Alexandra walked through the corridors, Philip beside her. She would have preferred Leland’s company rather than an unavailable male, but the way Philip had quickly offered to accompany her meant he wanted to discuss something with her in private without making it obvious.
Irritated by his presence, she snapped, ”We’ve been here for over a week and nothing’s happened. How long does that ’escort’ expect us to be able to remain guests?”
Philip didn’t have to point out that Osvald, the escort Dorothea had provided, hadn’t been able to get close to either Wilhelmina or Jaenelle without having to deal with at least one male chaperon, let alone get close enough to slip the women away from the Hall. He also didn’t have to point out that they would be ”guests” until the High Lord-or the real Queen who ruled this court-decided otherwise.
”Lucivar came to see me this morning,” Philip said abruptly.
Hearing the tightness in his voice, Alexandra glanced at him, then took a closer look at the flush darkening Philip’s face. Was that anger or embarrassment? ”And?”
”He strongly suggested that you tighten your hold on Vania’s leash before she gets hurt. It seems she’s too aggressive in her efforts to coax a Kaeleer male into her bed. He said if she’s that itchy for a male, she should invite her Consort, since that’s why he’s here.”
Personally, Alexandra thought Vania acted like a slut. But Vania was also generous about sharing the use of her males with visiting Queens-a generosity Alexandra never refused whenever she visited that Province. She had kept no steady lover in her own court for more than twenty-five years-ever since she had asked Philip to see Leland through her Virgin Night. It wouldn’t have been fair to any of them if she had asked him to warm her bed after that when he really wanted to be her daughter’s lover, and the other men she had considered since then had been far more interested in the power they might wield as her Consort than in giving her pleasure.
But remembering Vania’s generosity-and the fact that no male currently warmed her bed, either-made Alexandra defensive. ”She wouldn’t have to be ’aggressive’ if this court remembered to provide visiting Queens with the basic amenities.”
”I mentioned that,” Philip said through gritted teeth. ”And was told that there are no males in this court whose service requirements include that duty.”
”I find that hard to believe. Not every Queen who comes here would necessarily have a Consort at that moment or have brought him. There must be some arrangement-” She stopped, shaken by the depth of the insult. ”It’s because we’re from Terreille, isn’t it?”
”Yes,” Philip said flatly. ”He said there are a few males in the Second and Third Circles who would normally be willing to accommodate a guest of the court if asked, but because Terreillean Queens don’t know how to enjoy a male without mistreating him, no Kaeleer male would willingly offer himself.” He hesitated. ”He also said there are no pleasure slaves in Kaeleer.”
That verbal slap hurt as much as a blow because it was a reminder that, for a few months, Daemon Sadi had been a pleasure slave in her court.
”I see,” she said tightly.
”Despite his anger over the situation, Lucivar actually seemed concerned,” Philip said, sounding baffled. ”Mostly because Vania’s fixed her efforts on Prince Aaron.”
”Aaron is a very handsome man, and-”
”He’s married.”
There wasn’t much she could say to that, not when she could feel waves of anxiety rolling off of Philip. Vania’s marked attention toward a married man would be a sharp reminder of his own vulnerability.
While more and more aristo marriage contracts in Terreille were being made for social or political reasons, most Blood males still cherished the idea of marriage because it was the one relationship where the genders met on common ground as partners. Or as close to being partners as was possible-or reasonable. It also meant that male fidelity was a marriage requirement, and any man who looked beyond his wife’s bed could swiftly find himself without home or family, could even lose his children.
”There’s another reason to curb Vania,” Philip said. ”If the males here get any more riled …”
”I know,” Alexandra replied sharply. They would never get Wilhelmina and Jaenelle away from the Hall if the males became more hostile than they already were. ”I know,” she said again, softening her voice. ”I’ll talk to her.”
”Soon?”
She disliked herself for thinking less of him because of the anxiety in his voice.
”Yes, Philip,” she said gently, ”I’ll talk to her soon.”
An interesting gathering, Daemon thought as he slipped his hands into his trouser pockets and wondered what it meant when the Steward of the Court summoned the Master of the Guard, the Consort, and the First Escort to his study in order to ”discuss something.”
He’d spent the past couple of days studying the book of Protocol Saetan had given him and had been surprised by the differences between these rules and the ones he had been taught in Terreille. This Protocol, while reinforcing the matriarchal nature of the Blood, gave males some rights and privileges that helped balance the power. Which explained the refreshing lack of fear and subservience in these males. They understood the boundaries that defined acceptable male behavior, and within those boundaries, they stood on solid ground, never having to wonder what would happen to them if they were no longer in a particular Lady’s favor.
He’d also been surprised by the section of Protocol that involved First Circle males since he’d never even seen the vaguest mention of it in Terreille.
There was a phrase that summed up a male’s surrender into formal service: Your will is my life. It gave the Queen the right to do anything she pleased with a male, including kill him. That wasn’t new, and, in Terreille, it was a serious risk. What was different was the tacit agreement on the Queen’s part that, by accepting the male, she was also accepting his right to have a say in her decisions and her life. If a Queen gave an order and the majority of males in her First Circle opposed it, she could yield to their decision or dismiss them from her court. But she couldn’t hurt them for opposing her.
If the males in Terreille had known about that part of Protocol, they might have been able to keep the behavior of Dorothea’s pet Queens in check, might have been able to keep the younger strong witches safe and whole, might have found a way to fight the threats of slavery and castration that had made most of the males too afraid to challenge the witches in power.
But something-or someone-must have purged the sections about male power from the books of Protocol in Terreille so long ago that no one had remembered they existed.
No wonder Terreilleans found living in Kaeleer such a shock. And now it finally made sense why immigrants from Terreille were required to serve in a court. They would need that time to absorb the new rules and understand how those rules applied to day-to-day living.
Which made him even more curious to observe the formal give-and-take between a Queen and the male triangle.
Assuming, of course, the Queen was going to show up.
”Did anyone tell Cat she’s supposed to be here?” Lucivar asked, echoing Daemon’s thought.
Saetan gave Lucivar a bland look. ”I told her. However, Lord Ladvarian had already cornered her to discuss a couple of things. I expect she’ll be along as soon as she can talk herself around whatever he and Kaelas have in mind.” That bland look was then aimed at Daemon.
Daemon met that look with one equally bland while his heart rate kicked up to a gallop-because he had the distinct feeling that whatever Ladvarian and Kaelas wanted to discuss with Jaenelle had to do with him.
He was trying to think of a reasonable excuse to drag Lucivar into the great hall for a minute to ask him why the kindred were so interested in the Consort when Jaenelle rushed into the room.
”Sorry I’m-” She checked when she saw them, and her rush suddenly became cautious. ”Is this family or court?” she asked warily.
”Court,” Saetan replied.
Fascinated, Daemon watched the subtle shift from woman to Queen.
”And what is the court’s pleasure?” Jaenelle asked quietly.
No hint of a sneer or sarcasm in her voice, Daemon decided as he recognized one of the ritual openings for discussion.
”I received a message from Lord Jorval,” Saetan said with equal calm, although his eyes seemed a little too carefully blank. ”A person from a prestigious aristo family has come to Kaeleer seeking the assistance of a Healer for an illness that has baffled all the Healers in Terreille. Since you’re known to be the best Healer in the Realm, he urgently requests that you come to Goth to offer your opinion.”
Lucivar snarled quietly but viciously. A small, but sharp, hand gesture from Andulvar silenced him.
”Jorval also says that, while he’s been assured that the illness is not contagious, it does seem to afflict only males. And since he doesn’t want any harm to come to the males of your court-”
This time Andulvar snorted.
”-he has offered to provide you with an escort while you’re in Little Terreille.”
”NO!” Lucivar exploded into movement, pacing furiously. ”You are not going into Little Terreille to do a healing without a full escort of your own males. Not again. Never again. If this person wants to see you so badly, why doesn’t he come here?”
”I can think of a few reasons,” Jaenelle said with dry amusement as she watched Lucivar.
Daemon’s blood sang when her eyes met his for a moment. Then it chilled when he glanced at Saetan and saw something flicker at the back of those golden eyes. What was the High Lord trying to hide behind that deliberately blank gaze-and what would happen if the leash holding it back snapped?
”Did Jorval mention where this person is from? Or anything else that might be useful?” Jaenelle asked, turning back to Saetan while Lucivar paced and swore.
”Only that the short-lived races seem most affected.” Saetan said.
Jaenelle’s lips softened in a hint of a dreamy smile that was malevolent enough to make Daemon shiver. ”The races from the western part of Terreille?” she asked in her midnight voice.
”He didn’t say, Lady.”
Jaenelle nodded thoughtfully. ”I’ll think about it.”
”There’s nothing to think about,” Lucivar snarled. ”You’re not going. You may not remember much of what happened seven years ago, but I do. We’re not going through that again, especially you.”
Daemon studied Lucivar. Behind the fury was fear bordering on panic. He suppressed a sigh, not happy that his first official act as the Consort might be opposing his Queen. But anything that spooked Lucivar so badly wasn’t something Daemon was going to easily agree to.
Then he noticed Jaenelle’s face as she turned toward Lucivar-and wondered how any man would dare oppose Witch now that she had reached maturity and had come into her full.power.
Lucivar froze in midstride as those sapphire eyes fixed on him. His body trembled, but he met her gaze, and his voice was steady as he said quietly, ”The only way you’re going into Little Terreille is by going through me.”
Then he walked out of the study.
Jaenelle’s shoulders slumped for a moment, then straightened again as she turned to face Daemon. ”Please go with him.”
”Why?” Daemon asked too softly.
The Queen stare melted a little into exasperation. ”Because you’re strong enough to hold him back, and I don’t want him getting the boyos riled about something I haven’t even decided to do yet.”
It was the first thing she had asked of him, and he wasn’t sure he could do it. ”What happened seven years ago?”
Her face went death pale, and it took her a moment to answer. ”Why don’t you ask Lucivar? As he said, he remembers it better than I do.”
He waited a few heartbeats. Then, ”How long do you need?”
Now she looked at Saetan. ”Would an hour be convenient?”
”It would be our pleasure to reconvene in an hour,” Saetan said.
”All right,” Daemon said. ”I can hold him for an hour.”
Nodding to acknowledge that she heard him, she hurried out of the room.
Daemon stared at the closed door, fully aware that Andulvar and Saetan were waiting for some indication of what he was going to do. ”I am going to ask him,” he said quietly. ”And if I don’t like the answer, she’s going to have to go through me, too.” He would sacrifice any chance of being her lover if that’s what it took to protect her.
”You’re not going to like the answer,” Saetan said, ”but I wouldn’t worry about having to take a stand. If Jaenelle decides she’s going into Little Terreille, she’s going to have to go through the whole First Circle to do it. Since it isn’t likely that she’ll fight the court that hard over this particular healing, it’s only respectful to allow the Lady the time to reach that conclusion on her own.”
”In that case, if you’ll excuse me, I’d better see what I can do about restraining Lucivar’s temper.”
Lucivar is unhappy, Ladvarian said as he watched Jaenelle stare at the waterfall and tiered pools she had built in this inner garden several years ago. ”I want to think, Warlord,” Jaenelle said quietly. ”Alone.” The Sceltie shifted his feet, thought a moment, then stood firm. He’s snarly and upset and he won’t talk to any of us. This particular smell of anger and fear on Lucivar only happened when Jaenelle or Marian did something to upset the Eyrien. Since Marian hadn’t done anything unusual-he’d already checked-that meant Jaenelle had done something. Or was going to do something.
His lips pulled back in a silent snarl. Jaenelle.
As she turned to face him, he saw the large blackwood hourglass resting on her hand. Saying nothing, she turned it over, set it on the stone lip of the lowest pool, and walked to the other end of the garden.
Ladvarian growled softly at the hourglass.
The kindred had trouble understanding the way humans carved up a day into these little chunks called hours and minutes. They had understood easily enough that sometimes human females wanted to be left alone, but, for a while, they had come back too soon and had gotten snarled at. So the High Lord and the Lady had made these hourglasses because they were easy to understand. If the sand was all at the bottom, the female was ready to play again. If it wasn’t, the kindred would go away without disturbing her.
Jaenelle had two sets of hourglasses. Each set had an hourglass sized for one hour, a half hour, and a quarter hour. Jaenelle used the set made of light-colored wood as a request for private time and could be interrupted if necessary. Witch, the Queen, used the set made from blackwood, and those hourglasses were a silent command.
Ladvarian trotted out of the garden, accepting the dismissal.
He wouldn’t challenge his Queen, but he had learned that, if nipped sharply enough, Lucivar would lash out. And then Ladvarian and the other males would find out what the Lady was planning to do.
Using Craft, any of the Jeweled Blood would be able to send an ax cleanly through a chunk of wood. Lucivar, Daemon decided as he watched the ax come down and split the wood in half, wasn’t using anything but muscle and temper. And that, more than anything else he’d observed since arriving in Kaeleer, told him how different serving in a court was here. In Terreille, Lucivar would have picked a fight with another strong male, and the resulting violence would have triggered a vicious brawl that could tear a court apart. Here he was venting his temper by chopping wood that would warm the Hall in the winter days ahead.
”She send you out here to keep me hobbled?” Lucivar snarled as he swung the ax again.
”What happened seven years ago, Lucivar?” Daemon asked quietly. ”Why are you so against Jaenelle doing a healing in Little Terreille?”
”You’re not going to talk me around this, Bastard.”
”I’m not interested in talking you around this. I just want to know why I’m about to draw the line that puts me on the opposing side of my Queen’s wishes.”
The ax came down just hard enough to set the blade into the chopping block.
Lucivar called in a towel and wiped the sweat off his face. ”Seven years ago she had been in Little Terreille, making one of those visits that had been a concession to the Dark Council. A child had been badly injured, and she was asked to do the healing. Whoever set it up did it well. The injury was extensive enough that the healing would have left her physically and mentally exhausted but not enough that she might have called in other Healers than the ones in Little Terreille. Because if she’d called Gabrielle or Karla for help, a male escort would have come with them.
”When the healing was done, someone gave her food or drink that was drugged, and she was too tired to detect it. It made her complacent enough to do what she was told- and she was told to sign a marriage contract.”
The cold slipped through Daemon’s veins, sweet and deadly. You weren’t here. You can’t think of it as a betrayal since you weren’t here. It didn’t matter. A Consort could be nothing more than a physical accommodation. But a husband… ”Then where is he?” he asked too softly.
Lucivar twisted the towel. ”He didn’t survive the consummation.”
”You took care of that? Thank you.”
”He was dead when I got there.” Lucivar closed his eyes and swallowed hard. ”Hell’s fire, Daemon, she splattered him all over the room.” He opened his eyes. The bleakness in them made Daemon shiver. ”They gave her a large dose of safframate on top of the other drug.”
Daemon’s body went completely numb for a moment.
He knew all too well what safframate could do to a person. ”You took care of her?” Meaning, you gave her the sex she needed? There was no room in him now to feel jealousy or betrayal, just the desperate hope that Lucivar had done what was needed.
Lucivar looked away. ”I took her hunting in Askavi.”
Daemon just stared at his brother, letting the magnitude of those words ripen. ”You went out with her as bait?”
”What was I supposed to do?” Lucivar snapped. ”Let her stay locked up in Ebon Askavi suffering? Bloodletting relieves the pain of safframate as well as sex does.” He paused to take a deep breath and regain control. ”It wasn’t easy, but we survived it.”
And that, Daemon realized, was all Lucivar intended to say about a period of time that must have been a nightmare for him.
”She’s only been back to Little Terreille a couple of times since then, and then only with a full, armed escort that included me,” Lucivar said. ”She hasn’t been back at all since she formally set up her court.”
”I see,” Daemon said quietly. ”It’s almost time to hear her decision. Do you want to get cleaned up?”
”What for?” Lucivar asked with a grim smile. ”Once I hear it, I’ll probably be back out here anyway.”
”May I help you?”
Osvald, the escort, clenched his teeth, then made an effort to smile as he turned to face the footman. Hell’s fire, wasn’t there one male in this whole damn place who wasn’t spoiling for a fight? ”I seem to have gotten turned around, so I thought I’d admire the pictures in this part of the Hall.”
”I would be happy to show you the way back to your room,” Holt said with frigid courtesy.
In Terreille, he could have had the footman whipped for no better reason than sufficient lack of subservience. In Terreille, servants wouldn’t wear their Jewels so blatantly that it forced their social superiors to acknowledge that strength. It galled him that he, who was favored by the High Priestess of Hayll, had to acknowledge that a footman was also an Opal-Jeweled Warlord.
”This way,” Holt said just as Wilhelmina stepped out of her room.
Osvald swore silently. If Holt had shown up a few minutes later, he could have had the bitch and gotten out of this place.
Then the large striped cat stepped out of the room and immediately fixed those unblinking eyes on him, making him glad of Holt’s presence. When the cat’s lips began to lift into a snarl, he didn’t need any more urging. He offered Wilhelmina a polite greeting-and felt intensely relieved when she returned it so automatically it sounded like casual familiarity, the kind of automatic response the other bitches in this place only gave to males they knew fairly well. With every other male, there was that slight pause that practically screamed ”stranger.”
That could work to his advantage, he thought as he followed Holt back to the wing where Alexandra and her entourage had been quartered. It wouldn’t seem odd for an escort to deliver a message from one Lady to another- especially if it was assumed he’d been working for that family for a number of years.
Yes, that could work very well.
When they work in tandem, they’re dangerous, Andulvar said to Saetan, using an Ebon-gray communication thread.
Looking at Lucivar and Daemon, Saetan understood the distinction Andulvar was making. All Warlord Princes were dangerous, but when two men with complementary strengths became a team… So were we at their age, he replied dryly. We still are.
If it ever came down to a fight, I wouldn’t want to go up against those two, Andulvar said thoughtfully.
Any amusement Saetan felt fled with that statement. His heart wanted to shout, They’ll never be enemies. They’re my children, my sons. But another part of him-the part that had to assess the potential danger of another strong male-couldn’t be sure. He had been sure when it had been Lucivar alone. But Daemon…
Lucivar had endured a brutal childhood, but in some ways, it had been a clean brutality. He hadn’t gotten entangled in a court until he was a youth. But Daemon had been raised in Dorothea’s court, and he had taken the twisted lessons taught there into himself, had made them a part of himself, and then used them as a weapon.
While he might fight individuals, Lucivar had been able to embrace loyalty to family and court. Saetan strongly suspected that Daemon’s loyalty would always be superficial, that the only loyalty the rest of them could count on was his commitment to Jaenelle. Which meant Daemon was capable of doing anything in the name of that loyalty. Which meant this son had to be handled very, very carefully.
It didn’t help that Jaenelle was acting like a rabbit to Daemon’s fox. With any other man, Saetan might have found this chase amusing. He knew the boyos certainly did, and he understood why they were delighted by her reaction to Daemon. But he didn’t think Daemon found it the least bit amusing, and he wondered what would happen when his son’s temper finally snapped-and who would suffer because of it.
When Jaenelle entered the study, Saetan put aside the problem that hadn’t arrived yet in order to deal with the one already at the door.
”High Lord,” Jaenelle said formally.
”Lady,” Saetan replied, equally formal.
She took a deep breath and turned to Lucivar. ”Prince Yaslana, as First Escort, I want you to arrange for accommodations somewhere along the border of Little Terreille for myself and a limited escort. Not an inn. A private house or a guard station. Somewhere that ensures discretion. Inn can be in whichever Territory you choose. You can decide the time of the meeting-although not within the next three days.”
He wasn’t standing close enough to her to catch the scent, but he could tell by the sudden blaze in Daemon’s eyes and the sharpness in Lucivar’s that her moon’s blood had started. He wanted to sigh. Hell’s fire, how was he supposed to channel Daemon’s instinctive aggression while fighting to control his own? Witches were vulnerable during the first three days of their moontimes because they couldn’t wear their Jewels or do more than basic Craft without causing themselves physical pain. And when it was his Queen who was vulnerable, a Warlord Prince’s temper rode the killing edge during those days.
”You don’t have to tell anyone about the arrangements you’ve made,” Jaenelle continued. ”Although, out of courtesy, you should inform the Steward, the Master of the Guard, and the Consort. The Steward will contact Lord Jorval to confirm the meeting place in Little Terreille.”
”What’s the point of setting up a secure place if you’re going to go to Little Terreille?” Lucivar asked, but Saetan noticed he was keeping his tone carefully respectful.
”Because I’m going to go to Little Terreille without going to Little Terreille. That will satisfy the court’s concerns about my well-being and still allow me to meet with this person.”
Lucivar narrowed his eyes, considering. ”You could just refuse.”
”I have my own reasons for doing this,” Jaenelle replied in her midnight voice.
And that, Saetan knew, would decide the matter for Lucivar.
Except Lucivar was still studying her. ”If I agree to this, do we get to fuss for the next three days without getting snarled at?”
That’s all it took to change the Queen back into a stuttering, snarling younger sister. ”Who is ’we’?” she asked ominously.
”The family.”
Saetan wondered if anyone else had noticed that the look Daemon gave his brother should have left Lucivar bleeding. And he wondered if Lucivar even realized that, whether he had included or excluded Daemon under the term ”family,” it wasn’t sitting well with the Queen’s Consort. ”Papa!” Jaenelle said, whirling around to face him. ”Witch-child?” he replied mildly, but he could feel beads of sweat forming on his forehead as Daemon’s face shifted into a cold, unreadable mask.
She stared at him for a moment, then whirled back to Lucivar. ”Within reason,” she snapped. ”And I get to decide what’s reasonable.”
When Lucivar just grinned at her, she stomped out of the study. The grin faded when he looked at Andulvar. ”Since you’re the Master of the Guard, she should have asked you to make the arrangements.”
Andulvar shrugged. ”My ego’s not bruised, puppy. She’s too good a Queen not to understand the needs of the males who serve her. Right now, you need to make the arrangements more than I do.” His smile had sharp edges. ”But if you don’t inform me of your arrangements, I will be insulted.”
”If you have time now, we could take a look at a map,” Lucivar said.
”You’re learning, puppy,” Andulvar said as he draped an arm over Lucivar’s shoulders and led him out of the study. ”You’re learning.”
When Daemon made no move to leave, Saetan leaned against the blackwood desk. ”Something on your mind, Prince?”
”I don’t give a damn what familial ties you and Lucivar claim to have with her, I am not her brother,” Daemon said too quietly.
”No one said you were. The fact that I’m her adopted father and you happen to be my son is irrelevant. You’ve never thought of her as a sister, and she’s never thought of you as a brother. That hasn’t changed.”
The chill in Daemon’s eyes thawed to bleakness. ”She may not think of me as a brother, but she also doesn’t want me to be anything else.”
Saetan snapped to attention. ”That isn’t true.”
Daemon’s soft laugh held bitterness and grief. ”It usually takes me less than an hour to seduce a woman when I’m trying. And usually not more than two when I’m not. I can’t even get close enough to talk to her most of the time.”
Daemon’s acknowledged ability to seduce chilled Saetan. Because the people telling the tales didn’t know they were talking about his son, he’d heard enough stories about the Sadist to feel uneasy. Those bedroom skills, like the man who wielded them, were a double-edged sword.
If Daemon felt driven enough to use those skills prematurely…
Saetan crossed his arms to hide the slight tremor in his hands. ”The boyos find this little chase between you and Jaenelle amusing.”
”Do they?” Daemon asked too softly.
”And, I confess, so do I.” Or would, if I could be certain you weren’t going to go for my throat before I finish this.
Daemon’s gold eyes held a bored, sleepy look Saetan knew too well-because there had been times when he had looked into a mirror and seen it in his own eyes.
”Do you?” Daemon asked.
”A couple of days ago, Jaenelle asked for my opinion about the dress she was wearing for dinner.”
”I remember it. It’s a lovely gown.”
”I’m delighted that you appreciated it.” Saetan paused. ”Can you also appreciate that, in the thirteen years she’s lived here, Jaenelle has never been concerned enough about clothes to ask for my opinion about something she was wearing. And can you appreciate that she wasn’t asking for my opinion as her Steward or her father but as a man. And I admit that, considering the way that dress fit her, my opinion of it as a father would have differed considerably from my opinion as a man.”
Daemon almost smiled.
”She sees you as a man, Daemon. A man, not a male friend. For the first time in her life, she’s trying to deal with her own lust. So she’s running.”
”She’s not the only one trying to deal with it,” Daemon muttered, but the sleepy look had changed to sharp interest. ”I am her Consort. She could just-”
Saetan shook his head. ”Do you really think Jaenelle would demand that from you?”
”No.” Daemon raked his fingers through his hair. ”What can I do?”
”You don’t need to do anything more than you’re already doing.” Saetan thought for a moment. ”Do you know how to make a brew to ease moontime discomfort?”
”I know how to make a few of them.”
Saetan smiled. ”In that case, I suggest that the Consort prepare one for his Lady. I don’t think even Jaenelle would disagree about that falling into the category of ’reasonable fussing.’ ”
Surreal paused in the dining room doorway and swore under her breath. The only people in the room were Alexandra and her entourage.
Hell’s fire. Why couldn’t Jaenelle have left well enough alone? The meals had certainly been more relaxed and the conversation more interesting when Alexandra and her people had been taking their meals separately. When she had pointed that out to Saetan, he had informed her it had been Jaenelle’s idea to have Alexandra and the others join the rest of them for meals, in the hope that they might acquire some understanding about Kaeleer.
The intention might have been good, Surreal thought crossly as she strode to the table, but the reality was a miserable failure. Not one of them, from Alexandra right down to the least-ranking escort, wanted to understand anything about the Blood in Kaeleer. And the midday meals were the, worst since Saetan didn’t preside over them.
As she reached the table, the two Province Queens, Vania and Nyselle, gave her looks that mingled smug superiority with disgust. She might have taken it personally if she hadn’t known that they looked at all the witches there in exactly the same way-including the Queens who far outranked them.
Then Vania looked at the doorway, and her expression changed to predatory delight.
Glancing over, Surreal saw Aaron pause in the doorway-and decided that a man who had been told the date of his execution looked pretty much the same way. Figuring that he didn’t need another woman staring at him, she turned her attention to the table.
The first point of interest was the way this group had split. Alexandra, Philip, and Leland were sitting at one end of the table. Nyselle was sitting at the other end, her Consort and the escorts ranged around her. Vania’s Consort sat on his Lady’s left, looking unhappy. The chair on Vania’s right was empty, as were the ones across from her.
The second point of interest was the serving dishes on the table. Breakfast and the midday meal were usually set out on the huge sideboard so that everyone could fill a plate and take a seat as they pleased. Dinner was the only meal that had a set starting time, and was the only meal where the footmen served the food. This midday meal had been set out family-style, as if only a small number of people were expected.
That was fine, Surreal thought as she began filling her plate from the closest serving dishes. That was just fine- as long as everyone else was going hungry to avoid eating with the guests. But if she found out that another midday meal was being quietly served elsewhere, she was going to have a few things to say to someone about not being told.
”May I sit with you?” Aaron asked quietly as he joined her.
She was about to make a tart reply about there being plenty of chairs when she saw the hunted look in his eyes.
As if her noticing him had given him some kind of permission, he shifted closer to her. Close enough for her to feel the way his muscles quivered with the strain of keeping strong emotions tightly leashed.
”Why don’t you sit over here, Aaron?” Vania said, giving him a coy smile while she patted the chair on her right.
Well, that more than explained the hunted look.
During the time Surreal had been at the Hall, she’d observed that the males-from the most menial male servant right up to the High Lord-had some very particular ideas about what was considered acceptable physical distance, and the cold courtesy they could all turn on a woman was usually an effective determent when that distance wasn’t respected. The males in the First Circle not only tolerated being approached and touched by all of the witches in the First Circle, they welcomed that friendly intimacy. But they didn’t welcome it from anyone else.
He considers me one of them, she realized, feeling a jolt of pleasure at the acceptance. He considers me safe. Because of that, her ”Of course,” in reply to his question was as soothing as she could make it. Which, for some reason, distressed him.
I was a good whore, she thought as she picked up the serving fork and the carving knife from the platter holding the roasted turkey. A damned good whore. So why is it that, all of a sudden, males are impossible to figure out?
”Would-”
Surreal turned her head to look at Aaron, the carving knife poised over the turkey. ”You weren’t going to suggest that I don’t know how to handle a knife, were you, sugar?”
Aaron’s eyes widened. ”I would never be so foolish as to suggest that a Dea al Mon witch didn’t know how to handle a knife,” he said, sounding suspiciously meek. ”I was going to ask if you would mind cutting a slice for me.”
”Of course you were,” she replied tartly. She felt something in him relax and swore silently about perverse male behavior. Then again, she mused as she cut the turkey breast, maybe the males were just so used to that blend of tart and sweet in a witch’s personality, they could relax around it. It could be an acquired taste, like pickleberries.
The thought made her chuckle.
After placing the serving fork and carving knife back on the platter, she settled down to eat. There wasn’t much conversation, which suited her just fine-especially since all of Vania’s remarks were aimed at Aaron and his replies had become curt to the point of rudeness.
Hoping to break, or at least change, the tension that was getting thicker by the minute, Surreal looked up, intending to ask Alexandra when she and her party were going to leave. But she didn’t say anything because she found herself looking straight at Vania. There was a nasty kind of anger in the woman’s eyes directed right at Aaron.
After toying with her food for a minute, Vania pushed her plate away and smiled coyly. ”I declare, I’m just too tired to eat right now. Aaron was so stimulating this morning.”
It took Surreal a moment too long to understand that remark.
With a howl of rage, Aaron lunged across the table, grabbed Vania by the hair, and yanked her forward. His left hand closed on the carving knife and swung it toward her throat.
Surreal grabbed Aaron’s left wrist with both hands and pulled back as hard as she could. He gave her a couple of inches before his muscles bunched and his arm surged forward.
The knife’s point jabbed Vania’s neck. She screamed as blood began flowing from the wound.
Surreal poured the power of her Gray Jewels into her hands to give her added strength, but there was some kind of tight shield around Aaron that just absorbed the power.
All right. Muscle against muscle. She could hold him off for the few seconds needed for the other men at the table to help her.
Except no one moved.
Then she got a glimpse of Aaron’s face and knew none of the other people in the room were going to approach a Warlord Prince who looked that cold and merciless.
She fought harder, used every bit of leverage she could find. She didn’t give a damn if Vania got her throat slit, but she didn’t want Aaron to get into trouble because the bitch had pushed him too far.
Surreal? Graysfang said anxiously.
Help me!
The wolf must have been nearby because he was in the dining room seconds after she called.
Surreal …
Don’t just stand there. Do something!
Aaron is First Circle, Graysfang whined. I can’t bite Aaron.
Then find someone who can!
Graysfang rushed out of the room.
If she could have, she would have used Craft to vanish the knife, but Aaron had extended that damned shield to include the weapon. She couldn’t get the knife, couldn’t even break his wrist to stop him.
Her grip on his wrist slipped for an instant-long enough for the knife to slice Vania’s neck again.
Then Chaosti was there, his hands clamped on Aaron’s right wrist. Lucivar’s hands closed over hers, adding more force and strength.
Aaron fought against them mindlessly, intent only on the kill.
”Damn it, Aaron,” Lucivar snarled. ”Don’t force me to break your wrist.”
Good luck, Surreal thought sourly as Lucivar’s hands tightened on hers. She just hoped he remembered her hands were in the way before he started breaking bones.
Aaron seemed far past the ability to hear them, but he reacted when an icy midnight voice said, ”Prince Aaron, attend.”
Aaron began shivering uncontrollably. Lucivar quickly took the carving knife away from him and vanished it. Chaosti pried Aaron’s right hand open, releasing Vania’s hair.
Vania kept screaming-had been screaming, Surreal realized, since the first jab.
”SILENCE.”
Ice instantly coated all the glasses on the table. Vania glanced in Jaenelle’s direction and stopped screaming.
”Prince Aaron,” Jaenelle said too calmly. ”Attend.”
Flinching, Aaron slowly straightened up. Chaosti and Lucivar released him and stepped aside. Deathly pale, Aaron walked over to where Jaenelle stood and sank to his knees.
”Wait for me in the High Lord’s study,” Jaenelle said.
With effort, Aaron got to his feet and left the dining room.
Surreal looked at those frozen sapphire eyes, felt the lightest brush of immense, barely controlled rage, and started to shake. Her legs gave out. She sat on the table.
Jaenelle slowly approached the table and turned her eyes on Lucivar. ”You knew about this.”
Lucivar took several shallow breaths before answering. ”I knew.”
”And you did nothing.”
He swallowed hard. ”I had hoped it would be taken care of quietly.”
Jaenelle just stared at him. Then, ”I’ll see you in the High Lord’s study in thirty minutes, Prince Yaslana.”
”Yes, Lady.”
Those sapphire eyes pinned Chaosti next. ”And you after him.”
”It will be my pleasure, Lady,” Chaosti replied, his voice husky.
Oh, I doubt that very much, Surreal thought, still shaking.
Then Jaenelle looked at Vania-and the cold began to burn.
”If you ever again cause one of my males any physical, mental, or emotional distress, I will hang you by your heels and skin you alive.”
No one spoke, no one moved until Jaenelle walked out of the room.
Could she do that? Surreal wondered. She didn’t realize she had spoken out loud until Lucivar made a sound that was a cross between a laugh and a whimper.
”In the mood she’s in right now? Not only could she do it, she wouldn’t bother using a knife.”
Surreal looked at her own hands, thought about it for a moment, and then wondered if anyone would be upset if she threw up on the floor.
”Surreal?” Lucivar’s hand shook as he lifted her head up.
He’s scared shitless. Hell’s fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful.
”Surreal? Are you injured?”
The sharp concern in Lucivar’s voice made her focus her attention. ”Hurt? No, I don’t think-”
”There’s blood on your face and neck.”
”Oh.” Her gorge rose. ”I must have gotten splashed when…” Keeping her mouth shut seemed like a very good idea right now.
Lucivar looked over his shoulder. ”Falonar?”
”Prince Yaslana,” Falonar replied quietly.
”Your sole duty this afternoon is to take care of Lady Surreal.”
”It will be my pleasure.”
”Lady Vania needs a Healer,” one of the escorts said frantically.
”Well, shit,” Surreal said, suddenly feeling a bit drunk, ”they really are alive. They can talk and they can move. The way they were sitting on their thumbs a few minutes ago, I’d doubted it. I really had.”
”Shut up, bitch,” an escort yelled.
Lucivar, Chaosti, and Falonar snarled at the man.
”I suggest you ask Lord Beale to send for the Healer in Halaway,” Lucivar said coldly.
”Surely the Hall keeps a Healer,” Alexandra said, sounding outraged.
”There’s Lady Gabrielle and Lady Karla,” Lucivar replied. ”If I were you, I wouldn’t ask either of them right now.”
”You could always ask Jaenelle,” Surreal said with a venomous smile.
Frightened silence met that statement.
With Vania supported by two of the escorts, Alexandra and her entourage quickly left the room. Lucivar and Chaosti gave Falonar a hard look before leaving.
Falonar approached Surreal cautiously. ”This must have been… distressing… for you.” He looked like he was about to bite down on a toad. ”Do you need smelling salts or something?”
Surreal narrowed her eyes. ”Sugar, I’m an assassin. I’ve done worse than this at a dinner table.”
”I wasn’t talking about…” He looked at the blood-splashed table.
”Oh.” At least he was smart enough to realize it wasn’t Aaron who had scared her.
He paused, then added, ”I meant no insult.”
”None taken,” she replied. It was her turn to pause. ”On any other day, I’d be willing to find out what the rules are for inviting a man to have a sweaty afternoon of sex, just to get my mind off this for a few hours. But I don’t think sex of any kind would be a good idea today.”
Surprise and interest flickered in Falonar’s eyes, and his voice held regret. ”No, I don’t think it would be a good idea… today.”
”So why don’t we go through another practice round with the sticks? I’d like to get out of this building for a while.”
Falonar nodded thoughtfully. ”You can handle a knife?”
Surreal smiled. ”I can handle a knife.” She glanced at his groin. ”I can also handle spears quite well.”
He actually blushed a little. ”A bow?”
Still smiling, she shook her head.
”A new skill requires concentration.”
”So do some old skills … if you want to do them right.”
His blush deepened while his interest sharpened.
Surreal stood up. ”Let’s go concentrate on a new skill.”
”And discuss the possibility of practicing old skills?”
”Oh, definitely.”
In charity with each other, they hurried to escape the growing fury that filled the Hall.
Daemon paused outside Jaenelle’s sitting room. He took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and knocked on the door.
No answer.
She was there. He could feel the fury swirling in the room. And he could feel the cold.
He knocked again, then went into the room, ignoring the fact that he hadn’t been invited.
Jaenelle prowled the sitting room, her arms wrapped around her middle. She glared at him, and snarled, ”Go away, Daemon.”
She should have been resting today, Daemon thought as his temper sharpened. Probably had been before that scene in the dining room.
”Since I’m the only male in the First Circle who isn’t the recipient of your displeasure, I thought I’d check and see if you needed anything. Why is that, by the way?” Despite his efforts to keep his tone mild, his voice had an edge to it. Rationally, he knew he should be grateful to have escaped the verbal lashing the others had received. Instead, he resented the exclusion-until he got the full thrust of that frozen sapphire stare.
”Did you know you should have reported Vania’s stalking of Aaron?” Jaenelle asked too quietly.
”No, I didn’t. Even if I had known, I wouldn’t have reported it.”
”Why in the name of Hell not?” Jaenelle shouted.
Heat. Daemon felt his legs weaken as relief washed through him. Thank the Darkness, this was no longer cold rage but hot anger. He could work around hot anger. ”Because she was stalking him. Aaron wasn’t casting any lures or making any unspoken invitations. She was trying to push him into her bed because she wanted the conquest. She didn’t give a damn what it would do to him.”
”Exactly.”
She still didn’t understand. Daemon raked his fingers through his hair. ”Hell’s fire, woman, the man has a wife and an infant daughter. If he had said anything, would Kalush really believe he was innocent?”
”Of course she would!” Jaenelle shouted. ”But if he didn’t feel he could tell Kalush, he could have told me or Karla or Gabrielle.”
”How would that have helped?” Daemon shouted back. ”You would have told Kalush, and he’d still be under suspicion for something he didn’t do, didn’t even want to do.”
”Why do you keep harping about suspicion? This-”
”I am not harping.”
”-has nothing to do with suspicion.”
”Then why are you so furious with him?” Daemon roared.
”BECAUSE HE GOT HURT AND HE SHOULDN’T HAVE!” Jaenelle’s eyes suddenly filled with tears. ”I’m mad at him because he got hurt. Don’t you think I know how ecstatic and terrified he’s been since Kalush got pregnant? How much she and Arianna mean to him? How vulnerable he feels about another woman showing interest in him?” She swiped at a tear that rolled down her face. ”But you all hid it so well, we weren’t picking up anything but the edginess the boyos have felt since those… people… came to the Hall. If we’d known, the coven would have done something before now.”
Hearing something underneath the words, Daemon narrowed his gold eyes. ”What else?”
Jaenelle hesitated. ”Alexandra is my grandmother.”
He advanced on her so fast, she took a quick step back and tripped on the train of her gown. Catching her by the arms, he pulled her up against him. ”You are not going to wallow in guilt, Jaenelle,” he said fiercely. ”Do you hear me? You’re not going to do it. She’s your grandmother. A grown woman. As an adult, she’s responsible for her own actions. As a Queen, she’s responsible for controlling her own court. If anyone should share the blame with Vania, it’s Alexandra. She was warned about this and did nothing.” When she started to argue, he gave her enough of a shake to make her bare her teeth and snarl at him. ”If you want to shoulder guilt and blame because they’re here, then Wilhelmina is equally guilty and equally to blame.”
Oh, the protective fierceness in those eyes.
Daemon ran his hands soothingly up and down her arms. ”If one granddaughter shouldn’t be blamed for Vania’s actions or Alexandra’s lack of action, how can you, in all fairness, blame the other?”
”Because I’m the Queen, and a Queen not only controls her court, she protects it.”
Daemon snarled in frustration and muttered a few uncomplimentary things about female stubbornness.
”It’s not stubbornness when you’re right,” Jaenelle snapped.
He couldn’t win this fight if that was the stand she was going to take, so he tried to shift them to different ground. ”All right. We should have reported it.” Or taken care of it themselves better than they had.
She stared at him suspiciously. ”Why are you agreeing with me all of a sudden?”
Daemon raised one eyebrow. ”I would think you would prefer having males agree with you,” he said mildly. ”Should I keep arguing?”
”When any of you gives up this quickly, it’s only because another of you has gotten into position to continue the argument from another angle.”
”You make the First Circle sound like a hunting pack,” Daemon said, trying hard to suppress a chuckle.
”I think they learned that tactic from the wolves,” Jaenelle replied sourly.
Daemon began massaging her neck and shoulders.
She closed her eyes. ”Did you know you and Lucivar were the only living human males in the First Circle that Vania didn’t try to bed?”
”She wouldn’t have dared try with me,” Daemon said too softly.
”And she was smart not to try with Lucivar. When someone puts him in that position, he has a tendency to hit first and discuss after.”
”Sounds like a successful deterrent.”
”Mmm. Oh, right there.”
Daemon obligingly focused on a knot of tight muscle. As he caressed and massaged, he subtly coaxed her to lean against him until her arms were around his waist and her head rested on his shoulder. ”Lucivar’s very hurt over your being so angry with him,” he said quietly. ”All the boyos are.”
”I know.” She sighed. ”I’m too tired to think of a task for each of them. I guess I’ll have to stub my toe.”
”I beg your pardon?” His hands stopped caressing for a moment.
”I’ll stub my toe, and then I’ll let them all fuss and fetch and carry, and they’ll know I’m not angry with them anymore.”
”They’ll actually believe a stubbed toe is a serious injury?”
Jaenelle snorted softly. ”Of course not. It’s more like a ritual.”
”I see. The Queen can’t apologize for the discipline but has to give a clear signal that it’s done.”
”Exactly. If it had been just one of them, I would have asked his assistance with something that I could just as easily do myself, and he would have understood. With so many, I’ll have to let them fuss.” Her voice took on a bit of a growl. ”They’ll plump pillows and tuck blankets around me that I don’t want. They’ll make me take naps.”
”So it’s not just forgiveness, but a little revenge thrown in.”
”The revenge isn’t so little. Usually, one of the coven will sneak a book in so I can read during my ’naps.’ Once, when Papa came in to check on me, I stuffed the book under a pillow, but not quite well enough. He didn’t say anything. When Khary and Aaron came in, he even poked the book farther under the pillow to hide it better. Then Saetan had the balls to say I looked flush so that they could fuss even more.”
Daemon paused for a moment, sorting through the distinction she made between ”Papa” and ”Saetan.” ”Sweetheart,” he said carefully, ”if Saetan has balls, then so does Papa.”
”It sounds disrespectful somehow to say that about Papa.”
”I see,” Daemon said in a tone of voice that indicated he didn’t see at all.
”Papa,” Jaenelle explained, ”is charming and intelligent, a well-rounded companion.”
Thinking of Saetan and Sylvia, Daemon said dryly, ”I don’t think Saetan is the companion who’s well-rounded.”
A long pause. Then, ”You would call Sylvia’s figure well-rounded?”
Daemon bit his tongue. Was she asking about Sylvia because she had picked up a stray thought of his or through an obvious connection of topics? And how in the name of Hell was a Consort supposed to safely answer that? ”Her figure is more well-rounded than his,” he hedged-and then threw Saetan into the verbal pit without a qualm. ”They do seem fond of each other, even if Sylvia won’t lend him that book.”
When Jaenelle raised her head, there was nothing cold about the gleam in her eyes. ”What book?”
”You mentioned what!”
Daemon rubbed the back of his neck as he warily studied his father. He had felt some obligation, male to male, to give Saetan fair warning-and now sincerely wished he hadn’t.
Saetan stared at him. ”Whatever possessed you to tell her about it in the first place?”
Oh, no. He was not going to repeat anything that had led up to that comment. ”Jaenelle’s in a much better mood now.”
”I’m sure she is.” Saetan rubbed his hands over his face. ”What’s she doing now?”
”Resting,” Daemon said. ”I’m going to talk to Beale about having a tray brought to her sitting room. We’ll have dinner there and then play cards for a while.”
The way Saetan’s eyes suddenly glittered made him nervous.
”You’re going to play cards with Jaenelle?” Saetan asked.
”Yes,” Daemon replied cautiously.
”In that case, Prince, I’d say you’ve more than made up for mentioning that book.”
Osvald lingered in the corridor.
At first, he’d thought Vania’s greedy lust was going to spoil all their plans. But after the pale bitch-Queen had ripped into the males of the court because of it, they’d all gone off to lick their emotional wounds and hadn’t been seen for the rest of the day.
Jaenelle’s fury would have been a gift that had fallen into his hands if Wilhelmina Benedict had been in her room. But she wasn’t, and he had no idea where to look for her. If she was with the other bitches, he couldn’t approach her. He didn’t want any of them taking special notice of him before he was ready to disappear.
Soon, he thought as he returned to his own room. Soon.
And they call me the Sadist, Daemon thought as he eyed the game board and cards-and did his best not to snarl in frustration.
”You almost won that round,” Jaenelle offered, trying not to look too gleeful as she tallied up the scores.
Daemon bared his teeth in a poor imitation of a smile. ”My deal?”
Nodding, Jaenelle busily turned the paper over, drew a line down the middle, and wrote their names at the top.
Daemon picked up the cards and began shuffling the deck.
Hell’s fire, he shouldn’t be having this much trouble with a card game. It was just a variation of the game ”cradle” that Jaenelle had played as a child. All right, it was twenty-six variations of ”cradle.” He still shouldn’t be having this much trouble winning a round. But there was something a little off about this game, something that defied rational thinking. Male thinking.
A game board with colored stones and bone discs with symbols etched on one side. A hand of cards. And the convoluted interaction between them. He could picture the coven sitting around on a stormy winter afternoon, putting this game together piece by piece, building one variation off another, adding bits from other games distinct to their own cultures, until they had created something that was pure torture for the male brain. He particularly despised the wild card game because the player in control of the board when the wild card turned up could call for a different variation-which could turn a good hand and game plan into garbage.
There had to be a way to turn that to his advantage. Had to…
Continuing to shuffle the cards, Daemon studied the game board carefully, studied the stones and the bone discs. Thought about how each piece could interact with the other pieces-and the cards.
Yes, that would work. That would work quite well.
”Which variation do you want to play?” Jaenelle asked as she placed the stones and discs in their starting positions.
Daemon gave her the smile that used to terrify the Queens in Terreille. ”Variation twenty-seven.”
Jaenelle just frowned at him. ”Daemon, there is no variation twenty-seven.”
He dealt the cards and purred, ”There is now.”
She was so young, Surreal thought as she studied her mother. I had thought of her as being so big, so strong. But she’s smaller than me… and she was so young when she died.
Titian tucked her feet up on the window seat and wrapped her arms around her knees. ”It’s good you’ve come to Kaeleer.”
Surreal stared out the window. But the night-darkened glass didn’t show her anything but her own reflection- and that made her think of the questions that had gone unanswered for too long. ”Why didn’t we come here before?” she asked quietly. ”Why didn’t you go home after you got away from Kartane?” She hesitated. ”Was it because of me?”
”No,” Titian said sharply. ”I chose to keep you, Surreal. I had to fight against my body’s instinctive rejection of a child conceived by force, and I chose you.” Now Titian hesitated. ”There were other reasons not to go home then. If I had, your life would have been easier, but…”
”But what?” Surreal snapped. ”If you had gone home, you wouldn’t have had to whore for food and shelter. If you had gotten out of Terreille, you wouldn’t have died so damn young. What reason is good enough to balance those things?”
”I loved my father,” Titian said softly. ”And I loved my brothers. Rape is punishable by execution, Surreal. If I had gone home as soon as I escaped from Kartane, my father and brothers would have gone to Hayll to kill him.”
Surreal stared at her. ”How in the name of Hell did they expect to get past all of Dorothea’s guards in order to get to Kartane?”
”They would have died,” Titian said simply. ”And I didn’t want my father and brothers to die. Can you understand that?”
”Not really, since I’ve spent most of my life preparing for the day when I can kill Kartane. Now, if it had been your mother…” Surreal tried to smile and couldn’t. ”What do you think your father would have said about your choice?”
Titian’s smile was rueful. ”I know what he said. He was in the Dark Realm for a little while before he returned to the Darkness. But he lived the full span of his years, Surreal, and my brothers raised children who never would have been born.” She paused. ”And if I had chosen differently, you wouldn’t have been in Chaillot thirteen years ago, and we would have lost the greatest Queen the Blood has ever known.”
”And if you hadn’t ended up in Terreille, under Kartane, you would have been a Queen and a Black Widow.”
”I still am a Queen and a Black Widow,” Titian snapped. ”When Kartane broke me, he severed me from the strength that would have been mine, but he couldn’t take away what I am.”
”I’m sorry,” Surreal said, not sure how to express regret without giving insult.
”Don’t shoulder regrets, little witch,” Titian said gently as she got to her feet. ”And don’t shoulder the burden of anyone’s actions but your own.” She held out her hand. ”Come on. You’ll need your wits about you if you’re sparring with Lucivar tomorrow.”
Surreal rose wearily and followed Titian. Between that scene with Vania at midday, the extra workout with Falonar, and coping with the aftermath of Jaenelle’s fury, she was more than ready to crawl into bed. She had hugged more distressed males that day than she had in her entire life. Which reminded her of something else. ”How do I deal with the male relatives I’ve suddenly acquired?”
”You set your boundaries,” Titian replied as they reached the corridor near Surreal’s room. ”You decide what you’re willing to let them do for you and what you have to do for yourself. Then you tell them-gently. This is Kaeleer, Surreal. You have to handle the males-” Titian froze. Her nostrils flared.
”Titian?” Surreal asked, startled by the awful expression on her mother’s face. ”What’s wrong?”
”Where’s the High Lord?” Titian snarled. Not waiting for an answer, she ran for the nearest staircase.
Surreal raced after her, catching up to her when Titian jerked to a halt in front of a door.
Titian banged the door once with her fist, then flung it open. ”High Lord!”
A muffled sound came from the adjoining room.
Titian flung that door open and rushed into the room. Surreal rushed in behind her, then stopped abruptly.
Saetan froze in the act of reaching for the dressing robe that was on his bed. He slowly straightened up and turned to face them.
Surreal couldn’t stop herself from giving him one quick, professional-and approving-glance.
Titian didn’t seem to notice that she had walked in on a naked, and now irritated, man.
”There’s a tainted male in the Hall,” Titian said abruptly.
Saetan stared at her for a moment. Then he grabbed the robe, said tersely, ”Where?” and was out the door, with Titian at his heels, before Surreal could gather her wits.
By the time she caught up to them, Titian was questing back and forth in the corridor like a hound searching for a scent while Saetan prowled more slowly. Neither of them paid any attention to her arrival.
”It was here,” Titian said as she searched. ”It was here.”
”Can you still sense it?” Saetan asked too quietly.
Titian’s shoulders tensed. ”No. But it was here.”
”I’m not doubting you, Lady.”
”But you sense nothing.”
”No. Which only means that whoever created the spells designed to hide him knew exactly who and what to hide him from.”
”Hekatah did this,” Titian said.
Saetan nodded. ”Or Dorothea. Or both. Whoever he is, they made sure he would blend in so there would be no reason to give him a closer look. The only thing they couldn’t anticipate was a Harpy catching a trace of his true psychic scent. But why was he lingering here?” He turned to study the doors. ”Surreal’s room. And Wilhelmina’s room.”
Surprised by her own discomfort, Surreal cleared her throat. ”It could just be a man who hasn’t heard that I retired from the Red Moon houses.”
Saetan gave her a long, assessing look, then turned to Titian, who shook her head. ”I agree,” he said cryptically. He knocked sharply on Wilhelmina’s door. When he got no answer, he went in. He came out a minute later. ”She’s in the garden with Dejaal. He’ll stay with her.”
It took Surreal a moment to connect the name with the young tiger she had frequently seen with Wilhelmina.
”Graysfang is on his way,” Saetan said, giving Surreal a hard look. ”He’s not to leave your side tonight.”
It took her another moment to fit the pieces together. She bristled. ”Wait just a minute, High Lord. I can take care of myself.”
”He’s a Warlord,” Saetan snapped. ”He defends and protects.”
”He wears Purple Dusk to my Gray. You can’t assume that this other male wears a lighter Jewel than he does.”
”I’m assuming nothing. He defends and protects.”
Furious, Surreal strode up to Saetan and grabbed two fistfuls of his robe. ”He’s not fodder,” she snarled. ”It’s not right for him to die when I’m perfectly capable of defending myself.”
Dry amusement slowly filled Saetan’s eyes. ”You will not wound his pride by telling him he isn’t capable of protecting you. However, since the Queens share your opinion, it is considered acceptable for you to provide the protective shields for both of you and to guard his back.”
”Oh.” Releasing him, Surreal tried to smooth the wrinkles in his robe that her fists had made. When she noticed Saetan’s amusement growing, she gave up and stepped back.
”Will you station guards tonight?” Titian asked.
Saetan thought for a moment, then shook his head. ”No. Nothing that obvious tonight. The Ladies in the court will be protected. The rest we’ll deal with in the morning.” He looked at Surreal. ”I’d like you to stay in your room tonight, or the inner garden your room overlooks. No one will be coming at you or Wilhelmina from that direction.”
All of Surreal’s instincts sharpened as she considered all the ways an assassin could gain access. ”Are all these rooms occupied?” she asked thoughtfully. Slip into an empty room, slip through the garden, enter the victim’s room through the glass doors that opened onto the garden…
”A couple of the guest rooms are empty,” Saetan said, ”but no one will be coming at you through the garden. Kaelas will be there.”
Daemon took one look at Saetan and Titian, stepped into the corridor, and closed Jaenelle’s sitting room door. ”Lady Titian,” he said respectfully, masking his surprise at seeing her. He knew she was demon-dead, but he hadn’t expected to see her at the Hall-and he didn’t like her tense stance any more than he liked Saetan’s controlled neutrality.
”As Steward of the Court, I’m formally requesting that you remain with the Queen tonight,” Saetan said quietly. ”All night.”
Daemon tensed. This evening was the first time since Jaenelle had finished healing his mind that she’d been willing to spend time with him, and he’d hoped playing a few hands of cards would remind her that he was a friend, which was the first step toward her accepting him as her lover. But if he told her he was going to spend the night in her bed, she’d start running from him again. Didn’t Saetan understand that?
Yes, he realized as he studied that controlled neutrality, Saetan understood. But the Steward of the Court, while sympathizing with the Consort’s hesitation and feelings, felt compelled to dismiss them.
”I’m making this request to all the Consorts and First Escorts,” Saetan added.
Daemon nodded as he considered that bit of information. A formal request like that, in this court, was equal to a call to battle. Every Warlord Prince at the Hall would be riding the killing edge that night. ”Will Lucivar be with Marian?”
”No,” Saetan said, ”Prothvar will stay with Marian and Daemonar. Lucivar will… tour… the Hall tonight.”
”Where will Kaelas be?” Daemon asked. Suddenly that feline strength and temper were a comfort.
”Kaelas will be in the garden. It will give him more flexibility.”
”Then I’ll wish you a good night-and good hunting,” Daemon added too softly. ”High Lord. Lady.”
”Is there a problem?” Jaenelle asked when he returned to the sitting room.
Daemon hesitated but couldn’t think of any other way to say it. ”The Steward has formally requested that I remain with you tonight.”
The flicker of panic in her eyes hurt him, but it was the knife-edged way she focused on the sitting room door that made him wary-especially when that focus shifted to him.
”Is that request being made of all the Consorts and First Escorts?” Witch asked in her midnight voice.
”Yes, Lady, it is.”
A long silence. Then Jaenelle wrinkled her nose. ”A formal request seems a bit much just to get the boyos off the couches tonight.”
Daemon suppressed a sigh of relief. She was willing to pretend that that’s all the request meant. Most likely, she just wanted a few more hours before admitting that Alexandra or one of her entourage had done something serious that would have to be dealt with.
”Would you like to play another round?” he asked, taking his seat.
She narrowed her eyes. ”Whose deal is it?”
He smiled at her. ”Mine.”
”Why didn’t you tell him about the tainted male?” Titian asked.
”I can’t count on Daemon’s control right now,” Saetan replied after a long pause. ”A Warlord Prince who’s focused on being accepted as a Consort has an extremely volatile temper.”
After a moment, Titian shook her head. ”Even if everyone else didn’t sense the spells Dorothea and Hekatah created, I don’t understand why Jaenelle didn’t notice them.”
”Nor do I. But as I said, Dorothea and Hekatah knew exactly who they had to hide him from,” Saetan replied, feeling his heartbeat thicken until he could feel each thump like a blow.
”Even so, Jaenelle always takes a careful look at the people who intend to stay in Kaeleer.”
”But she would have no reason to look that closely at someone who wasn’t intending to stay, especially if emotional and personal issues were being used as a blind to hide a different purpose.”
Titian frowned. ”Who else is staying at the Hall?”
”Jaenelle’s Chaillot relatives and their companions.” He saw his own hatred reflected in Titian’s face.
”And you haven’t done anything about them?”
”My formal request for execution was denied,” Saetan replied, doing his best not to respond to the accusation in her voice. ”I’ll choke on it, but I’ll abide by it. Besides, there will be another time and another place to settle those debts,” he added softly.
Titian nodded. ”If I slip into their rooms, maybe I can sense something. Then we could quietly take care of the tainted male tonight.”
Saetan snarled in frustration. ”Except for that bitch Vania, no one has done anything yet that justifies an execution.” He shook his head. ”We’ve made sure nothing will happen tonight. After breakfast, I’ll talk to Jaenelle about getting those… people… out of the Hall and out of Kaeleer.”
”I suppose that’s best.” They walked in silence for a while. ”Are all of Jaenelle’s relatives here?”
”Except for Robert Benedict. He died a few years ago- and was in the Dark Realm for a very brief time.”
Titian stopped walking. Saetan turned to face her. She lifted her hand and pressed it lightly against his face.
”And, during that time, did he have a private conversation with the High Lord of Hell?” she asked with malevolent sweetness.
”Yes,” Saetan replied too softly, ”he did.”