by Anne Bishop
“Want me to show you?” Zoela asked. “I’m just starting drawing lessons, so I have a list of the supplies I’m supposed to purchase. Grandmother said I was old enough to make the selections, so I’m here on my own.” She looked back at the guard and grinned. “Well, not by myself on my own, but I’m making my own choices—unless I ask for advice.”
She delighted everything in him. Wherever she’d been in the shop, she had felt him rising to the killing edge and had come forward—a young Purple Dusk–Jeweled Queen determined to do what she could to quiet that rage.
The guards assigned to her must weep with exhaustion at the end of the day, trying to keep up with, corral, and protect her while she followed her instincts and did her best to embrace the people in her grandmother’s city.
Zoela stepped closer, grabbed his hand, and tugged him down an aisle. “I’ll show you.”
“Thank you, Lady.” What else could he say? She was practicing her lessons in how to be a proper Queen, and it was part of his duties as a Warlord Prince to respond correctly and allow her to have that practice. So he really didn’t have any choice but to follow her.
It occurred to him that Jaenelle Angelline must have run over his father in much the same way when she’d been an equivalent age.
And it occurred to him that he should talk to Zhara about introducing Zoela to Jaenelle Saetien. Knowing his daughter’s sense of adventure and having this glimpse of Zoela, he would offer to pay the bonus he was sure would be required to have any guards accept that escort duty.
“What is your niece’s name?” Zoela asked.
“Titian.”
“That’s a lovely name. My friends call me Zoey.” She looked up at him and smiled—and Daemon wished he could leash his heat tighter and spare the guard that much discomfort. The man didn’t need to waste energy fighting against unwanted sexual desire.
Zoela consulted her list, then turned him and her guard into pack mules while she explained which kind of paper was used with charcoal and which was used for pencils and why one should have a sketch pad of less expensive paper for practice and experimenting and . . . and . . . and . . .
“Lady Zoela.” He wedged the words into her explanations. Did the child never take a breath? “I appreciate the advice, but Titian is just starting to explore drawing pictures. I don’t want to scare her with all of this.”
“My friends call me Zoey.” She looked at him, all innocent sincerity. “Aren’t we friends?”
Hell’s fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful. Zhara was going to kick his ass for not holding to a formal line—and rightly so. But . . . “Of course we’re friends. You’re helping me choose all these wonderful supplies, aren’t you? But, Zoey? Titian is learning on her own, so which of all these art supplies do you think I should give her first? Right now all she’s using is inexpensive paper and a couple of pencils.”
“No colors?”
Daemon shook his head. Then he used Craft to set the supplies on air and relieve his arm muscles.
“It’s not as much fun without colors.” Frowning, Zoey consulted her list again, then pointed out the supplies Titian absolutely had to have. Then . . . “Maybe she would like watercolors?”
“Maybe as a Winsol gift?” he countered.
She grinned.
The guard sighed.
“Since we’re friends, maybe you could do me a favor?” Daemon called in one set of the line drawings he’d acquired from Cambrya. “I’d like to know if someone would enjoy adding colors to an existing drawing.” He gave her half of the set and then vanished the rest. “See what you think about coloring in a picture when you don’t want to do your own drawings.”
She beamed at him. “Should I send you a report?”
Aahhh . . . “That would be appreciated.”
“Lady, I believe we have everything on your list,” the guard said. His tone came close to pleading. “At least for today.”
“Yes, you’re right,” Zoey replied. “And you’re getting tired.” She led the way to the counter at the front of the shop, where the shopkeepers had been smart enough to remain.
Daemon added a couple more sets of colored pencils and sharpeners to his stack of supplies, floating the whole lot in front of him while the guard continued to play pack mule.
“May the Darkness have mercy on me when she’s old enough to have her own court,” he said in a quiet voice.
“May the Darkness have mercy on me now,” the guard replied.
They looked at each other, then looked away, fighting not to laugh because then they would have to explain why they were laughing.
After paying for his purchases and saying good-bye to Zoey and her guard, Daemon caught the Black Wind and headed for Ebon Askavi. He looked forward to telling Witch about a young Dhemlan Queen who, in a few more centuries, was going to give him trouble of the best kind.
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
After informing Draca of his arrival, Daemon retreated to the Consort’s suite. While he waited for Witch to appear, he used Craft to heat the water in a mug before adding a tea ball filled with a blend of mint leaves. He didn’t need the healing brew Witch and Karla had created specifically for him—a sedative that was strong enough to relax him and smooth out the savage edges whenever he arrived at the Keep too close to losing control. He wouldn’t need to smooth out those edges if there was an enemy to fight. All that power and temper would have a target. Since it didn’t, he needed to be here, with his Queen. And sometimes he needed to be sedated for a few hours.
Outside of these rooms, he would have fought against being so vulnerable. Even at the Hall, he wouldn’t use anything that diminished his awareness of his surroundings and the presence of potential enemies. But here he was protected in all ways.
“Something changed,” Witch said, walking into his bedroom from her adjoining suite. She could have simply appeared in front of him—and sometimes did—but more often she walked into the room as if she were still flesh and not a shadow. “Considering how the Black rippled through the abyss a few hours ago, I didn’t expect you to arrive here this calm.”
“I wasn’t calm a few hours ago,” he admitted. Then he smiled because just hearing her voice lightened his heart. “But I ran into a young Dhemlan Queen who has a way of crushing edges of temper with happy enthusiasm. She reminded me of you.”
“Oh? And who is this edge crusher?”
“Zoela. Lady Zhara’s granddaughter.” Daemon laughed softly. “One moment I’m ready to kill the shopkeepers for the way they were looking at me, and the next I’m being buried under art supplies for Titian. Zoey, as she is known to her friends, of which I am now one, is taking drawing lessons and was on her own to buy the supplies on her list. Not by herself on her own, since she did have a guard with her—poor man—but she was there without any other adult supervision.”
“Sounds like neither of you had adult supervision.”
“Smart-ass.” He sipped his tea and called in all the art supplies, using Craft to spread them out and float them on air above his bed. He also called in the sets of line drawings and the artist’s primer. “I gave her half a set of these line drawings and asked her to let me know if children would enjoy coloring the pictures. She’s going to send me a report.”
The only way to describe the look on Witch’s face was horrified amusement. “Oh, Hell’s fire, Daemon. You really are still an innocent in some ways.”
Well, that was just insulting. “Am not.”
“You gave a young Queen permission to send you reports about things she feels are important enough that you should be aware of them.”
“One report. One. About these line drawings.”
Her smile turned the bones in his legs to jelly—and not in a good way.
“Zoey would show her reports to Zhara before sending them,” he said.
“Why would she if you didn’t specify that Zhara had to review the reports before sending them to you?”
“Because . . .” He recalled what he’d said in the shop. It wasn’t much. Zoey hadn’t given him a chance to say much. “I just assumed . . .”
“That a young Queen who reminded you of me wouldn’t happily grab the initiative now that she’s been invited to correspond directly with the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan?”
When she put it that way . . . “I did hold firm about the watercolors.”
She sat on air, braced her elbows on her knees, and rested her face in her hands—and looked like she anticipated being told a really good story. “How?”
“I suggested the watercolors should be kept for a Winsol gift.”
She sat up and said in a young voice, “‘But, Grandmother, it would be lovely to learn how to use watercolors. Prince Sadi is giving his niece a set of watercolors for Winsol, and she’s my age.’”
“I didn’t . . .” He set the mug on the serving tray before he dropped it.
Witch’s silvery, velvet-coated laugh filled the room. “Face it, boyo. You were outmaneuvered.”
“She’s a . . . child.”
“A child whose grandmother is a strong woman and a strong Queen. When it comes to teaching another Queen what it means to rule part of a Territory and the people who live under her hand, you couldn’t ask for a better role model than Zhara. And now you’ve had a taste of what it will be like to deal with the next generation of Queens. The good ones, at any rate.”
“I was thinking I should arrange an introduction between Jaenelle Saetien and Zoey. I don’t think they’ve crossed paths yet.”
“Mix up the activities,” Witch said. “If Zoey rides, take them for a ride in one of the parks the next time you’re all in Amdarh. The next day’s activity should be an art gallery or a bookshop—some quieter activity that matches Zoey’s other interests.”
Daemon nodded, but he watched his Queen. She wasn’t making an idle suggestion. “Because . . . ?”
“Because a Queen needs a court, and friendships make up the core of a strong First Circle. Whether the girls are just friendly or become close friends, whether Jaenelle Saetien has any interest in serving in a court, even for a little while, Zoey will need men and women in her First Circle who have similar interests and others who have distinct skills that can be brought into the mix.”
“Do you think Jaenelle Saetien would want to serve in a court? Isn’t it too early to think of these things?”
“Daemon.” Witch gave him a warm smile. “In the end, you’ll have no say in your daughter’s choices. Maybe she’ll serve in a court. Maybe she won’t have any interest in doing so. Maybe she’ll be friends with Zoey. Maybe she won’t. Not your choice or decision, Prince. You’re providing an opportunity. The rest is up to them.” She paused. “Is there a stout lock on your study door?”
“Yeeesss.”
“Then you’ll be fine.”
Oh, that didn’t sound good.
“Your father survived this, and he had the entire coven living with him.”
That sounded worse—and he did not want to think about it. “Which art supplies do you think I should give to Titian to let her know everyone in the family supports her interest in drawing? Right now she’s been using a pencil and cheap paper.”
Witch stood and walked over to the bed. “It would be more fun with colors.” Using Craft, she sorted the supplies into packages. “Start with the colored pencils. You can give her the charcoal another time, and then the pastels.” A beat of silence. “And, of course, the watercolors for Winsol.”
He sighed, but he couldn’t say he minded.
“Speaking of children, how are Beron and Mikal?” Witch asked.
He and Jaenelle Angelline had become Beron’s and Mikal’s legal guardians after Sylvia died and made the transformation to demon-dead—and married Saetan. Jaenelle had made sure Beron had been allowed to go to drama school and train to be an actor, despite his grandfather’s objections. She’d also arranged for Mikal to live with Tersa, an arrangement that had suited everyone over the years. He was still the boys’ legal guardian, but Witch didn’t ask about them often. His time at the Keep was usually spent in the continued healing of his mind and the quiet draining of some of the Black’s reservoir of power to keep him sane and steady. It was not a time for her to show interest in other males, even boys he loved.
“Beron’s doing well,” Daemon said. “He doesn’t always win the second male lead when he auditions for a play, but he’s happy to take a small role, so he’s seldom unemployed. And unlike many young men, regardless of their occupation, he doesn’t spend everything he earns, so he can weather the idle times.” He shrugged. “He shows up at the town house at least once a week for a meal. That works well for everyone. He keeps in touch with me, per his agreement with me, but I also hear about him through Helton—a fact that Beron uses as a roundabout way of telling me things without telling me things. That way I know which young Lady he’s currently escorting around the town without him having to make a formal statement of interest—and without me showing up in Amdarh to ask a few pointed questions about something someone else mentioned.”
“Aristos can be such gossipmongers,” Witch said primly.
Daemon choked on a laugh. Lady Perzha, the former Queen of Little Weeble, had said much the same thing. Still said much the same thing. Having Witch and Perzha agree on something was a little terrifying—and a bit like trying to reason with a rockslide instead of getting out of the way.
“Mikal is growing into a fine young man, into adolescence now and thinking about his future,” Daemon continued. “Depending on the day, he wants to be a butler, since he feels that, while I may own the Hall, Beale is the real power there.”
Witch laughed. “He’s not wrong.”
“Or he wants to be some kind of court administrator, either a secretary like Holt or a Steward, because they also control the day-to-day running of things and people. Or he wants to design and run a hotel for kindred horses so they don’t have to stay in stables with the ordinary horses when they have a reason to deal with humans on an official level. Or maybe it was for all the kindred since he naturally would include Scelties if he was accommodating horses. He was vague about that part.”
It was so gratifying to see her standing there looking flummoxed.
Then he realized why she’d brought up the boys. “Any other young men you would like to discuss?” he asked sweetly.
Flummoxed changed to suspicious—as well it should, since she also used that particular tone of voice to good effect.
“Daemonar will be coming for private lessons twice a week from now on. Lucivar requested it after the boy had words with the young Eyrien Queen.”
The sweetness now had a chill and an edge as the Sadist purred, “Now, why did he do that?” Did Lucivar know the bitch must have been the one who had hurt Titian? Daemonar wouldn’t have gone after the girl otherwise.
“Not your fight, Prince,” Witch warned.
“Not my fight?” He smiled a brutally gentle smile. “When the sun shines in Hell.”
“Not your fight,” she said again. “Daemonar’s response was more than adequate, and anything you and Lucivar did now would be out of line. But Daemonar’s response is the reason Lucivar wants him to have that training—with me. In the sitting room right across the corridor from our suites, since it would be too much of a risk for the boy to stay in the Misty Place long enough to receive lessons. He’s not strong enough, or mature enough, to survive that.”
Daemon looked toward the door to give himself time to quiet his temper and the Sadist. The Queen’s suite, including the sitting room connected to her bedroom, was private, out-of-bounds to everyone but the Queen’s triangle of Steward, Master of the Guard, and Consort—or those who were invited. But there had been sitting rooms
within this area of the Keep where the First Circle could gather with the Queen to relax or discuss any concerns.
She was asking him to tolerate the presence of another male. Here. Spending time with his Queen. Asking for his agreement, not telling him he had to swallow this decision even if he choked on it. That difference gave him room to think about who had made this request.
Lucivar. Asking his Queen for help with his son.
“Sometimes Daemonar’s lessons will coincide with your being here for solitary rest,” Witch said. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t disturb you, but you’ll have to tolerate his presence for that hour.”
Could he do it for his brother, for his nephew?
Daemon took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
Not just another male. Not even family, which was important to him. A young Brother in the court. Someone who also needed their Queen.
He looked into her sapphire eyes and relaxed his hold on the leashes that held his temper, his power, his sexual heat—and the Sadist. Even when she’d walked among the living, a part of her had stood too deep in the abyss to be influenced—or frightened—by any aspect of who or what he was.
“If I have trouble with him being here, I will tell you.”
Witch smiled. “Good. Then we’re agreed?”
He nodded, then asked too softly, “Are you sure it’s not my fight?”
“I’m sure.” She gave his arm a thumping pat. “Besides, you already have a young Queen to deal with.”
Yes. He did. Not the same, though.
“Maybe you should suggest that Titian write to Zoey and let her know how she likes working with the colored pencils,” Witch said. “That way you won’t have to be the go-between.”