The Queen's Weapons

by Anne Bishop

  “That was part of it.” Lucivar ran a hand down her long black hair, noticing there were a few strands of silver now. “But I think he stayed because someone needed to remember why the war between Terreille and Kaeleer had been fought, and why so many died.

  “When I first came to the Shadow Realm and met the boyos who were living at the Hall, none of them had heard of a Ring of Obedience. A Ring of Honor, yes. That was a prize only worn by a man who served in a Queen’s First Circle. Yes, she could use it to control every aspect of their lives, but why would she? And any Queen who did want that much control didn’t have a court for long. What they couldn’t see was how the use of a Ring of Honor might have been corrupted, step by step, until it was turned into a Ring of Obedience. None of them knew that, had considered that, until I came to Kaeleer and told them about what was done in Terreillean courts.

  “For the short-lived races, the purge that removed Dorothea and Hekatah SaDiablo’s taint from the Realms was something that happened long ago. It’s history, a story. But we remember. For us it’s the past, yes, but not history, not something that happened to someone else in another time. We knew the court; we knew the Queen. And while none of us knew all the choices Jaenelle had made, our children have grown up safe because of those choices.”

  “If you send Orian back to Terreille, aren’t you making her someone else’s problem?”

  “Maybe, as Jillian put it, it’s just a stay of execution. Or maybe Orian will find a way to be a good Queen.”

  “What are you going to say to Endar and Alanar?”

  “The truth. I’ll give them a choice of going with Dorian and Orian. I doubt they will, but I’ll give them that choice. And then I’ll talk to the Eyriens who live around Riada. Rothvar and Zaranar will take my decision to the rest of them.”

  “Do you want something to eat?”

  Lucivar gave her a light kiss. “Not right now.”

  He dropped the Ebon-gray shield around the room and used a psychic thread to tap his younger son, giving the boy permission to leave his room.

  Then he sent a summons to Endar and Alanar to meet him in the communal eyrie.

  He wasn’t surprised to find Rothvar waiting for him. And he wasn’t surprised to find Nurian, the Eyrien Healer and Jillian’s sister, waiting with his second-in-command. After all, Rothvar was her husband and the father of her children, so she would have guessed that a Healer might be needed for . . . whatever.

  Rothvar shrugged. “The Ebon-gray thunders through the valley, and there’s an Ebon-gray shield around Dorian’s eyrie, locking everyone in—and keeping everyone out. And your boy is nowhere to be found in Ebon Rih. Smells like trouble to me.”

  Lucivar sighed. “Yeah.”

  Marian had felt the Ebon-gray too. That was one of the reasons she’d been pissed off at him for making her wait to find out what was going on.

  He watched Endar and Alanar hesitate in the doorway before walking into the communal eyrie. “Let’s get this done.”

  * * *

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  Daemonar dropped from the Winds at one of Amdarh’s official landing webs and informed the guards on duty that he was in the city to visit his uncle. He could have dropped from the Winds anywhere a Green thread ran over the city, but it was a necessary courtesy to use an official landing web and inform the Queen’s guards when a Warlord Prince arrived in a city that wasn’t his own. When a male of his caste ignored that courtesy, the guards tended to respond with weapons drawn.

  As soon as the guards waved him on, he flew to the family’s town house and landed lightly on the sidewalk. He’d spent the journey from Ebon Rih to Amdarh wondering how to explain enough to get the permission he wanted to go to that school without explaining too much.

  He had a feeling that the sun would shine in Hell before Uncle Daemon let him get away with not explaining everything.

  So be it.

  He bounded up the steps and knocked on the door, then smiled at the butler. “Good morning, Helton.”

  “Prince Yaslana.” Standing aside to let him enter, Helton closed the front door too carefully.

  Daemonar felt his shoulders tighten and itched to call in his war blade.

  “Prince Sadi told us to expect you, but he didn’t give any instructions to have a room made up for you,” Helton said quietly.

  That wasn’t good. “Maybe he hasn’t decided which side of the town house I’ll be staying in.”

  “Perhaps.” Helton didn’t look convinced. “The Prince is waiting for you in his study.”

  He wasn’t in trouble. He hadn’t done anything wrong. Then again, his father and uncle were strong enough to communicate over long distances using Ebon-gray and Black psychic threads, so the Darkness only knew what Uncle Daemon already knew. Which made leaving out anything in his explanation even more precarious.

  When he entered the study, he found his uncle sitting in the chair behind the blackwood desk, hands loosely folded with the forefingers lightly resting against his chin.

  “So,” Daemon said. “You’re thinking of attending the same private school as Titian.”

  “I’d like to further my education, which is something I’ve been thinking about for a while.”

  “Not getting enough instruction at the Keep?”

  “Different instructors bring different things to the table. You’ve told me that more than once. And spending time with men my own age who are also from a long-lived race would be another kind of seasoning.”

  This was going well. His arguments were sound. And there had been no mention of why his father had shoved him out of Ebon Rih so fast. Daemonar felt a trickle of relief—until Uncle Daemon rose, came around the desk, and settled gracefully in the other visitors’ chair.

  “Now,” the Prince said in a voice that wrapped sensuality around threat. “You can tell me the real reason you want to go to that school, or we can have a pleasant visit for a few days before I escort you back to Ebon Rih.”

  Shit. Everything he’d said was the truth, and he wasn’t going to be the one to tell Daemon Sadi about Orian’s threat to use a Ring of Obedience. But . . .

  “There is something wrong with Jaenelle Saetien.” He’d meant to ease into his concern about his cousin, not club his uncle with words.

  “Oh?”

  Bland word, bland voice. But nothing bland in the gold eyes that watched him, assessing. This wasn’t the most terrifying aspect of Daemon Sadi. He’d only seen that once, but he’d never forgotten the feel of being in a room with the Sadist. This was more than his uncle, more like . . .

  Prince of the Darkness. High Lord of Hell.

  Somehow he’d plucked that thread, and now he had to dance on that knife’s edge.

  “She’s been different since she started going to that school,” Daemonar said.

  “I’ve been told adolescence is a difficult time for girls.”

  “Fine. It’s difficult. Why should that erase reason? It’s like expecting grass to grow on clouds, even though you know it can’t, and then getting pissy because it doesn’t.”

  “Well . . .”

  “And that damn dress. She comes to Ebon Rih pissing and moaning because she bought this dress for an important dance, a dress that cost—” He took a breath and tried to hold in his criticism. He really did try, but . . . “Hell’s fire, Uncle Daemon, what were you thinking to allow her to buy a dress that costs that much? And then—then—she gets angry because you won’t buy her a second dress when you’d already told her you would only buy one? She knows you. She’s lived with you all her life. She knows you don’t move a line once it’s drawn. And if she’d wanted another dress so much, she could have bought it with her own money! But, no, she’s wailing that everyone else’s father is buying a second dress. Who is everyone? She couldn’t name one girl who was going to have a second dress for the same dance.”

/>   “If you’re done scolding me and storming around the room, perhaps I could explain.”

  He hadn’t noticed he’d sprung out of the chair to pace and “storm” around the room. And he hadn’t intended to scold his uncle.

  Daemonar blew out a breath and returned to the chair.

  “Perhaps I thought that not putting a limit on how much could be spent for a dress would eliminate a source of contention and allow Jaenelle Saetien and Surreal to have an enjoyable time shopping together.”

  He considered that for a moment, then nodded. “Good thought. Didn’t work, but it was a good thought.”

  “I’m glad you agree.” Dry humor—and something else beneath it. “I don’t have experience with adolescent girls. Not the kind that is useful here. From time to time I discuss things with Beale and Holt, since they were both working at the Hall when your auntie J. and the coven lived with your grandfather.”

  Daemonar leaned closer. He loved hearing stories about Auntie J. and the coven and the boyos.

  “Saetan had some difficulties dealing with the girls when they were the equivalent of this age,” Daemon continued. “And he was often . . . compelled . . . to negotiate along the lines of ‘I will pay for the new saddle you want if you also buy three new dresses.’ He didn’t get much support from Lady Sylvia about what constituted feminine dress; hence the negotiations. When your aunt and the coven went along with his terms, Saetan was often dismayed to discover that the saddle cost more than the three dresses combined. And just as often the negotiations failed because the girls would simply buy the desired item with their own money and ignore the dresses altogether.

  “And then, seemingly overnight, they all became interested in clothes that left no doubt in anyone’s mind that they were women—clothes that were both warning and temptation. Which created a different set of challenges for the men who were committed to keeping them safe.”

  “Father and Prince Chaosti would have made sure all of them knew how to use a knife,” Daemonar said.

  “Oh, yes, all of the Ladies who lived at the Hall were skilled with a knife,” Daemon agreed. “Some more than others.” He sighed. “But you think this . . . trouble . . . with Jaenelle Saetien is more.”

  “Yes, sir. It feels wrong somehow, like she’s imitating what someone else would say instead of being herself. Like she wants to shed who she was, but someone has to be convincing her that being a bitch is desirable.”

  “What about Titian?”

  Daemonar huffed. “I don’t think Titian notices much beyond her art classes. That’s all she writes about—and singing in a group and learning to play music. I don’t think she’s made many friends, but she seems happy.”

  “If you’re right about something being wrong, even if it’s just a group of students who have infatuated Jaenelle Saetien, your presence could stir up trouble that could swing back at you.”

  He was counting on it. “I can protect myself, Uncle Daemon.”

  “Boyo, even the strongest warrior can make a mistake and let his guard down at the wrong moment. As much as I’m concerned about my daughter, I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  “Father would walk into it, even knowing there was trouble. So would you.”

  “Yes, we would. Of course, most of the time, we were already in the middle of that kind of fight. Made the choice easier.” Daemon smiled dryly. “And if anything happens to you, your auntie J. . . .”

  “Mother Night,” Daemonar breathed.

  “And may the Darkness be merciful.”

  “I’ll be careful,” he promised.

  “Do that—for all our sakes.” Daemon stood. “Why don’t we stretch our legs and walk around the square a couple of times while we discuss what subjects would be of interest to you? Then, in the morning, we’ll go to the school and see about getting you enrolled.”

  * * *

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  When Lucivar told Endar and Alanar about his decision to exile Dorian and Orian—and why—Endar’s only response was to request that Lucivar, as the ruler of Ebon Rih, grant him an immediate divorce in order to sever all connection with Dorian. Then he walked out of the communal eyrie.

  Alanar drew in a shuddering breath. “Sir, if I’d known Orian was thinking about doing that to Daemonar . . . to anyone . . . and actually had a Ring, I would have told you.”

  “I know,” Lucivar replied.

  None of the other Eyriens who lived in Ebon Rih had endured wearing a Ring of Obedience, but every man among them had seen what it did, had listened to the screams of strong men crawling to the Queen who controlled them and begging for the pain to stop. The stories about why men like Rothvar and Zaranar had left Terreille had been softened somewhat when the boys were young. But since they were considered men who were approaching their mature strength, the Eyrien warriors had told the stories about the brutality in the courts in Askavi Terreille and why they had left everything they’d known for a chance at a different kind of life.

  “Are you settled into the bachelor eyrie?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir. Tamnar and I have everything we need,” Alanar replied.

  He’d check with Hallevar, the arms master who gave all the young warriors their basic training, to make sure that was true. Alanar might be happy sleeping on a stone floor wrapped in a thin blanket if that got him away from his mother and sister.

  After considering what might be helpful to the youngsters without pinching their feeling of independence, he said, “There’s a laundry service in Riada. The women who run it won’t deal with leathers, so you’ll have to clean those yourself, but they’ll handle other clothing and towels and bed linens. You and Tamnar can take your things there to get washed. I’ll pay for it.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “The two of you have enough to eat?”

  “Yes, sir.” Alanar looked around. “Are we going to have any training today?”

  “You are,” Lucivar replied. He nodded to Hallevar, Tamnar, and the others as they entered the communal eyrie. Then he tipped his head to indicate that Rothvar and Nurian should follow him outside.

  Rothvar must have tapped Zaranar because the other warrior turned and went out with them.

  “Zaranar should stick with Endar today,” Rothvar said.

  “You think he’s going to try the Khaldharon as a suicide run?” Zaranar asked.

  “I guess we’re all thinking the same thing,” Lucivar said. He blew out a breath. “If it looks like he’s heading in that direction, we’ll stop him.”

  Zaranar flew off to find Endar.

  “I think Alanar will miss the mother Dorian had been when he was young,” Nurian said. “But I also think he’ll be relieved not to have her as a shadow hanging over his life or his choices.”

  The boy would do all right. For Lucivar, the question was whether Endar, who had once taken pride in being a teacher for the Eyrien children, would find that pride again after years of Dorian’s disappointment scraping away his feeling that he was of value to the Eyrien community.

  “I’ll be at the Keep for a while,” Lucivar said. “I need to find out how to sever a marriage contract. I’d like to give Endar that much peace of mind before I send Dorian and Orian back to Terreille.”

  He spread his wings, glanced at Nurian, then folded them again. “You going to the Healer’s eyrie?”

  “Yes,” she replied. “I have some tonics to make and a couple of patients who are coming in.”

  He nodded. “Your sister is a bit exercised over this.”

  Nurian looked at him with wide eyes. “Jillian knows that Orian threatened Daemonar?”

  “Yeah.”

  Rothvar swore. “You left that girl alone when she’s feeling exercised?”

  “There’s an Ebon-gray shield around Dorian’s eyrie. Jillian can’t get to either of them.”

  �
��I seem to recall an Arcerian cat who could get through any shield, including the Black.”

  “Jillian deals with Scelties, not Arcerian cats.” Besides, Kaelas was the only cat who had managed that particular bit of Craft. On the other hand, Scelties still had a bond with the Arcerian cats, so he couldn’t be sure what skills Jillian might have picked up. “Hell’s fire.”

  “If she’s not at the Healer’s eyrie, I’ll let you know,” Nurian said before she flew off.

  “Sun’s barely up, and we’ve already had a full day,” Rothvar said.

  Lucivar snorted. “Wait until your two are a little older. This will be normal.”

  “May the Darkness have mercy on me.”

  *Prick.*

  Lucivar sighed as Daemon tapped him with a psychic communication thread. Well, that didn’t take long. *Bastard? Is the boy going to that school?*

  *He is.*

  *At least he’ll be a pain in your ass for a while instead of mine.*

  *Thank you very much.* A beat of silence. *Are things settled in Ebon Rih?*

  *They will be.*

  *I’ll be at the Keep tomorrow evening. We need to talk.*

  *About all kinds of things.*

  But who would be more dangerous once he told them who had been expecting to receive one of the smuggled Rings of Obedience? The Sadist—or Witch?

  TWENTY

  Daemon listened to Lady Fharra, the school’s administrator, and wondered what it was about the woman now that had him quietly rising to the killing edge when she hadn’t provoked his temper during their other meetings. She struck him as being ambitious, but there was nothing wrong with that. She and the senior instructors made sure the school catered to the wealthiest and most influential aristo families in Dhemlan, and there was nothing wrong with that either. But there was a faint echo to everything she was saying—not the words themselves, but the way she said the words. It was an unsettling sensation, like a cobweb brushing against his face—a wisp of memory there and gone. Something he’d seen? Something he’d known long ago? Something to do with Lucivar and schooling?