Daemon’s nerves were raw when he and Jaenelle walked into the dining room the next morning, and the speculative looks from the other males in the First Circle didn’t help. The fact that it was Jaenelle’s moontime and he couldn’t have done more than warm the bed didn’t matter. He knew what was expected of a Consort, and he knew the other men were aware that he wasn’t fulfilling those duties.
He tried to push those thoughts aside. There were reasons to be alert that day.
Lucivar stood near the sideboard, sipping a mug of coffee, while Khardeen and Aaron filled their plates. Leland and Philip, the only members of Alexandra’s entourage who were present, were eating breakfast at one end of the table. Surreal and Karla were at the other end.
A greedy look filled Jaenelle’s eyes when she focused on the mug in Lucivar’s hand. ”Are you going to share that?”
Lucivar bared his teeth in a smile. ”No.”
She gave him a frigid look but kissed his cheek anyway.
Daemon could have cheerfully killed Lucivar for being given that kiss. It was a grumpy, habitual kiss, but still a kiss-which was more than he’d gotten that morning. Since killing Lucivar wasn’t an option-at that moment, anyway-he watched Jaenelle select two slices of pear and a spoonful of scrambled eggs.
As she turned away from the sideboard, Lucivar reached over, jabbed a fork into a hunk of steak, and dumped it on her plate. ”You need the meat today. Eat it.”
She snarled at him. Lucivar just sipped his coffee.
”Long night?” Daemon quietly asked Lucivar.
”I’ve had longer,” Lucivar replied with a smile that turned sharp as he flicked a glance at Philip and Leland, then raised his voice just enough to carry. ”What about you, old son? You look like you put in a long night yourself.”
”It was interesting,” Daemon said cautiously. He wasn’t about to admit that he and Jaenelle had played cards until, bleary-eyed, they had fallen into bed for a few hours of restless, broken sleep.
Jaenelle snorted. ”There’s something a bit sneaky about the positions in variation twenty-seven that give a male so much of an advantage, but I haven’t worked it out… yet.”
Daemon noticed Philip’s white-lipped anger-and he noticed the way Khardeen and Aaron snapped to attention.
”You know twenty-seven variations?” Khardeen asked slowly.
Daemon said nothing.
”Yes, he does,” Jaenelle grumbled. ”And that variation is brilliant. Sneaky, but brilliant.” She studied the platter of steaks, selected two more pieces, and headed for the table.
Before Daemon could reach for a plate, Khardeen was holding one arm and Aaron had the other, and they were hustling him out of the dining room.
”We’ll get breakfast later,” Khary said as he and Aaron led Daemon to the nearest empty room. ”First, we need to have a little talk.”
”It’s not what you think,” Daemon said. ”It’s really nothing.”
”Nothing?” Aaron sputtered, while Khary said, ”If you’ve figured out a new variation of ’cradle’ that gives a man the advantage, it’s your duty as a Brother of the First Circle to share it with the rest of us before the coven figures out how to beat it.”
He just stared at them, not sure he had heard them correctly.
Aaron smiled. ”Well, what did you think Consorts do at night?”
Daemon burst out laughing.
Osvald knocked on Wilhelmina’s door, then stepped back and firmly gripped the carved wooden box with both hands.
It hadn’t taken much persuasion to convince Alexandra to keep most of her people in their rooms. It had taken more to convince her to send Leland and Philip down to breakfast in order to give the appearance that everyone else was merely late. With so many absent, no one would be sure exactly who was missing until he was long gone from the Hall.
Assuming, of course, that the spells Dorothea and the Dark Priestess had prepared to cut a ”door” in the High Lord’s defensive shields actually worked.
No. He wouldn’t doubt. The spells that had kept him from being detected were proof enough that Dorothea and the Dark Priestess knew how to deal with the bastard who ruled this place. He would escape with the lesser of the two prizes, true, but that lesser prize, sufficiently squeezed, might be enough bait to in turn capture Jaenelle Angelline.
Everything was in place. The three men Dorothea had arranged to help him were waiting at the bridge. There was a Dark Altar beside the Hall, but she had warned him that the detection spells around that Altar would immediately alert the High Lord, and he would never get the Gate open in time to escape. So he would take Wilhelmina to Goth, where Lord Jorval would help him reach another of the Gates.
By this evening, he would be back in Terreille with his prize, and Alexandra and the fools who were with her would still be explaining Wilhelmina’s disappearance to the High Lord… or dying.
Smiling, Osvald knocked on Wilhelmina’s door again. A moment later, impatient, he knocked harder. She was in there. He’d made sure of it this time. What was taking her so long to open a damn door?
It was tempting to use one of the simple compulsion spells Dorothea had prepared for him, but he only had two of them and didn’t want to waste one for this. Still, every minute’s delay increased the chance of someone noticing him.
He was just about to give in and trigger one of the compulsion spells when the door finally opened. ”Good morning, Lady Wilhelmina.” Smiling, he lifted the box just enough to draw it to her attention. ”Lady Alexandra asked me to bring this to you.”
”What is it?” Wilhelmina asked, sounding anything but eager.
”A token of her regard for you-and a gesture of goodwill. She’s planning to leave soon and has felt distressed that her concern for you may have been misunderstood. She hopes that, by accepting this little memento, you’ll be able to remember her fondly in the days to come.”
Wilhelmina still looked wary. ”Why didn’t she bring it herself?”
Osvald looked at her sadly. ”She feared you might refuse the gift and didn’t want to face that rejection in person.”
”Oh,” Wilhelmina said quietly, her wariness slowly changing to sympathy. ”I hold no ill feelings toward her.”
He held the box out, both to entice and to keep his face as far away from it as possible. When she opened the lid, a drugged mist would burst out of the box. Startled, she would gasp and inhale enough of the highly potent drug to make her sufficiently compliant so that he could get her away from the room and this corridor before forcing the second, liquid dose down her throat.
Inside the room, something thumped to the floor.
That damned striped cat.
Osvald triggered the first compulsion spell and shaped the command. Step into the corridor and close the door. Step into the corridor and close the door. Step into…
He smiled when, looking slightly confused, Wilhelmina obeyed.
”I was told to report your reaction to the gift,” he said, sounding apologetic about putting her to the extra bother.
She stayed close to the door, her hand still gripping the knob.
Cursing silently, he triggered the second compulsion spell. Step close to the box and raise the lid. Step close to the box…
Moving as if her muscles fought against the effort, Wilhelmina stepped close to the box and slowly lifted the lid.
With Graysfang beside her, Surreal wandered around one of the inner gardens. The cryptic remarks Jaenelle and Karla had made at breakfast about a new variation intrigued and worried her.
There were plenty of sexual variations that gave the male an advantage, so she didn’t think they were talking about that… unfortunately. Daemon was getting burned by his own sexual energy, and the strain of trying to keep it leashed sufficiently in order not to scare Jaenelle was starting to show. She wasn’t sure how much longer he could endure the easy affection Jaenelle gave to the other males in the First Circle before he lashed out. Maybe she should talk to the High Lord …
Graysfang snarled. Before she could ask what was wrong, he took off, heading straight for the wall. As he approached, he leaped and climbed air as if he were climbing a steep hill, scrambled over the roof, and was gone.
”Graysfang!” Surreal shouted.
Dejaal is being attacked, he replied. I’m going to help him.
Surreal swore viciously as she ran for the nearest door.
”Surreal!”
She spun around.
Falonar strode toward her from the other side of the garden. ”Lucivar sent me to find you since you didn’t show up for-”
”Can you get me over this roof?” Surreal said with enough fury in her voice to make him check his stride. ”Graysfang said Dejaal is under attack, and the son of a bitch took off without me!”
In the two strides it took him to reach her, he made the shift from cautious male to warrior. ”Hold on to me,” he ordered.
Surreal hesitated a moment, trying to decide what she could hold on to without impeding his wings. She hooked one arm around his neck and snugged the fingers of her other hand under his wide leather belt.
It wasn’t until she felt his wings pumping that she wondered if he could carry an extra person’s weight. ”I’m going to learn to do that air walking so I won’t have to be carried around,” she growled.
”I don’t mind carrying you,” Falonar snapped, setting her none too gently on the roof.
Surreal clenched her teeth. One male at a time. And it was the furry gray one who had first dibs on her temper. ”Do you see him?” she asked as she scanned the courtyard below.
”No. He could have-”
A blast of Jeweled power came from the next courtyard, followed by a woman’s scream.
Falonar launched them off the roof with enough force that Surreal wrapped her legs around one of his to give herself another way to hold on. She gritted her teeth as her body, with appalling timing, expressed its approval of the hard male thigh riding between her legs. Which did nothing for her temper.
”If he gets hurt because he didn’t wait for me, I’m going to smack him so hard he’ll have to lift his tail to see the world,” she snarled.
”Wait here,” Falonar said as he looked down into the courtyard.
”Do you like having balls?” Surreal snapped, twisting to look around. But she pulled her fingers out from under his belt so that he wouldn’t worry that she’d meant the threat.
She caught her breath and swore. The young tiger, Dejaal, was lying in the courtyard, not moving. A footman writhed in agony. Graysfang was dashing back and forth, not actively engaging in an attack but still holding the attention of the man who had a firm grip on Wilhelmina, who was struggling ineffectively.
She swore again when she recognized the man. Osvald. One of Alexandra’s escorts. Mother Night.
”Can you keep your balance?” Falonar asked a moment before he let go and stepped away from her.
At least he asked, Surreal thought as she used Craft to prevent a fast slide off the roof.
Graysfang dashed in low, as if he were trying to hamstring Osvald.
Surreal saw the flash of Osvald’s Opal Jewel. She threw a Gray shield around Graysfang, fast enough to prevent him from receiving a killing blast of power but not in time to keep him from being knocked over by the clash of Gray and Opal strength.
Seeing the wolf go down, Wilhelmina screamed and clawed at the hand clamped around her arm. Osvald swung around and hit her with enough force to send her to the ground, stunned. Then he turned to make another attack on Graysfang, who had gotten shakily to his feet.
”Tell the wolf to back off,” Falonar said as he called in his Eyrien longbow and nocked an arrow.
Surreal quickly obeyed-and felt relief when Graysfang responded. As kindred howls and roars alerted everyone in the Hall, she could sense the flood of furious male strength coming toward them from all directions. And she sensed the cold feminine power coming in its wake.
Falonar took aim.
”Put it through the bastard,” Surreal whispered.
”We don’t know what’s going on down there,” Falonar replied.
Don’t we? Surreal thought viciously. What more do you need to see?
As Osvald turned back toward Wilhelmina, Falonar loosed the arrow, sending it through the man’s left knee.
Osvald went down, screaming.
Grabbing Surreal’s left arm, Falonar dropped them off the roof-a jump barely slowed by his spread wings.
”Guard the woman,” Falonar said as he ran toward Osvald, the Eyrien bow now replaced by a bladed stick.
”I can-”
”Do as you’re told.”
No time to argue. Calling in her meanest knife, Surreal ran toward Wilhelmina. She saw Osvald grasp Wilhelmina’s ankle with his left hand and cursed his cleverness. Maybe someone else would know how to do it, but as long as he had physical contact with Wilhelmina, she couldn’t throw a protective shield around the young woman. Then she saw sunlight flash on the short knife in his right hand-and knew by the mixture of rage and triumph on his face that the poison on that knife would be quick and lethal.
Another flash in the sunlight. As Osvald’s hand arced down to drive the knife into Wilhelmina’s leg, Falonar sliced through the wristbones as easily as if they were soft butter, then turned the blade of his stick in order to catch the severed hand and the knife it still held and flip it away from Wilhelmina.
The bladed stick flashed down again, severing the hand that grasped Wilhelmina’s ankle.
A moment later, Surreal reached Wilhelmina-and Lucivar and most of the First Circle males poured into the courtyard. So did Karla and Gabrielle.
So did Alexandra and her entourage.
It didn’t turn out quite like you’d planned, did it? Surreal thought as she watched Alexandra scan the courtyard and turn sickly pale. Vanishing her knife, she placed one hand on Wilhelmina’s back, the other hand on Graysfang as soon as he wobbled up to her, and created a Gray shield around the three of them. It probably wasn’t necessary, but there was no reason to take chances. She looked at Falonar, who had positioned himself so that, the next time, the bladed stick would come down on the bastard’s neck. She put a shield around him, too. She felt his surprise and pleasure when her shield settled around him-and wondered why he was afraid.
Gabrielle rushed over to help the footman while Karla, without actually touching Osvald, used healing Craft to seal the severed blood vessels.
”What’s going on here?” Alexandra demanded, the sharp edge in her voice sounding more frightened than angry. ”Why are you attacking one of my escorts?”
”Did you send him?” Lucivar asked, an odd note in his voice.
”I sent him to bring a gift to Wilhelmina,” Alexandra said.
There was something queer and bitter about Lucivar’s laugh. ”And the bastard delivered it, didn’t he?”
”When I went to deliver the gift, Lady Wilhelmina wasn’t feeling well,” Osvald whimpered. ”I offered to walk with her so that she could get some fresh air. Then that creature attacked us.”
Lucivar looked at Osvald, then at Falonar. ”If that bastard says anything else, cut his tongue out.”
Falonar looked shocked, but nodded.
”How dare you?” Alexandra said. ”You’re so quick to make demands to me about controlling my court, yet you allow this-”
”Shut up,” Lucivar snapped. ”Things are bad enough right now. Don’t make it worse.”
Surreal gave Lucivar a sharp look. What was going on here?
Shivering, Graysfang moved closer to her. Queen’s rage is bad, Surreal. Males fear Queen’s rage. Even Kaelas.
Following the wolf’s gaze, Surreal saw the huge white cat standing on the roof next to a tiger. That was Kaelas? Mother Night!
Who’s the tiger? she asked.
That is Jaal. He is Dejaal’s sire.
Surreal swallowed hard. The tiger was dwarfed by Kaelas, but he was still twice as large as the young tiger lying in the courtyard. Dejaal is dead, isn’t he?
He has returned to the Darkness, Graysfang said sadly.
How were they going to explain this to Jaenelle?
As if the thought had conjured the woman, Jaenelle walked into the courtyard, flanked by Daemon and Saetan.
Surreal might have taken some comfort in their presence if the High Lord’s face hadn’t turned gray at the sight of Dejaal’s body.
Alexandra started to speak, but before she could make a sound, her hands flew up to her throat and her eyes became wide and terrified.
Surreal wasn’t sure which one of the males had acted, but she would have bet it was Daemon who had created the phantom hand that was now choking Alexandra into silence.
Everyone moved out of the way as Jaenelle walked over and knelt beside Dejaal. The hand that caressed the fur was gentle and loving, but the eyes that finally looked up and focused on Wilhelmina…
What Surreal saw in those sapphire eyes went so far beyond cold rage there were no words for it.
Yes, there were, she realized as Graysfang whimpered softly. This was what the wolf had meant by Queen’s rage.
Hell’s fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful.
She said the only thing she could think of, the only thing that, she hoped, would release her from those eyes. ”She’s alive.”
Jaenelle looked at Karla, who bowed formally before walking over to examine Wilhelmina.
”You said the right thing,” Karla whispered to Surreal as she examined Wilhelmina. Then she swore and added, ”Whatever else you do, follow Protocol to the letter.” Taking a deep breath, she stood up and faced Jaenelle. ”Wilhelmina has some bruises from the struggle-and she’s been heavily drugged.”
”Can you counteract it?” Jaenelle asked too calmly.
”I need more time to determine the exact nature of the drug that was used,” Karla answered quietly. ”But I’m sensing nothing that will cause permanent harm. My recommendation is closely supervised isolation and rest. With your permission, I’ll take her to her room now and look after her.”
”Thank you, Sister.”
Responding to Karla’s slight gesture, her cousin, Morton, picked up Wilhelmina and followed Karla out of the courtyard.
Surreal remained crouched beside Graysfang, unwilling to make a movement that would draw those sapphire eyes back in her direction.
”What about me?” Osvald whimpered.
Falonar glanced at Lucivar, silently asking if he should carry out his order and cut out the man’s tongue. Lucivar shook his head, the barest of movements.
Jaenelle crossed the courtyard, looked down at Osvald, and smiled. ”I’m going to take care of you personally.”
Lucivar leaped forward. ”Lady, with respect, Dejaal was our Brother, and it’s the males’ right-”
Jaenelle silenced him by simply raising her hand. For a moment, she just stood there, but Surreal felt the flick of power that burst from her as a quickly expanding psychic probe-and realized that no one wearing a Jewel lighter than the Gray would have sensed anything at all.
”There are three men waiting by the bridge that leads to Halaway,” Jaenelle said. A terrible glitter filled her eyes as she looked at Osvald. ”Three strangers. I don’t care what you do with them.”
Osvald floated to an upright position. When Jaenelle turned and walked out of the courtyard, he floated after her, protesting his innocence.
”Kalush and Morghann are coming,” Gabrielle said, her eyes filling with tears. ”We’ll stay with Dejaal until…”
Pointing at Alexandra, Lucivar looked at Falonar. ”You and Surreal escort these… people … to their rooms.” He paused. ”If any of them give you any trouble, kill them.”
”My pleasure,” Surreal said. Falonar just nodded.
Lucivar left the courtyard, followed by the other Warlord Princes in the First Circle. When Daemon turned to follow them, Saetan said, ”No. You stay with me.”
Quickly rounding up her prisoners, Surreal hurried them-and Falonar and Graysfang-out of the courtyard. She didn’t know what the High Lord had in mind, but she’d rather not be around while they discussed it.
Daemon stepped aside as Morghann and Kalush rushed into the courtyard.
”Let’s get out of here,” Saetan said, his voice rough with suppressed grief-and something that might have been fear.
It was that fear-and his concern for the man-that made Daemon follow his father. But even those things weren’t sufficient for him to swallow his own anger.
As they slowly headed away from the courtyard, Daemon said, ”I may not have Lucivar’s talent with weapons, but I can deal with an enemy quite effectively.”
Saetan stopped walking. ”Remember who you’re talking to, Prince. If anyone can appreciate how effective you are as a predator, it’s me.”
”Then why did you stop me?”
”Lucivar doesn’t need your help to handle whoever is waiting at the bridge for that bastard-especially not with the males who went with him. But I do need you. Right now, I need every drop of strength and every grain of skill you’ve got in order to handle Jaenelle. Hell’s fire, Daemon. Don’t you realize what happened here?”
With enormous effort, Daemon held on to his temper. ”Alexandra played the bitch and arranged to have her own granddaughter abducted.”
Saetan slowly shook his head. ”Alexandra was working with Dorothea and Hekatah in order to abduct her own granddaughter.”
Daemon absorbed the impact of the words-and realized what might happen once Jaenelle learned that. ”Mother Night.”
”And may the Darkness be merciful,” Saetan added. ”We have an enraged Queen who, by now, has gone so deep into the abyss we have no chance of reaching her that way-and no way at all to deflect whatever she might unleash in her present emotional state.”
”What can I do?” Daemon asked, knowing with dread certainty where the conversation was leading.
”It’s what we can do as Steward and Consort, what Protocol gives us the right to do in situations like this.”
”Protocol didn’t take into account dealing with a Queen who’s twice as strong as a Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince!”
Saetan’s hand shook a little as he smoothed his hair back. ”More like six times our combined strength.”
”What?” Daemon said weakly. He braced a hand against the wall.
”There’s no real way to measure Jaenelle’s strength. But considering the number of Birthright Black Jewels that were transformed into Ebony when she made the Offering to the Darkness, my best guess is that, at her full strength, she’s six times more powerful than our full strength combined.”
”Mother Night.” Daemon concentrated on breathing for a minute. ”Just when were you going to mention this to me? Or weren’t you?”
Saetan winced. ”I wanted you to be… comfortable… with each other before I told you. But now-”
A blast of power shook the Hall, tossing them to the floor.
Daemon felt as if he were desperately holding on to a crumbling bank inches from a raging flood that would not only sweep him away but crush him in the process.
He felt Saetan grab him, dig in, hold on.
That rush of power vanished as quickly as it had struck- and that scared him more than the blast. For Jaenelle to unleash and reabsorb that much power that quickly…
”Jaenelle,” Daemon said, springing to his feet. He sent out a psychic probe, a quick, casting search for her, and brushed against a spot in the Hall that was burning cold. Despite his pulling back quickly, the lancing pain almost drove him to his knees. And that drove him forward.
”Daemon, no!” Saetan said, struggling to get to his feet.
Daemon ran through the corridors. He didn’t need to search anymore. The corridors got colder and colder the closer he got to the room where she had unleashed that power.
”Daemon!”
He heard Saetan running to catch up to him, but by then he’d reached the door to the room. Using Craft, he opened the door, then stepped into the room.
The cold had a jagged edge that was physically painful, but he barely noticed it because, as he looked around, he couldn’t quite understand what he was seeing. It wasn’t until he realized that the odd red speckles on the windows were frozen drops of blood that his mind identified the rest…
”Daemon.”
… and he understood what Lucivar had been telling him about Jaenelle’s forced marriage. She splattered him all over the room.
”Daemon.”
He heard the plea in Saetan’s voice, but couldn’t respond to it. A peculiar numbness had settled over his emotions … and without being able to feel, he could think.
He knew why Saetan hadn’t wanted him to see this room. By the very nature of his duties, a Consort couldn’t be inhibited when dealing with his Queen. A Consort knowingly and willingly made himself physically vulnerable to her in ways no other male in the court had to. A Consort who feared his Queen couldn’t function in the bed.
But he’d seen this side of her before. Oh, it had been only a faint glimpse, but he’d known that this was another facet of Witch.
And this was the side of her that would be drawn to the surface by intense arousal as well as intense rage. Could he live with that? Could he lead the sexual dance once he brought out this side of her?
The heat of the sexual hunger inside him, the driving need to mate with Witch that suddenly engulfed him, burned away the emotional numbness. And left in its place a chilling approval of what he saw.
He stepped out of the room and closed the door.
”Daemon,” Saetan said softly, watching him.
Daemon smiled. ”It’s a pity about the wallpaper. It was a lovely design.”
”Well,” Surreal said as she pushed her hair away from her face, ”I don’t think any of the ’guests’ are going to be eager to leave their rooms right now, do you?”
”No,” Falonar replied, sounding a bit queasy, ”I don’t.”
”Yeah.” Surreal leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. ”Shit.”
”Were you hurt by … that?” Falonar asked, meaning the blast of power that had shaken the Hall. He briefly touched her shoulder before stepping back.
Surreal shook her head. Hurt? No. Scared shitless? Oh, yes.
But the people who lived with Jaenelle didn’t live in constant fear. In fact, thinking about how Karla and Lucivar had acted in the courtyard, she would have called their behavior cautious rather than fearful-and that caution wasn’t usually in evidence either.
Putting those thoughts aside for the moment, she scowled at Falonar and decided to tackle something easier-like the arrogant Way he had been tossing out orders after they reached the courtyard. ”I could have handled that bastard.”
Falonar looked insulted. ”It’s a male’s right to defend and protect.”
Surreal bared her teeth. ”I’ve heard that song before, and-”
”Then you should heed that song, Lady-and respect it.”
”Why? Because poor little me isn’t capable of handling myself in a fight?” she said with venom-laced sweetness.
”Because you’re deadlier,” he snarled. He paced a few steps away from her, swore, paced back. ”That’s why males defend, Lady Surreal. Because you females are deadlier when you’re roused-and you’re merciless when you’re riding the killing edge. At least if I go down first in a fight, I don’t have to deal with you afterward.”
Not sure if she’d just been complimented or insulted, Surreal said nothing. She was about to concede that he might have a point when he growled at her, ”You’ve picked a lousy time to play the bitch. It’s going to be hard enough facing Yaslana without having to dance with you right now.”
Now that was an insult. ”Since you feel like that, sugar, I’ll just get out of your way.” She pushed away from the wall.
Falonar reached out, touched her arm. ”Surreal… You were right. I should have killed that bastard. Now I’ll have to accept the consequences for that error.” He hesitated, and added quietly, ”He could have killed you or Lady Benedict with that poisoned knife.”
She shrugged. ”You couldn’t have known about the knife, and he didn’t kill either one of us, so-”
”What difference does that make?” Falonar said harshly. ”My error gave him the chance.”
Surreal studied him. ”You think you’re going to be punished?”
”That’s a certainty. The only question is how severe it will be.”
”Well, I have a few things to say about that. When Lucivar gets around to discussing this-”
”There is no discussion,” Falonar snapped. ”He’s the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih. I serve him. He’ll do as he pleases.” He looked away. ”I’d rather be tied to the whipping posts than be sent back to Terreille.”
”There’s no reason for you to be punished at all!”
Falonar smiled grimly. ”That’s the way it is, Lady Surreal.”
We’ll just see about that, Surreal thought.
Daemon watched Saetan pour a large brandy. ”Can you drink that?” he asked, keeping his voice mildly curious.
”It gives me vicious headaches,” Saetan replied, pouring a second glass for Daemon. ”But I doubt it’s going to make the one I’ve already got any worse, so…” He raised his glass in a salute, then swallowed half the brandy. ”Dejaal was Prince Jaal’s son.”
Mentioning the tiger Warlord Prince seemed an abrupt change of subject. ”Lucivar found the men?”
”And got the information we wanted before they were executed.”
Daemon studied his father. Something wasn’t quite right here. Since he didn’t know what questions to ask, he voiced his own concern. ”Jaenelle isn’t here, is she?”
Saetan shook his head. ”She’s gone to Ebon Askavi- and has asked to be left alone for the time being.”
”Are you going to abide by her wishes?” Daemon asked carefully.
Saetan’s look was steady and far too knowing. ”We are going to abide by her wishes. If she needs to remain cold in order to make the decisions that have to be made, forcing her to feel before she’s ready would be cruel.”
Daemon nodded. He didn’t like it, but he could accept it. His thoughts went back to the three men who had been waiting to help Osvald abduct Wilhelmina. ”Those men served Hekatah and Dorothea?”
”They worked for them.”
He felt Saetan retreat, so he pressed. ”Lucivar executed the men?” It wouldn’t have been Lucivar’s first kill, so that couldn’t be bothering Saetan. Was there something different about a formal execution?
”The other males in the First Circle withdrew their right to collect any part of the debt that was owed them for the death of a Brother,” Saetan said.
”What does that mean?” Daemon asked slowly.
Saetan hesitated, then finished the brandy before replying. ”It means they gave those men to Jaal… and to Kaelas.”
Fuming silently, Surreal glared at the four men in the High Lord’s study. She had snarled her way into this little discussion, only to be bluntly told that they would tolerate her presence as long as she didn’t interfere. Her opinion wasn’t requested or required.
If it had been any other men, she would have given them her opinion of that, probably delivered on the end of her stiletto. But Lucivar looked like he’d been pushed hard enough and wouldn’t hesitate to throw her out-through the door. And Saetan and Andulvar Yaslana weren’t the kind of men who would allow anyone to step on their authority as Steward and Master of the Guard.
What really bit her was that Falonar hadn’t looked at her once since she’d managed to win enough of the argument to stay in the room. She would have thought that he’d be grateful to have someone speak in his defense. But he …
Well, that was fine. That was just fine. She didn’t need to be there, wasting her time on a thick-skinned, hard-headed male who didn’t want her there in the first place.
She looked at Lucivar at that moment, saw the sharp amusement in his gold eyes, and knew that, now, if she tried to leave, she would be ordered to stay. So instead of cursing herself for her own stubbornness, she cursed Lucivar instead. And seeing his amusement deepen, realized he knew it-the prick.
Saetan leaned against his blackwood desk and crossed his arms. ”Prince Falonar, please explain your actions this morning.”
His voice sounded polite, only mildly curious. Surreal wondered if that was a bad sign.
Falonar responded. In Surreal’s opinion, the dry recitation of actions fell far short of an explanation, but the other men didn’t seem to notice that.
When Falonar finished speaking, Saetan looked at Andulvar and Lucivar, then back at Falonar. ”You erred on the side of caution,” Saetan said quietly. ”That’s understandable-and, in a Warlord Prince, also unacceptable. You can’t afford the luxury of caution.”
Falonar swallowed hard. ”Yes, sir.”
”You do understand that discipline is required?”
”Yes, sir.”
Saetan nodded, appearing satisfied. He looked at Lucivar. ”This is your decision.”
Falonar turned to face Lucivar.
Lucivar studied him for a moment. ”Five days of extra guard duty, beginning tomorrow.”
Instead of looking relieved, Falonar looked as if he’d been slapped.
”Anything else we need to discuss?” Saetan asked.
Lucivar looked at her, then at Saetan, who, after a pause, dipped his head in the barest of nods.
Lucivar opened the study door and waited.
After bowing to Saetan and Andulvar, Falonar walked out. Since it seemed the proper thing to do. Surreal also bowed to the two men, then followed Falonar out of the study so fast she stepped on his heels.
Swearing, he lengthened his stride, finally stopping when he reached the center of the great hall.
Surreal caught up to him. ”Well, that wasn’t-” The dislike and anger in his face as he watched Lucivar approach them stopped her.
”Five days of extra guard duty is an insult,” Falonar said.
Surreal grabbed two fistfuls of her long tunic to keep from belting him. Fool. Idiot. He should be grateful it wasn’t worse.
”It’s not an insult,” Lucivar replied mildly. ”It’s fair. You made a mistake, Falonar. Some reparation has to be made for it. You acted, but you also hamstrung yourself by being too cautious.”
”I realize what my caution could have cost.”
”Yes, you do. Which is why the discipline is fair.” Lucivar’s mouth curved in a lazy, arrogant smile. ”Don’t worry about it. You’ll stand extra guard duty plenty more times before you’ve been here a year. I certainly did.”
Falonar stared at him. ”You?”
The smile sharpened. ”Hard to believe that I would err on the side of caution, isn’t it? But I wanted to stay in Kaeleer, and I wanted to serve my Queen, so I kept my temper leashed as much as possible-for me. And ended up in that study, facing those two, more times than I care to count.” Lucivar paused. ”This is Kaeleer. Here, a Warlord Prince’s temper is considered an asset to a court.”
Falonar took a moment to digest this. Then, courteously, ”Extra guard duty doesn’t seem like much when a witch could have died.”
”Well, there is another part to your… discipline,” Lucivar said. He tipped his head toward Surreal. ”You get to cope with her until sunrise. Since she looks like she’s going to break her teeth unless she gets to yell at a male, it might as well be you.” The smile got even sharper. ”Of course, you could always offer to warm her bed and see if that buys you any leniency.”
Falonar choked. Surreal made a sound like a teakettle ready to boil over.
”You consider spending a night with me a form of discipline!” Surreal shouted. ”You prick. You… I would call it a reward!”
Lucivar shrugged. ”Please yourself. Just keep in mind that, if you both decide to extend this ’discipline’ past tonight, you have to have formal permission from the Steward of the Court. He agreed to overlook that formality until sunrise, but not after that. And this is an area where it isn’t wise to push Saetan’s temper.”
After he left them, Surreal and Falonar eyed each other.
”It would seem that I didn’t keep my… interest… in being with you as… restrained… as I had thought since Lucivar noticed it,” Falonar said.
Or the High Lord did, Surreal thought. As family patriarch and sexual chaperon, she didn’t think much got past that man.
”So,” Falonar said warily. ”Are you going to yell at me?”
Surreal smiled at him. ”Well, sugar, I may not yell at you. With the right incentive, I may just yell.”