Daemon carefully adjusted the cuffs of his shirt and jacket. He felt steadier that morning, but not rested. His sleep had been broken by vague dreams and flashes of memory, by the knowledge that nothing but a door separated his bedroom from Jaenelle’s, and by an aroused, restless body that knew quite fiercely what it wanted.
Slipping his hands into his trouser pockets made him aware of the Consort’s ring on his left hand. As if he hadn’t been aware of it from the moment he’d woken up. It wasn’t just the unfamiliar feel of a ring on that hand; it was the duties and responsibilities that came with that ring that made him uneasy. Oh, his body would perform its duties eagerly enough. At least, he thought it would. And that was the point, wasn’t it? He really didn’t know how he would respond when he met Jaenelle again. And he didn’t know how she would respond to him.
Finally aware that Jazen, his valet, was still dawdling through the morning tasks, Daemon studied the man.
”Did you get settled in all right last night?” Daemon asked.
Jazen made an effort to smile but didn’t look at him. ”The servants’ quarters here are very generous.”
”And the servants?”
”They’re… polite.”
Daemon felt the beginning chill of temper and reined it in, hard. Jazen had already endured enough. If he had to shake the Hall down to its foundation, he’d make sure the man’s life wasn’t made more difficult by servants who had no understanding of the brutality men faced in the Terreillean Territories under Dorothea’s control.
”I’m not sure what’s going to be required of me today.”
Jazen nodded. ”The other personal servants indicated that dress would be relaxed today since the First Circle will be assessing the new arrivals. Those who sit at the High Lord’s table do dress for dinner. Not formal dress,” he added when Daemon raised one eyebrow. ”But I gathered the Ladies are usually casual in their attire during the day.”
Daemon turned that bit of information over and over as he made his way through the corridors toward the dining room. Based on his experience in Terreillean courts, casual attire meant practical dresses made of fabrics only slightly less sumptuous than those worn to dinner.
Then he turned a corner and noticed the fair-skinned, red-haired witch coming toward him. She wore threadbare, dark-brown trousers and a long, baggy, heather-green sweater that was decoratively patched. There was approval in the fast assessment her green eyes made over his body but no active interest. ”Prince,” she said politely as she passed him.
”Lady,” he replied with equal politeness, wondering how such a stickler as he suspected Beale to be would allow a servant to dress like that. When he caught a whiff of her psychic scent, he spun around and stared at her until she turned the corner and disappeared.
A Queen. That woman was a Queen.
His stomach growled, which finally got him walking again.
A Queen. Well, if that was the Ladies’ idea of casual attire, he wholeheartedly approved of the High Lord’s insistence on dressing for dinner-a sentiment he strongly suspected he should keep to himself.
He had almost reached the dining room when he met up with Saetan.
”Prince Sadi, there’s something I need to discuss with you,” Saetan said quietly, but his expression was grim.
Saetan using the formal title caused a chill down Daemon’s spine.
”Then shall we get it over with?” Daemon replied as he followed Saetan to the High Lord’s official study. He felt one layer of tension ease when Saetan leaned against the front of the blackwood desk instead of sitting behind it.
”Are you aware that your valet is fully shaved?” Saetan asked softly, ominously.
”I’m aware of it,” Daemon replied with equal softness.
”There are very few of our laws that, when broken, justify that punishment. All of them are sexual.”
”Jazen didn’t do anything except be at the wrong place at the wrong time,” Daemon snarled. ”Dorothea did that to him to entertain her coven.”
”Are you sure of that?’
”I was there, High Lord. There wasn’t a damn thing I could do for him except slip past the drugs they’d given him to keep him aware and knock him out. His family took care of him for a while, but many of them are in personal service. Once the word got out-and Dorothea always made sure that it did-Jazen would have been considered tainted because, of course, it wouldn’t have happened to him if he hadn’t deserved it. If he had stayed with his family, they would have lost their positions as well. He’s a good man, and a loyal one. He deserved far better than what happened to him.”
”I see,” Saetan said quietly. He straightened up. ”I’ll explain the situation to Beale. He’ll take care of it.”
”How much will you have to tell him?” Daemon asked warily.
”Nothing more than that the maiming was unjustified.”
Daemon smiled bitterly. ”Do you really think that will change the other servants’ opinion of him? That they’ll believe it?”
”No, all it will do is suspend judgment until the Lady returns.” Saetan looked solemn. ”But you have to understand, Prince. If Jaenelle turns against him, there’s nothing you or I or anyone else can do or say that will make any difference. In Kaeleer, once you step outside of Little Terreille, Witch is the law. Her decisions are final.”
Daemon considered this, then nodded. ”I’ll accept the Lady’s judgment.” As he followed Saetan to the dining room, he kept hoping that the woman Jaenelle had become wasn’t too different from the child he remembered-and had loved.
Lord Jorval’s heart pounded as he returned to the room where the sandy-haired man with worried gray eyes waited. He sat down behind the desk and clasped his hands together to hide the tremors of excitement.
”Have you already found out where my niece has gone?” Philip Alexander asked.
”I have,” Jorval replied solemnly. ”When you explained the family connections, I had a suspicion of where to look.”
Philip gripped the arms of the chair hard enough to snap wood. ”Did she sign a contract with a court in Little Terreille?”
”Unfortunately, no,” Jorval said, struggling to put just the right amount of sympathy in his voice. ”You must understand, Prince Alexander. We had no way of knowing who she was. A couple of Council members remembered her saying that she was trying to find her sister, but they had assumed the sister had immigrated earlier-and in a sense, that is true. But the Dark Council was never provided with a record of where Jaenelle Angelline came from before the High Lord acquired guardianship over her. There was no reason for them to link the two women, and by the time they began to wonder about the significance of her inquiries, it was too late.”
”What do you mean, ’too late’?” Philip snapped.
”She was… persuaded … to sign a contract with the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih-and he is Lucivar Yaslana.”
Satisfaction warmed Jorval as he watched Philip’s face pale. ”I see you’ve heard of him. So you can appreciate the danger your niece is in. And it’s not just Yaslana, although he’s bad enough.” He paused, giving Philip time to swallow the hook as well as the bait.
”She’s trapped with all three of them, isn’t she? She’s trapped with Yaslana, Sadi, and the High Lord-just like Jaenelle.”
”Yes.” Jorval sighed. ”To the best of our knowledge, Yaslana took her to SaDiablo Hall in Dhemlan. How long she’ll remain there …” He spread his hands in a helpless gesture. ”You may have some chance of slipping her away from the Hall, but once he takes her into the mountains that ring Ebon Jih, it’s unlikely you’ll ever get her back-at least while there’s enough left of her to be worth the risk.”
Philip sagged in the chair.
Jorval just waited. Finally, he said, ”There is nothing the Dark Council can do officially to help you at this time. However, unofficially, we will do everything in our power to restore Jaenelle Angelline and Wilhelmina Benedict to their rightful family.”
Philip got to his feet like a man who had taken a savage beating. ”Thank you, Lord Jorval. I will convey this information to my Queen.”
”May the Darkness guide and protect you, Prince Alexander.”
Jorval waited a full minute after Philip left before he leaned back in his chair and sighed, well satisfied by their meeting. Thank the Darkness that Philip was a Prince. He would worry and brood, but, unlike a Warlord Prince, he would go back to Alexandra Angelline and abide by her decision. And how fortunate that Philip hadn’t thought to ask if Yaslana served a Queen-or who she was. Of course, he would have lied if he’d been asked, but how interesting that Philip hadn’t considered, even for a moment, that Jaenelle might be a Queen powerful enough to control the males in the SaDiablo family.
As for Alexandra Angelline… She would be useful in distracting the High Lord and dividing loyalties in the court at Ebon Askavi-as long as she didn’t realize the real importance of getting Jaenelle away from the Dark Court.
Daemon wandered through the Hall’s first floor rooms, distractedly noting each room’s function, his mind too full of impressions he’d received during breakfast. When he came to a door that led to one of the open courtyards, he went outside and paced, hoping that the fresh air and greenery would help clear his head. He’d expected to find the dining room full of people.
After all, the Eyriens would want to eat before going on to whatever plans Lucivar had for them. And he’d expected Khardeen and Aaron to be there and knew they would notice, and understand the significance of, the Consort’s ring. He’d been prepared for that. But he hadn’t been prepared for the other males who made up the First Circle.
There was Sceron, the Red-Jeweled Warlord Prince of Centauran. The dark-haired centaur had stood near the dining table, eating a vegetable omelet while talking with Morton, a blond-haired, blue-eyed Warlord from Glacia. Then there was the Green-Jeweled Warlord, Jonah, a satyr whose dark pelt covered him from his waist to his cloven hooves but didn’t quite cover the parts of him that were blatantly male. There was Elan, a Red-Jeweled Warlord Prince from Tigrelan, who had tawny, dark-striped skin and whose hands ended with sheathed claws. Watching Elan, Daemon would have bet the man had more in common with the dark-striped cat he’d glimpsed from a window than just physical markings.
And then there was Chaosti, the Gray-Jeweled Warlord Prince of the Dea al Mon, with his long silver-blond hair, delicately pointed ears, and slightly too large forest-blue eyes. Every territorial instinct in Daemon had come roaring to the surface at the sight of Chaosti-perhaps because Chaosti was the kind of man who could be a formidable rival no matter what Jewels he wore or perhaps because Daemon saw a little too much of himself in the other man. Only Saetan’s presence had kept a sharp-edged greeting from turning into an open confrontation. That meeting had left him edgy, and far too aware of his own inner fragility.
Next came the older, Gray-Jeweled Warlord Prince who had introduced himself as Mephis, his older brother. The room had tilted a bit when Daemon realized that, as Saetan’s eldest son, Mephis had been demon-dead for more than 50,000 years. He might have recovered his balance if Prince Andulvar Yaslana and Lord Prothvar Yaslana hadn’t walked in at that moment, and the collective shock of the Eyrien males who realized who they must be-and then realized what they must be-hadn’t hit him like a runaway wagon. After one raking look at the fearful Eyriens and a murmured comment to the High Lord, the demon-dead Warlord Prince and his grandson had left the room.
By that point, Daemon had sincerely wished for brandy instead of coffee-a wish that must have been apparent. The stuff Khardeen had poured into his coffee from a silver flask hadn’t been brandy, but it had successfully furred his nerves enough for him to be able to eat.
Still too jangled to enjoy the meal, he’d just finished his modest breakfast when Surreal stormed in, muttering something about it taking more time than expected ”to get us brushed.” She had looked shocked when she saw Chaosti, who was the only person she had seen who came from the same race as her mother, but the moment he’d moved toward her, she had bared her teeth and announced that the next male who approached her before breakfast was going to get brushed with the edge of a knife.
She, at least, had enjoyed a quiet, and undisturbed, breakfast.
He was just about to leave the room when a tall, slender witch with spiky, white-blond hair walked in, took one look at him, and said loudly enough to be heard in every corner of the Hall, ”Hell’s fire, he’s a Black Widow!”
That he was a natural Black Widow-and, besides Saetan, the only male Black Widow-was something he’d been able to successfully hide for all the centuries since his body had reached sexual maturity, just as he’d been able to hide the snake tooth and venom sack beneath the ring-finger nail of his right hand. Whatever he had done instinctively to suppress other Black Widows’ ability to detect him had failed him now, when there was nothing he could do about such a public betrayal.
The tension in the room had faded when Saetan replied mildly, ”Well, Karla, he is my son, and he is the Consort.”
The witch’s surprise had changed to sharp speculation. ”Oh,” she said. ”In that case …” A slow, wicked smile bloomed. ”Kiss kiss.”
Brushing past Lucivar, he had escaped from the dining room and had spent the past hour wandering through the Hall, trying to get his churning thoughts and emotions under control.
”Are you lost?”
Daemon glanced over to where Lucivar leaned against a doorway. ”I’m not lost,” he snapped. Then he stopped pacing and sighed. ”But I am very confused.”
”Of course you are. You’re male.” Grinning at Daemon’s snarl, Lucivar stepped into the courtyard. ”So if one of the darlings in the coven offers to explain things to you, don’t take her up on it. She’ll sincerely be trying to help, but by the time she’s done ’unconfusing’ you, you’ll be banging your head against a wall and whimpering.”
”Why?”
”Because for every five rules you’d learned in Terreille about a male’s proper behavior in a court, the Kaeleer Blood know only one of them-and they interpret it very differently.”
Daemon shrugged ”Obedience is obedience.”
”No, it’s not. For Blood males, the First Law is to honor, cherish, and protect. The second is to serve. The third is to obey.”
”And if obedience interferes with the first two laws?”
”Toss it out the window.”
Daemon blinked. ”You actually get away with that?”
Lucivar scratched the back of his head and looked thoughtful. ”It’s not so much a question of getting away with it. For Warlord Princes, it’s almost a requirement of court service. However, if you ignore an order from the Steward or the Master of the Guard, you’d better be sure you can justify your action and be willing to accept the consequences if they won’t accept it, which is rare. I got into more trouble with the High Lord as my father than as the Steward.”
Father. Steward. The ties of family and court.
”Why are you here, Prick?” Daemon asked warily. ”Why aren’t you at the practice field observing the warriors you selected?”
”I was looking for you because you didn’t show up at the practice field.” Lucivar shifted slightly, balancing his weight.
Not yet, Daemon thought. Not now. ”And because we have unfinished business,” he said slowly.
”And because we have unfinished business.” Lucivar took a deep breath, let it out slowly. ”I accused you of killing Jaenelle. I accused you of viler things than that. I was wrong, and it cost you your sanity and eight years of your life.”
Daemon looked away from the regret and sadness in Lucivar’s eyes. ”It wasn’t your fault,” he said softly. ”I was already fragile.”
”I know. I sensed that-and I used it as a weapon.”
Remembering the fight they’d had that night in Pruul, Daemon closed his eyes. Lucivar’s fury hadn’t hurt him as much as his own fear that the accusations might possibly be true. If he’d been sure of what had happened at Cassandra’s Altar, the fight would have ended differently. Lucivar wouldn’t have spent more years in the salt mines of Pruul, and he wouldn’t have spent eight years in the Twisted Kingdom.
Daemon opened his eyes and looked at his brother, finally understanding that Lucivar wasn’t offering to meet him on a killing field for something he had done, but as reparation for whatever pain he’d suffered in the Twisted Kingdom. Oh, Lucivar would fight, and fight hard because he had a wife and a young son to consider, but he wouldn’t hesitate if Daemon demanded it, even knowing what the outcome would be when Ebon-gray faced Black.
He also knew why Lucivar was forcing the issue. His brother didn’t want the wife and child weighed in the balance, didn’t want Daemon to have enough time to develop feelings for them before making this decision. Following the old ways of the Blood, if he forgave this debt now, he couldn’t demand reparation later. Otherwise, they would always be wary of each other, always feel the need to guard their backs while waiting for the unexpected strike.
And, in a way, hadn’t the debt already been paid? His years in the Twisted Kingdom balanced against Lucivar’s years in the salt mines of Pruul. His grief when he believed Lucivar was dead balanced against Lucivar’s grief over Jaenelle’s supposed death by Daemon’s hand. And if their positions had been reversed, would he have believed any differently or acted any differently?
”Is that the only unfinished business between us?” Daemon asked.
Lucivar nodded cautiously.
”Then let it go, Prick. I’ve already grieved for the loss of my brother once. I don’t want to do it again.”
They studied each other for a minute, weighing the things that went beyond words. Finally, Lucivar relaxed. His smile was lazy, arrogant, and so irritatingly familiar that Daemon smiled in return.
”In that case, Bastard, you’re late for practice,” Lucivar said, gesturing Daemon toward a door.
”Kiss my ass,” Daemon growled, falling into step.
”Not a good suggestion, old son. I have a tendency to bite, remember?” Smiling, Lucivar massaged his upper arm. ”So does Marian. She tends to get feisty when she’s riled.”
Seeing the warmth and pleasure in Lucivar’s eyes, Daemon ruthlessly suppressed a surge of envy.
Finally reaching an outside door, they headed for the Eyriens gathered at the far end of the expansive lawn.
”By the way,” Lucivar said, ”while you were brooding-”
”I wasn’t brooding,” Daemon snarled.
”-you missed the fun this morning.”
Daemon clenched his teeth. He wouldn’t ask. Wouldn’t. ”What fun?”
”See the embarrassed-looking wolf standing by himself?”
Daemon looked at the gray-furred animal watching a group of women going through some kind of exercise with Eyrien sticks. ”Yes.”
”Graysfang wants to be Surreal’s friend. He’s young and he doesn’t have much experience with humans, especially the females. Apparently, in an effort to strengthen that friendship and improve his understanding of females, he joined Surreal while she was taking a shower. Since her head was under the water at the moment, she didn’t realize he was there until he stuck his nose where he shouldn’t have.”
”That would have improved his understanding of females,” Daemon said dryly.
”Exactly. Then, when he whined that he had soap in his fur, she dragged him all the way into the shower and washed him. So now he smells like flowers.”
Daemon bit his lip. ”There’s an easy remedy for that.”
Lucivar cleared his throat. ”Well, there usually would be, but as soon as they got outside, she threatened to smack him if he got dirty.”
”Everything has a price,” Daemon said in a choked voice. Noticing the woman Surreal was talking to, he gave Lucivar a sharp nudge. ”Should Marian be doing something that strenuous during her moon time?”
Lucivar hissed. ”Don’t you start.” He stopped walking and studied the women through narrowed eyes. ”I told her she could do one round of the warmup drill. She’ll sneak a little more in under the guise of demonstrating the moves, but after that she’ll be content to rest.”
Daemon looked at the women and then at Lucivar. ”You told your wife how much she could do?”
”Of course I didn’t tell my wife,” Lucivar said indignantly. ”Do I look like a fool? The Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih told a witch who lives in his territory.”
”Ah. That’s different.”
”Damn right it is. If I told my wife, she would have tried to dent my head with a stick.”
Daemon laughed as they continued toward the Eyrien warriors. ”Now I am sorry I missed it.”
Lucivar focused his attention on Falonar and Rothvar, who had just stepped into the practice circle, while Daemon watched Surreal and Marian go through a couple of moves.
”Who is she?” Daemon asked when the spiky-haired witch joined the other women.
Lucivar glanced at the women, then turned his attention back to the Eyrien warriors. ”That’s Karla, the Queen of Glacia. She’s a Black Widow Queen and a Healer. One of three who have a triple gift.”
A triple gift and a big mouth, Daemon thought darkly.
”You’re excused from the practice today, but I’ll expect you to be on time tomorrow,” Lucivar said.
Daemon sputtered. ”I am not going to drill with sticks against Eyrien warriors.”
Lucivar snorted and looked at Daemon’s feet. ”I’ve got some boots that will fit you until you can get your own made.”
”I’m not doing this.”
”Until the official transfer is made, I own the contract you signed, old son. You’ve got no choice.”
Daemon swore quietly, viciously.
Lucivar started to step away from him to speak to Falonar.
”Give me one good reason why I should put myself through this,” Daemon demanded through clenched teeth.
Lucivar turned back to him. ”Do you understand how good I am with the Eyrien sticks?” he asked quietly.
”I’ve seen you.”
”Jaenelle can put me in the dirt.” Lucivar grinned when Daemon’s jaw dropped. ”Not often, I grant you, but she’s done it.”
Daemon thought about that little nugget of information while Lucivar talked with the Eyrien males. He thought hard. When Lucivar returned, giving him a questioning look, he stripped off his jacket, rolled up his shirtsleeves, and growled, ”Where are the damn boots?”
Pulling her shawl more tightly around her, Alexandra Angelline wrapped her arms around her waist as she stared out the streaked inn window that overlooked the service fairgrounds. The rain that had started falling an hour earlier was more of a drizzle that only managed to smear the dirt that covered everything rather than a downpour that would wash it away.
This is Kaeleer? she thought bleakly. This is the Shadow Realm that so many were so desperate to reach? Oh, it was probably unfair to judge an entire Realm by ground that had been scraped bare by the hundreds of people who had waited there, hoping to be chosen for a service contract. But she knew that, no matter what else she saw, this is what she would always picture whenever someone mentioned Kaeleer.
She felt someone approach, but didn’t turn when her daughter, Leland, joined her at the window.
”Why would Wilhelmina have wanted to come to this place?” Leland murmured. ”I’ll be glad when we can leave here.”
”You don’t have to stay, Leland. Especially now that Vania and Nyselle have so graciously insisted on accompanying me.”
”They didn’t come with us out of loyalty,” Leland said quietly but bitterly. ”They just wanted a chance to see the Shadow Realm and knew they might not get in any other way.”
Alexandra clenched her teeth while the truth of Leland’s remark gnawed at her. Vania and Nyselle, the two Province Queens who grudgingly had accompanied her to Hayll, had become sickening in their solicitousness as soon as she announced she was going to Kaeleer to look for Wilhelmina. So they and their Consorts had come with her, along with Philip and Leland and a five-man escort. Four of the escorts had come with her from Chaillot. The other one, chosen by Dorothea SaDiablo, had been ”borrowed” from one of Dorothea’s pet Queens in another Territory. The man made her skin crawl, but Dorothea had assured her that he would be able to slip Wilhelmina away from her ”captors” and deliver her to another loyal group of males already in position in Kaeleer.
It pains me to say it, Dorothea had said, but if you can free only one of your granddaughters from the High Lord’s control, it must be Jaenelle. She is the danger to Terreille.
Alexandra didn’t believe for a moment that Jaenelle was anything more than a stalking-horse being used to hide whoever-or whatever-was the real threat to Terreille. But, sweet Darkness, she hoped she wouldn’t have to make a choice between Wilhelmina and Jaenelle-because she knew in her heart which child would be left behind.
”Besides,” Leland added softly, ”I need to stay. She was always such a strange child, but Jaenelle was … is … my daughter. To think she’s been under that monster’s control all this time…” Leland shuddered. ”There’s no telling what he’s done to her.”
And no way to tell what had been done to her in Briarwood. Had she really been mentally fragile or had that place made her so? No, she decided firmly. Jaenelle’s stays at Briarwood might have weakened an already fragile stability, but the child’s eccentricities had been the reason why she had decided to send the girl to Briarwood in the first place.
”What are we going to do?” Leland asked quietly.
Alexandra looked over her shoulder at the other people restlessly waiting for her decision. Philip, whose self-control had broken several times while he’d given her Lord Jorval’s information, would go with her, not only because he had married Leland, but also because he genuinely cared for Wilhelmina and Jaenelle. Vania and Nyselle would go in order to see more of Kaeleer than this dirty piece of barren ground. The Consorts and escorts would follow the Queens out of duty. Would curiosity and duty be enough against something like the High Lord?
It didn’t matter. She would take whatever help she could get.
As she turned back to the window, she said, ”Prince Alexander, please arrange passage on a Coach as soon as possible. We’re going to SaDiablo Hall.”
Certain that he had more muscle aches than muscles, Daemon slowly made his way to the great hall where, Beale had informed him, the High Lord was waiting.
Never again. Never never never. He should have remembered what ”I’ll start you off easy” meant, should have remembered that other kinds of exercise didn’t prepare the body for Eyrien weapons drills. Oh, if he wanted to be fair-and he had no intention of being fair in the foreseeable future-Lucivar had started him with the basic warmup drills. But even moving at the practice pace, when you had Lucivar as a working partner, you worked.
Then he opened a door at the far end of the great hall and forgot about his aching muscles when he saw Saetan brush the hair away from the face of an attractive Dhemlan witch. There was tenderness in that action, and affection as well. Wondering if he was reading things correctly, he moved forward as quietly as possible.
The witch noticed him first. Looking flustered, she took a long step back and watched him tensely. But it was the flash of anger he picked up from his father that made him wary.
Then Saetan turned, saw him, and relaxed for a moment before hurrying toward him.
”What happened to you?” Saetan demanded. ”Are you hurt?”
”Lucivar happened to me,” Daemon replied through gritted teeth.
”Why were you and Lucivar tangling?” Saetan asked in a deceptively neutral voice that had a strong undertone of parental disapproval.
”We weren’t tangling, we were drilling. But I’m delighted that someone besides me has trouble understanding the distinction.”
The witch turned away from them and started making funny noises. When she turned back, her gold eyes were bright with laughter. ”I’m sorry,” she said, not sounding the least bit sorry. ”Having been on the receiving end of Lucivar’s instruction, I understand how you feel.”
”Why were you doing weapons drills with Lucivar?” Saetan asked.
”Because I’m an idiot.” Daemon raised his hand to brush the hair off his forehead. His arm froze halfway through the motion, stuck. He slowly lowered his arm, grateful it would go back down. ”I really want to be there the next time Jaenelle puts him in the dirt.”
”Who doesn’t?” the witch murmured.
Saetan let out an exasperated sigh. ”Sylvia, this is Daemon Sadi. Daemon, this is Lady Sylvia, the Queen of Halaway.”
Sylvia’s eyes widened. ”This is the boy?”
Daemon bristled until Saetan gave him a sharp mental jab.
” ’Boy’ is a relative term,” Saetan said.
”I’m sure it is,” Sylvia replied, trying to school her face into an appropriate expression.
Saetan just looked at her.
”Well,” Sylvia said too brightly, ”I’ll just go say hello to the coven and let the two of you sort this out.”
”Are you going to lend me that book?” Saetan asked, his lips curving in a knowing, malicious smile.
”What book is that, High Lord?” Sylvia asked, attempting to look innocent while blushing furiously.
”The one you won’t admit to reading.”
”Oh, I don’t think it would interest you,” Sylvia mumbled.
”Considering your reaction every time I’ve mentioned it, I think I would find it very interesting reading.”
”You could buy your own copy.”
”I would prefer to borrow yours.”
Sylvia glared at him. ”I’ll lend it to you on the condition that you admit to the coven that you’re reading it.”
Saetan said nothing. A faint blush colored his cheeks.
Satisfied, Sylvia smiled warmly at Daemon. ”Welcome to Kaeleer, Prince Sadi.”
”Thank you, Lady,” Daemon replied courteously. ”Meeting you has been highly instructive.”
Saetan hissed. Sylvia didn’t waste any time removing herself from their company.
As soon as she left, Saetan raked his fingers through his hair, then inspected the empty hand. ”I understand perfectly why her father’s hair fell out,” he growled. ”Mine just keeps getting grayer, for which, I suppose, I should be thankful.”
”She’s a friend?” Daemon asked blandly.
”Yes, she’s a friend,” Saetan snapped, putting too much emphasis on the last word. He gave Daemon a sour look. ”Come on, puppy. You’d better sit down before you fall down.”
Daemon obediently followed his father into the official study, amused by and intensely curious about the edgy, defensive tone in Saetan’s voice.
By the time he’d gotten his rebelling muscles to yield enough to let him sit down, Andulvar Yaslana had joined him and Saetan.
”You didn’t do too badly for a novice,” Andulvar said.
”As soon as I can move again, I’m going to flatten his head,” Daemon growled.
Saetan and Andulvar exchanged an amused look.
”Ah,” Saetan said, ”the centuries may pass, but the sentiment remains the same.”
”You said much the same thing the first time you and Lucivar pounded on each other,” Andulvar said.
Daemon studied the two men through narrowed eyes.
”The two of you were only a couple of years older than Daemonar,” Saetan said. ”You found a long pole that was the right diameter for a child’s hand, cut it in half, and then Lucivar set out to show you the drills he’d been practicing.”
”He’s always had a natural talent for weapons,” Andulvar said, ”but at that age, he wasn’t good at explaining the drills.”
”So,” Saetan said, ”he got in a couple of good whacks, and you, by luck or temper, got in a couple of whacks yourself. At which point, the two of you tossed aside the sticks and started using your fists. Manny put an end to it by dumping a bucket of cold water over both of you.”
Daemon had to make a conscious effort not to squirm. ”Are you going to do this every time?” he growled at Saetan.
”Do what?” Saetan asked blandly.
”Trot out embarrassing stories from my childhood.”
Saetan just smiled.
”Come on, puppy,” Andulvar said. ”You need a hot bath, a rubdown, and something to eat. The morning’s still young, and you’ve got the rest of the day ahead of you.”
Daemon’s snarl turned into a yelp when Andulvar grabbed the back of his shirt and hauled him to his feet.
”One moment,” Saetan said quietly.
Sensing the change in mood, Daemon turned to face Saetan squarely. ”You sent for me.”
Saetan studied Daemon for a minute. ”I’ve received a request.Whether you want to honor it is totally your choice. If you decide you’re not ready, or don’t want to at all, I’ll try to explain.”
Daemon felt ice rush through his veins, but he resisted the urge to give in to the cold rage. He had a lot to learn about the give-and-take between males and females in Kaeleer. He shouldn’t assume that a request made here meant the same thing as a request made in Terreille.
”What’s the request?”
Saetan said gently, ”Your mother would like to see you.”
Sipping a cup of herbal tea, Karla wandered around the inner garden, hoping the sound of the fountain would soothe her. She looked up once, apprehensively, at the second floor windows on the south side of the courtyard. Was Sadi up there right now, watching her from behind the sheer curtains?
Hell’s fire, I shouldn’t have blurted out that he is a Black Widow. She’d realized that the moment she saw the cold fury in his eyes. But she’d been disturbed by the tangled web she’d woven a couple of days ago and so preoccupied with trying to understand the cryptic images she’d seen… Well, seeing Daemon Sadi certainly explained a lot of those images. She’d seen the High Lord looking into a mirror, but the reflection wasn’t him. She’d seen truths protected by lies. She’d seen a Black-Jeweled Black Widow who became an enemy in order to remain a friend. And she’d seen death held back by a ring. Her death.
Troubled by her inability to interpret the vision of the High Lord, she had begun to wonder if she’d misread the tangled web somehow. Now there were no more doubts.
She drained the cup and sighed. There was one more thing she’d better get straightened out before Jaenelle returned-for all their sakes.
Daemon reached for the black jacket he had laid on his bed, then paused when he heard the tapping again, a little louder this time. Someone was outside the glass balcony door of his sitting room.
Leaving the jacket, he went into the sitting room, pulled aside the curtain, and stared at the spiky-haired witch standing on the balcony. His first impulse was to release the curtain and ignore her. He didn’t want her physical presence or her psychic scent in his rooms. He didn’t want anyone wondering why he was entertaining another woman before he’d had a chance to be formally accepted by the Queen.
He didn’t give a damn that she was a Territory Queen. But the fact that she was in the First Circle of Jaenelle’s court did matter.
Reluctantly, he opened the door and stepped back to let her enter.
”I have an appointment in a few minutes,” he said coldly.
”I came to apologize,” Karla said. ”It won’t take long. I’m not very good at them, so I tend to keep them short.”
Daemon slipped his hands into his trouser pockets and waited.
Karla took a deep breath. ”I shouldn’t have announced your belonging to the Hourglass so publicly. The First Circle would have been told in any case, but I shouldn’t have blurted it out like that. I was thinking about something else that had been puzzling me, and when I saw you…” She shrugged.
”How did you know? No one in Terreille realized what I am.”
Her lips curved. ”Well, I doubt any of them has spent the past ten years annoying Uncle Saetan. Those of us who have would notice the similarities in your psychic scents and reach the correct conclusion.”
Daemon blinked. ”Uncle Saetan?”
Her lips finished curving into that wicked smile. ”He adopted Jaenelle, and the rest of us adopted him. We came to stay for a summer and never quite went home again. You can imagine how thrilled he was to discover he’d acquired ten adolescent witches instead of just one-and the boyos, too, of course.”
”Of course,” Daemon said, fighting not to smile. ”Some surprise.”
”Mmm. That first summer, when we all piled in on him, the coven became very adept at brewing soothing tonics. It was so distressing to hear him whimper.”
Daemon choked on a laugh. Then his amusement faded. She was clever, this Queen with the ice-blue eyes and spiky white-blond hair. She must realize how much he wanted to hear stories of Jaenelle’s youth.
Karla studied him. ”If it would make you feel better, you can threaten to throttle me.”
He was speechless for a moment. ”I beg your pardon?”
”In this court, it’s the acceptable way for a male to express annoyance with a witch.”
”Threatening to throttle a woman is considered acceptable?” Daemon asked, sure that he had misunderstood something.
”As long as he says it calmly so you know he doesn’t mean it.”
A male who could remain calm in this place must have an amazing amount of self-control, Daemon thought. He rubbed his forehead and began to understand Lucivar’s warning about having one of the coven explain things to him.
”Having Lucivar threaten you doesn’t bother you?” Daemon asked. Since Lucivar usually sounded calm when he threatened someone, only a fool wouldn’t take him seriously,
Karla twitched her shoulders. ”Oh. Well. Lucivar. He rarely says anything if he’s annoyed with you. He just picks you up and tosses you into the nearest body of water.” She paused. ”Although to be fair-”
”Who wants to be fair?” Daemon growled.
”Spent the morning with him, didn’t you?” Karla said knowingly. ”If it’s a watering trough or a fountain, he dunks you rather than tosses you so that you don’t get hurt. However, that’s Lucivar. We strongly discourage other males from acquiring that particular habit.”
”If you didn’t, you’d be wet most of the time,” Daemon muttered.
Before Karla could respond to that comment, Morghann, the Queen of Scelt-the red-haired Queen he’d seen earlier that morning-and Gabrielle, the Queen of the Dea al Mon, gave the balcony door a token tap before walking in.
”The coven’s rooms all face this inner garden, so it’s quicker to use the balcony doors rather than walking all the way around inside,” Morghann said at the same time Karla said, ”Where’s Surreal?”
Gabrielle hooked her silver-blond hair behind her pointed ears and grinned. ”Chaosti claimed her on the pretense of giving her a tour of the Hall. She was still snarling about having to apologize to Graysfang for sounding like she meant it when she threatened to smack him.”
”I was explaining some of the rules to Daemon,” Karla said.
”I really do have an appointment,” Daemon muttered, then said, ”Come in,”-loudly-when someone knocked on the sitting room door.
Saetan walked in, took one look at the three women, and stopped.
”Kiss kiss,” Karla said.
”We were going to explain the rules to Daemon,” Morghann said.
”May the Darkness have mercy on Daemon,” Saetan said dryly.
”I’ll get my jacket,” Daemon said, not about to ignore a chance to retreat. Pride kept him from bolting into his bedroom. Common sense made him linger far longer than necessary, so that when he finally walked back into his sitting room, Saetan was the only one waiting for him.
”Have they gone off to plague someone else?” Daemon asked sourly as they left his suite and started walking through the corridors.
Saetan chuckled. ”For the moment.”
Daemon hesitated. ”Maybe you’d better explain those rules to me.”
”I’ll give you a book of court Protocol to review.”
”No, I meant the rules that are peculiar to this court. Like-”
”I don’t want to know,” Saetan said quietly but firmly.
”You have to know. You’re the Steward.”
”Exactly. And if this court has some rules that I have been blissfully ignorant of for the five years that I’ve been the Steward, I do not want to know about them now.”
”But-” Daemon said. The implacable look in Saetan’s eyes stopped him. ”That’s a prissy attitude for you to take.”
”From where you’re standing, I suppose it is. From where I’m standing, it makes a world of sense. You’re younger. Deal with it.”
Before he could make a comment he might regret, a small brown-and-white dog raced up to them and stopped a few feet away, his tail wagging in effusive greeting.
He’s here! Jaenelle’s mate is finally here!
Daemon felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him, not only because he had heard the dog but because he’d seen the Red Jewel hidden in the white ruff.
”Daemon, this is Lord Ladvarian,” Saetan said. ”Ladvarian, this-”
A Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince, Ladvarian said as he danced around in front of them. He’s a Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince. I have to tell Kaelas. The dog dashed down the corridor and disappeared.
”Mother Night,” Saetan said under his breath. ”Come on. Let’s get out of here before you meet anyone else. You’ve already had a sufficient amount of education for your first day in the court.”
”He’s kindred,” Daemon said weakly as he followed Saetan. ”When Lucivar said someone named Ladvarian would be pleased to see me, I thought… Unless he meant someone else?”
”No, that’s Ladvarian. He would have gone to the service fair to look for you himself, but kindred aren’t well received in Little Terreille, and I wasn’t willing to risk him. His ability to explain kindred behavior to humans and human behavior to the kindred makes him unique. And his influence on Prince Kaelas is not to be taken lightly.”
”Who’s Kaelas?”
Saetan gave him an odd look. ”Let’s save Kaelas for another day.”
Daemon studied the well-kept cottage and neat yard. ”I’d always wanted Tersa to live in a place like this.”
”She’s comfortable here,” Saetan said, opening the front door. ”A journeymaid Black Widow lives with her as a companion. And then there’s Mikal,” he added as they followed the sound of voices to the kitchen.
Daemon stepped into the kitchen, gave the boy sitting at the kitchen table a quick glance, and then focused on Tersa, who was muttering to herself as she busily arranged an assortment of food.
Her black hair was as tangled as he remembered it, but the dark-green dress was clean and looked warm.
The boy hastily swallowed a mouthful of nutcake before saying in a suspicious voice, ”Who’s he?”
Tersa looked up. Joy brightened her gold eyes and made her smile radiant. ”It’s the boy,” she said as she rushed into Daemon’s arms.
”Hello, sweetheart,” Daemon said, feeling swamped by the pleasure of seeing her again.
”He’s not a boy,” the boy said.
”Mikal,” Saetan said sternly.
Leaning away from Daemon, Tersa looked at Mikal, then back at Daemon. ”He is a large boy,” she said firmly. She pulled Daemon toward the table. ”Sit down. Sit. There is food. You should eat.”
Daemon sat across from the boy, who openly regarded him as an unwelcome rival. ”Shouldn’t you be in school?”
Mikal rolled his eyes. ”It’s not a school day.”
”But you did finish the chores your mother assigned to you before you came here,” Saetan said mildly, accepting the glass of red wine Tersa offered him while his eyes never left Mikal.
Mikal squirmed under that knowing stare, and finally muttered, ”Most of them.”
”In that case, after we’ve eaten, I’ll escort you home and you can finish them,” Saetan said.
”But I have to help Tersa weed the garden,” Mikal protested.
”The weeds will still be there,” Tersa said serenely. She looked at the two ”boys,” frowned at the glasses of milk she held, then put both of them in front of Mikal. She patted Daemon’s shoulder. ”He is old enough for wine.”
”Thank the Darkness,” Daemon said under his breath.
The meal was eaten with little conversation. Saetan inquired about Mikal’s schoolwork and got the expected evasive answers. Tersa tried to make mundane comments about the cottage and garden, but each time the remarks became more disjointed.
Daemon clenched his teeth. He wanted to tell her to stop trying. It hurt to watch her struggling so hard to walk the borderland of sanity for his sake, and seeing the concern and resentment in Mikal’s eyes as her control continued to crumble stabbed at him.
Saetan set his wineglass on the table and rose. ”Come on, puppy,” he said to Mikal. ”I’ll take you home now.”
Mikal quickly grabbed a nutcake. ”I haven’t finished eating.”
”Take it with you.”
When they left, with Mikal still loudly protesting, Daemon looked at Tersa. ”It’s good to see you again,” he said softly.
Sorrow filled her eyes. ”I don’t know how to be your mother.”
He reached for her hand. ”Then just be Tersa. That was always more than enough.” He felt her absorb the acceptance, felt the tension drain from her body.
Finally, she smiled. ”You are well?”
He returned the smile and lied. ”Yes, I’m well.”
Her hand tightened on his. Her eyes lost focus, became distant and farseeing. ”No,” she said quietly, ”you’re not. But you will be.” Then she stood up. ”Come. I’ll show you my garden.”
Saetan shifted to a sitting position on the couch in his study. He didn’t need to use a psychic probe to know who was on the other side of the door. The scent of her fear was sufficient. ”Come.”
Wilhelmina Benedict entered the room, each step a hesitation.
Watching her, Saetan tightened the reins on his temper. It wasn’t her fault. She had been barely more than a child herself thirteen years ago. There was nothing she could have done.
But if Jaenelle hadn’t stayed in Chaillot in order to protect Wilhelmina, that last, terrible night at Briarwood wouldn’t have happened. She would have left the family that hadn’t understood or cherished what she was. She would have come to Kaeleer, would have come to him- and would have escaped the violent rape that had left her with so many deep emotional scars.
It wasn’t fair to hold Wilhelmina in any way responsible for what had happened to Jaenelle, but he still resented her presence in his home and her reappearance in her sister’s life.
”What can I do for you, Lady Benedict?” He tried, but he couldn’t keep the edge out of his voice.
”I don’t know what to do.” Her voice was barely audible.
”About what?”
”All the other people who signed the contract have something to do, even if it’s just making a list of their skills. But I-”
She wrung her hands so hard Saetan winced in sympathy for the delicate bones.
”He hates me,” Wilhelmina said, her voice rising in desperation. ”Everyone here hates me, and I don’t know why.”
Saetan pointed at the other end of the couch. ”Sit down.” As he waited for her to obey, he wondered how such a frightened, emotionally brittle woman had managed to make the journey through one of the Gates between the Realms and then tried to acquire a contract at the service fair. When she was seated, he said, ”Hate is too strong a word. No one here hates you.”
”Yaslana does.” She pressed her fists into her lap. ”So do you.”
”I don’t hate you, Wilhelmina,” he said quietly. ”But I do resent your presence.”
”Why?”
Faced with her hurt and bewilderment, he was tempted to blunt the truth, but decided to give her the courtesy of honesty. ”Because you’re the reason Jaenelle didn’t leave Chaillot soon enough.”
Her swift change from frightened to fierce startled him, and he realized it shouldn’t have. He should have looked for the common ground between her and Jaenelle instead of letting the past cloud his judgment.
”You know where to find her, don’t you? Don’t you?”
She looked like she was about to shake the answer out of him. Intrigued by the change in her, he wondered if she would actually try.
”Not at the moment,” he said mildly. ”But she’ll be home soon.”
”Home?” Her fierceness changed back to bewilderment and then thoughtfulness as she looked around the study. ”Home?”
”I’m her adopted father.” When she didn’t react to that, he added, ”Lucivar is her brother.”
She jumped as if he’d jabbed her with a pin. Her blue eyes were filled with something close to horror as she stared at him. ”Brother?”
”Brother. If it’s any comfort to you, while you’re both related to the same woman, you’re not related to each other.”
Her relief was so blatant he almost laughed.
”Does she like him?” Wilhelmina asked in a small voice. He couldn’t help it. He did laugh. ”Most of the time.” Then he studied her. ”Is that why you came to Kaeleer? To find Jaenelle?”
She nodded. ”Everyone else said she had died, that Prince Sadi had killed her, but I knew it wasn’t true. He never would have hurt Jaenelle. I thought she had gone to live with one of her secret friends or with her teacher.” She looked at him as if she were trying to measure what she saw against something she knew. ”It was you, wasn’t it? She came to you for lessons.”
”Yes.” He waited. ”What made you think of Kaeleer?”
”She told me. After.” Wilhelmina brushed a finger against her Sapphire Jewel. ”When Prince Sadi unleashed his Black Jewels to escape the Hayllians who had come for him, I heard Jaenelle yelling ’ride it, ride it.’ So I did. When it was over, I was wearing a Sapphire Jewel. Everyone was upset about that because they thought I had somehow made the Offering to the Darkness. But it wasn’t my Jewel. It was Jaenelle’s. I couldn’t actually use it, but it protected me. Sometimes, when I was scared or didn’t know what to do, it always gave the same answer: Kaeleer. I left home because Bobby-” She pressed her lips together and took a couple of deep breaths. ”I left home. As soon as I was twenty, I made the Offering. I got this Jewel. The other one disappeared.”
”And you’ve spent these past years trying to find a way here?”
She hesitated. ”I wasn’t ready for a long time. Then, one day, I started wondering if I would ever be ready. So I came anyway.”
Which meant this woman had more courage than was readily apparent.
”Tell me something, Wilhelmina,” Saetan said gently. ”If, thirteen years ago, Jaenelle had decided to leave Chaillot and had asked you to go with her, would you have?”
It took her a long time to answer. Finally, reluctantly, she said, ”I don’t know.” She looked around the room, sadness in her eyes. ”Jaenelle belongs here. I don’t.”
”You’re Jaenelle’s sister and a Sapphire-Jeweled witch. Don’t judge too quickly.” And I, too, will try not to judge too quickly. ”Besides, you would have had a different opinion of this place if you’d been here while ten adolescent witches were in residence,” he added in a deliberately mournful voice.
Her eyes widened. ”You mean ”the Queens who are here?”
”Yes.”
”Oh, dear.”
”That’s one way of putting it.”
She ducked her head as she stifled a laugh. When she dared to look at him again, he could tell she was thinking hard, reassessing the Hall and the people who resided here.
”I still don’t have anything to do,” she said hesitantly.
The almost-hopeful expectation in her eyes made him realize she had taken a long step toward accepting him as the family patriarch-and expecting him to fulfill the duties of that position.
”Lucivar didn’t say anything?” he asked, fully aware that the only reason Lucivar had brought her there was to keep her away from anyone who might try to use her relationship to Jaenelle.
For the first time, a bit of temper flashed in her eyes.
”He told me to try not to faint because it will upset the males if I do.”
Saetan sighed. ”Coming from Lucivar, that was almost tactful. He’s right. Blunt, but right. Males react strongly to feminine distress.”
Wilhelmina frowned. ”Is that why that large striped cat keeps following me?”
Saetan looked at the study door. A quick question on a psychic spear thread gave him the answer. ”His name is Dejaal. He’s Prince Jaal’s son. He’s appointed himself your protector until you feel comfortable with the other males at the Hall.”
”He’s kindred? I had heard stories-”
”The Blood in Little Terreille don’t have much use for the kindred, and the kindred have even less use for the Blood in Little Terreille,” Saetan said, and then added silently, Except when they’re hungry.
Rising, he offered a hand to Wilhelmina and led her to the door. He called in a grooming brush and gave it to her. ”If you want to do something that will help all of us right now, take Dejaal out to one of the gardens and brush him. Once you get used to him, perhaps it will be easier for you to be around the rest of us.”
”If it’s supposed to make me feel easier, maybe I should brush Lucivar instead,” she said with just a hint of tartness. Saetan burst out laughing. ”Darling, if you want to get along with Lucivar, just show him that bit of steel in your backbone. Since he’s lived with Jaenelle for the past eight years, he’ll recognize it for what it is.”
”Are you sure this is the path back to the Hall?” Daemon asked as he ducked under a low-hanging branch.
We left the path, Ladvarian said. We have to cross the creek, and the path has no bridge.
”I don’t need a bridge to cross the creek.”
Ladvarian looked at Daemon’s shoes. You would get wet.
”I’d survive,” Daemon muttered.
When he left Tersa’s cottage, he’d found Ladvarian waiting to escort him back to the Hall. At first, he’d wondered if this was a subtle kind of insult, implying that he couldn’t find his way back by himself. Then, when Ladvarian offered to show him a footpath that ran between Halaway and the Hall, he’d wondered if he was being set up for an ambush. Finally he realized the dog just wanted to spend a little time getting to know the male whose duties made him an important part of the Queen’s life.
What he didn’t like was the growing impression that he was being labeled as a human who needed to be coddled.
He stopped walking. ”Look, this has got to stop. I may not be an Eyrien warrior, but I’m perfectly capable of walking a couple of miles without collapsing, I can get across a creek without getting wet if I choose to, and I don’t need a short furball treating me like I can’t survive if I’m not inside a house full of servants. Do you understand?”
Ladvarian wagged his tail. Yes. You want to be treated like a Kaeleer male.
Daemon rocked back on his heels and studied the Sceltie. ”Is that what I said?”
Yes. Ladvarian headed off at an abrupt angle. This way.
A minute later, they arrived at the creek. Ladvarian trotted up to the bank and leaped. By rights, he should have landed in the middle of the creek, but he kept sailing over it, and when he landed, he was standing a foot above the ground, a doggy grin on his face.
Daemon looked at the creek, looked at the Sceltie, and then air walked over the creek to the other bank.
Did Jaenelle teach you that?
Remembering the afternoon when Jaenelle had shown him how to walk on air, Daemon’s chest tightened. ”Yes,” he said softly, ”she did.”
She taught me, too. Ladvarian sounded pleased.
As soon as they walked through another stand of trees, Daemon saw the road. The drive, he amended. Once the north road out of Halaway crossed the bridge, it became the drive up to the Hall, and the land spread out before him was the family estate.
He headed for the drive, then spun around when Ladvarian growled, half-expecting an attack despite the dog’s display of friendship.
But Ladvarian was facing the way they’d come. The bridge was out of sight because of the roll of the land, but the wind was coming from that direction.
”What is it?” Daemon asked, opening his first inner barrier enough to sense the area around them.
Humans are coming. Three carriages. I’ve warned the other males, but we have to get back now. Ladvarian started trotting in a direct line toward the Hall, forcing Daemon into a fast walk to keep up.
”What’s wrong with humans coming to the Hall?”
Ladvarian’s psychic scent became hostile. They feel wrong.
The sudden fierceness was a sharp reminder that the small male trotting beside him was also a Red-Jeweled Warlord, and if Lucivar had overseen some of Ladvarian’s training, the Sceltie was a far more effective fighter than anyone might suspect.
Nighthawk will take you to the Hall. He runs faster.
Before Daemon could wonder about that cryptic remark, he heard the hoofbeats pounding toward him.
Under other circumstances, once he saw the black horse, he would have declined the offer-not only because riding a stallion bareback wasn’t a healthy idea, but because, for just a moment, the wind and the horse’s movement had lifted its forelock and he’d seen the Gray Jewel hidden underneath. Despite the difference in their species, he recognized the aggressive psychic scent of another Warlord Prince. But when he didn’t move after the horse pulled up, Ladvarian nipped his calf. Go, Daemon. Now.
He barely had time to mount and grab a fistful of the long mane before Nighthawk took off at a flat-out gallop cross-country. Wondering how Ladvarian was going to keep up with them at that pace, he glanced back and saw the dog balanced on the horse’s rump.
When the horse angled toward the last, long, straight section of the drive, Daemon tugged on the mane, and shouted, ”Ease up,” worried that Nighthawk would slip on the gravel at that speed.
He felt a slight lift, and then heard… nothing. No pounding hooves, no scattering gravel. Looking over Nighthawk’s left shoulder, he saw those driving legs racing on air straight for the front door.
They were close enough to see the details of the dragon’s head doorknocker before Nighthawk sat back on his haunches and finally came to a stop a hand span away from the steps.
Daemon dismounted and walked up the steps, not sure if his legs were trembling from muscle tension or frayed nerves. When he reached the door and looked back, there was no sign of Nighthawk, but he could sense the stallion’s presence nearby.
”Hell’s fire,” he muttered as a footman opened the door.
Ladvarian rushed in ahead of him and disappeared.
Daemon entered more slowly, feeling the press of male hostility. Besides the footman, the only visible person in the great hall was Beale, the butler, but he doubted they were the only ones present.
”It seems we’re about to have company,” Daemon said as he smoothed back his hair and straightened his black jacket.
”So it would seem,” Beale replied blandly. ”If you would remain here, Prince Yaslana and the High Lord will be arriving shortly.”
Daemon looked around, then stepped into the formal receiving room just far enough not to be seen by whoever walked through the door.
Observing the move, Beale shifted position, putting himself directly in Daemon’s line of sight.
Lucivar, Daemon said, using an Ebon-gray spear thread.
I’m coming in through the servants’ door at the back of the hall.
If any of them manage to slip past us, is there any way for them to reach the living quarters?
The only way to the upper floors from that part of the Hall is by using the staircase in the informal receiving room. Don’t worry about it. Kaelas is there. Nothing’s going to get up those stairs. And the High Lord is coming down from that direction.
Daemon heard the carriages pull up in front of the Hall, saw Beale nod to the footman when someone banged on the door.
Footsteps. Rustling clothes. Then a woman’s voice.
”I demand to see Wilhelmina Benedict.”
Cold rage slipped through him so fast he was riding the killing edge before he realized he’d taken the first step toward it. He hadn’t heard her voice in thirteen years, but he recognized it.
”Lady Benedict is not available,” Beale said in a bland voice.
”Don’t tell me that. I’m the Queen of Chaillot and I-”
Daemon stepped out of the receiving room. ”Good afternoon, Alexandra,” he said too calmly. ”Such a pleasure to see you again.”
”You.” Alexandra stared at him, her eyes wide and fearful. Then the anger came. ”You arranged for that ’tour’ of Briarwood, didn’t you?”
”All things considered, it was the least I could do.” He took a step toward her. ”I told you I would wash the streets of Beldon Mor with blood if you betrayed me.”
”You also said you would put me in my grave.”
”I decided that letting you live was a more thorough punishment.”
”You bastard! You-” Alexandra started shivering. All of her entourage started shivering.
The intense, burning cold hit him a moment later, stunning him enough that he slipped away from the killing edge.
A moment after that, Saetan stepped into the great hall.
Is that what I look like when I go cold? Daemon wondered, unable to look away from glazed, sleepy eyes and the malevolently gentle smile.
”Lady Angelline.” Saetan’s voice rolled through the Hall like soft thunder. ”I always knew we would meet someday to settle the debt, but I never thought you would be foolish enough to come here.”
Alexandra clenched her hands but couldn’t stop shaking. ”I came to take my granddaughters home. Let them go, and we’ll leave.”
”Lady Benedict will be informed that you’re here. If she wants to see you, a meeting will be arranged-fully chaperoned, of course.”
”You dare imply that I present some kind of danger?”
”I know you do. The only question is, how much of a danger.”
Alexandra’s voice rose. ”You have no right-”
”I rule here,” Saetan snarled. ”You’re the one who has no rights, Lady. None at all. Except those I grant you. And I grant you little.”
”I want to see my granddaughters. Both of them.”
Something savage flickered at the back of Saetan’s eyes. He looked at Leland and Philip, then turned his attention back to Alexandra. His voice dropped into a singsong croon. ”I had two long, terrible years in which to come up with the perfect execution for the three of you. It will take you two long, terrible years to die, and every minute of it will be filled with more pain than you can imagine. However, in this case, I must have my Queen’s consent before I begin.” He turned away from them. ”Beale, prepare some rooms for our guests. They’ll be staying with us for a while.”
As he walked past Daemon toward his study, their eyes met.
Daemon looked at Leland, who was clinging to Philip and crying softly; at the other Queens and their males, who were cowering in a tight group; and, finally, at Alexandra, who stared at him with terrified eyes and whose skin was bleached of any color.
Turning on his heel, he headed for the study and noticed Lucivar standing quietly at the back of the hall.
If you go in there, be careful, Bastard, Lucivar said.
Nodding, Daemon walked into the study.
Saetan stood by the desk, carefully pouring a glass of brandy. He looked up, poured a second glass, and extended it toward Daemon.
Daemon accepted the glass and took a healthy swallow, hoping it would thaw him a little.
”Another male’s rage shouldn’t throw you so much it knocks you away from the killing edge,” Saetan said quietly.
”I’d never felt anything quite like that before.”
”And if you feel it again, will it throw you again?”
Daemon looked at the man standing an arm’s length away from him and understood it was the Steward of the Dark Court and not his father who was asking the question. ”No, it won’t.”
Moving carefully, as if he were too aware that any sudden movement might unleash the violence still raging inside him, Saetan leaned against his blackwood desk.
Keeping his own movements equally controlled, Daemon poured himself another brandy. ”Do you think the Queen will give her consent?”
”No. Since her relatives inflicted harm on her and not someone else, she’ll oppose the execution. But I’ll still make the request.”
Daemon gently swirled the brandy in his glass. ”If, for some reason, she doesn’t oppose it, may I watch?”
Saetan’s smile was sweet and vicious. ”My darling Prince, if Jaenelle actually gives her consent, you can do more than watch.”
Lord Magstrom sighed as he laid his stack of files on the large table already filled with stacks of files. He sighed again when his elbow jostled a corner stack and the top bulging file spilled on the floor. Going down on one knee, he began collecting the papers.
Thank the Darkness claiming day had ended and the autumn service fair was officially over. Perhaps he should decline to work the service fair next spring. The grueling hours were taxing for a man his age, but it was the heartbreaking hope and desperation on the immigrants’ faces that wrung him dry. How could he look at a woman no older than his youngest granddaughter and not want to help her find a place to live where the fear lurking at the back of her eyes would be replaced by happiness? How could he talk to a courteous, well-spoken man who had been horrifically scarred by repeated attempts to ”teach him obedience” and not want to send him to some quiet village where he could regain his self-respect and not have to wonder what was going to happen to him every time the Lady who ruled there looked in his direction?
There weren’t places like that in Little Terreille. Not anymore. But it was the Queens in this Territory that continued to offer contracts and stuff their courts with immigrants. The other Queens in Kaeleer, in the Territories that answered to the Queen of Ebon Askavi, were more cautious and far more selective. So he did his best to find the immigrants who had a skill or a dream or something that might buy them a contract outside of Little Terreille, and he brought those people to the attention of the males in Jaenelle Angelline’s First Circle when they came to the service fair. As for the others, he filled out the contracts and wished them luck and good life-and wondered if their new life in Little Terreille would really be any different than the life they had tried to escape.
And he tried not to think at all about the ones who hadn’t been fortunate enough to receive some kind of contract and were sent back to Terreille.
Magstrom shook his head as he shuffled the papers into some kind of order. Such sloppy work, stuffing the immigration entry lists into the same file as the service lists and the lists of those who were returning to Terreille. How could the clerks be expected to-
His hand tightened on a sheet of paper. The Hayllian entry list. But he had been in charge of the Hayllian list- until the end of the third day, when Jorval had decided to oversee that particular list. There had been twenty names on the list he’d given Jorval. Now there were only twelve. Had someone recopied the list and only put down the names of the people who had been accepted into service? No, because Daemon Sadi’s name wasn’t there.
Magstrom quickly shuffled through the papers for the Hayllian list of people returning to Terreille which the guards would use to make sure no one tried to slip away and go into hiding. Four names listed. Since Sadi was now in Dhemlan, that left three people unaccounted for who had been on the entry list he had given to Jorval.
When he heard footsteps approaching, he stuffed the papers back into the file, grunted softly as he stood up, and hurriedly placed the file on a stack where it wouldn’t just spill back onto the floor.
The footsteps stopped at the door, then continued on.
Magstrom listened for a moment, then used Craft to probe the area. No one there. But a shiver of uneasiness rippled down his back.
Pushed by that uneasiness, he left the building and hurried to the inn where he had been staying during the service fair. As soon as he reached his room, he began to pack.
By rights, he should have sought out other Council members and mentioned the disparities in the Hayllian lists. Maybe it was a simple clerical error-too many names, too much work rushed through. But who would ”forget” to put a Warlord Prince like Daemon Sadi on the list? Unless the omission had been deliberate. And if that were the case, who knew how many other lists had similar disparities, how many Terreilleans who had come to Kaeleer were now unaccounted for?
And who knew what might happen to the evidence of those disparities if he told the wrong Council members about it?
If he rode the White Wind, which would be the least demanding, he could still be at the Nharkhava border by dawn. Because one of his granddaughters lived there, Kalush, the Queen of Nharkhava, had granted him a special dispensation that allowed him to visit her Territory without having to go through the formalities every time. And if, once he reached the border landing web, he requested an escort to his granddaughter’s house… The guards might think it an odd request, but they wouldn’t refuse to assist an elderly man. After he had a little sleep, he would compose a letter to the High Lord, explaining about the disparities in the lists.
Maybe it was only a clerical error. But if it was, in fact, the first glimpse of trouble, at least Saetan would have some warning-and would also know where to look for the source.
Jorval looked at the sheet of paper lying under the table and the papers hastily stuffed back into the bulging file.
So. The old fool had gotten curious. How unfortunate.
Magstrom might have been a thorn in the Dark Council’s side for a good many years now, but he’d had his uses- especially since he was the only Council member who could request an audience with the High Lord and actually be granted one.
But it would seem that Magstrom’s usefulness was coming to an end. And he wasn’t about to forget that if it hadn’t been for Magstrom’s interference yesterday afternoon, the Dark Priestess would have had her Black-Jeweled weapon safely tucked away somewhere where he could be useful.
He was tempted to send someone to take care of Magstrom that night, but the timing might lead certain people-like the High Lord-to look into the service fair a little too closely.
He could wait. Magstrom couldn’t have seen that much. And if anything was questioned, it was easy enough to dismiss a clerk or two for negligence and offer profuse apologies.
But when the time did come
Alexandra huddled in the chair in front of the blackwood desk.
The High Lord requests your presence.
Requests? Demands was more like it. But the study had been empty when that large, stone-faced butler had opened the door for her and, after fifteen minutes, she was still waiting. Not that she was in any hurry to face the High Lord again.
She strengthened the warming spell she’d put on her shawl and then grimaced at the futility of seeking a little warmth in this place. It wasn’t so much the place-which was actually quite beautiful if you could get past the oppressive, dark feel of it-it was the people who produced a bone-deep chill.
She didn’t think it was out of courtesy that she and her entourage had been given dinner in a small dining room located near the guest rooms. He wouldn’t have cared that she was too physically and emotionally exhausted to cope with meeting whoever else lived there. He wouldn’t have cared that she wouldn’t have been able to choke down a mouthful of food if she had to sit at a table with Daemon Sadi.
No, she and her people had dined alone because he hadn’t wanted her presence at his table.
And now, when she wanted to do nothing more than retire to her room and get whatever sleep she could after an exhausting day, he had requested her presence-and then didn’t even have the courtesy to be there when she arrived.
She should leave. She was a Queen, and the insult of keeping her waiting had gone on long enough. If the High Lord wanted to see her, let him come to her.
As she stood up, the door opened and his dark psychic scent flooded the room. She sank back into the chair. It took all her self-control not to cower as he walked past her and settled into the chair behind the blackwood desk.
”When a male asks to speak with a Queen, he doesn’t keep her waiting,” Alexandra said, trying to keep her voice from quivering.
”And you, being such a stickler about courtesy, have never kept anyone waiting?” Saetan asked mildly after a long pause.
The queer, burning glitter that filled his eyes scared her, but she sensed this was the only chance she would have. If she backed down now, he would never concede anything.
She filled her voice with the cool disdain she used whenever an aristo male needed to be put in his place. ”What a Queen does is beside the point.”
”Since a Queen can do anything she damn well pleases, no matter how cruel the act, no matter how much harm she causes.”
”Don’t twist my words,” she snapped, forgetting everything else about him except that he was male and shouldn’t be allowed to treat a Queen this way.
”My apologies, Lady. Since you twist so much yourself, I’ll do my best not to add to it.”
She gave herself a moment to think. ”You’re deliberately trying to provoke me. Why? So you can justify executing me?”
”Oh, I already have all the justification I need for an execution,” Saetan said mildly. ”No, it’s simpler than that. Your being terrified of me gets us nowhere. If you’re angry, you’ll at least talk.”
”In that case, I want my granddaughters returned to me.”
”You have no right to either of them.”
”I have every right!”
”You’re forgetting something very basic, Alexandra. Wilhelmina is twenty-seven. Jaenelle is twenty-five. The age of majority is twenty. You have no say in their lives anymore.”
”Then neither do you. They should decide to stay or leave.”
”They’ve already decided. And I do have far more say in their lives than you. Wilhelmina signed a contract with the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih. He, in turn, serves in the Dark Court. I’m the Steward. So court hierarchy gives me the right to make some decisions about her life.”
”What about Jaenelle? Does she serve in this Dark Court, too?”
Saetan gave her an odd look. ”You really don’t understand, do you? Jaenelle doesn’t serve, Alexandra. Jaenelle is the Queen.”
For a moment, the conviction in his voice almost convinced her.
No. No. If Jaenelle were really a Queen, she would have known. Like would have recognized like. Oh, there might actually be a Queen who ruled this court, but it wasn’t, couldn’t be, Jaenelle.
But his declaration gave her a weapon. ”If Jaenelle is the Queen, you have no right to control her life.”
”Neither do you.”
Alexandra clamped her hands around the arms of the chair and gritted her teeth. ”The age of majority acknowledges certain conditions that have to be met. If a child is deemed incapable in some way, her family maintains its right to take care of her mental and physical well being and make decisions on her behalf.”
”And who decides if the child is incapable? The family that gets to maintain control of her? How very convenient. And don’t forget, you’re talking about a Queen who outranks you.”
”I forget nothing. And don’t you try to take the moral high ground with me-as if you had any concept of what morality means.”
Saetan’s eyes iced over. ”Very well, then. Let’s take a look at your concept of morality. Tell me, Alexandra. How did you justify it when it was obvious Jaenelle was being starved? How did you justify the rope burns from her being tied down, the bruises from the beatings? Did you just shrug it all off as the discipline needed to control a recalcitrant child?”
”You lie!” Alexandra shouted. ”I never saw any evidence of that.”
”You just tossed her into Briarwood and didn’t bother to see her again until you decided to let her out?”
”Of course I saw her!” Alexandra paused. An ache spread through her chest as she remembered the distant, almost accusing way Jaenelle would look at them sometimes when she and Leland went to visit. The wariness and suspicion in her eyes, directed at them. She remembered how much it had hurt, and how Leland wept silently on the way home, when Dr. Carvay had told them that Jaenelle was too emotionally unstable to have any visitors. And she remembered the times she had felt relieved that Jaenelle was safely tucked away so others wouldn’t have firsthand knowledge of the girl’s fanciful tales. ”I saw her whenever she was emotionally stable enough to have visitors.”
Saetan snarled softly.
”You sit there and judge me, but you don’t know what it was like trying to deal with a child who-”
”Jaenelle was seven when I met her.”
For a moment, Alexandra couldn’t breathe. Seven. She could imagine that voice wrapping itself around a child, spinning out lies. ”So when she told her stories about unicorns and dragons, you encouraged her.”
”I believed her, yes.”
”Why?”
His smile was terrible. ”Because they exist.”
She shook her head, struck mute by the collision of too many thoughts, too many feelings.
”What would it take to convince you, Alexandra? Being impaled on a unicorn’s horn? Would you still insist he was a fanciful tale?”
”You could trick anyone into believing anything you choose.”
His eyes got that glazed, sleepy look. ”I see.” He stood up. ”I don’t give a damn what you think of me. I don’t give a damn what you think about anything. But if I sense one flicker of distress from Wilhelmina or Jaenelle because of you, I’ll bring everything I am down on you.” He looked at her with those cold, cold eyes. ”I don’t know why Jaenelle ended up with you. I don’t know why the Darkness would place such an extraordinary spirit in the care of someone like you. You didn’t deserve her. You don’t deserve even to know her.”
He walked out of the room.
Alexandra sat there for a long time.
Tricks and lies. He’d said Jaenelle had been seven, but how old had she really been when the High Lord first started whispering his sweetly poisoned lies into a child’s ear. Perhaps he had even created illusions of unicorns and dragons that looked real enough to be convincing. Maybe the uneasy way Jaenelle had sometimes made her feel had really been an aftertaste of him and not the child herself.
She couldn’t deny that horrors had been done at Briarwood. But had those men done those things by choice or had an unseen puppet master been pulling the strings? She had experienced Daemon Sadi’s cruelty. Wasn’t it likely that his father had refined his taste for it? Had all that pain and suffering been caused in order to make one particular child so vulnerable she became emotionally dependent on these men?
Dorothea had been right. The High Lord was a monster. Sitting there, Alexandra was certain of only one thing: she would do whatever she had to in order to get Wilhelmina and Jaenelle away from him.
He felt Daemon’s hands slide up his shoulder blades, then settle on his shoulders a moment before those strong, slender fingers began kneading tight muscles.
”Did you tell her Jaenelle is Witch?” Daemon asked softly.
Saetan took a sip of yarbarah, the blood wine, then closed his eyes to better savor the feel of tension and anger draining away as Daemon coaxed his muscles to relax. ”No,” he finally said. ”I told her Jaenelle was the Queen, which should have been enough, but…”
”It wouldn’t have mattered,” Daemon said. ”That last night, at the Winsol party, when I finally understood what Briarwood really was, I had intended to tell Alexandra about Jaenelle. I’d convinced myself that she would help me get Jaenelle away from Chaillot.”
”But you didn’t tell her.”
Daemon’s hands paused, then started working on another group of knotted muscles. ”I overheard her tell another woman that Witch was only a symbol for the Blood, but if the living myth did appear, she hoped someone would have the courage to strangle it in its cradle.”
A bolt of anger flashed through Saetan, but he couldn’t tell if it was his or Daemon’s. ”Mother Night, how I hate that woman.”
”Philip and Leland aren’t exactly innocent.”
”No, they’re not, but they only follow Alexandra’s lead both as their Queen and the family matriarch. She accused me of spinning lies to ensnare Jaenelle, but how many lies did they tell by cloaking them in the conviction of truth?” He made a sound that might have been a bitter laugh. ”I can tell you how many. We had years to observe the emotional scars their words left on her.”
”And what happens when she finds out they’re here?”
”We’ll deal with that when it comes.”
Daemon leaned closer, brushed his lips against Saetan’s neck. ”I can create a grave no one will ever find.”
The kiss followed by that statement jolted Saetan enough to remember that this son still needed careful handling. He might indulge in imaginary gravedigging to channel some of his anger, but, just then, Daemon wouldn’t hesitate to do it.
He jolted again when he felt the feather-light brush of dark, feminine power across the deepest edge of his inner barriers.
”Saetan?” Daemon said too softly.
Wolf song filled the night.
”No,” Saetan replied gently but firmly as he stepped away far enough to turn and face Daemon. ”It’s too late for that.”
”Why?”
”Because that chorus of welcome means Jaenelle is back.” When Daemon paled, Saetan ran a hand down his son’s arm. ”Come to my study and have a drink with me. We’ll bring Lucivar with us since he’s probably fussed over Marian enough by now to annoy her.”
”What about Jaenelle?”
Saetan smiled. ”Boyo, after one of these trips, greeting males, no matter who they are, comes in a poor third on her list of priorities-the first being a very long, hot bath and the second being an enormous meal. Since we can’t compete with those, we might as well sit back and relax while we wait for her to get around to us.”
Surreal stormed through the corridors. Each time she came to an intersection, a silent, solemn-faced footman pointed in the right direction. Probably the first one had warned the others after she’d snarled at him, ”Where’s the High Lord’s study?”
It struck her as a little odd that none of the servants had seemed startled by her roaring through the corridors wearing nothing but a nightgown. Well, considering that the witches had to deal with the males who lived in this place, it probably wasn’t unusual.
When she finally reached the staircase that led down to the informal receiving room, she hitched her nightgown up to her knees to keep from tripping on the hem, raced down the stairs and into the great hall, and swore because the marble floor was cold against her bare feet. In lieu of a knock, she walloped the study door once and then stomped up to the blackwood desk where Saetan sat watching her, a glass of brandy raised halfway to his lips.
Daemon and Lucivar, comfortably slouched in two chairs in front of the desk, just stared at her.
Now that she was there, she wasn’t quite as willing to address the High Lord directly, so she half turned toward Daemon and Lucivar and tossed out the question, ”Don’t I have the right to decide if I want a male in my bed?”
The air behind the desk instantly chilled, but Lucivar said blandly, ”Graysfang?” and the air returned to normal.
The smirk in Lucivar’s voice had her turning toward him fully. ”I don’t know about you, but I’m not used to sleeping with a wolf.”
”What’s wrong with Graysfang staying with you?” Daemon asked.
The soothing tone he was putting into his voice only infuriated her. ”He farts,” she snapped, then waved her hand dismissively. ”Well, so do the rest of you.”
Someone made a choking sound. She thought it was Daemon.
”Do you resent his being there because he’s a wolf or because he’s interfering with another kind of male warming your bed?” Lucivar asked.
Maybe it hadn’t been meant as a slur that she used to be a whore, but she took it as such because then she could vent her temper on him. ”Well, sugar, from where I’m standing, there’s not much to choose between you. He takes up more than his share of the bed, he snores, and he gives slobbery kisses. But if I had to choose, I’d pick him. At least he can lick his own balls!”
A glass hit the desk with an ominous thunk.
Surreal closed her eyes and bit her lip.
Shit. She’d been so focused on being mad at Lucivar, she’d forgotten about the High Lord.
Before she could turn, Saetan had a firm grip on her arm and was pulling her toward the door.
”If you don’t want Graysfang in your room at night, tell him,” Saetan said, sounding like he had something stuck in his throat. ”If he persists Well, Lady, he wears a Purple Dusk Jewel and you wear a Gray. A shield around your room should take care of the problem.”
”I did shield the room,” Surreal protested. ”And I still woke up and found him there. He sounded pleased that I’d shielded the room against the ’strange males,’ but when he realized he couldn’t get in, he had somebody named Kaelas help him through the shield.”
Saetan’s hand froze over the doorknob. He straightened up slowly. ”Kaelas helped him through the shield,” he said, spacing out the words.
She nodded cautiously.
Saetan swiftly opened the door. ”In that case, Lady, I strongly suggest you and Graysfang get this settled between you.”
The next thing she knew, she was standing in the great hall, staring at a firmly closed door.
”You said you’d help,” she muttered. ”You said I could come to you if I needed anything.”
When the door opened again, she half-expected the High Lord to call her back. Instead, Daemon and Lucivar got shoved into the hall and the door was slammed shut behind them.
They stared at the door for a moment, then looked at her.
”Congratulations,” Lucivar said. ”You’ve been here a little over twenty-four hours and you’ve already gotten tossed out of his study. Even I was here three days before he tossed me out the first time.”
”Why don’t you go sit on a spear,” Surreal growled.
Lucivar shook his head and tsked. Daemon seemed to be straining a lot of muscles to keep from laughing.
”So why did he toss the two of you out?” Surreal asked.
”For privacy. You’ll notice there are very strong shields around that room now, including an aural one.” Lucivar looked at the closed study door. ”Having witnessed this behavior a number of times, the males in the First Circle have come to the conclusion that he’s either sitting there laughing himself silly or he’s indulging in a fit of hysterics, and either way, he doesn’t want us to know.”
”He said he would help me,” Surreal snarled.
Lucivar’s eyes were bright with laughter. ”I’m sure he’d intended to explain a few things to Graysfang-right up until you mentioned Kaelas.”
”That name keeps coming up,” Daemon said. ”Just who is Kaelas?”
Lucivar eyed Daemon thoughtfully, then directed the answer to Surreal. ”Kaelas is an Arcerian Warlord Prince who wears a Red Jewel. But because of some quirk in his talent or his training, he can get through any kind of shield-including a Black.”
”Mother Night,” Daemon muttered.
”He’s also eight hundred pounds of feline muscle and temper.” Lucivar smiled grimly. ”We all try not to upset Kaelas.”
”Shit,” Surreal said weakly.
”Come on,” Lucivar said. ”We’ll escort you to your room.”
Walking between two strong males suddenly sounded like a good idea.
After a couple of minutes. Surreal said, ”At least, being that big, he’ll be easy enough to spot.”
Lucivar hesitated. ”The Arcerian Blood always use sight shields when they hunt. It makes them very effective predators.”
”Oh.” Being friends with a wolf was sounding better and better by the minute.
When they reached her room, she said good night and went inside.
Graysfang was standing exactly where she’d left him. Well, she had told him to ”Stay right there,” and he had taken her at her word.
Looking at the sadness in those brown eyes, she sighed.
Puppy love. It was a term whores used to describe clumsy, eager young males during their first few weeks of sexual experience. For a short time, they would try to please so they wouldn’t be refused the bed. But after the novelty wore off, they would address those same women with a hardness in their eyes and a sneer in their voices.
”Tomorrow we’re going to have to come to an agreement about a few things,” Surreal told Graysfang.
His tail went tock-tock, just once.
Giving in, she climbed into bed and patted the covers beside her. He jumped up on the bed and lay down, watching her cautiously. She ruffled his fur, turned off the light, and found herself smiling. She had ended up in a place where, when someone spoke of puppy love, they were talking about a real puppy.
Too edgy to sleep and too restless to find distraction in a book, Daemon wandered through the dimly lit corridors of the Hall.
You’re running, he thought, bitterly aware of the doubts and fears that had come swarming up when he had neared his suite of rooms-and had sensed Jaenelle’s presence in the adjoining suite.
For most of his 1,700 years, he had believed, without question, that he’d been born to be Witch’s lover. Thirteen years ago, faced with a twelve-year-old girl, that conviction hadn’t been shaken. His heart had been committed; it was just the physical union that would have been delayed a few more years. But a brutal rape and the years he’d been lost in madness separated them now, and he wasn’t sure he could stand to face her and see only a sense of obligation or, worse, pity in her eyes.
He needed to find a place that would help him regain his balance.
Daemon paused, then smiled reluctantly as he realized that he hadn’t been running so much as searching. Somewhere on the grounds of the estate, there would be a place dedicated to performing the Blood’s formal rituals for the sacred days in each season, but he doubted Saetan would build a home that didn’t also contain a place for informal, private meditations.
He closed his eyes and opened his inner senses. A moment later, he was moving again, heading back toward the part of the Hall that contained the family living quarters.
He would have missed the entrance completely if he hadn’t caught a glimpse of his reflection in the door’s glass.
Stepping outside, he looked down at the sunken garden. Raised flower beds bordered all four sides except where the stone steps led down into the garden. Two statues dominated the space. A few feet in front of them were a raised stone slab and a wooden seat. Carefully positioned candlelights illuminated the statues and the steps.
The statues pulled at him. He went down the steps, hesitated a moment, then stepped onto the grass.
Power filled the air, making it almost too rich to breathe. As he filled his lungs with it, he felt his body absorb the strength and peace contained within this garden. On the stone slab were half a dozen candles in tinted glass containers. Choosing one at random, he used Craft to create a little tongue of witchfire and light it. A hint of lavender reached him before he walked over to the fountain that contained the female statue.
The back of the fountain was a curved wall of rough stone curtained by water that spilled into a stone-enclosed pool. The woman rose halfway out of the pool, her face lifted toward the sky. Her eyes were closed, and there was a slight smile on her lips. Her hands were raised as if she were just about to wipe the water from her hair. Everything about her embodied serene strength and a celebration of life.
He didn’t recognize the mature body, but he recognized that face. And he wondered if the sculptor had continued his exquisite detail beneath the hips that rose out of the water, wondered what his fingers would find if he slid his hand past her belly.
Because he wondered, he turned to the other statue- the male.
The beast.
His visceral response to the crouched, blatantly male body that was a blend of human and animal was a gut-deep sense of recognition. It was as if someone had stripped him of his skin to reveal what really lay beneath.
Massive shoulders supported a feline head that had its teeth bared in a snarl of rage. One paw/hand was braced on the ground near the head of a small sleeping woman. The other was raised, the claws unsheathed.
Someone like Alexandra would look at this creature and assume it was about to crush and tear the female, that the only way to control that physical strength and rage would be to keep it chained. Someone like Alexandra would never look beyond that assumption to notice the small details. Like the sleeping woman’s hand reaching out, her fingertips just brushing the paw/hand near her head. Like the way the crouching body sheltered her. Like the way the glittering, green stone eyes stared at whoever approached, and the fact that the snarling rage came from the desire, the need, to protect.
Daemon took a deep breath, let it out slowly-and then tensed. He hadn’t heard any footsteps, but he didn’t have to turn around to know who now stood at the foot of the stairs. ”What do you think of him?” he asked quietly.
”He’s beautiful,” Jaenelle replied in her midnight voice.
Daemon slowly turned to face her.
She wore a long black dress. The front lacing ended just below her breasts, revealing enough fair skin to make a man’s mouth water. Her golden hair flowed over her shoulders and down her back. Her ancient sapphire eyes didn’t look as haunted as he remembered, but he had the painful suspicion that he was the reason for the sadness he saw in them.
As the silence between them lengthened, he couldn’t move toward her any more than he could move away.
”Daemon…”
”Do you understand what he represents?” he asked quickly, tipping his head just enough to indicate the statue.
Jaenelle’s lips curved into just a hint of a dry smile. ”Oh, yes, Prince, I understand what he represents.”
Daemon swallowed hard. ”Then don’t insult me by offering regrets. A male is expendable. A Queen is not-especially when she is Witch.”
She made an odd sound. ”Saetan said almost the same thing once.”
”And he was right.”
”Well, being a Warlord Prince made from the same mold, you would think that, wouldn’t you?” She started to smile. Then her eyes narrowed. Her attention sharpened.
Daemon had the distinct impression there was something about him that didn’t please her. When her intense focus ended a moment later, he realized that she had made some decision about him, just as she had done the first time he’d met her. And now, like then, he didn’t know what she had decided.
The Consort’s ring was a heavy weight on his finger, but, because of it, he could ask for one thing he desperately needed.
”May I hold you for a minute?”
He tried to tell himself that her hesitation came from surprise and not wariness, but he didn’t believe it. That didn’t stop him from closing his arms around her when she walked up to him. That didn’t stop the tears from stinging his eyes when her arms cautiously circled his waist and she rested her head on his shoulder.
”You’re taller than I remember,” he said, brushing his cheek against her hair.
”I should hope so.”
Her voice sounded a bit tart, but he could hear the smile in it.
Oh, how his hands wanted to caress and explore, but he was afraid she would pull away from him, so he kept them still. She was alive, and he was with her. That’s all that mattered.
He could have stayed that way for the rest of the night, just holding her, feeling the easy rise and fall of her breathing, but after a few minutes she drew away from him.
”Come on, Daemon,” she said, holding out her hand. ”You need to get some rest, and my orders were to herd you back to your room so that you’d get some sleep before daylight.”
His temper sharpened instantly. ”Who would dare give you orders?” he snarled.
She gave him a look full of exasperated amusement. ”Guess.”
He almost said ”Saetan,” and then thought about it. ”Lucivar,” he said grimly.
”Lucivar,” Jaenelle agreed as she took his hand and pulled him toward the stairs. ”And trust me, boyo, having Lucivar haul you out of bed because you weren’t on the practice field when he told you to be is not an experience you want to have.”
”What’s he going to do? Pour a bucket of water over me?” Daemon said as they reached the corridor and headed toward their suites.
”No, because soaking the bed would get Helene mad at him. But he wouldn’t hesitate to shove you under a cold shower.”
”He hasn’t-”
She just looked at him.
His opinion was blunt and explicit. ”Why do you put up with that?”
”He’s bigger than me,” she grumbled.
”Someone should remind him that he serves you.”
Jaenelle laughed so hard she staggered into him. ”He reminds me of that himself whenever it suits him. And when it doesn’t, I end up dealing with my big brother. Either way, most of the time it’s easier just to go along with him.”
They had reached the door to Jaenelle’s suite. He reluctantly let go of her hand.
”He hasn’t changed at all, has he?” Daemon said, feeling a stab of anxiety as he remembered how volatile Lucivar had always been in a court.
When he looked at Jaenelle, there was an odd light in her eyes. ”No,” she said in her midnight voice, ”he hasn’t changed at all. But then, he, too, understands what that statue represents.”