lucivar was threatened. Lucivar’s been the one chain we could count on to hold Sadi. If you threatened-” She paused, sniffed, looked toward the door, and said uneasily, ”What’s that smell?”
”What’s that smell?” Surreal muttered. It was well past midnight. Were the guards roasting some meat for tomorrow’s meals? Possibly, but she couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to eat anything that smelled that vile. ”Do you smell it?” She turned her head to look at Saetan-and didn’t like what she saw. Not one little bit. Since Daemon walked out of the camp the first time, the High Lord had just been staring straight ahead. Just staring. ”Uncle Saetan?”
He turned his head, slowly. His eyes focused on her-too slowly.
Checking to make sure there weren’t any guards around at the moment, she leaned toward him as much as she could. ”Uncle Saetan, this isn’t exactly the time to start taking mental side trips. We’ve got to think of a way to get out of here.”
”I’m sorry you’re here, Surreal,” he said in a worn-out voice. ”Truly, I am sorry.”
Me, too. ”Lucivar’s got the physical strength, and I can handle myself in a fight, but you’ve got the experience to come up with a plan that can use that strength to our best advantage.”
He just looked at her. The smile that finally curved his lips was gently bitter. ”Sweetheart… I’ve gotten very old in the past two days.”
She could see that, and it scared her. Without him, she wasn’t sure they could get out of there.
Hearing a door open, she immediately straightened up and looked away from him.
”Hell’s fire,” Dorothea said irritably, ”what’s that smell?” She stepped between the posts that held Saetan and Surreal.
Surreal clenched her teeth. She wore a Gray Jewel; Dorothea wore a Red. It would be easy enough to slip under Dorothea’s inner barriers and weave a death spell-something nasty so that, when it triggered, the screams and confusion might give them a chance to get away.
She began a careful descent so that no one would notice it, but before she reached the depth of her Gray Jewel, another door opened.
The vile smell intensified, making her gag.
Daemon Sadi strolled out of the prison hut, his hands in his trouser pockets. He kept moving until he reached the center of the lighted area. He didn’t look at them. His glittering eyes were focused intently on Lucivar, who stared back at him.
No one dared move.
Finally, Daemon looked toward the prison hut and said pleasantly, ”Marian, darling, come out and show your foolish husband the price for my years in the Twisted Kingdom.”
Two naked… things… floated out of the hut into the light. An hour ago, they had been a woman and a small boy. Now…
Surreal began panting in an effort to keep her stomach down. Mother Night, Mother Night, Mother Night.
Marian’s fingers and feet were gone. So was the long, lovely hair. Daemonar’s eyes were gone, as well as his hands and feet. Their wings were so crisped, the slight movement of floating made pieces break off. And their skin.,
Smiling that cold, cruel smile, the Sadist released his hold on Marian and Daemonar. The little boy hit the ground with a thump and began screaming. Marian landed on the stumps of her feet and fell. When she landed, her skin split, and…
Not blood, Surreal realized as she stared with numb, sick fascination. Cooking juices oozed out from those splits in the skin.
The Sadist hadn’t just burned them, he had cooked them-and they were still alive. Not even demon-dead, alive.
”Lucivar,” Marian whispered hoarsely as she tried to crawl toward her husband. ”Lucivar.”
Lucivar screamed, but the scream of pain changed to an Eyrien war cry. Chains snapped as he exploded away from the post, charging right at Daemon. When he had covered half the distance, a hard psychic blow knocked him off his feet, sent him rolling back toward the post. He surged to his feet, rushed at Daemon again-and was struck down again. And again. And again.
When he couldn’t get to his feet, he crawled toward Daemon, his teeth bared, his eyes filled with hate.
Sadi reached down, grabbed Daemonar’s arm, and twisted it off the way another man would twist off a drumstick.
That got Lucivar to his feet. When he charged this time, he slammed into a Black shield and went to his knees.
Daemon just watched him and smiled.
He tried to break through the shield, tried to smash his way through it, claw his way through it, battered himself against it-and finally just braced himself against it, crying.
”Daemon,” he pleaded. ”Daemon… show a little mercy.”
”You want mercy?” Daemon replied gently. With predatory speed, he stepped on Daemonar’s head.
The skull smashed like an eggshell.
Daemon walked over to Marian, who was still whispering, still trying to crawl. Even over Lucivar’s anguished howls, the rest of them could hear the bones snap when Daemon stepped on her neck.
Using Daemonar’s arm as a pointer, Sadi gestured elegantly at the two bodies, all the while watching Lucivar and smiling. ”They’re both still strong enough to make the transition to demon-dead,” he said pleasantly. ”It’s doubtful the brat is going to remember much of anything, but your wife’s last thoughts of you… How kindly will she remember you, Prick, knowing you were the cause of this?”
”Finish it,” Lucivar begged. ”Let them go.”
”Everything has a price, Prick. Pay the price, and I’ll let them go.”
”What do you want from me,” Lucivar said in a broken voice. ”Just tell me what you want from me.”
Daemon’s smile turned colder, meaner. ”Prove you can be a good boy. Crawl back to the post.”
Lucivar crawled.
Two of the guards who had been standing beyond the lighted area, watching, approached Lucivar and helped him to his feet while two others replaced the broken chains.
They were very gentle with him when they secured him to the post.
Lucivar looked at Daemon with grief-dulled eyes. ”Satisfied?”
”Yes,” Daemon said too softly. ”I’m satisfied.”
Surreal felt a flick of dark power, then another. She reached out to Marian, almost terrified that her psychic touch would get an answer. But there was nothing, no one, left.
That was when she finally realized she was crying, had been crying.
Dropping Daemonar’s arm, Sadi used a handkerchief to meticulously wipe the grease from his hand. Then, walking over to Surreal, he used the same handkerchief to wipe the tears from her face.
She almost puked on him.
”Don’t waste your tears on them, little witch,” Daemon said quietly. ”You’re next.”
She watched him walk away, disappear once more into the darkness. I may be next, you cold-hearted bastard, but I won’t go down without a fight. I can’t win against you, but I swear by all that I am that I won’t go down without a fight.
Saetan closed his eyes, unable to bear the sight of the still figures lying a few feet away from him.
I knew he was dangerous, but I didn’t know he had this in him. I helped him, encouraged him. Oh, witch-child, what kind of monster did I allow into your bed, into your heart?
As soon as they returned to Hekatah’s cabin, Dorothea fell into the nearest chair. She had done some cruel, vicious things in her life, but this…
She shuddered.
Hekatah braced her hands on the table. ”Do you still think he’ll buckle if we threaten Lucivar?” she asked in a shaky voice.
”No,” Dorothea replied in a voice just as shaky. ”I don’t know what he’ll do anymore.” For centuries, the Blood in Terreille had called him the Sadist. Now she finally understood why.
Karla watched Tersa build strange creations with brown wooden building blocks. She was grateful for the older woman’s presence, and knew Gabrielle felt the same way.
Jaenelle had disappeared shortly after she had talked to them. They, in turn, had talked to the rest of the coven, only telling them that the boyos needed to be held back for a few more days. They hadn’t told the others about Witch’s intention of going to war with Terreille-alone. They had understood the unspoken command when Jaenelle had finally shown them the dream that lived beneath the human skin.
So the coven, unhappy but united, had rounded up the boyos before any of them could slip the leash. It hadn’t been easy, and the males’ hostility toward what they considered a betrayal had been vicious enough to make Karla wonder if any of the marriages in the First Circle would survive. Some of those marriages might have been destroyed right there and then if Tersa hadn’t come along and scolded the boyos for their lack of courtesy. Since the males weren’t willing to attack her, they had given in.
Almost twenty-four hours of enforced togetherness hadn’t made things any easier, but it was the only way to ensure the males’ continued presence. Even by the Keep’s standards, the sitting room the coven had chosen as a place of confinement was a large room with several clusters of furniture and lots of pacing room-and it wasn’t big enough. The coven mostly kept to the chairs and couches to avoid being snarled at by a pacing male. And when the boyos weren’t pacing, they were huddled together, muttering.
”How many days are we going to have to do this?” Karla muttered to herself.
”As many as it takes,” Tersa replied quietly. She studied her newest creation for a minute, then knocked it down.
The wooden blocks clattered on the long table in front of the couch, but no one jumped this time, having gotten used to the noise. No one even paid much attention to Tersa’s odd creations. The boyos, in an attempt to prove they could be courteous, had admired and inquired about the first few… structures… but when Tersa’s replies became more and more confusing, they finally backed off and left her alone.
In fact, Karla would have bet they weren’t paying attention to much of anything going on in the room-until Ladvarian came in and trotted over to her.
The Sceltie looked unbearably weary, and there was a deep sadness in his brown eyes-and just a bit of an accusation.
Karla? Ladvarian said.
”Little Brother,” Karla replied.
Two bowls appeared on the small table next to Karla’s chair. One was filled with…
Karla carefully picked one up, studied it.
… bubbles of water that had protective shields around them to form a kind of skin. The other bowl had one red bubble.
I need a drop of blood from each of you, Ladvarian said.
”Why?” Karla asked as she studied the bubble. It was a brilliant little piece of Craft.
For Jaenelle.
Hearing that, Chaosti jumped in. ”If Jaenelle wants something from us right now, she can ask us herself.”
”Chaosti,” Gabrielle hissed.
Chaosti snarled at her.
Ladvarian cringed at the anger in the room, but his eyes never left Karla.
”Why?” Karla asked.
”Why why why,” Tersa said irritably as she knocked over the building blocks. ”Humans can’t even give a little gift without asking why why why. It is for your Queen. What more do you need to know?” Then, as if the outburst had never happened, she began arranging blocks again.
Karla shivered as she stared at Ladvarian. There were two ways to interpret ”for Jaenelle.” Either the dog was just the courier and was bringing these drops of blood to Jaenelle because she needed them for something … or Ladvarian wanted them for Jaenelle. But how to ask the right questions and get something more than an evasive answer. Because she was certain Ladvarian would become evasive if she pushed too hard.
”I’m not sure I can give you a drop of blood, little Brother,” Karla said carefully. ”My blood is still a bit tainted from the poison.”
”That will have no effect on this,” Tersa said absently as she used Craft to hold blocks in the air. ”But what is in your heart… Yes, that will affect a great deal.”
”Why?” Karla asked-and then winced when Tersa just looked at her. She turned her attention back to Ladvarian. ”So, that’s all we have to do? Just put a drop of blood into each bubble?”
When you give the blood, you must think about Jaenelle. Good thoughts, he added in a growl as he glanced at the other males.
Karla shook her head. ”I don’t understand. Why-”
”Because the Blood wilt sing to the Blood,” Tersa answered quietly. ”Because blood is the memory’s river.”
Exasperated, Karla looked at Tersa, but it was the structure that caught her eye first.
A spiral. A glistening black spiral.
Then the brown wooden blocks crashed down on the table.
Karla, Gabrielle said softly.
I saw it. She looked at Tersa, who looked back at her with frighteningly clear-sighted eyes. She knows. Mother Night, whatever is going to happen… Tersa knows. And so does Ladvarian.
And knowing that much, there was no longer any need to ask ”why.”
Glancing at Ladvarian for permission, Karla sent out the most delicate psychic tendril she could create and lightly touched the red bubble.
Ladvarian, as a puppy, being taught by Jaenelle to air walk. Being brushed and petted. Being taught…
She backed away. Those memories were private, the best he had to give.
She swallowed hard-and tasted tears. ”What Jaenelle is trying to do… Is it dangerous?”
Yes, Ladvarian answered.
”Have other kindred given this gift?”
All the kindred who know her.
And I’ll bet none of them asked why why why. Karla looked at the rest of the First Circle. No trace of anger. Not anymore. They would think about Jaenelle’s actions over the past few weeks and reach the right conclusion.
”All right, little Brother,” Karla said. Before she could use her thumbnail to prick a finger, Gabrielle touched her shoulder.
”I think…” Gabrielle hesitated, took a deep breath. ”I think this should be done as ritual.”
So that it would be as powerful as they could make it. ”Yes, you’re right.” Karla set the clear bubble back into the bowl.
”I’ll get what we need,” Gabrielle said.
”I’ll go with you,” Morghann said.
As Gabrielle and Morghann walked past the males, Chaosti and Khary reached out, each one giving his wife a gentle touch of apology before stepping aside.
With a weary sigh, Ladvarian moved out of the way and lay down.
Tersa stood up.
”Tersa?” Karla said. ”Aren’t you going to give the gift?”
Those clear-sighted eyes looked into her. Then Tersa smiled, said, ”I already have,” and left the room.
That was enough to tell Karla who had shown the kindred how to create those brilliant little pieces of Craft.
Watching the males shift places and take up their usual protective stance, Karla’s eyes filled with tears, and she wished, futilely, that Morton could have been standing among them.
We’ll be all right, she thought when she saw Aaron wrap his arms around Kalush. The harsh words will be forgiven, and we’ll be all right.
But would Jaenelle?
”It’s your turn, little bitch,” Daemon said as he unfastened the chains from the post.
Surreal stared at him. It was after midnight-was, in fact, almost twenty-four hours since he had killed Marian and Daemonar. The day had been quiet enough. Sadi had prowled around the camp, making everyone nervous, and Dorothea and Hekatah had played least-in-sight.
”What are you going to do with the bitch?” Dorothea said, approaching the posts.
Until now.
Daemon looked at Dorothea and smiled. ”Well, darling, I’m going to use her to give you what you’ve always wanted.”
”Meaning what?” Dorothea asked uneasily.
”Meaning,” Daemon purred, ”that I’m going to break your slut of a granddaughter. And then I’m going to mount her until she’s seeded with my child. She’s ripe for it. It’ll catch. And I’ll make sure she has all the incentive she needs not to try to abort it. Your bloodline and me, Dorothea. Exactly what you’ve wanted from me. And all you’ll have to overlook is the fact that the result might have pointed ears.”
Laughing, he dragged Surreal into the same hut that had held Marian and Daemonar.
She waited until he had turned to close the door before she called in her stiletto and launched herself at him. He spun around, raised an arm to block the knife. She twisted, bringing the knife in under his arm, intending to drive it between his ribs up to the hilt. Instead, the knife hit a shield, slid right past him, and went into the door.
Before she could yank the knife out of the wood, Daemon grabbed her, shoved her back to the center of the small room. Screaming, she launched herself at him again. He caught her hands and roughly pushed her back until her knees hit the edge of the narrow bed. She went down with him on top of her.
He rolled off immediately, sprang to his feet. ”That’s enough.”
She leaped off the bed and hurled every curse she knew at the top of her lungs before she lunged at him again.
He pushed her away and swore viciously. ”Damn it, Surreal, that’s enough.”
”If you think I’m going to spread my legs for you, you’d better think again, Sadist.”
”Shut up, Surreal,” Daemon said quietly but intensely.
She felt the shields go up around the hut. Not just a Black protective shield but a Black aural shield as well. Which meant no one could hear what was happening inside.
He took a deep breath, raked his fingers through his hair. ”Well,” he said dryly, ”that little performance ought to convince the bitches that something is happening in here.”
She had been gathering herself to spring at him again, intending to go for his balls this time. But that tone and those words sounded so… Daemon… that she paused. And remembered Karla’s warning about a friend who becomes an enemy in order to remain a friend.
He eyed her, then approached warily. ”Let’s see your wrists.”
She held out her hands, watching him-and saw the fury in his eyes when he snapped off the manacles and looked at the raw skin underneath.
Surreal huffed. ”Damn it, Sadi, what kind of game are you playing?”
”A vicious one,” he replied, calling in a leather box. He looked through it, pulled out a jar, and handed it to her. ”Put that on your wrists.”
She opened the jar, sniffed. A Healer’s ointment. While she applied it to her wrists, he called in another box. There were several balls of clay sitting in nests of paper. Two of the nests were empty.
”Do you still have the food pack you brought?”
”Yes. I haven’t had a chance to eat any of it,” she added tartly.
”Then eat something now,” he said, still looking through the box. ”I’d give you some from mine, but I gave most of it to Marian.”
A chill went down Surreal’s spine. There was a funny buzzing in her head. ”To Marian?”
”Do you remember the shack we stopped at when we got to Hayll?”
”Yes.” Of course she remembered it. It was a couple of miles away from the camp. That was where Daemon had changed into the Sadist. One minute he had been carefully explaining about the sentries and the perimeter stakes that would alert the guards, and the next thing she knew, she was tied up and he was purring threats about how she should have stayed under Falonar and stayed out of his way. He had scared her, badly. And the fact that he had made her furious now. ”You could have told me, you son of a bitch.”
He looked up. ”Would you have been as convincing?”
She bristled, insulted. ”You’re damn right I would have been.”
”Well, we’re going to have a chance to find out. You said you wanted to help, Surreal. That you were willing to be a diversion.”
She had said that, but she’d thought she would have known when she was being a diversion. ”So?”
”So now you will be.” He approached her, held up a small gold hoop. ”Listen carefully. This will produce the illusion that you’re broken.” He slipped the hoop through one of the links of the necklace that held her Gray Jewel. ”No one will be able to detect that you’re still wearing the Gray unless you use it. If you do need to use it, then don’t hesitate. I’ll figure out some way to deal with things here.”
”The High Lord will know I’m not broken.”
Daemon shook his head as he turned back to search for something else in the box. ”You’d have to wear Jewels darker than the Black to be able to detect that spell.”
Darker than the Black? Sadi couldn’t make a spell like that. Which meant…
Mother Night.
”This”-Daemon held up a tiny crystal vial before attaching it to the necklace-”will convince anyone who thinks to check that you’re not only fertile but you’re now pregnant. A Healer would be able to tell within twenty-four hours,” he added, answering her unspoken question.
Lifting the necklace, Surreal studied the vial. ”You asked Jaenelle to create an illusion that I was pregnant with your child?”
She saw his face tighten.
Yes, he had asked Jaenelle. And it had hurt him to ask.
Looking to change the subject, she pointed to the balls of clay. ”What are those?”
”The raw spells to create shadows.”
Shadows. Illusions that could be made to fool someone into believing the person in front of them was real.
”Marian and Daemonar,” she said weakly, staring at the two empty nests of paper.
”Yes,” he replied sharply.
She hissed at him. ”You didn’t trust me, a whore, to put on a good show, but you figured Lucivar would be convin-” Her voice trailed away. ”He doesn’t know, does he?”
”No,” Daemon said quietly, ”he doesn’t know.”
Her legs weakened so abruptly, she sat on the floor. ”Hell’s fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful.”
”I know.” Daemon hesitated. ”I’m buying time, Surreal. I have got to buy enough time and still get everyone out of here. In order to make Dorothea and Hekatah believe Marian and Daemonar were dead, Lucivar had to believe it.”
”Mother Night.” Surreal rested her forehead on her knees. ”What’s worth paying a price like this?”
”My Queen needs the time in order to save Kaeleer.”
”Oh, shit, Sadi.” She looked up at him. ”Tell me something. Even though you knew it was an illusion, how did you keep your stomach down afterward?”
He swallowed hard. ”I didn’t.”
”You’re mad,” she muttered as she climbed to her feet.
”I serve,” he said sharply.
Sometimes, for a male, it amounted to the same thing.
”All right,” she said as she hooked her hair behind her pointed ears. ”What do you need me to do?”
He hesitated, then started to hedge. ”It’s dangerous.”
”Daemon,” she said patiently, ”what do you need?” When he still didn’t answer, she took a guess. ”You want me to wander around the camp whimpering and looking like a woman who’s been raped out of her mind and is now terrified of what will happen to her if she miscarries the child that was produced from that rape. Right?”
”Yes,” he said faintly.
”And then what?”
”Marian and Daemonar are at that shack. Slip out of camp tomorrow night, pick them up, and then go to the Keep. Don’t stop, don’t go anywhere else. Get to the Keep. You’ll have to ride the Red Wind. The darker ones are unstable.”
”Un-Never mind, I don’t want to know about that.” She thought everything through carefully. Yes, she could play this out. A woman that broken would spend a lot of time hiding, so letting people get glimpses of her throughout the day would be enough-and would hide the fact that she had disappeared.
Daemon reached for one of the balls of clay.
”What’s that for?” Surreal asked.
”You would have fought for as long as you could,” Daemon said, not looking at her. ”You would look like you’d fought. After I create the illusion, you can carry this and-”
”No.” Surreal shrugged out of her jacket and started unbuttoning her shirt. ”You can’t play all of this out with illusions. Not if you want to convince Dorothea and Hekatah long enough to buy the time Jaenelle needs.”
His eyes turned hard yellow. ”I’ll give up a great deal for this, Surreal, but I’m not going to break my vow of fidelity.”
”I know,” she replied quietly. ”That’s not what I meant.”
”Then what did you mean?” Daemon snapped.
She took a deep breath to steady herself. ”You have to make the bruises real.”
Calling in the bowl, Ladvarian placed it carefully on the chamber floor and watched the Arachnian Queen delicately touch the little bubbles now filled with blood and memories.
Is good, the spider said with approval. Good memories. Strong memories. As strong as kindred.
Ladvarian looked at the bowl that sat in front of the huge tangled web. There were still a lot of the kindred’s gifts left in the bowl. It wasn’t a fast thing the Weaver was doing.
You must rest, the spider said as she selected a bubble from the humans’ offerings and floated up to a thread in the web. All kindred must rest. Must be strong when the time comes to anchor the dream to flesh.
Will you have enough time to add all the memories? Ladvarian asked respectfully.
The Weaver of Dreams didn’t reply for a long time. Then, Enough. Just enough.
The whimpering wasn’t all feigned.
But, Hell’s fire, Surreal thought as she wandered aimlessly around the camp, she hadn’t expected to have to goad Daemon quite that much before he finally got down to business. And she’d understood that the anger behind his teeth and hands was because he’d had to touch a woman besides Jaenelle in a few intimate places. But, shit, he didn’t have to bite her breast quite that hard.
On the other hand, he had chosen his marks very carefully. Judging by the look in people’s eyes when they saw her, the bruises were impressive, but none of them impeded movement or would freeze a muscle if she had to fight.
The hardest part had been seeing the hatred in Saetan’s eyes. She’d wanted to tell him. Oh, how she’d wanted to say something, anything, to get that look out of his eyes. And she might have if Daemon hadn’t chosen that moment to glide by and make a devastatingly cutting remark. After that, throughout the rest of the morning, she had avoided the High Lord-and she hadn’t dared get anywhere near Lucivar.
But she had made sure that Dorothea had seen her. She’d felt the bitch trying to probe her to find out if she was really broken and really pregnant. Apparently the illusion spells had held up because Dorothea gently suggested that she lie down for a while and rest. The bitch was almost drooling over the idea of being able to get her hands on any child sired by Sadi.
She’d go back and hide for a little while, wait until sunset, then put in an appearance so that Hekatah could sniff around her. Then all she had to do was slip past the sentries and the perimeter markers, pick up Marian and Daemonar, and get them home. That was all she… Shit.
She hadn’t been paying attention to exactly where she was going-and now found herself staring right into Lucivar’s eyes.
He had spent the morning watching her whenever she appeared. It was a good act, but it was just a little off. Not that anyone else would have noticed. Oh, he was sure Dorothea and Hekatah and plenty of the guards had seen broken witches, but he doubted any of them had ever paid any attention to those women after the breaking. He, on the other hand, had taken care of a few of them in a number of courts. He hadn’t been able to stop the breaking, but he’d taken care of them afterward. And they all had one thing in common: the first day or two after they were broken, they were cold. They huddled up in shawls and blankets, stayed close to any source of heat that was available to them.
But there was Surreal, wandering through the camp, wearing nothing over a shirt that seemed torn in all the right places to display some impressive bruises. And that made him think about a lot of things.
”You should put on a jacket, sweetheart,” he said gently.
”Jacket?” Surreal said feebly while her hands tried to cover some of the rips in the shirt.
”A jacket. You’re cold.”
”Oh. No I’m-”
”Cold.”
She shivered then, but it wasn’t from cold, it was from nerves.
”You don’t have to carry that bastard’s child,” Lucivar said quietly. ”You can abort it. A broken witch still has that much power. And once you’re barren, there’s no reason for anyone to look in your direction.”
”I can’t,” Surreal said fearfully. ”I can’t. He would be so mad at me and…” She looked at the spot where Marian and Daemonar had died.
He wondered if he was wrong, if her mind really was so torn apart she didn’t quite feel the cold yet. If that was true, then he understood the fear in her voice now. She was afraid the Sadist would do the same thing to her that he had done to Marian and Daemonar.
But what he saw in her eyes when she looked at him again wasn’t fear, it was hot frustration.
The blood in his veins, which had felt so sluggish since he had crawled back to the post two nights ago, raged through him once again.
”Surreal…” He saw Daemon appear on the other side of the circle of bare ground a moment before she did.
With an almost-convincing cry, Surreal ran off.
Lucivar stared at Daemon. From across the distance, Daemon returned the stare.
”You bastard,” Lucivar whispered. Daemon wouldn’t have heard the words, but it didn’t matter. Sadi would know what had been said.
Daemon walked away.
Lucivar leaned his head back against the post and closed his eyes.
If Surreal wasn’t broken, if this was all a game, then Marian and Daemonar…
He should have remembered that about the Sadist. He, better than anyone else there, knew how vicious Daemon could be, but the Sadist had never harmed an innocent, had never hurt a child.
He had been waiting for the signal, but the game had begun before Daemon had walked into the camp. Still, he had played his part well-and would continue to do so.
Because understanding and forgiving were two very different things.
Drifting in a pain-hazed doze, Saetan felt the cup against his lips. The first swallow he took out of reflex, the second out of greed. As the taste of fresh blood filled his mouth, the Black power in it flowed through him, offering strength.
Hold on, a deep voice whispered in his mind. You have to hold on. Please.
He heard the weariness in that voice. He heard a son’s plea to a father, and he responded. Being the man he was, he couldn’t do otherwise. So he pushed his way through the haze of pain.
When he opened his eyes, all he saw was waning daylight, and he wondered if he’d just dreamed the plea he’d heard in Daemon’s voice.
But he could still taste the dark, rich, fresh blood.
Closing his eyes again, he let his mind drift.
He was standing in an enormous cavern somewhere in the heart of Ebon Askavi. Etched in the floor was a huge web lined with silver. In the center where all the tether lines met was an iridescent Jewel the size of his hand, a Jewel that blended the colors of all the other Jewels. At the end of each tether line was an iridescent Jewel chip the size of his thumbnail.
He had been in this place once before, on the night when he had linked with Daemon in order to draw Jaenelle back to her body.
But there was something else in the cavern now.
Stretching across that silver web on the floor were three massive, connected tangled webs that rose from about a foot from the floor to almost twice his height. In the center of each web was an Ebony Jewel.
Witch stood in front of those webs, wearing that black spidersilk gown, holding the scepter that held two Ebony Jewels and the spiral horn Kaetien had gifted her with when he’d been killed five years ago.
Behind the webs were dozens of demon-dead. One of them approached the webs, smiled, then faded. At the moment the person faded, a little star the same color as the person’s Jewel bloomed on the middle web.
Puzzled, he moved to get a better look at the tangled webs.
The first one repulsed him. The threads looked swollen, moldy, tainted. At the end of every single tether line of that web was an Ebony Jewel chip.
The middle one was beautiful, filled with thousands of those little colored stars and a sprinkling of Black and Ebony Jewel chips.
The last one was a simple web, perfect in its symmetry, made of gray, ebon-gray, and black threads. It, too, had Black and Ebony Jewel chips that had been carefully placed on the threads to form a spiral.
He glanced at Witch, but she was focused on the task, so he shifted again to watch.
He saw Char, the leader of the cildru dyathe, approach the webs. The boy grinned at him, waved a jaunty good-bye, and faded to become another bright star.
Titian approached him, kissed his cheek. ”I’m proud to have known you, High Lord.” She walked over to the webs and faded.
As he watched her, something nagged at him. Something about the structure of those webs. But before he could figure it out, Dujae, the artist who had given the coven drawing lessons, approached him.
”Thank you, High Lord,” the huge man said. ”Thank you for allowing me to know the Ladies. All the portraits I have done of them are at the Hall in Kaeleer now. My gift to you.”
”Thank you, Dujae,” he replied, puzzled.
As Dujae walked away, Prothvar stepped up. ”It’s a different kind of battlefield, but it’s a good way to fight. Take care of the waif, Uncle Saetan.” Prothvar hugged him.
Cassandra came next. Cassandra, whom he hadn’t seen since the first party when they had all met the coven and the boyos.
She smiled at him, a sad smile, then pressed her hand against his cheek. ”I wish I had been a better friend. May the Darkness embrace you, Saetan.” She kissed him. When she faded, a glorious Black star began to shine in the middle web.
”Mephis,” he said when his eldest son approached. ”Mephis, what-”
Mephis smiled and hugged him. ”I was proud to have you for a father, and honored to know you as a man. I’m not sure I ever told you that. I wanted you to know. Good-bye, Father. I love you.”
”And I love you, Mephis,” he said, holding on hard as he felt grief swell inside him.
When Mephis faded into the web, the only one left of the demon-dead was Andulvar.
”Andulvar, what’s going on?”
”And the Blood will sing to the Blood,” Andulvar replied. ”Like to like.” He looked at the webs. ”She found a way to identify those who have been tainted from those who still honor the ways of the Blood. But she needed help to keep those who followed the old ways from being swept away with the rest when she unleashes. That’s what the demon-dead will do-our strength will anchor the living. We’ll burn out in the doing, but as Prothvar said, it’s a good way to fight.”
Andulvar smiled at him. ”Take care of yourself, SaDiablo. And take care of those pups of yours. Both of them. Just remember that your mirror truly is your mirror. You only have to look to see the truth.” Andulvar hugged him. ”No man could have asked for a better friend or a better Brother. Hold on. Fight. You have the hardest burden, but your sons will help you.”
Andulvar walked to the webs. He spread his dark wings, raised his arms… and faded.
As he blinked back tears, Jaenelle walked over to him. He wrapped his arms around her. ”Witch-child …”
She shook her head, kissed him, and smiled. But her eyes were filled with tears.
”Thank you for being my father. It was glorious, Saetan.” Then she leaned close and whispered in his ear, ”Take care of Daemon. Please. He’ll need you.”
She didn’t fade into the web, she just disappeared.
Wiping the tears with the back of his hand, he approached the webs and studied them carefully.
The first web, the moldy web, were the Blood tainted by Dorothea and Hekatah. The second web, with all its Jewel stars, were the Blood who still honored the old ways. The third web, with its spiral, was Witch.
As he continued to study the webs, he began to shake his head, slowly at first, then faster and faster. ”No, no, no, witch-child,” he muttered. ”You can’t connect them like this. If you unleash your full strength …”
It would blast through the large Ebony Jewel in the center of the first web, travel through all the strands, sweep up all the minds that resonated with those strands, then hit all the Ebony chips, meeting a smaller portion of itself in a devastating collision of power that would destroy anyone caught in it. Then it would continue on to the next web, barely diminished.
The middle web, with all those thousands of beads of power, would provide tremendous resistance as her strength swept through it. The demon-dead, providing a shield and anchor for the living, would absorb some of her power as it flooded over them, but not all of those thousands of beads of power would be enough. That unleashed strength would continue on to the third web and…
The power would flow through that perfect symmetry, burn out the web, and shatter every Jewel chip as it came blasting back through the spiral. And once the last Jewel chip shattered, the only thing left to reabsorb the rest of the power would be…
”NO, witch-child,” he shouted, turning round and round, searching for her. ”No! A backlash like that will rip you apart! Jaenelle!”
He turned back to the webs. Maybe, if he could link himself to Witch’s web somehow, draw every drop of reserve power out of his Birthright Red Jewels and his Black… Maybe he could shield her enough to keep her safe when the rest of that explosion of power came screaming back at her.
He took a step forward…
… and everything faded.
Saetan opened his eyes. Deep twilight. Almost night.
A dream? Just a dream? No. He had been a Black Widow too long not to know the difference between a dream and a vision. But it was fading. He couldn’t quite remember, and there was something about that vision that was desperately important for him to remember.
That was when he noticed Daemon standing a few feet in front of him, watching him with frightening intensity.
Just remember that your mirror truly is your mirror. You only have to look to see the truth.
Andulvar’s words. Andulvar’s warning.
So, with eyes blinded by tears, he looked at his mirror, his namesake, his true heir. And saw.
Still watching him, Daemon reached into his jacket pocket. His hand came out as a loose fist. He opened his fingers, tipped his hand.
Little colored bangles, the kind women sewed on dresses to catch the light, spilled to the ground.
Saetan stared at them. They chilled him, but he couldn’t say why.
And when he looked up again at Daemon … He could almost hear the unspoken plea to think, to know, to remember. But his mind was still too full of the other vision that had turned elusive.
Daemon walked away.
Saetan closed his eyes. Bangles and webs. If he could find the connection, he would also find the answers.
Surreal swore silently as she stared at the perimeter stakes. There had to be a trick to getting past them. Hell’s fire, Daemon had gotten them into the camp without anyone realizing it, but she’d still been too stunned by his shift into the Sadist to pay much attention. And he’d gotten Marian and Daemonar out without anyone realizing it.
Could it be as simple as jumping over them so the contact between the crystals wasn’t broken? No, she would have remembered that.
”What are you doing out here?” a voice demanded.
Shit.
She turned to face the sentry who was moving toward her. She was too far away from the camp for anyone to believe she was just a broken witch wandering around. But she had to try to convince this bastard. Or kill him quietly. If she ended up in a fight and used her Gray Jewels, Daemon would know she’d run into trouble and alter the rest of his plans. And that would allow those bitches to realize they’d been tricked and really start the war.
”The hut’s lost,” she said, waving her hand in a vague gesture.
He came closer, his eyes full of suspicion and doubt. ”Answer me, bitch. Why are you out here?”
”The hut’s lost,” she repeated, doing her best to imitate the way Tersa’s mind tended to meander. She pointed. ”It should be near that fuzzy post, but it wandered off.”
The sentry looked in that direction. ”That’s a tree, you stupid bitch. Now-” He stopped, raked her body with his eyes, then smiled. Looking around to make sure no one else was nearby, he reached for her.
She took a step back, placed a protective hand over her abdomen, and shook her head. ”Can’t touch another male. He’ll get mad at me if I touch another male.”
The sentry gave her an evil grin. ”Well, he’s not going to know, is he?”
Surreal hesitated. That would certainly get her close enough to ram a knife between his ribs, but it would also take time she didn’t have. The Gray Jewels then, and a fast kill-and may the Darkness help Sadi with whatever was going to happen in the camp afterward.
Down, Surreal!
She felt hind legs brush against her back as she dove.
A moment later, the sentry lay dead, his throat torn out.
A sight shield faded, revealing the blood-splashed wolf.
”Graysfang?” Surreal whispered. She touched the Jewel beneath her shirt. Gray’s fang. The High Lord had been right.
Skirting the dead sentry, she reached for the wolf.
Wait, Graysfang said.
That’s when she saw the small golden bump between his ears. The bump lifted, floated to the nearest perimeter stake, and uncurled its legs.
Surreal stared at the small gold spider as it busily spun a simple tangled web between two of the stakes. When it was done, it picked its way to the center of the web.
The sentry vanished. There was no trace of blood on the ground.
They will not find him now, Graysfang said. They can only see what the web lets them see. He gently closed his teeth around Surreal’s arm and started tugging her.
”What about the spider?”
She will stay to guard the web. Hurry, Surreal.
She shook her arm free of his teeth. It would be easier to keep up with him if she wasn’t hunched over. Switching to a communication thread, she asked, What are you doing here? How did you get through the perimeter stakes?
Humans are foolish. The meat trail is unguarded. Too many legs moving on the trail. The humans got tired of baring their fangs when it was only meat.
Meat trail? Oh, game trail. How did you know about the trail? How did you find me?
The Weaver of Dreams told me to learn the two-legged cat’s scent and follow his tracks. He is a good hunter, Graysfang added with approval. There is much feline in him. Kaelas says so.
Sadi, with the predatory grace even the kindred recognized. Graysfang had followed Sadi. Who’s this Weaver? She got a quick image of a large golden spider-and stumbled.
Damn fool of an idiot wolf. It was bad enough that he had gone to Arachna and brought a small spider back with him. But to deal with the Queen…
She asked me, Surreal, Graysfang said meekly when she snarled at him. It’s a bad thing to refuse the Weaver.
Surreal gritted her teeth and picked up the pace. We’ll talk about it later.
As soon as she saw the game trail, she recognized the place. This was where Daemon had brought them through the camp’s perimeter. I couldn’t have found this place again by myself.
You have a small snout, the wolf said kindly. You cannot smell tracks.
Surreal looked at Graysfang-at Gray’s fang-and smiled.
”Let’s go,” she whispered. ”Do you know the way to the shack?”
I know.
An hour later, she, Marian, Daemonar, and Graysfang were riding the Red Wind to the Keep.
”I think it’s time we had a little talk,” Hekatah said, trying to smile coyly at Daemon.
”Really?”
Oh, the arrogance, the surliness, the meanness in that voice. If his father had been even half the man the son was…
”It takes so long for a Realm to recover from a war, it would be foolish to go through with it if it can be avoided,” she said, reaching up to caress his face as she wove a seduction spell around him.
He stepped back. ”Don’t ever touch me without my permission,” he snarled softly. ”Not even Jaenelle is allowed to touch me without my permission.”
”And she submits?”
He smiled that cold, brutal smile. ”She submits to a great many things-and begs for more.”
Hekatah looked into his glazed eyes and shivered with excitement. The air was filled with the earthy tang of sex. She had him. He just didn’t know it yet. ”A partnership would serve us both well.”
”But you already have a partner, Hekatah-one I will not deal with in any way.”
She waved a hand dismissively. ”She can be taken care of easily enough.” She paused. ”Darling Dorothea hasn’t been sleeping well. I think I’ll give her a little cup of something that will help.”
He stared at her with those glazed eyes, a man aroused to the point of being frightening-and terribly exciting.
”In that case…” Daemon’s hands cupped her face. His lips brushed against hers.
She was disappointed by the gentleness-until he really kissed her. Mean, dominating, unforgiving, demanding, painfully exciting.
But she was demon-dead. Her body couldn’t respond that way, couldn’t…
She drowned in that kiss, staggered by sensations her body hadn’t felt in centuries.
He finally raised his head.
She stared at him. ”How… It isn’t possible.”
”I think we’ve just proved that’s a lie,” Daemon crooned. ”I punish women who lie to me.”
”Do you?” Hekatah whispered, swaying. She couldn’t look away from the cruel pleasure in his eyes. ”I’ll take care of Dorothea.”
He kissed her again. This time she felt the mockery in the gentleness. There was nothing gentle about him. Nothing.
”I’ll take care of Dorothea,” she said again. ”And then we’ll be partners.”
”And I promise you, darling,” Daemon purred, ”you’re going to get everything you deserve.”
Dorothea woke up late in the morning and groaned at the pain in her belly. It felt like a year’s worth of moontime cramps had settled in her gut. She couldn’t get sick now. Couldn’t. Maybe a cup of herbal tea or some broth. Hell’s fire, she was cold. Why was she so damn cold?
Shivering, she dragged herself out of bed-and fell.
After the shock came fear as she remembered the brew Hekatah had made for her last night. To help her sleep. What had she been thinking of not to test something that came from Hekatah’s hand?
She hadn’t been thinking. Hadn’t…
That bitch. That walking piece of carrion must have used a compulsion spell on her to get her to drink it-and then to forget that she’d been ordered to drink it.
Her muscles constricted, twisted.
Not sick. Poisoned.
She needed help. She needed…
Her cabin door opened and closed.
Gasping from the effort, she rolled onto her side and stared at Daemon Sadi.
”Daemon,” she whimpered, trying to hold out a hand toward him. ”Daemon… help…”
He just stood there, studying her. Then he smiled. ”Looks like witchblood was part of last night’s little brew,” he said pleasantly.
She couldn’t draw a full breath. ”You did this. You did this.”
”You were becoming a problem, darling. It’s nothing personal.”
She felt the pain of the insult even through the physical pain. ”Hekatah…”
”Yes,” Daemon purred, ”Hekatah. Now, don’t worry, darling. I’ve put an aural and a protective shield around your cabin, so you’ll be quite undisturbed for the rest of the day.”
He walked out of the cabin.
She tried to crawl to the door, tried to scream for help. Couldn’t do either.
It didn’t take long for her world to become nothing but pain.
Daemon closed the door of the prison hut he’d been using whenever he needed to stay somewhere for a little while. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he withdrew the Jewels he’d gone to Dorothea’s cabin to retrieve-Saetan’s Black ring; Lucivar’s pendant, ring, and Ring of Honor. He knew her well, knew exactly where to probe for a hiding place. It hadn’t taken him more than a minute to slip around her guard spells and lift the Jewels while he stood there and talked to her.
He studied the Jewels and sighed with relief. Both men had put strong shields around the jewelry before handing them over to those bitches, so there was no way the pieces could have been tampered with or tainted. Still…
Setting the Jewels into the washbasin, he poured water over them, added some astringent herbs for cleansing, then let them soak.
This would be the last day, the last night. He could endure it that much longer. Had to endure it.
He closed his eyes. Soon, sweetheart. A few more hours and I’ll be on my way home, on my way back to you. And then we’ll be married.
Picturing Jaenelle slipping the plain gold wedding ring onto his finger, he smiled.
And then he remembered the seduction spell Hekatah had woven around him. Oh, he’d been aware of it, could have easily broken it-but he had let his body respond to it while he touched Hekatah. Kissed Hekatah. Hated Hekatah.
Just a game. A nasty, vicious game.
He barely made it to the chamber pot before he was quietly, but thoroughly, sick.
”It’s your turn, Prick.”
Because he was looking for it, because he knew what to look for, Lucivar saw the sick desperation in Daemon’s eyes.
So he remained passive while Daemon unchained him and led him into the other prison hut, the one closest to them. And he stayed impassive while Daemon feverishly rumpled the small bed.
Then he let out an anguished Eyrien war cry that startled Daemon badly enough to fall onto the bed.
”Hell’s fire, Prick,” Daemon muttered as he stood up.
”Convincing enough?” Lucivar asked mildly.
Daemon froze.
All the masks dropped away. Lucivar saw a man physically and emotionally exhausted, a man barely able to stay on his feet.
”Why?” he asked quietly.
”I had to buy Jaenelle some time. I needed your hate to do it.”
That simple. That painful. Daemon would regret it, deeply regret it, but he wouldn’t hesitate to rip out his brother’s heart if that’s what Jaenelle needed from him. Which was exactly what he had done.
”You’re here with Jaenelle’s consent,” Lucivar said, wanting the confirmation.
”I’m here at her command.”
”To play out this game.”
”To play out this game,” Daemon agreed quietly.
Lucivar nodded, let out a bitter laugh. ”Well, Bastard, you’ve played a good game.” He paused, then said coldly, ”Where are Marian and Daemonar?”
Daemon’s hand shook a little as he raked his fingers through his hair. ”Since Surreal didn’t have to blast anyone with the Gray to get away from here, I have to assume she safely reached the hiding place where I had left them. They’re all at the Keep by now.”
Lucivar let that sink in, allowed himself a moment’s relief and joy. ”So now what happens?”
”Now I create a shadow of you, and you head for the Keep. Stay on the Red Wind. The darker ones are unstable.”
Shadows. Daemon never could have created shadows that convincing. Not by himself. And Jaenelle… Jaenelle, having grown up around Andulvar and Prothvar, would have expected an Eyrien warrior to be able to accept the pain of the battlefield, no matter what that battlefield looked like.
”What do you need?” Lucivar asked.
Daemon hesitated. ”Some hair, skin, and blood.”
”Then let’s play the game through.”
They worked together in silence. The only sound Lucivar made during that time was a sigh of relief when Daemon slipped the Ring of Honor over his cock and used it to remove the Ring of Obedience in a way that wouldn’t be detected.
Putting on the Ebon-gray Jewels Daemon had returned to him, he watched the final steps to the spell that would create a shadow of himself. And shuddered when he saw the tormented, anguished creature whose lips were pulled back in a rictus grin.
”Hell’s fire, Bastard,” Lucivar said, feeling queasy. ”What was it you did to me that I would have ended up looking like that?”
”I don’t know,” Daemon replied wearily. ”But I’m sure Hekatah can imagine something.” He hesitated, swallowed hard. ”Look, Prick, for once in your life, just do as you’re told. Get to the Keep. Everyone who matters the most to you is waiting for you there.”
”Not everyone,” Lucivar said softly.
”I’ll get the High Lord out.” Daemon waited.
Lucivar knew what Daemon was waiting for, what he hoped for. He wanted to be told that Saetan wasn’t the only one left who mattered.
Lucivar said nothing.
Daemon looked away, and said wearily, ”Let’s go. There’s one more game to play.”
Saetan stared at the bangles lying on the ground. Why had Daemon made such a point of them? And why did they chill him so much?
He hissed in frustration, then jolted at the sibilant sound.
”You wish to undersstand thiss?” Draca had asked.
Bangles floating in a tank of water. Draca holding an egg-shaped stone attached to a thin silk cord. ”A sspiral.”
The stone moving in a circular motion, spiraling, spiraling, until all the water was in motion, all the bangles caught.
”A whirlpool,” Geoffrey had said.
”No,” Draca had replied. ”A maelsstrom…. Sshe will almosst alwayss sspiral…. You cannot alter her nature…. But the maelsstrom…. Sshield her, Ssaetan. Sshield her with your sstrength and your love and perhapss it will never happen.”
”And if it does?” he had asked.
”It will be the end of the Blood.”
End of the Blood.
End of…
Those bangles weren’t a message from Daemon, they were a warning from Draca. Jaenelle was spiraling down to her full strength to unleash the maelstrom. The end of the Blood. Was that why she had insisted that the First Circle remain at the Keep? Because it would be the only place that could withstand that devastating power? No. Jaenelle didn’t like to kill. She wouldn’t destroy all the Blood if she could…
Damn it. Damn it, he needed to draw that vision back. Needed to see those webs again in order to remember that one important thing that was eluding him. Deliberately eluding him. A veil had been drawn across that vision to keep him from remembering that one thing until it was too late.
But if she was going to unleash the maelstrom, what in the name of Hell was Daemon doing here?
Stalling. Buying time. Keeping Dorothea and Hekatah distracted. Playing games to… Marian and Daemonar. Then Surreal. He’d heard Lucivar cry out a couple of hours ago, but there had been no sign of him since then. Which only left…
A shadow fell across the bangles.
He looked up into Daemon’s glazed eyes.
”It’s time to dance,” Daemon crooned.
He might have said something, but he could smell Hekatah nearby. So he let Daemon lead him into the prison hut, said nothing while he was tied to the bed.
When Daemon stretched out beside him, he whispered, ”When does the game end?”
Daemon tensed, swallowed hard. ”In a couple more hours,” he said, keeping his voice low. ”At midnight.” He laid a hand gently on Saetan’s chest. ”Nothing’s going to happen. Just-”
They both heard someone brush against the door, both knew who was listening.
Saetan shook his head. Everything has a price. ”Make it convincing, Daemon,” he whispered.
He saw the sick resignation and the apology in Daemon’s eyes before his son kissed him.
And he learned why the Blood called Daemon the Sadist.
Saetan lay on his side, staring at the wall.
Daemon had actually done very little. Very little. But he’d managed to convince that bitch who had hovered outside the door that a son was raping his own father without actually doing anything that would prevent either of them from being able to look the other in the eye. A rather impressive display of skill.
And very brief. He’d been concerned about that, but when Daemon walked out of the hut, he’d heard a murmured comment and Hekatah’s delighted, abrasive laugh.
So, while Daemon continued to prowl and keep the camp on edge, he’d had time to rest, to gather his strength, to think.
The game ended at midnight. What was the significance of midnight? Well, it was called the witching hour, that moment suspended between one day and the next. And it would be seventy-two hours from the time Daemon appeared in the camp.
Saetan jerked upright. Seventy-two hours.
Confined to a sitting room in the Keep, he had paced. ”From sunset to sunrise. That’s how long an Offering takes. For the White, for the Black, that’s how long it takes.”
”For the Prince of the Darkness,” Tersa had said as she pushed around the pieces of a puzzle. ”But for the Queen?”
When Jaenelle had made the Offering to the Darkness, it had taken her three days. Seventy-two hours.
”Mother Night,” he whispered, shifting into a sitting position.
The door opened. Daemon rushed in and dropped a bundle of clothing on the bed.
Before Saetan could say anything, one of Daemon’s hands was clamped behind his head and the other was holding a cup to his lips, pouring warm liquid down his throat. He had no choice but to swallow or choke. He swallowed. A moment later, he wished he had choked.
”Hell’s fire, what did you just give me?” he gasped as he bent over and pressed his forehead to his knees.
”A tonic,” Daemon said, vigorously rubbing Saetan’s back.
”Stop that,” Saetan snapped. He turned his head just enough to glare at Daemon. ”Whose tonic?”
”Jaenelle’s-with my blood added.”
Saetan swore softly, viciously, with great sincerity.
Daemon winced and muttered, ”She said it would kick like two teams of draft horses.”
”Only someone who’s never had to drink one of these little tonics would describe it that mildly.”
Daemon went down on his knees in front of Saetan and busily undid the chains. ”I couldn’t search for your clothes, so I brought you these. They should fit well enough.”
Saetan gritted his teeth as Daemon massaged his legs and feet. ”Where did you get them?”
”Off a guard. He won’t be needing them.”
”Damn things probably have lice.”
”Deal with it,” Daemon growled. Taking a ball of clay out of his jacket pocket, he rolled it into a stubby cylinder, then carefully forced the Ring of Obedience to open enough to slide off Saetan’s organ. It clamped down on the clay with the same viciousness it had clamped down on flesh.
Setting the cylinder on the bed, Daemon glanced at Saetan’s organ and sucked in a breath.
”It doesn’t matter,” Saetan said quietly. ”I’m a Guardian. I’m past that part of my life.”
”But-” Daemon pressed his lips together. ”Get these on.” After helping Saetan into the trousers, he knelt again to deal with the socks and boots. ”It’s almost midnight. We’ll be cutting it close since we’ve got to cover a bit of ground in order to reach the nearest strand of the Winds. But in a few more hours, we’ll be at the Keep. We’ll be home.”
The desperate eagerness in Daemon’s eyes tore the veil off the vision.
Two webs. One moldy, tainted. The other beautiful, full of shining beads of power.
She had found a way to separate those who lived by the ways of the Blood from those who had been perverted by Hekatah and Dorothea.
But the third web.
She was a Queen, and a Queen wouldn’t ask for what she herself wouldn’t give. And perhaps it was also the only selfish thing she’d ever done. By sacrificing herself, she wouldn’t have to carry the burden of all the lives she was about to destroy. But…
He doesn’t know. You didn’t tell him. He came here expecting you to be waiting for him when he got back. Oh, witch-child.
Which is why she had asked him to take care of Daemon, why she had known he would need to.
Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe there was still a way to stop it, to stop her.
”Let’s go,” he said abruptly.
Daemon put a sight shield over both of them, and they slipped away from the camp.
By the time they reached the place where they could catch the Winds, a cold, sharp wind had begun to blow.
Saetan stopped, drew a breath through his mouth, tasted the air.
”It’s just the wind,” Daemon said.
”No,” Saetan replied grimly, ”it’s not. Let’s go.”
Two hours later, Hekatah burst into Dorothea’s cabin, waving a stubby clay cylinder. ”We’ve been tricked. They’re all gone. That thing in the prison hut isn’t Lucivar, it’s some kind of illusion. And Saetan …” She hurled the cylinder across the room. ”That bastard Sadi lied to us.”
Lying on the floor where she’d been all day, Dorothea stared at Hekatah. As her bowels released more bloody flux, she started to laugh.
A storm had been gathering all night-thunder, lightning, wind. Now, as dawn approached, the wind had turned fierce, sounding almost as if it had a voice. ”Come,” Tersa said, helping Karla over to a couch. ”You must lie down now. Morghann, come over here and lie on the floor.”
”What’s going on?” Khardeen asked as Morghann obediently lay down on the floor near the couch. He retrieved a pillow and slipped it under his wife’s head.
”It would be better for all of you to sit on the floor. Even the Keep will feel this storm.”
The First Circle glanced at each other uneasily and obeyed.
”What is it?” Karla asked when Tersa placed an arm protectively over her and rested the other hand on Morghann’s shoulder.
”The day has come for the debts to be called in and for the Blood to answer for what they’ve become.”
”I don’t understand,” Karla said. ”What does the storm mean?”
Lightning flashed. The wind howled.
Tersa closed her eyes-and smiled. ”She is coming.”
He’d cut it too close. He hadn’t expected the ride on the Winds to be that rough or that Saetan’s physical endurance would give out so fast-or his own. They’d had to drop from the Red Wind to the Sapphire and finally, on the last part of the journey, down to the Green.
They couldn’t land at the Keep itself. Some kind of shields had come down all around the place. So he’d homed in on Lucivar’s Ebon-gray Jewel-and the one small place in the shields that Lucivar was using his Jewels to keep open-and dropped them from the Winds as close as he could. It hadn’t been close enough, not for two exhausted men trying to scramble up a steep mountain path.
Now, with the gate in sight and Lucivar’s mental urging to hurry, Daemon half carried Saetan up the slope, fighting a fierce, howling wind for every step.
Almost there. Almost. Almost.
The sky was getting lighter. The sun would lift above the horizon at any moment.
Hurry. Hurry.
”Saetan! SAE-TANNNN!”
Daemon looked behind them. Hekatah was scrambling up the slope. The bitch must have ridden the Red Wind all the way in order to get there right behind them.
Not wasting his breath to swear, he picked up the pace as best as could, dragging Saetan with him.
”Sadi!” Hekatah screamed. ”You lying bastard!”
”MOVE!” Lucivar shouted. He was using Craft to hold the gate open, straining physically and mentally to keep it from closing and locking them out.
Closer. Almost there. Almost.
Daemon grabbed the bars of the gate, used the strength in his Black Jewel to hold it open. ”Get him inside,” he said, shoving Saetan at Lucivar. Then he turned and waited.
Hekatah came up the slope, stopped a few feet away. ”You lying bastard.”
Daemon smiled. ”I didn’t lie, darling. I told you you were going to get everything you deserved.” He let go of the gate. It slammed shut, and the last shield came down over it.
As he turned and ran across the open courtyard, he heard Hekatah screaming. And he heard a wild howling, a sound full of joy and pain, rage and celebration.
He crossed the threshold into the safety of the Keep a moment before Jaenelle unleashed the maelstrom.
You musst wake, said a deep, sibilant voice. You musst wake.
Daemon opened his eyes. It took him a moment to understand why everything looked a little… strange., and readjust. It took him another moment to confirm that he was still distantly linked to his body-and that his body was lying on the cold stone floor of the Keep where he and Lucivar and Saetan had fallen when Jaenelle unleashed her full strength.
You are the triangle who helped sshape the web of dreamss. Now you musst hold the dream. There iss not much time.
Groaning, he sat up and looked around. And was instantly wide-awake.
Mother Night, where are we?
He reached over Saetan’s prone body and shook Lucivar.
Hell’s fire, Bastard, Lucivar said. He raised his head. Shit.
Both of them reached for Saetan, shook him awake.
Father, wake up. We’re in trouble, Daemon said.
Now what? Saetan growled. He raised himself up on his elbows. His eyes widened. Mother Night.
And may the Darkness be merciful, Lucivar added. Where are we?
Somewhere in the abyss. I think.
Climbing carefully to their feet, they looked around.
They were standing on the edge of a deep, wide chasm. Stretching across the chasm was an Opal web. Below them were webs the colors of the darker Jewels. Above them were webs the colors of the lighter Jewels.
What are we doing here? Lucivar asked.
We’re the triangle who helped shape the dream, Daemon said. We’re supposed to hold the dream.
Don’t go cryptic on me, Bastard, Lucivar growled.
Daemon snarled at him.
Saetan raised his hand. They both fell silent.
Who told you that? Saetan asked.
A sibilant voice. Daemon paused. It sounded like Draca, but it was male.
Saetan nodded. Lorn. He looked around again.
Far, far, far above them, lightning flashed.
Why did Jaenelle ask you to come to Hayll, Daemon? Saetan asked.
She said that the triangle had to remain together in order to survive. That the mirror had the strength to keep the other two safe.
She saw that in a tangled web?
No. The Weaver of Dreams told her.
Lucivar began to swear.
Saetan’s look was sharp, penetrating, thoughtful.
The lightning flashed a little closer.
Father, brother, lover, Saetan said softly.
Daemon nodded, remembering the triangle Tersa had traced on his palm. The father came first. The brother stands between. When they both looked at him, he shifted uneasily. Something Tersa said once.
Warnings from Tersa, the Arachnian Queen, and Draca, Saetan said. A man might ignore one at his own peril, but all three? He shook his head slowly. I think not.
The lightning flashed a little closer.
That’s all well and good, Lucivar growled, but I would prefer a straightforward order.
Thesse webss are the besst magic I can give you, Lorn said irritably. Usse them to hold the dream. If sshe breakss through all of them, sshe will return to the Darknesss. You will losse her.
Lucivar puffed out a breath. That’s clear enough. So where- He looked up as the lightning flashed again. What’s that?
They all looked up, waited for the next flash-and saw the small dark speck plummeting toward the webs.
Jaenelle, Daemon whispered.
She’ll rip right through them, Saetan said. We’ll have to use our own strength to try to slow her speed.
All right, Lucivar said. How do we go?
Saetan looked at Daemon, then at Lucivar. Father, brother, lover. He didn’t wait for an answer. He exploded upward, racing to intercept Witch before she hit the White web.
Lucivar watched for a moment, then turned to the webs, his eyes narrowed. If she hits them in the center, she’ll break through them. So we’ll roll her. He clamped a hand on Daemon’s shoulder, pointed with the other hand. Not so close to the edge that you’ll risk hitting the chasm walls, but away from the center. Then twist and roll while you’re using your own strength as a brake.
Daemon looked at the webs. What will that do?
For one thing, the counter-movement should slow the speed. And if she gets wrapped in the webs-
We’ll form a cocoon of power.
Lucivar nodded. I’ll go up to the Rose. I don’t know how much strength Saetan has left. If he’s still able to hold her, I can add my strength to his. If not …
Where should I be? Daemon asked, willing to defer to Lucivar’s ability and fighting experience.
The Green. I should be able to hold her that far. Lucivar hesitated. Good luck, Bastard.
And you, Prick.
Lucivar soared upward.
A moment later, Daemon heard Saetan’s roar of defiance as the White web shattered. In the flash, he could see two small figures falling, falling.
He floated down to the Green web.
The Yellow web shattered. Then the Tiger Eye.
He heard Lucivar’s war cry.
As the Rose web shattered, he saw a twirl of color as Lucivar rolled, fighting against the speed of the fall.
They hit the Summer-sky. Holding on to Witch’s legs, Lucivar rolled the other way, catching most of the web before they crashed through.
The Purple Dusk. The Opal.
Daemon met him halfway between the Opal and the Green.
Let go, Prick, before you shatter the Ebon-gray.
With a cry that was part defiant, part pain, and part fear, Lucivar let go.
Rage filled Daemon. Love drove him. He and Witch hit the Green web. He rolled, but he didn’t have Lucivar’s skill. They broke through close to the middle of the web. He kept rolling so that when they hit the Sapphire, they were close to the edge. He rolled the other way, wrapping her in the web’s power.
They broke through the Sapphire, but they weren’t falling as fast now. He had a little more time to brace, to plan, to pour the strength of his Black Jewels into fighting the fall.
They hit the Red, rolled, clung for a second before falling to the Gray. Only half the Gray strands broke immediately. He strained back as hard as he could. When the other half broke, he rolled them upward while the web swung them down toward the Ebon-gray. He pulled against the swing, slowing it, slowing it.
When the other side of the Gray broke, they sailed down to the Ebon-gray. The web sagged when they landed, then stretched, then stretched a little more before the strands began to break.
His Black Jewels were almost drained, but he held on, held on, held on as they floated onto the Black web.
And nothing happened.
Shaking, shivering, Daemon stared at the Black web, not quite daring to believe.
It took him a minute to get his hands to unlock from their grip. When he was finally able to let go, he floated cautiously above the web. Near her shoulder, he noticed two small broken strands. Very carefully, he smoothed the Black strands over the other colors that cocooned her.
He could barely see her, only just enough to make out the tiny spiral horn. But that was enough. We did it, he whispered as his eyes filled. We did it.
Yess, Lorn said very quietly. You have done well. Daemon looked up, looked around. When he looked back at Witch, she faded. Everything faded.
Saetan opened his eyes, tried to move, and found himself trapped by two warm bodies curled up around him. His sons.
Oh, witch-child. I hope it was worth the price.
He tried to move again, growled when he couldn’t, and finally jabbed Lucivar with an elbow.
Lucivar just growled back and cuddled closer.
He shoved at Lucivar again because he couldn’t, even in this small way, push Daemon aside. Not now.
Lucivar’s growl turned into a snarl, but he finally stirred. And that woke Daemon.
”I’m delighted you find me such a comfortable pillow,” Saetan said dryly, ”but a man my age prefers not to sleep on a cold stone floor.”
”Neither does a man my age,” Lucivar grumbled, getting to his feet. He rolled his shoulders, stretched his back.
Daemon sat up with a groan.
Watching him, Saetan saw the light fill Daemon’s eyes, the joy, the eagerness. It broke his heart.
He accepted Daemon’s help in getting to his feet-and noted Lucivar’s coolness toward his brother. That would change. Would have to change. But Lucivar wouldn’t be approachable until he’d seen Marian and Daemonar, so there was no point in sparking that Eyrien temper. Besides, he was too damn tired to take on Lucivar right now.
As he walked to the doors, they fell into step on either side of him.
Twilight. The whole day had passed.
They walked across the open courtyard. Lucivar opened the gate.
A gust of wind made something flutter, catching Saetan’s attention. A scrap of cloth from a woman’s gown. Hekatah’s gown.
He didn’t mention it.
”I don’t have the strength right now,” he said quietly. ”Would you two…”
Lucivar looked toward the south, Daemon toward the north. After a minute, their faces had the same grim, deliberately calm expression.
”There are a few Blood,” Daemon said slowly. ”Not many.”
”The same,” Lucivar said.
A few. Only a few. Sweet Darkness, let them get a different answer in Kaeleer. ”Let’s go home.”
He felt the difference as soon as they walked through the Gate between the Realms. When they walked out of the Altar Room, Daemon and Lucivar both looked in the direction that would lead them to the First Circle-and the others.
He turned in the opposite direction, not quite ready to deal with what was going to come. ”Come with me.” Reluctantly, they obeyed.
He led them to a low-walled terrace that overlooked Riada, the closest Blood village.
Daemon looked down at the village. Lucivar looked in the direction of the Eyrien community.
Daemon sighed with relief. ”I don’t know how many people had lived there yesterday, but there are still a lot of Blood there.”
”Falonar!” Lucivar cried. He looked at them and grinned. ”The whole community. They’re all right. Badly shaken up, but all right.”
”Thank the Darkness,” Saetan whispered. The tears came, as much from pride as grief. Prothvar had said it was a different kind of battlefield but a good one to fight on. He’d been right. It was a worthy battlefield. Instead of seeing more friends join the demon-dead, they had gone knowing those friends would live. Char, Dujae, Morton, Titian, Cassandra, Prothvar, Mephis, Andulvar. He would miss them. Mother Night, how he would miss them. ”And the Blood shall sing to the Blood. You sang the song well, my friends. You sang it well.”
He would have to tell Lucivar and Daemon-and Surreal-about this, too. But not yet. Not now.
He dreaded it, but he knew he couldn’t hold either of them back much longer. ”Come on, puppies. I’m sure the coven’s going to have a few things to say about this.”
It was worse than he’d expected.
The coven and the boyos fell all over Lucivar, who had his arms wrapped around Marian and Daemonar. Daemon they greeted with cool reserve. Except Karla, who had said, ”Kiss kiss,” and then had kissed him. And Surreal, who had given Daemon a cool stare, and said, ”You look like shit, Sadi.” He would have lashed out at her for that if Daemon hadn’t commented dryly that her compliments were as effusive as ever-and if she hadn’t grinned at the remark.
And Tersa, who had held her son’s face between her hands and looked into his eyes. ”It will be all right, Daemon,” she had said gently. ”Trust one who sees. It will be all right.”
Saetan wasn’t sure Daemon noticed the coolness, wasn’t sure he even noticed who had greeted him and who hadn’t. His eyes kept scanning the room for someone who wasn’t there-someone who wasn’t going to be there.
He was trying to think of a reasonable excuse to get Daemon away from the others when Geoffrey appeared at the door. ”Your presence is requested at the Dark Throne. Draca would like to see you.”
As they filed out of the room, Saetan stepped in beside Lucivar. ”Stay close to your brother,” he said quietly.
”I think it would be better-”
”Don’t think, Prince, just follow orders.”
Lucivar gave him a measuring look, then moved ahead to catch up with Daemon.
Surreal tucked her arm through his. ”Lucivar’s pissed?”
”That’s one way of putting it,” Saetan replied dryly.
”If you think it will help, I could give him a good kick in the balls. Although I have a feeling that when Marian realizes what he’s pissed about, she’ll do a better job than either of us can.”
Saetan let out a groaning chuckle. ”Now that will be interesting.” Then he sobered. ”Daemon played the same game with you.”
”Yes, he did. But sometimes the best way to fool an enemy is to convince a friend.”
”Your mother said almost the same thing to me once- after she punched me.”
”Really?” Surreal smiled. ”It must run in the family.”
He decided it was better not to ask her to clarify that.
Baffled, Daemon waited for whatever announcement Draca was going to make. Not that it mattered. He would have to slip away to Amdarh in the next few days, talk to that jeweler, Banard, about designing a wedding ring for Jaenelle. He’d gotten her some earrings there for Winsol and had liked what he’d seen of the man’s work.
Her birthday would be coming up soon. Would she mind having a wedding on her birthday? Well, maybe he would. He didn’t really want to share the celebration of their wedding day with anything else. But they could have it soon after that. She would still be tired, still be recovering from this spell, but they could find a quiet place for the honeymoon. It didn’t matter where.
Where was she? Maybe she was already in her room, recovering. Maybe that’s what Draca was going to tell them-that Jaenelle had prevented the war, that Kaeleer was safe. As soon as this announcement was over, he’d slip up to her room and snuggle in next to her. Well, he’d take a bath first. He wasn’t exactly smelling his best at the moment.
Where was she?
Then he looked at Lorn and felt a flicker of uneasiness.
No. They had saved her. The triangle had saved her. She’d expended so much of herself, had risen so far out of herself she’d been plummeting back down, but they had stopped the fall. They had stopped the fall.
Lucivar came up beside him, close enough to brush shoulders with him. Saetan stepped up on his other side with Surreal close by.
Draca picked something up from the Throne’s seat, hesitated, then turned to face them.
Daemon froze.
She was holding Jaenelle’s scepter. But the metal was all twisted, and the two Ebony Jewels were shattered. Not just drained. Shattered. So was the spiral horn.
”The Queen of Ebon Asskavi iss gone,” Draca said quietly. ”The Dark Court no longer existss.”
Someone began screaming. A scream full of panic, rage, denial, pain.
It wasn’t until Lucivar and Saetan grabbed him and held him back that he realized the person who was screaming was himself.
”What was the point of it?” Gabrielle demanded angrily while the tears fell unheeded. ”What was the point of offering the memories if they weren’t going to do any good?”
Surreal raked her fingers through her hair and decided smacking someone probably wasn’t going to help much. Well, it would make her feel better. Thank the Darkness she and Uncle Saetan had been able to heavily sedate Daemon. He couldn’t have tolerated any of this right now.
She would have liked to have found out more about this memory thing, but she was more intrigued by the fact that Tersa seemed too calm and undisturbed-and also a little angry. It would take someone mucking up something very important to make Tersa angry.
”Yes, Tersa,” Karla said testily, ”what was the point?”
”Blood is the memory’s river. And the Blood shall sing to the Blood,” Tersa replied.
Gabrielle said something succinct and obscene.
”Shut up, Gabrielle,” Surreal snapped.
Tersa was sitting on the long table in front of the couch, next to a pile of wooden building blocks. Surreal crouched down beside her. ”What were the memories for?” she asked quietly.
Tersa brushed her tangled hair away from her face. ”To feed the web of dreams. It was no longer complete. It had lived, it had grown.”
”But she’s gone!” Morghann wailed.
”The Queen is gone,” Tersa said with some heat. ”Is that all she was to you?”
”No,” Karla said. ”She was Jaenelle. That was enough.”
”Exactly,” Tersa said. ”It is still enough.”
Surreal jolted, hardly daring to hope. She touched Tersa’s hand, waited until she was sure she had the woman’s attention. ”The Queen is gone, but Jaenelle isn’t?”
Tersa hesitated. ”It’s too soon to know. But the triangle kept the dream from returning to the Darkness, and now the kindred are fighting to hold the dream to the flesh.”
That brought protests from Gabrielle and Karla.
”Wait a minute,” Gabrielle said, glancing at Karla, who nodded. ”If Jaenelle is hurt and needs a Healer, she should have us.”
”No,” Tersa said, her anger breaking free. ”She should not have you. You could not look at what was done to that flesh and believe it could still live. But the kindred do not doubt. The kindred will not believe anything else. That is why, if it can be done, they are the ones who can do it.” She jumped up and ran out of the room.
Surreal waited a moment, then followed. She didn’t find Tersa, but she found Graysfang hovering nearby, whining anxiously.
She studied the wolf. Kindred do not doubt. They would sink in and fight for that dream with fangs and claws and never give it up. Well, she would never have a snout that could smell tracks, but she could damn well learn how to be as stubborn as a wolf. She would sink her teeth into the belief that Jaenelle was simply recovering somewhere private after performing an extremely difficult spell. She would sink in and hold on to that.
For Jaenelle’s sake.
For Daemon’s sake.
And for her own sake, because she wanted her friend to come back.