”Tell me again why I had to miss breakfast,” Daemon said, breathing heavily as he wiped his sweaty face and neck with a towel.
”Because no one wants to dance around in it if you miss a block and get hit in the belly,” Lucivar replied, sipping his coffee while he watched Palanar and Tamnar go through a warmup routine with the sticks. ”And we’re getting an earlier start this morning because I want the males finished before the women get here for their first lesson.”
Daemon took a sip of Lucivar’s coffee, then handed the mug back. ”You’re really going to teach the women how to use the sticks?”
”By the time I’m done with them, they’ll be able to handle sticks, bow, and knife.”
A sharp command by Hallevar had the youths stepping back and then going through a move again slowly.
”I’ll bet the warriors weren’t pleased when you told them,” Daemon said, watching the moves.
”They bitched about it. Most of the women didn’t look happy about it either. I don’t expect them to become warriors, but they’ll be able to defend themselves long enough for a warrior to reach them.”
Daemon eyed Lucivar thoughtfully. ”Is that why you taught Marian?”
Lucivar nodded. ”She kept resisting because Eyrien females traditionally didn’t touch a warrior’s weapons. I told her if a male hurt her because she was too stubborn to learn how to defend herself, I’d beat the shit out of her. And she told me if I ever raised a hand to her, she’d gut me. I figured we were making progress.”
Daemon laughed. The laughter backed up into his lungs when he saw Jaenelle striding over the lawn, heading toward them. His senses sharpened to a razor’s edge, the heat of desire washed through him, and the smell of other males became a declaration of rivalry.
’Rein it in, old son,” Lucivar murmured, glancing over his shoulder and then at Daemon.
Palanar and Tamnar finished their routine, and Hallevar and Kohlvar stepped into the practice circle.
Palanar shifted his mouth into a sneer. ”Here comes a chirpy, trying to grow some balls.”
Daemon whipped around, his eyes filmed with the red haze of fury.
Hallevar pivoted and smacked Palanar on the buttocks with his stick hard enough to make the boy jump.
”That’s my sister, boyo,” Lucivar said too quietly.
Palanar looked sick. Someone else muttered a vicious curse.
”Now, I’m going to forget you said that,” Lucivar continued just as quietly, ”as long as I never hear it again. But if I do, there will come a morning when you step into the practice circle, and I’ll be waiting for you.”
”Y-yes, sir,” Palanar stammered. ”I’m sorry, sir.”
Hallevar cuffed the boy on the back of the head. ”Go get something to eat,” he growled. ”Maybe with some food in you, you’ll use more of your head than just your mouth.”
Palanar slunk away, Tamnar trailing behind him.
Hallevar eyed the distance between them and Jaenelle, figured she was close enough to have heard, and swore softly. ”I taught him better than that.”
Lucivar rolled a shoulder. ”He’s old enough to want his cock admired. That makes him stupid.” He looked at the older Warlord. ”He can’t afford to be stupid. What the Queens in this court may be willing to overlook from a youngster, the males in the court won’t-at least, not a second time.”
”I’ll blister his ears to make sure he gets the message,” Hallevar promised. ”Might as well blister Tamnar’s while I’m at it.” He went back to the circle and began the warmup routine with Kohlvar.
Daemon turned toward Jaenelle, Palanar already forgotten. When he saw the feral look in her eyes, his smile died before it formed.
Lucivar simply raised his left arm.
With one wild-shy glance at him and a murmured greeting he could barely hear, Jaenelle ducked under Lucivar’s arm.
Lucivar lowered his arm, and the hand that settled at her waist tucked her tight against his side. Her right arm rested against his back, her hand curled over his bare shoulder.
They stand that way often, Daemon thought as he fought to rein in his jealousy-and the hurt-because she had barely spared him a glance.
But he suspected that Lucivar was better prepared to deal with the feral look in her eyes than he was. That hurt, too.
”Do you want the introductions now?” Lucivar asked quietly.
Jaenelle shook her head. ”I want to warm up first.”
”When you’re ready, I’ll go a round with you.”
She glanced at Lucivar’s bare chest. ”I would have thought you’d already done your workout.”
”I’ve gone through two of them. Haven’t worked up a sweat yet.”
”Ah.”
Lucivar paused. ”Your sister’s here.”
”I know.” She flicked a glance at the empty women’s practice circle. ”I’m surprised you haven’t dragged her out here.”
”She’s got another thirty minutes to arrive on her own before she gets dragged.” Lucivar grinned wickedly. ”I promise I’ll go easy.”
”Uh-huh.”
That, Daemon thought sourly, he would like to see.
”We also have company,” Lucivar said.
Her eyes iced over. ”I know,” she said in her midnight voice.
Daemon took a step toward her. He didn’t know what he could say or do, but he was certain he-or someone- had to shift the mood she was in.
Lucivar… he began.
Just keep things soft and easy, Bastard, Lucivar replied. The workout will take the edge off her.
Daemon took another step toward her. Her expression changed to something close to panic-and he realized that, last night when she had let him hold her, the Queen had been doing her duty for one of the males in her First Circle, but the woman didn’t want to get anywhere near him.
As she darted away from Lucivar-and him-she almost ran into Jazen, who was carrying a tray containing a pot of fresh coffee and clean mugs.
”Who are you?” Jaenelle said a little too softly.
Jazen stared into her eyes, frozen. ”Jazen,” he finally said. ”Prince Sadi’s valet.”
Her eyes changed from ice to curiosity. ”Is it interesting work?”
”It would be more interesting if he wore something besides a black suit and a white shirt all the time,” Jazen muttered.
Lucivar choked back a laugh. Daemon felt the blood rush into his face and wasn’t sure if it was from temper or embarrassment. Jazen looked horrified.
Then Jaenelle’s silvery, velvet-coated laugh rang out. ”Well, we’ll do our best to rumple him up for you.” As she walked past Jazen, she brushed her left hand over his shoulder. ”Welcome to Kaeleer, Warlord.”
Daemon waited until she had reached the women’s practice circle before turning to his valet. ”Should I apologize for being boring in my taste in clothes? And why in the name of Hell are you out here doing a footman’s work?”
”Beale asked me to bring this tray out.” Jazen gulped. ”I don’t know why I said that other.”
”You said what you’ve been thinking,” Lucivar said, amused. ”Don’t worry about it. By the time we’re done with him, you’ll have to work hard to keep him looking pristine.”
Daemon snarled at his brother, then glared at Jazen.
”I’ll take that,” said Holt, one of the footmen who had carried out the other trays.
Jazen glanced at Daemon, handed the tray to Holt, and made as quick a retreat as possible without actually running.
”Looks like breakfast is being served out here,” Lucivar said as he eyed the various dishes that were being set out on the table.
Daemon took a deep breath and watched Jaenelle go through the warmup movements. ”I should talk to her, explain about Jazen before she passes judgment.”
Lucivar gave him an odd look. ”Old son, she just did. She welcomed him to Kaeleer. That’s all anyone needs to know.”
”This way,” Marian said, making a friendly ”come on” gesture to Wilhelmina Benedict while she eyed Surreal’s loose-sleeved tunic and trousers. ”What are you wearing under the tunic?”
Surreal worked to keep her voice warm. Marian didn’t seem the type to be interested in a former whore’s underwear. ”Why?”
”Lucivar will insist that you strip down for the lesson.”
”Strip?” Wilhelmina said. ”In front of those men?”
”You don’t want your movements restricted by your clothing,” Marian said kindly. ”And you’ll want to put on something dry afterward.”
”I take it I’m going to be sweating,” Surreal said. She glanced at Wilhelmina and wondered if that kind of exercise was a good idea. The young woman looked as pale as water and scared enough to break.
”I don’t think he’ll work the beginners that hard, but you…” Marian’s gold eyes flicked to Surreal’s pointed ears. ”You’re Dea al Mon. He may push you harder, just to find out what you can already do.”
”Lucky me,” Surrel muttered as they headed across the lawn toward the other women who were already gathered at the practice circle.
Marian smiled. ”My first weapon was the skillet.”
”Sounds dangerous,” Surreal said, returning the smile.
”I’d been working for Lucivar as his housekeeper for about four months. My moon’s blood had started that morning, and I wasn’t feeling well. Looking back, I realize that he must have gone through the other moontimes with his teeth clenched to keep from saying anything. But that morning, he started fussing at me to take it easy, and I took it as a criticism that I couldn’t do my job. I threw a pot at him. Well, not really at him. I didn’t want to hit him, I just felt mad enough that I needed to throw something. It hit the wall about two feet away from where he was standing.
”He looked at the pot for a minute, then picked it up and went outside. I could hear him throwing it, and thought he was doing that instead of using his fists on me the way some Eyrien males would have.
”He came back inside, muttering, took one of the skillets, and went back out. A few minutes later, he dragged me outside. He said a pot didn’t have the right balance, but a skillet would work if it was thrown properly. I spent two months practicing slinging a skillet before he declared me proficient enough to suit him.” Marian grinned at the memory.
”What does he consider proficient?” Surreal asked.
Marian didn’t look amused now. ”Being able to break bone nine out of ten times.”
Surreal just gaped at her for a moment, and then started thinking hard. She was a damn good assassin. Just how much, under Lucivar’s training, could those skills be honed?
When they reached the practice circle, Wilhelmina hung back. Surreal pushed her way to the front. When an Eyrien warrior snarled at her for elbowing him in the ribs, she snarled back, pleased that he was the one to give ground.
She looked around, saw Daemon, and felt her breathing hitch. He looked calm enough, standing there with a mug of coffee in one hand, but his face had that set look that she’d seen when they were in the Coach on the way here. It wasn’t as bad as it had been then, but it wasn’t good.
Then Lucivar started talking, and she put her concern for Daemon aside for the time being.
”There are reasons why Eyrien males are the warriors,” Lucivar said, his eyes skimming over the women as he paced slowly down the line and back again. ”We’re bigger, stronger, and we have the temperament for killing. You have other strengths and other skills. Most of the time, that works out well. But that’s no reason for you to be unable to defend yourselves. And before you give me any shit about not being able to handle a weapon, I’ll remind you that most of you don’t have any trouble using kitchen knives, and some of them are as big as a hunting knife. They just look different. And some of you will want to wiggle out of this training by telling me that, no matter how much she knows, a woman can’t hold her own against a male. Right?” Looking at the other practice circle, he roared, ”CAT! Get over here!”
Wondering why he’d want a feline, Surreal looked toward the circle. Her breath came out in a hiss as the woman talking to Karla, Morghann, and Gabrielle turned around. ”Jaenelle,” she whispered.
She focused on Daemon again. He didn’t look shocked to see Jaenelle. Maybe they’d already had a chance to talk. Maybe… No, it was probably way too early to think about those maybes.
The other women strode toward the practice circle. Jaenelle came more slowly, her eyes fixed on Lucivar while she whipped the stick around her waist with enough force to sting the air.
Lucivar sidestepped to the middle of the circle, always watching her. ”Come play with me, Cat,” he said, giving her an arrogant smile.
She snarled at him and began to circle.
”Hallevar,” Lucivar said as he circled with her. ”Call the time.”
Surreal felt Falonar tense beside her.
”What’s time?” she asked, nudging him when he didn’t answer.
”Ten minutes,” Falonar replied grimly. ”He’ll beat her into the ground long before that.”
Surreal slashed a look at Daemon and started to sweat. If that happened, what would Sadi do? Easy answer. The hard question was, what could any of them do to stop him from tearing Lucivar apart?
The first clash of the sticks had her heart jumping into her throat. After that she wasn’t aware of anything except Jaenelle and Lucivar moving gracefully through a savage dance.
Seconds passed into minutes.
”Mother Night,” Falonar whispered. ”She’s making him work for it.”
Lucivar’s chest glistened with sweat. Surreal could hear his deep, harsh breathing. Her own sweat chilled her skin when she saw the wild look in Jaenelle’s eyes.
She didn’t know how much time had passed when, after half a dozen lightning-fast moves, Jaenelle lost her balance for a split second. Lucivar danced back just long enough to let her get her feet solidly under her before attacking again.
”He could have put her on the ground right then and ended it,” Falonar said softly.
”He wants to work her, not get her mad enough to really go after him,” Chaosti replied just as softly, stepping up behind Surreal.
Finally, Hallevar yelled, ”TIME!”
Lucivar and Jaenelle circled, thrust, clashed.
”DAMN YOU BOTH, I SAID TIME!”
They broke apart, backed away.
Hallevar strode into the circle and took the stick away from Lucivar. He looked at Jaenelle, hesitated, then backed off when Lucivar shook his head.
”Come on, Cat,” Lucivar gasped as he moved toward her. ”We’ve got to walk to cool down.”
Her head snapped up. She braced her feet in a fighting stance.
Lucivar held up his hands and kept moving forward.
The wild look in her eyes faded. ”Water.”
”Walk first,” he said, taking the stick away from her.
”Prick,” she snarled halfheartedly, but she walked with him.
”If you don’t give me a hard time about it, you can even have breakfast.” Lucivar handed the stick to Falonar as he and Jaenelle walked past. He took a couple of towels from Aaron, draped one over Jaenelle’s neck, and began to rub himself down with the other.
Looking around, Surreal noticed that Khardeen was also in the crowd, watching and alert. And she noticed, with a sigh of relief, that Saetan was talking quietly with Daemon.
Turning back to Falonar, she brushed her fingers against the stick. ”Do you think I’ll ever get half that good with one of these?” She half expected some dismissive comment, but when he didn’t answer, she looked up to see him studying her seriously.
”If you can become half as proficient with this as she is, you’ll be able to take down any male except an Eyrien warrior,” Falonar said slowly. ”And you’ll be able to take down half of them as well.” Then he looked at Marian. ”Are you all right, Lady?”
Marian let out a shuddering breath. ”I’m fine, thank you, Prince Falonar. It’s just… sometimes when they’re so intense …”
Falonar bowed just enough to show respect, then left them to talk with Hallevar.
”Are you really all right?” Surreal asked, drawing Marian a little ways away from the crowd.
Marian’s smile was a trifle strained. ”Lucivar’s always tense after he’s been at the service fair, and he’s been worried about Daemon.”
Looking back, Surreal saw Daemon walking toward the Hall with the High Lord. Well, that was one worry out of the way for the moment.
She also noticed the way Jaenelle kept glancing at Daemon while Lucivar piled food on a plate. She smiled.
”Usually I can help him relieve the tension,” Marian continued.
Her self-conscious expression told Surreal exactly how Marian helped relieve the tension. The woman had guts to get into a bed with a man like Lucivar when his temper was already on the edge.
”Since that wasn’t an option this time…”
No, Surreal thought as Marian gave her a speculative look. If Lucivar had never suggested an alternative to intercourse, she certainly wasn’t going to supply the information.
After a moment, Marian shrugged. ”Usually when Jaenelle is his sparring partner, they just keep working through the moves until he’s sweated out the tension. But this morning… Jaenelle’s relatives showing up like this has put her on edge, too.”
”Yeah, seeing her family again isn’t a reason to cheer.”
Marian stiffened. ”Her family lives here.”
”Yes,” Surreal said after a minute, ”I guess they do.”
Wilhelmina walked silently beside Lucivar as he escorted her to her room. She wished he would put his arm around her. Maybe then she would stop shivering. Maybe then she wouldn’t feel so afraid.
That was funny. A few hours ago, she’d been terrified of him, especially after she’d seen him and Jaenelle attacking each other with the sticks.
Afterward, she’d tried to slip back to the Hall before anyone noticed because she’d been sure her heart would just burst if any of those Eyrien warriors snarled at her when she couldn’t do the exercises properly. But Lucivar had noticed her slinking away. He’d grabbed the back of her tunic and hauled her into the practice circle.
And he’d been kind. While other Eyriens instructed the other women, and Marian and some of the coven had demonstrated the moves, he had worked with her and the girl, Jillian. Never in a hurry, never impatient, his hands firm but gentle when he repositioned her body, his voice always calm and encouraging.
She hadn’t expected that from him. And she hadn’t expected him to stay with her when she went to meet Alexandra, Leland, and Philip.
She should have said ”no” when the High Lord told her they were here and wanted to talk to her. But she’d felt an obligation to see them, since they’d come all this way.
They’d been angry when Lucivar refused to let the Province Queens and the escorts into the room and refused to leave himself. Oh, he’d gone out onto the balcony, but no one was going to forget his presence.
She could tell they had been as insulted as she had been relieved, but they had been glad to see her. They’d all hugged her and complimented her on how pretty she’d become and how worried they had been about her and how much they’d missed her…
And then Alexandra told her not to worry. They would find a way to break the contract and get her out of this place and away from these people. She’d tried to explain that she intended to honor the contract, that the High Lord and Prince Yaslana weren’t the monsters Alexandra was trying to make them out to be.
They didn’t listen, just as they hadn’t listened years ago when her father, Robert Benedict, had tried to force himself on her after Jaenelle disappeared-a few months after he had come down with the illness that had finally killed him. She had run away because she’d been afraid that, one day, no one would hear her screams or, if they did, would ignore them because she was turning into a ”difficult” child, just like Jaenelle.
They didn’t listen. Because they were so sure they were right, so sure that they knew what was best. Even Philip. He kept telling her that it would be all right now, that Robert was dead so it would be all right. But it wouldn’t be, couldn’t be, all right because they thought of her as being ”damaged” somehow-she could see that in their eyes-and anything she thought or felt or wanted would be colored by that conviction. And because she cared for Philip and knew he would be hurt by it, she couldn’t tell them why she really wanted to stay there.
Her fear that they might actually be able to take her away after she’d struggled so hard to get to Kaeleer had escalated to the point where she had leaped up from the couch, and yelled, ”No! I don’t want to!”
Lucivar was in the room and hurrying her away from them before anyone else could move.
But she couldn’t stop shaking, and the fear was eating her alive.
Lucivar’s hand came down on her shoulder, stopping her. A moment later, he called in a flask. He vanished the cap, gripped the back of her head with one hand, and held the flask up to her lips.
”If you keep shaking like that, you’re going to rip something,” he said, sounding annoyed. ”Take a sip of this. It’ll settle your nerves.”
”I don’t want a sedative,” Wilhelmina said, trying to pull away as desperation swelled inside her. ”There’s nothing wrong with me.”
”Nothing except you’ve gone way past scared, and that’s not good for you.” Lucivar paused, studying her. ”It’s not a sedative, Wilhelmina,” he said quietly. ”It’s Khary’s home brew. It’s got a kick to it that will mellow you out-and it’ll also keep you from breaking apart. Now, hold your nose and swallow.”
She didn’t hold her nose. She did swallow the sip he gave her.
Golden.
It flowed over her tongue like ripe plums and summer heat, pooled in her stomach for a moment, and then flowed into her limbs.
When he offered her another swallow, she took it. That glorious heat melted her fear and produced a sensuous warmth inside her. If she had another sip, she might even feel brave-fiercely, wonderfully brave.
But Lucivar wasn’t offering another sip. She wasn’t aware that he’d released her, but he had the cap in one hand now and the flask in the other, and he was going to take away that delicious heat.
She snatched the flask and ran down the corridor, whipped around a corner, and guzzled as much as she could before he caught up to her and took it away.
She leaned against the wall and smiled at him. She felt enormously pleased when he took a couple of steps back and watched her warily.
Lucivar sniffed the flask, took a small sip, and said, ”Shit.”
”That would be a rude thing to do in the corridor.”
He swore softly while he capped the flask and vanished it, but it sounded more like laughter. ”Come on, little witch. Let’s get you settled somewhere while you can still walk.”
She walked toward him to prove that she could, but the floor suddenly got lumpy, and she tripped and fell against him.
”I am very brave,” she told him, leaning against his chest.
”You are very drunk.”
”Mmmm not.” Then she remembered the important thing she had to do. The most important thing. ”I want to see my sister.” She smacked her hand as hard as she could against the surface she was leaning on to emphasize her point. She looked at her stinging hand. ”It hurts.”
”We’ll have matching bruises,” Lucivar said dryly.
”Okay.”
Muttering, he steered her through the corridors.
She felt so wonderful, she wanted to sing, but all the songs she knew seemed so … polite. ”Do you know any naughty songs?”
”Mother Night,” he muttered.
”Don’t know that one. How does it go?”
”This way,” he said, steering her around a corner.
She got away from him and ran down the corridor, flapping her arms. ”I can flyyyyy.”
When he caught her again, he wrapped one arm around her waist, knocked once on the door in front of them, and hauled her inside.
”Cat!”
Tears filled Wilhelmina’s eyes when Jaenelle walked out of the adjoining room. The warm smile of greeting was all she needed to see.
Slipping out of Lucivar’s grip, she stumbled a couple of steps and hugged Jaenelle.
”I’ve missed you,” Wilhelmina said, laughing while tears ran down her face. ”I’ve missed you so much. I’m sorry I wasn’t braver. You were my little sister, and I should have looked after you. But you were the one who always looked after me.” She leaned back, holding Jaenelle’s shoulders for balance. ”You’re so pretty.”
”And you’re drunk.” Those sapphire eyes stared at Lucivar. ”What did you do to her?”
”Her nerves were so strained after meeting your relatives, I was afraid she’d break. So I asked Khary for the strongest brew he had in a flask because I figured she wouldn’t take more than a sip.” Lucivar winced. ”She guzzled half the flask-and it wasn’t one of his home brews, it was the concoction you created.”
Jaenelle’s eyes widened. ”You let her drink a ’gravedigger’?”
”No no no,” Wilhelmina said, shaking her head. ”You shouldn’t ever drink a gravedigger until he’s had a bath.” She smiled placidly when Jaenelle and Lucivar just stared at her.
”Mother Night,” Lucivar muttered.
”Do you know that song?” Wilhelmina asked Jaenelle.
”What did you have for breakfast?” Jaenelle demanded.
”Water. I was too nervous to eat. But I’m not nervous anymore. I am very brave and fierce.”
Lucivar wrapped one hand around her arm. ”Why don’t you sit on the couch now?”
She headed straight across the room-more or less. When he started to lead her around the table, she dug in her heels.
”I can go through the table,” she announced proudly. ”I studied my Craft. I want to show Jaenelle that I can do that now.”
”You want to do something really challenging?” Lucivar asked. ”Then let’s walk around the table. Right now, that will be impressive.”
”Okay.”
Getting around the table was sufficiently challenging, especially since Lucivar kept getting his feet in the way. When she finally reached the couch, she plopped down next to Jaenelle. ”I brushed Dejaal, and now he likes me. If I brushed Lucivar, do you think he’d like me, too?”
”He’d promise to like you if you stopped stepping on him,” Lucivar growled softly while he pulled off her shoes.
”It’s Marian’s job to brush Lucivar,” Jaenelle said solemnly.
”Okay.”
”Why don’t I have some coffee and toast sent up?” Lucivar said.
Wilhelmina watched Lucivar until he left the room. ”I used to think he was scary. But he’s just big.”
”Uh-huh. Why don’t you lie down for a little while?” Jaenelle said.
Wilhelmina obeyed. When Jaenelle finished tucking a blanket around her, she said, ”Everyone said you had died, but when they talked to me, they said we had ’lost’ you. But I always knew you weren’t lost because you told me where to find you. How could you be lost when you knew where you were?”
She looked into Jaenelle’s sapphire eyes. The mind behind those eyes was so vast. But she wasn’t afraid of that anymore. ”You always knew where you were. Didn’t you?”
”Yes,” Jaenelle replied softly. ”I always knew.”
Alexandra paused, took a deep breath, and opened the door without knocking.
The golden-haired woman grinding herbs with a mortar and pestle didn’t turn around, didn’t indicate in any way that she knew someone was there. A large bowl floated above the worktable, heated by three tongues of witchfire. A spoon lazily stirred the bowl’s contents.
Alexandra waited. After a minute, she said in a tight voice, ”Could you stop fiddling with that for a minute and say ’hello’ to your grandmother? After all, it’s been thirteen years since I’ve seen you.”
”A minute or so won’t make any difference to a greeting that’s waited for thirteen years,” Jaenelle replied, pouring the finely ground herbs into the bowl’s bubbling contents. ”But it will make a difference to this tonic developing the right potency.” She half turned, gave Alexandra one slashing glance, then focused her attention on the brew.
Alexandra clenched her teeth, remembering why she had found this granddaughter so different to deal with. Even as a small child, Jaenelle had displayed these gestures of superiority, implying that she had no reason to show respect for her elders or yield to a Queen.
Why? For the first time, Alexandra wondered. She’d always assumed, along with everyone else, that those displays were attempts to compensate for not wearing the Jewels, for being less than the other witches in the family. But, perhaps, they had been a result of someone-like the High Lord-whispering sweet lies into a child’s ear until the girl truly believed she was superior.
She shook her head. It was hard to believe that the child who had been unable to do the simplest Craft lessons could grow up to become some terrible, powerful threat to the Realm of Terreille as Dorothea claimed. If that were true, where was the power? Even now, when she was trying to sense Jaenelle’s strength, it felt… muted… just as it always had. Distant, which was the way a Blood female who didn’t have enough psychic strength to wear a Jewel felt.
That meant Jaenelle was just a pawn in an elaborate game. The High Lord-or, perhaps, the mysterious Queen who ruled this court-wanted a figurehead to hide behind.
”What are you making?” Alexandra asked.
”A tonic for a young boy who’s ill,” Jaenelle replied, adding a dark liquid to the brew.
”Shouldn’t a Healer be doing that?” Hell’s fire, are they really letting her make tonics for people?
”I am a Healer,” Jaenelle replied tartly. ”I’m also a Black Widow and a Queen.”
Of course you are. With effort, Alexandra bit back the words. She would remain calm; would forge a bond, somehow, with her younger granddaughter; would remember that Jaenelle had already endured some terrible experiences.
Then Jaenelle finished making the tonic and turned around.
Staring into those sapphire eyes, Alexandra forgot about remaining calm or forging a bond. Staggered by the… something… that looked at her out of those eyes, she groped for an explanation that would fit.
When she found it, she wanted to weep.
Jaenelle was insane. Totally, completely insane. And that monster who ruled here indulged that insanity for his own reasons. He let Jaenelle think she was Healer and a Black Widow and a Queen. He would probably let her give that tonic to a sick little boy, regardless of what the stuff would actually do to a child.
”Why are you here, Alexandra?”
Alexandra shivered at the sound of that midnight voice, then gave herself a mental shake. The child had always indulged in theatrics. ”I came to take you and Wilhelmina home.”
”Why? For the past thirteen years, you thought I was dead. Since that was far more convenient for you than having me alive, why didn’t you just continue to pretend I was dead?”
”We weren’t pretending,” Alexandra said hotly. Jaenelle’s words hurt, mostly because they were true. It had been easier mourning a dead child than dealing with the difficult girl. But she would never admit that. ”We thought you were dead, that Sadi had killed you.”
”Daemon would never have hurt me.”
But you would-and did. That was the message underneath the cold, flat reply.
”Leland is your mother. I’m your grandmother. We’re your family, Jaenelle.”
Jaenelle shook her head slowly. ”This body can trace its bloodline to you. That makes us related. It doesn’t make us family.” She moved toward the door. When she was just about to pass Alexandra, she stopped. ”You apprenticed with an Hourglass coven for a little while, didn’t you? Before you had to make the choice between becoming a Black Widow and becoming Chaillot’s Queen.”
Alexandra nodded, wondering where this was leading.
”You learned enough to make the simplest tangled webs, the kind that would absorb a focused intent and draw that object to you. Isn’t that true?” When she nodded again, Jaenelle’s eyes filled with sadness and understanding. ”How many times did you sit before one of those webs dreaming that something would help you keep Chaillot safe from Hayll’s encroachment?”
Alexandra couldn’t speak, could barely breathe.
”Has it ever occurred to you that that may be the answer to the riddle? Saetan was also an intense dreamer. The difference is that when the dream appeared, he recognized it.” Jaenelle opened the door. ”Go home, Alexandra. There’s nothing-and no one-for you here.”
”Wilhelmina,” Alexandra whispered.
”She’ll fulfill the eighteen months of her contract. After that, she can do as she pleases.” There was something awful and ironic about Jaenelle’s smile. ”The Queen commands it.”
Alexandra took a deep breath. ”I want to see this Queen.”
”No, you don’t,” Jaenelle replied too softly. ”You don’t want to stand before the Dark Throne.” She paused. ”Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to finish this tonic. It’s simmered long enough.”
Dismissed. As casually as that, she was being dismissed.
Alexandra left the workroom, relieved to be away from Jaenelle. She found one of the inner gardens and settled on a bench. Maybe the sun would take away the chill that had seeped into her bones. Maybe then she could believe she was shaking from cold and not because Jaenelle had mentioned something she had never told anyone.
Her paternal grandmother had been a natural Black Widow. That’s what had drawn Alexandra to the Hourglass in the first place. But by then, the aristo Blood in Chaillot were already starting to whisper about Black Widows being ”unnatural” women, and the other Queens and the Warlord Princes would never have chosen a Queen who was also a witch of the Hourglass covens.
So she left her apprenticeship and, a few years later when her maternal grandmother stepped down, became the Queen of Chaillot. But during her first few years as Queen, she had secretly woven those simple tangled webs. She had dreamed that something or someone would appear in her life that would help her fight against Hayll’s undermining of Chaillot society. At the time, she had thought it would be a Consort-a strong male who would support and help her. But no man like that had ever appeared in her life.
Then, when her Black Widow grandmother had been dying, Alexandra had been given what she came to think of as the riddle. What you dream for will come, but if you’re not careful, you’ll be blind until it’s too late.
So she had waited. She had watched. The dream hadn’t come. And she would not, could not, believe that a disturbed, eccentric child had been the answer to the riddle.
As he stared out the window, he reached inside his shirt and fingered the slim glass vial that hung from a chain around his neck. The High Priestess of Hayll had assured him that she and the Dark Priestess had woven the strongest spells they knew to keep him undetected. So far, they had worked. No one sensed he was anything more than another escort Alexandra Angelline had brought with her. He was just a bland man, almost invisible. That suited him perfectly.
It had sounded so easy when he’d been given the assignment. Find the target, drug her so that she would be complacent, and then slip her out of the Hall to the men who would be waiting just beyond the boundaries of the estate. When he’d seen the size of the place, he’d thought it would be even easier.
But, despite its size, the Hall was crawling with aggressive males, from the lowest male servant right up to the High Lord. And the bitches never seemed to be alone. He’d lingered in corridors for hours without so much as a sniff of either one of them.
He shuddered as he remembered his one glimpse of the golden-haired bitch. He’d been told, repeatedly, that she was his primary target, but he had no intention of getting anywhere near her because something about her spooked him, and he wasn’t sure the spells would hold up under that sapphire stare. So he would snatch the other one, the sister. But he would have to do it soon. He could only dodge just so long around so many bristling, suspicious males.
Maybe he would escort Wilhelmina Benedict all the way back to Hayll. Once he got her out, what difference did it make if he was found to be missing?
And it would make no difference to him if Alexandra was left behind to explain her granddaughter’s disappearance-or was the one who ended up paying whatever price the High Lord chose to extract.
The rage twisted inside Dorothea like a choking vine. The brief report dangled from one hand.
”You’re distressed, Sister,” Hekatah said as she shuffled into the room and took a seat.
”Kartane was gone to Kaeleer.” She couldn’t draw a deep enough breath to give her voice any strength.
”Gone to see if any of their Healers can cure him?” Hekatah thought about that for a moment. ”But why now? He could have gone anytime in the last few years.”
”Perhaps because he thinks he has something to barter now that would be worth more than gold marks.”
Hekatah hissed, immediately understanding. ”How much does he know?”
”He was at my ’confession’ the other day, but that’s not much to tell someone.”
”It’s enough to put Saetan on his guard,” Hekatah said ominously. ”It’s enough to make him start asking questions.”
”Then perhaps something should be arranged before Kartane has a chance to talk to anyone outside of Little Terreille,” Dorothea said softly, almost absently. She could think of a number of interesting ”arrangements” that could be made for a son who wanted to woo her enemy.
Hekatah stood up and paced around the room for a minute. ”No. Let’s see if we can use Kartane as bait to lure a specific Healer to Little Terreille.”
Dorothea snorted. ”Do you really think Jaenelle Angelline is going to help Kartane?”
”I’ll go to Little Terreille tonight and speak to Lord Jorval. He’ll know how to phrase a discreet request.” When Hekatah reached the door, she paused. ”When your little Warlord comes home, perhaps you should give him a lesson in loyalty.”
Dorothea waited until Hekatah left before going over to the fire. She dropped the report into it, watched the flames devour the paper.
When the war they were going to start was over, she would build a bonfire and watch the flames devour that desiccated walking corpse. And while she watched Hekatah burn, she would give her son that lesson in loyalty.
”I need a favor,” Karla said abruptly after ten minutes of small talk and discussion about the Eyriens whom Lucivar had brought in.
Jaenelle glanced up from the piece of needlepoint she was working on, her eyes filled with wary amusement. ”All right.”
”I want a Ring of Honor like you gave the boyos in the First Circle.”
”Darling, they wear the Ring of Honor on their cocks. You may be ballsy, but you don’t have one of those.”
”The kindred males don’t wear them there. You had small Rings made that attach to the chain holding their Jewels.”
”So you want a Ring of Honor,” Jaenelle said, still sounding amused, still adding stitches to the needlepoint design.
Karla nodded solemnly. ”For everyone in the coven.”
Jaenelle looked up, no longer amused.
Karla met that look, recognizing by the subtle change in the sapphire eyes that she was no longer talking to Jaenelle, her friend and Sister. She was talking to Witch, the Queen of Ebon Askavi. Her Queen.
”You have a reason,” Jaenelle said in her midnight voice. It wasn’t a question.
”Yes.” How much would she need to say to convince Jaenelle? And how much of what she’d seen in the tangled web could be left unsaid?
A few minutes passed in silence.
Jaenelle resumed her stitching. ”If it’s going to be worn on a finger, it should look decorative enough so that it’s real purpose isn’t obvious,” she said quietly. ”I assume you’re mostly interested in the Ring because of the protection spells I added to it.”
”Yes,” Karla said quietly. The protection spells, the Ebony shields Jaenelle added to the Rings, were the reason she wanted one.
”Do you want the Rings linked just between the coven or linked to the boyos as well?”
Karla hesitated. A typical Ring of Honor allowed a Queen to monitor the emotions of the males in her First Circle. Because of a quirk in the way Jaenelle had made the first Ring of Honor-the one Lucivar still wore-the First Circle males in the Dark Court had the same means of gauging the Queen’s mood. Did she, or any of the coven, really want to deal with males who were even more attuned to feminine moods than the boyos already were? Was a little emotional distance worth not having a means of sending a warning that couldn’t, in any way, be blocked? ”They should be linked with the First Circle males.”
”I’ll get the Rings made as soon as possible,” Jaenelle said quietly.
”Thank you, Lady,” Karla replied, acknowledging the Queen rather than the friend.
Another silence filled the room.
”Anything else?” Jaenelle finally asked.
Karla took a deep breath, let it out slowly. ”I don’t like your relatives.”
”Nobody here likes my relatives,” Jaenelle replied, but there was a sharp edge underneath the amusement-and sorrow. Then she added very quietly, ”Saetan formally requested my consent for their executions.”
”Did you give it?” Karla asked neutrally. She already knew the answer. She had been in the same position five years ago when she became Queen of Glacia. She had exiled her uncle, Lord Hobart, instead of executing him, even though she strongly suspected he had been behind the death of her parents and Morton’s.
Jaenelle, if pushed, would choose the same.
”If it’s any consolation, I do like your sister,” Karla said when Jaenelle didn’t answer the question. ”She’ll adjust to living in Kaeleer just fine if she can stop being scared long enough to catch her breath.”
Jaenelle looked a little pained. ”Lucivar got her drunk. She offered to brush him.”
”Oh, Mother Night.” When the laughter finally fizzled out, Karla groaned her way off the couch, said good night to Jaenelle, and headed for her own suite.
In the privacy of her bedroom, she indulged in a few grunts and moans as she got ready for bed. No matter how much she exercised when she was home, it always took her a few days to adjust to the workouts Lucivar put her through. But she wasn’t about to miss a chance to get a little extra training from him. Especially now.
Later, as she was drifting off to sleep, it occurred to her that Jaenelle, who was a strong and very gifted Black Widow, might have had her own reasons for agreeing to the favor.
With exaggerated care, Daemon tied the robe’s belt. The hot bath had warmed and loosened his tight, tired muscles. A large quantity of brandy would blur the mental sharp edges. Neither of those things would ease a bruised, bleeding heart.
Jaenelle didn’t want him. That was becoming painfully clear.
When she had come looking for him last night, he had thought she had been pleased to see him, had hoped that they could begin again. But today she had shied away from him whenever he tried to approach her, using Lucivar or Chaosti or the whole coven as a buffer. It had forced him to realize that she had given him the title of Consort out of some sense of obligation, but she didn’t want him.
How long, he wondered as he walked into his bedroom, could he stand watching her interact with the other males in her court while he was being shut out of her life? How long could his sanity hold together when, day after day, he was close enough to touch her but wasn’t allowed to? How long…
Seeing the mound in the dim light, he thought someone had come in and dumped a white fur cover over his bed without smoothing it out.
Then a head lifted off his pillows and muscles rippled under the white fur as the huge cat shifted position.
The front paws, dangling over the side of the bed, flexed, displaying impressive claws. Gray eyes stared at him as if daring him to do more than breathe.
Even if he hadn’t seen the Red Jewel lying against the white fur, Daemon would have had no doubts about who was sprawled on his bed.
We all try not to upset Kaelas, Lucivar had said.
Hell’s fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful.
With his heart pounding in his throat, Daemon cautiously backed toward the door. Saetan’s suite was right across from his. He could…
Something large thumped against the other side of the door just as his hand touched the knob.
Kaelas curled his lips in a silent snarl.
There was only one escape open to him.
Never taking his eyes off Kaelas, Daemon sidled over to the door that separated his bedroom from Jaenelle’s. He opened the door only as much as necessary, slipped into her bedroom, Black-locked the door, and added a Black shield. If what Lucivar had said about Kaelas being able to get through any shield was true, the lock and shield were useless, but they made him feel a little better.
As he backed farther into Jaenelle’s room, he began to shake. It wasn’t because of Kaelas, exactly. Any man with a healthy survival instinct would be cautiously afraid of a cat that size-especially when that cat was also a Red-Jeweled Warlord Prince. But he knew that, before he had shattered his mind the first time that night at Cassandra’s Altar, he wouldn’t have felt this kind of overwhelming fear. He would have had enough confidence in himself to match that feline arrogance even while being prudent enough to yield. Now…
”Daemon?”
He twisted around, suddenly finding it impossible to breathe.
Jaenelle stood in the doorway that led to the rest of her suite, dressed in sapphire-blue pajamas.
Seeing her, he lost his balance in too many ways.
She ran to him, wrapped her arms around his waist to keep him from falling. ”What’s wrong? Are you ill?”
”I-” He was sweating from the effort to take a deep enough breath.
”Can you walk far enough to sit on the bed?”
Unable to speak, he nodded.
”Sit down,” Jaenelle said. ”Put your head between your knees.”
When he obeyed, his robe parted. He leaned over farther, hoping, since she was crouched in front of him, that he wasn’t revealing anything she didn’t want to see.
”Can you tell me what’s wrong?” Jaenelle asked as her fingers brushed through his hair.
You don’t love me. ”On my bed,” he gasped.
Jaenelle swiveled to look at the door adjoining their rooms. Her eyes narrowed. ”What’s Kaelas doing in your room?”
”Sleeping. On my bed.”
”It’s your room. Why didn’t you tell him to get off?”
Why? Because he didn’t want to die tonight.
But she sounded so baffled, he raised his head to look at her. She was serious. She wouldn’t think twice about hauling eight hundred pounds of snarling feline off a bed.
Jaenelle stood up. ”I’ll get him-”
Daemon grabbed her hand. ”No. It’s all right. I’ll find another bed. A couch. Hell’s fire, I’ll sleep on the floor.”
Those ancient eyes studied him. Something odd flickered at the back of them for a moment. ”Do you want to sleep here tonight?” she asked quietly.
Yes. No. He didn’t want to come to her as a frightened, needy male. But he also wouldn’t refuse the only invitation to her bed he might ever receive. ”Please.”
She pulled the covers back as far as she could with him still sitting on the bed. ”Get in.”
”I-” His face heated.
”I gather you wear the same thing to bed as every other male here,” Jaenelle said dryly.
Which meant ”nothing.”
She moved to the other side of the room, her back politely turned.
Daemon quickly slipped out of the robe and slipped into the massive bed. No wonder she had offered to let him stay there. The bed was so big she would never notice another occupant.
A minute later, she got into bed, keeping well to her side of it. As she turned off the candlelight, she murmured, ”Good night, Daemon.”
He lay in the dark a long time listening to her breathe, certain that, like him, she wasn’t asleep.
Eventually, the warm bed, the murmur of the fountain in the garden below, and the scent of whatever soap or perfume she used lulled him into a deep sleep.
The quiet, almost furtive sounds roused him.
Daemon opened his eyes.
Darkness. Swirling mist.
Propping himself up on one elbow, he looked around and saw her standing next to the altar. The golden mane that wasn’t quite hair and wasn’t quite fur. The delicately pointed ears. The thin stripe of fur that ran down her spine to the fawn tail that flicked over her buttocks. The human legs that ended in hooves. The hands that had sheathed claws.
Witch. The living myth. Dreams made flesh.
He was back in the misty place, deep in the abyss. The place where…
He rose slowly. Moving carefully so that he wouldn’t startle her, he walked around the altar until he was standing across from her.
On the altar was a crystal chalice laced with hairline cracks. As he silently watched, she picked up a sliver of crystal and slipped it into place.
Something shifted inside him. Looking more intently at the chalice, he realized it was his own shattered mind.
He noticed three other tiny fragments. As he reached for one, she slapped his hand.
”Do you have any idea how much searching I had to do to find these?” she snarled at him.
She turned the chalice, slipped another tiny sliver into place.
The mist swirled, danced, spun.
Falling, falling, falling into the abyss. His mind shattering. Waking up in the misty place. Seeing Jaenelle as Witch for the first time as she pieced his crystal chalice back together.
Another sliver slipped into place.
A narrow bed with straps to bind hands and feet-the bed from Briarwood. A sumptuous bed with silk sheets. A seductive trap made of love and lies and truth-a trap to save a child. The Sadist whispering that she would take the bait because he, in all his male sexual glory, was the bait.
The last sliver was slipped into place.
Reforming the psychic link with Saetan after he had persuaded Jaenelle to ascend to the level of the Red Jewels. The two of them forcing her to heal her own torn, bleeding body. Jaenelle’s panic when the males from Briarwood started fighting the defenses Surreal had created in the corridors leading to the Altar. Cassandra opening the Gate between the Realms and taking Jaenelle away.
His crystal chalice glowed, heated as Witch’s dark power covered all the cracks and sealed them.
Now that the gaps were filled in, the memories reformed, and, finally, he knew exactly what had happened at Cassandra’s Altar thirteen years ago. Finally, he knew exactly what he had done-and not done.
He took a deep breath, let it out slowly.
She glanced at him, nerves warring with the sharp, feral intelligence that filled her ancient eyes. ”The missing pieces made weak spots that kept the chalice fragile. You should be fine now.”
”Thank you.”
”I don’t want your gratitude,” she snapped.
Studying her, Daemon opened his inner barriers just enough to taste her emotions. The hurt inside her surprised him.
”What do you want?” he asked quietly.
She nervously caressed the stem of the chalice. He wondered if she realized he could feel those caresses. And he wondered if she had any idea what those caresses were doing to him. He started to move around the altar, his fingers lightly brushing the stone.
”Nothing,” she said in a small voice as she shifted a half step away from him. Then she added, ”You lied to me. You didn’t want Witch.”
The fire of anger washed through him, waking the part of him the Blood in Terreille had called the Sadist. When the anger cooled, another kind of fire took its place.
His voice shifted into a sexual purr. ”I love you. And I’ve waited a lifetime to be your lover. But you were too young, Lady.”
She raised her head, her body stiff with dignity. ”I wasn’t too young here, in the abyss.”
Slowly, he continued moving around the altar. ”Your body had been violated. Your mind had shattered. But even if that hadn’t been the case, you were still too young-even here in the abyss.”
He came up behind her. His fingers lightly brushed her hips, her waist. Moving upward, he spread his hands across her ribs, his fingers just brushing the undersides of her breasts. He moved closer, smiling with savage pleasure as the fawn tail’s nervous flicking teased and aroused him.
He kissed the spot where her neck and shoulder joined. The first kiss was light and chaste. With the second kiss, he used his teeth to hold her still while the tip of his tongue caressed and tasted her skin.
He could feel her heart pounding, feel each breathy pant.
Leaving a trail of soft kisses up her neck, he finally whispered in her ear, ”You’re not too young anymore.”
She let out a breathless squeak when he gently rubbed himself against her.
Suddenly his hands were empty, and he was alone.
Hungry desire roared through him. He turned in a slow circle, searching, probing-the predator seeking his prey.
The last thing he was fully aware of was the mist thickening and swirling up around him until there was nothing else.
He struggled to get past the thick fog of sleep when something grabbed his arm and dragged him out of bed.
Groggy, he tried to wake up enough to wonder why he was being pushed and prodded across the room.
He didn’t have any trouble waking up after Lucivar shoved him into the shower cubicle and turned on the cold water full blast.
Daemon clawed at the dial until he managed to shut off the water. Bracing one hand against the wall, he tried to convince his cold-tightened muscles to let go of his lungs long enough for him to take a breath. Then he glared at Lucivar.
”Jaenelle woke up in a similar mood,” Lucivar said mildly. ”Must have been an interesting night.”
”Nothing happened,” Daemon growled as he swiped his hair back.
”Nothing physical,” Lucivar said. ”But I’ve danced with the Sadist enough times to recognize him when I see him.”
Daemon just waited.
Lucivar’s lips curled into that lazy, arrogant smile. ”Welcome to Kaeleer, brother,” he said softly. ”It’s good to have you back.” He paused at the bathroom door. ”I’ll bring you a cup of coffee. That and a hot shower ought to wake you up enough.”
”Enough for what?” Daemon asked warily.
Lucivar’s smile turned wicked. ”You’re late for practice, old son. But, all things considered, I’ll give you another fifteen minutes to get to the field before I come looking for you again.”
”And if you have to come looking again?” Daemon asked too softly.
”Trust me. If I have to come looking for you again, you’re not going to like it.”
He already didn’t like it. But he sipped the coffee Lucivar brought him while the hot water pounded his neck and back-and the Sadist began planning the quiet, gentle seduction of Jaenelle Angelline.