by Anne Bishop
And the Sadist has been knocked right out of the room. “You gave permission for Khary to go to Little Weeble with Jillian. If you hadn’t done that, Khary wouldn’t have been digging on the beach and wouldn’t have found the diamond that indicated it was time for a new Queen. If Khary hadn’t been the one to find the diamond, the Queen who fit the village and its people’s needs wouldn’t have been a Sceltie, and I wouldn’t have ended up dealing with generations of Sceltie Queens ruling an eccentric village in Askavi.”
“Kiss my ass.”
“Tch.”
Daemon shifted to one side and growled, “Move over.”
Before Lucivar could move, he was floating on air—and shoved with enough force that he would have ended up across the room if he hadn’t used Craft to stop himself and land on the mattress.
Daemon flopped down beside him.
They stared at the ceiling.
“Are you sure we can’t help with publishing the book?” Daemon asked. “She’s family. We take care of family.”
“We will be allowed to host, and pay for, the party when the book is published.”
“Well, good for us.”
They looked at each other and sighed before going back to staring at the ceiling.
“Are you going to let Titian go to that school?” Daemon asked.
“Yeah. She really wants to study art there. I told her if she could build the defensive shields I require for her to be on her own, she could go. She’s working hard, which makes me proud and guts me. Another day or two she’ll have the shields solid, and I can’t say no. Daemonar isn’t taking this well, but he’s working with her on the shields.” A pause. “Jaenelle Saetien?”
“I’ll make the arrangements when I return to Dhemlan. I’m not easy about it, and I’ll talk to Lady Zhara and confirm that Zoey is attending before I make a final decision.”
“If Titian is in Amdarh, you’ll be the one who has to draw the lines about behavior and hold them.”
“I know. And I will.”
Lucivar blew out a breath. “You think there’s anything to eat around here?”
“It’s the Keep. There’s bound to be.” Daemon rolled off the bed, scooped up Lucivar’s leather trousers and tossed them on the bed before stepping into his own black trousers.
They didn’t bother with shirts or shoes before wandering out and following the scent of coffee to the small sitting room across from the Queen’s suite. Plates of cold meats and cheeses, sliced fruits, different kinds of breads with a variety of flavored butters. Coffee, wine, brandy, ale.
They ate, drank, and grumbled about Jillian not wanting their help. Then they ate some more and drank some more as they decided where the lines would be drawn once their daughters went to that damn school.
When they were down to crumbs and empty glasses, Daemon retired to the Consort’s suite. Lucivar retrieved the rest of his clothes and walked to the part of the Keep that contained the office of his administrative second-in-command.
“Kiss kiss,” Karla said, a wicked twinkle in her ice-blue eyes. “Since you did well tonight, I won’t torment you with reports.”
“Did I do well?” Lucivar asked.
“Jaenelle thinks so. She would have intervened if you’d been in danger but thought it best to let the two of you work it out on your own.”
He’d wondered why she hadn’t appeared. He and Daemon had been in the part of the Keep where Witch’s Self could take on form. Not substance. They could see her, talk to her, feel her touch but not be able to touch her. That much presence was enough for him, who had been her brother. He wondered if, sometimes, that inability to touch her was a torment for Daemon.
Torment or pleasure didn’t matter. Daemon needed Witch’s hand on the leash to stay whole and sane, and Sadi would cherish every moment he had with any part of her.
The sky started to lighten by the time Lucivar flew home to catch a couple hours of sleep before facing the day’s work—and to begin preparing himself for his daughter going to school in Amdarh.
FOURTEEN
Enemies didn’t announce their presence, didn’t give any warning before an attack, but Daemonar couldn’t make a surprise attack that much of a surprise. Not with Titian. So he scuffed his boot to make a sound before he sprang at her, a wooden club raised to strike.
Titian yelped, dropped her drawings and the wooden box Uncle Daemon had given her to carry her supplies, and formed a Summer-sky shield before his club could touch her. As he beat on one shield and felt it start to break, she formed another one a finger length beneath the first and another one behind that.
He yelled. She shrieked. Instead of moving and trying to maneuver, she foolishly held her ground to protect her drawings.
He broke her second shield and raised the club to strike the third when a hand closed on the club, stopping his swing. His father dropped the sight shield that had kept him hidden and gently pulled the club out of Daemonar’s hand.
“Enough,” Lucivar said. “Titian, you can lower the shield now.”
She gulped air and looked so distressed, Daemonar felt like a knife had been slipped into his gut and twisted.
“Titian?” he said, glancing at Lucivar. “It’s okay now.”
Two Warlord Princes waited for her to regain enough control to drop the last shield. Then Daemonar scrambled to collect her drawings, hoping the box, which was one of her prized possessions, hadn’t been damaged when she dropped it.
“Three shields correctly made that held long enough for someone to reach you,” Lucivar said quietly. He called in one of those large envelopes that usually contained official documents and held it out to Titian.
“What’s that?” she asked, sniffling and rubbing tears off her cheeks.
Daemonar hoped they were angry tears. He could deal with angry tears.
“The paperwork for your enrollment in the school. Information about your lodgings. You like your quiet time, so I arranged for you to have a private room. And there are the lists of books and supplies we’ll need to purchase before classes begin.” Lucivar cleared his throat. “Your mother and Jillian are going to Amdarh on business in a few days, so we’ll all go and stay at the town house with your uncle while you gather your supplies. Then we’ll take a look at the school and help you and Jaenelle Saetien get settled.”
Titian blinked at her father. “I can go?”
“You can go.”
To Daemonar’s eyes, Lucivar’s smile looked forced, but he doubted Titian noticed as she threw herself into her father’s arms.
“Thank you, Papa. Thank you.” She stepped back. “Does Mother know?”
Lucivar shook his head. “I thought you should tell her.”
She turned to gather her drawings, but Daemonar said, “I’ll put these in your room.”
She rushed into the eyrie, shouting for Marian.
Daemonar picked up the box and the drawings and then looked Lucivar in the eyes. “Knowing how to shield isn’t enough.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Lucivar snapped. Then he shook his head, blew out a breath, and stared at the land beyond their home. “We have to let her go—and hope.”
Maybe there is a way to do more than hope, Daemonar thought as he took the drawings and art supplies to Titian’s room.
He found Lucivar in the weapons room, honing his Eyrien war blade.
“I’m going out for a while.”
Lucivar gave him a long look. “Be back for dinner.”
No demand to know where he was going. Maybe Lucivar didn’t need to ask.
He slipped past the kitchen, where the female voices sounded tearful and happy. As soon as he was outside, he spread his wings and flew to the Keep. It wasn’t his afternoon for a lesson, but that didn’t matter. Couldn’t matter when he needed to talk to Witch.
He landed in a garden close to
the Queen’s private area of the Keep, then strode through the corridors until he walked past the ornate metal gate that was the boundary. When he reached the sitting room where he usually had his lessons, he said, “Auntie J.? Auntie J.! I need to talk to you!” He waited, feeling his heart thump against his chest. Seven, eight, nine, ten. “Lady?”
“What’s wrong, boyo?”
He turned, shaking with relief. “It’s Titian.”
It poured out of him—Titian’s art, which she’d been working on for years now; her desire to go to the private school in Amdarh; her finally creating shields that Lucivar deemed sufficient to allow her to leave the safety of her family.
He paced, unable to sit still. His throat hurt with his effort to tell Witch everything without shouting at her. When there was nothing more to say, all he could do was stare at her.
“What, exactly, do you want, Prince Yaslana?” Witch asked.
“Shields won’t be enough if no one comes to help. I’d like some way for Titian to let me know she’s in trouble and needs my help.”
“Just your help?”
Something that would be a call to battle for his uncle and father would be better, but they would kick his ass if they knew he was asking Witch to become a little more entangled with the living. “Just mine.” If necessary, he would give the call to battle.
“When does your sister leave?”
“We’re going to Amdarh in a few days. The whole family.”
“I’ll consider your request. Come back in two days.”
A plain white mug appeared on a table beside him.
“A tonic,” Witch said, “with honey and lemon. It will help the soreness in your throat. Drink it before you go.”
“Yes, Auntie. Thank you.”
She vanished.
Daemonar drank the tonic slowly.
Had he asked for too much? That Witch still existed in some way was a closely guarded secret held by his father, his uncle, and him—and Lady Karla. The Keep’s Seneschal and historian/librarian knew, of course, but they knew so many secrets. He suspected they were, in their way, secrets themselves.
He finished the tonic, then left the mug on the tray where he usually left dishes when he’d been given something to eat during his lessons.
Then he flew home and spent an hour sparring with his little brother to keep his and Andulvar’s attention away from their sister.
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
Karla entered the Queen’s suite and waited.
She’d observed the boy as he grew into a young man who showed promise of being a powerful Warlord Prince with a hot temper like his father’s but more control. Even now there was more control—because someone he trusted held the leash. The man Daemonar Yaslana had become knew that if the person who held the leash threw him into a fight, it was for a reason, and he would step onto that killing field without hesitation.
That kind of trust had to be nurtured carefully.
“You know what he’s asking?” Witch asked as the shadow of her Self took shape.
“Easy enough to guess,” Karla replied. “Are you going to do it?”
“Yes.” She smiled dryly. “It won’t keep him home long, but maybe long enough not to be obvious—at least as far as his sister is concerned.”
A small ornate box appeared, floating on air. The lid opened, revealing a special kind of gold coin.
“What do you need?” Karla asked.
“A discreet jeweler.”
“Well, then. I think I should go to Amdarh this evening and pay a call on Banard. His daughter runs the shop now and designs most of the jewelry, but he still creates a few pieces for select customers.”
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
Two days later, Daemonar slipped into Titian’s room without knocking, then kept his eyes focused on the door when he realized she wasn’t dressed.
“You could have knocked,” she said, sounding snappish as she hurriedly pulled on the rest of her clothes.
He did a quick count and wondered if Lucivar had figured out when Titian’s moontime would start before he decided on when the family would go to Amdarh. She would be done with the vulnerable first three days before they left home, which would make it easier for everyone.
“Hurry up,” he said, wanting this done before his father got home.
“Okay. Now, what . . .”
He rushed to her side. Calling in Witch’s gift, he placed the gold pendant in Titian’s hand.
She studied what looked like a gold coin, except no one had seen a coin like this in centuries. It had a unicorn’s horn over a simplified etching of Ebon Askavi on one side and a stylized A on the other side. It was held within a simple gold ring attached to a gold chain.
“Daemonar . . .”
“It’s a mark of safe passage,” he said quickly. “It’s a protection. And it has to be our secret. We have to blood it on the back. Then, if you’re in trouble and need my help, you use this and I’ll know. Even if you can’t get word to me any other way, I’ll know.”
“Where did you get this?”
“Wear it under your clothes. Better yet, keep a sight shield on it. No one can know you have this, Titian. No one. Not even Father.”
She studied him. “Will you get in trouble if someone finds out?”
“Maybe. But that’s not important. What’s important is that someone will reach you before your shields fail.”
“Is Jaenelle Saetien going to have one of these?”
“I don’t know. I just . . . Please, Titian. Please wear this, always, and keep it a secret unless you need to use it. If you do, nothing else will matter.”
She hesitated, probably thought he was being bossy and overprotective. He might have thought it, too, if Witch hadn’t honored his request.
Girls talked about things, told one another things. He knew that much from the times when Jaenelle Saetien stayed here or Titian went to the Hall or to Amdarh for a visit. But his sister wasn’t going to take this seriously if he didn’t tell her something, so he had to take that chance.
“How many sides does a triangle have?” he asked.
Titian frowned. “A triangle has three sides.”
“No. A Blood triangle has four sides. Steward, Consort, Master of the Guard. And the fourth side is the one who rules all three.”
She gave him a long look, struggling to understand what he didn’t dare say in words, didn’t dare say even on a psychic thread. Then she looked at the mark of safe passage and rubbed the etching on the front. “That’s Ebon Askavi.”
“Yes.”
“And that’s a unicorn’s horn.”
“Yes.”
“Father has one of these. He fiddles with it when he’s at his desk thinking about something that bothers him. He told me once that he got it from the . . .” She looked up, stunned, and Daemonar knew she understood what he was telling her. “You . . . She . . .”
He pressed a finger against her lips. “Never spoken. Ever. To anyone.” A pause. “The triangle isn’t always made up of Consort, Master, and Steward.”
He didn’t think her eyes could get any bigger, but they did.
Three men. Three Warlord Princes. Yes, they were family, but they were also a triangle that served an extraordinary Lady.
“She’s always been my Queen,” he whispered. “She’ll always be my Queen.”
“She gave this to you? For me?”
“Yes.”
“What do we . . . ? How do we . . . ?”
He removed his working knife from its sheath on his belt, pricked his left thumb deep enough to get a good bead of blood, then pressed it against the back of the mark. When Titian held out her left hand, he pricked her with the knife and watched as she added her blood to his. Then they watched as the blood disappeared, leaving no sign that the
mark was more than an odd pendant.
But they felt a connection to each other that was more and different from family as the spells Witch had woven into the mark absorbed the blood.
Titian slipped the chain over her head and tucked the pendant under her clothes before adding a sight shield.
“Is she wonderful?” she asked.
Daemonar smiled. “Yeah. She’s wonderful.” He blew out a breath. “But she’s probably going to give me a whack upside the head for telling you as much as I did.”
She rose on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “Our secret, brother. I promise.”
“Having that doesn’t mean you should get careless about the shields.”
“Don’t spoil the gift by being bossy.”
Daemonar slipped out of Titian’s room and went to his own to study. He’d done what he could to keep Titian safe. He just hoped he’d done the right thing.
FIFTEEN
They’re letting rubes in now?” Hespera said. “This school is supposed to be exclusive.”
Delora watched the group of adults and youngsters stroll toward the dormitories. It wasn’t unusual for parents to escort their children to a new school and get them settled in before classes started. After all, aristo families wanted to make sure everyone knew how important their own darlings were, even if they failed to understand that the pecking order changed the moment those parents walked away. And most of them never knew who was really in control of the students the moment the instructors were out of sight—who had gained control step by careful step since her first year at this school.
Helpful Delora. Kind Delora, who, with her closest friends, guided the newcomers through the first days at the school. Instructive Delora, secretly disciplining students who failed to understand who should claim their loyalty and obedience. There were some she couldn’t touch—not yet, anyway—some who had enough clout and influence of their own that they wouldn’t keep quiet, keep things secret, regardless of the punishment that would follow.
She wasn’t sure if the Eyrien girl would be useful or not, but the other girl, with some delicate coaching, could have enough clout and influence to help her undermine the Queen who was her primary adversary. Jaenelle Saetien SaDiablo had such a need to rebel against the burden of her powerful family, and that made her malleable—made her vulnerable to someone who offered sympathy, thoughts, and opinions that fed that rebellion.