The Queen's Weapons

by Anne Bishop

  “Prince Yaslana, with me.” Sadi walked out of the office and kept going.

  Daemonar matched his stride as they headed for the men’s dormitory.

  After a minute, he felt the difference in the man as Uncle Daemon huffed out a laugh and said, “I know about Eyrien pride, but at least put a warming spell around yourself so you don’t freeze your balls.”

  He hadn’t wanted to do anything that might cause the Sadist to slip the leash. Now he gladly wrapped a warming spell around himself.

  “Do you have anything to wear besides that loin wrap?”

  Such a commonplace question. “Nothing clean, but I have the clothes I was wearing when I was sparring with Titian and Zoey this morning. And I do have a couple changes of clothes in my room at the town house.”

  The SaDiablo town house was actually two residences with a common wall and connecting doors in the servants’ areas to make it easy for the staff to take care of both halves of the building. His grandfather had used one side for guests while the family resided in the other side. Now the Yaslana line of the family used one side and the SaDiablo branch used the other—and guests were tucked into rooms on either side.

  “You might be on your own there at times,” Daemon said.

  “I’ll be fine.” And “on his own” still meant under Helton’s watchful eyes.

  “If that Warlord, Krellis, had done that to Titian’s things . . .”

  “I would have killed him.”

  Daemon said nothing until they reached Daemonar’s room in the dormitory. “Then I accept the line you drew in terms of punishment.” He looked around. “Come on, boyo. Let’s gather the rest of your things and get you settled in the town house. Then we’ll come back and deal with the rest.”

  Daemonar pulled on the clothes he’d worn for sparring and quickly gathered the belongings that hadn’t been damaged. He felt a shaky relief that Uncle Daemon had stepped away from the place where the Sadist dwelled, but he wondered if there was a way to gently suggest that his uncle needed to spend a day at the Keep.

  * * *

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  Daemon felt Surreal’s presence as the horse-drawn cab stopped in front of the town house. He downed the brandy in the snifter, then poured himself another drink.

  He’d been spending too much time in Amdarh, being available if the children needed help. He didn’t have the private suite of rooms here where he could siphon off the sexual heat that constantly threatened to overwhelm his staff. He didn’t have a place where he could relax the leashes for a day or two in order to fully be what he was.

  The constriction had begun to chafe, but he hadn’t wanted to be that far away. And today had proved that he needed to be here. Daemonar had handled things in typical Eyrien fashion—and that had to be a shock to the pricks who had thought he’d submit to their brand of “teasing.” The boy had handled his contemporaries, but he’d needed someone at his back to deal with the adults at the school.

  Surreal walked into the sitting room, where Daemon waited, and stopped a step away from the door Helton closed behind her.

  “Sadi?” She sounded wary.

  “There was an incident at the school.”

  “Jaenelle Saetien?”

  “The girls are fine, but Daemonar will be residing at the town house from now on and going to the school for his classes.”

  “What happened?”

  He told her about the trunk and the soiled clothes and books. He told her Daemonar’s response to having his things ruined. He told her about the line he’d drawn with Lady Fharra. Then he said, “Lucivar is on his way here. When he arrives I’ll go to the Keep. I might not be back for a day or two.”

  Surreal took one step toward him, then stopped again, clearly unwilling to get any closer. “Why is Lucivar coming here?”

  “I scared the boy. He needs to talk to his father.” Daemon watched the muscles in her throat as she swallowed.

  “Did you hurt him?” she asked.

  It stung that she would ask the question, but she needed to ask, both as the wife who was his sword and shield and as his second-in-command. “No. Not him.”

  “Mother Night.” She gathered herself, then walked up to him, took the snifter, and drank the rest of the brandy. “You don’t need to wait. I’ll keep an eye on things until Lucivar arrives.”

  “I appreciate that, but I do need to wait for him.” Because he needed to tell his brother everything that happened today—including the things he hadn’t told Surreal.

  He saw the change in her eyes, in her breathing. He was aware of the change in her body’s scent—aroused and wet and ready to be claimed. But that was her physical response to his sexual heat, not true desire for the man. Right now she felt more fear than lust. He knew how much courage it took for her to approach him when the Sadist was so close to the surface.

  Surreal shuddered. “I’m sorry, Sadi.”

  “No need to be.” Right now even a kiss on the cheek from him would feel more like a threat than a comfort, so he stepped back. “I’ll be in my study until Lucivar arrives.”

  He went to his study and put Black shields around the room and a Red lock on the door. Some protection for Surreal and the staff. Not enough protection, but some. He could, and would, do that much for them.

  * * *

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  Surreal used one of the passageways in the back part of the town house to enter the other half. Her legs shook as she climbed the stairs to the bedrooms. With no one else on this side except a footman, the Green wasn’t hard to find.

  She tapped on the open bedroom door. Daemonar looked up from the books he was arranging and smiled.

  “Your father is on his way,” she said.

  He sprang to his feet. “Hell’s fire, I didn’t think I was in that much trouble.”

  She laughed out of sheer relief. Whatever Daemon had done that had scared Daemonar hadn’t gone bone deep. “I’m guessing you have something to discuss with Lucivar about the change in living arrangements.”

  Wariness, which she hadn’t expected.

  “Uncle Daemon said we’re going to keep the room in the dormitory as a place where I can go between classes. He’s going to put protection spells in the walls that will weave into a Green shield that I will control. I’ll have to do my own housekeeping since the school’s staff won’t be able to come in when I’m not there, but I can borrow a carpet broom and some . . .”

  She whooped, and that made him scowl.

  “Five silver marks,” she said.

  His scowl deepened. “What?”

  “I bet you five silver marks that you can’t ‘borrow’ a carpet broom from the town house without also ‘borrowing’ the maid who has her hands wrapped around the handle.”

  “My mother is a hearth witch. I know how to clean.”

  “Dream on, boyo.”

  “Fine. I’ll take the bet.”

  “In that case, I’ll see you at dinner.”

  She’d made the bet to help Daemonar shake off whatever fear he still had about whatever had happened at the school. As she returned to the SaDiablo side of the town house, Surreal wondered if the boy had taken the bet in order to help her shake off her own fear.

  * * *

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  The Ebon-gray arrived at the town house. An hour later, the Black departed.

  Daemonar stared at a chapter he was supposed to read for tomorrow’s class and waited for a summons that didn’t come until Lucivar gave him a psychic tap and told him it was time for dinner.

  Uncomfortable subjects were set aside, which meant no one asked about the school. Instead, Lucivar and Surreal talked about the SaDiablo vineyards and the book Jillian had written, which had been purchased by Uncle Daemon’s publishing house. Talking and teasing to cover the fact that Aunt Surreal felt uneasy about the most lethal
side of Uncle Daemon’s temper coming to the surface at the school.

  As soon as dinner was over, Surreal excused herself and went to her room. He and Lucivar walked over to the sitting room in the other side of the town house.

  Lucivar poured two fingers of whiskey into two glasses, then handed one to him before settling into a chair designed for Eyriens. “Tell me what happened today. All of it.”

  “Didn’t Uncle Daemon tell you?”

  “He did. Now I want to hear it from you.”

  He told his father all of it, starting with the warm-up and sparring with Titian and Zoey, his meeting with Prince Raine, and his reaction when he returned to his room after his shower and realized what Krellis and the other two boys had done. He tried to be matter-of-fact about his decision to summon the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan because Uncle Daemon had told him to report any trouble at the school and how that wasn’t the side of his uncle’s temper that had responded to his summons. Finally, he told Lucivar what the Sadist had said—and done.

  He sipped the whiskey. A far better blend than the stuff Tamnar had purchased. “Before I walked into the dining room, I heard Aunt Surreal tell you that I might have danced with the Sadist.” He’d heard the phrase before, but now he had some idea of what it meant.

  “Have you left anything out?” Lucivar asked.

  “No, sir.”

  “Then you didn’t dance with the Sadist. You brushed against that side of Daemon’s temper, saw a little of what he can do, but his attention and his rage weren’t aimed at you.”

  That attention had been aimed at him once when he’d been in the Queen’s part of the Keep. Auntie J. had stopped whatever might have happened, but he remembered how it had felt when the Sadist had focused on him and seen a rival or adversary or enemy.

  A pause. Then Lucivar said, “What you also saw was that the Sadist trusted your judgment when you asked him to stop. He trusted that the punishment and pain he’d inflicted sufficiently balanced the offense because you told him it was enough. He doesn’t offer that trust to many people.”

  “Did Aunt Surreal ever dance with the Sadist?” He knew that Daemon and Surreal had a different kind of marriage from his parents. If Aunt Surreal couldn’t cope with being around the Sadist, that would explain a lot about their living arrangements.

  “The Sadist as lover is playful, terrifying, and magnificent,” Lucivar replied. “And he’s focused on giving pleasure rather than pain. But even at his mildest, he can be overwhelming. Surreal has brushed against those same edges that you did today, and she experienced the Sadist as lover—once—but she’s never really danced with the Sadist.”

  Daemonar studied his father. “But you have.”

  Lucivar downed the whiskey, then poured himself another glass. “Yeah, I have. And I am one of the few who have danced with him and survived.”

  “Why did the Sadist show up at the school instead of the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan? I thought Uncle Daemon would come in an official capacity, but not . . .” He didn’t know how to explain.

  “That’s the question, isn’t it?” Lucivar hesitated. “That day at the Keep when you saw the Sadist for the first time? Daemon saw something in a tangled web. He doesn’t remember what he saw, just that you’re somehow connected. He’s been preparing for war ever since. We’ve been preparing for war, and that trouble with Orian makes me think that war is on the horizon.” He blew out a breath. “I also think you’re the reason the Sadist walked into Fharra’s office. Something about you being at the school calls to that side of him because whatever was in that web connects the two of you. But that means you and the girls need to be careful.”

  “We will.”

  Lucivar set his glass on a marble coaster. “You spar with Titian and Zoey. What about Jaenelle Saetien?”

  Daemonar hesitated. “She’s made new friends since she’s been at school. They think sparring is a rube activity, so she doesn’t want to join us and have them make fun of her.”

  “Do they make fun of you?”

  Hearing that matter-of-fact tone of voice, and recognizing it as a warning sign that Lucivar’s temper was straining the leash, Daemonar hesitated again. “It’s hard to feel insulted when I don’t think any better of them. There are some boys who would be interested in learning to spar, but they’re intimidated by Krellis and his pack, as well as by the coven of malice.”

  Damn. He hadn’t intended to say the name he’d given Jaenelle Saetien’s new friends.

  “Coven of malice,” Lucivar said softly. “Did you mention that to Daemon?”

  “No.” And he wasn’t going to.

  Lucivar said nothing for a moment. Then, “Anything you want to do with the rest of the evening?”

  Daemonar smiled. “Spar with someone who’s better than me. I’m getting soft with no one but Titian as a partner, although Zoey is becoming more of a challenge.”

  Laughing, Lucivar pushed out of the chair. “That suits me.”

  Sweating and working against a man who was brilliant when he put his hand to any weapon—Daemonar couldn’t think of a better way to spend an evening.

  * * *

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  Daemon slowly unbuttoned his shirt and let it slide off his shoulders. He’d enjoyed a simple meal of soup, bread, and cheese, along with a bottle of wine from the SaDiablo vineyards. As he ate, he’d let the leashes loosen and slip away from his power, his temper, and his sexual heat. Now he let the last leash slip away—and the Sadist drew in a full breath, reveled in the feel of cool air against his skin as he finished undressing, and looked forward to slipping into a warm bed.

  Something at the school. Every time he brushed against the boy at the school, he brushed against . . . something.

  As his fingers traced the thin raised scars on his right biceps, he felt comforted by this tangible promise that, even at his darkest and most lethal, he wasn’t alone.

  Getting into bed, he settled on his belly with his arms folded under his pillow—and waited. He must have dozed off because he came back to wakefulness when he felt a weight on his ass and two hooves planted on either side of his spine.

  Daemon smiled and murmured, “I wondered when you would show up.”

  “Sometimes solitude serves a mood better than company,” Witch replied.

  “But it doesn’t always supply answers. You know, but you won’t tell me.”

  “What I know is that you’re the one who will recognize the danger.”

  “The boy seems to call to the Sadist, seems to call a wisp of memory closer to the surface.” A huff of laughter. “He stirred up the school’s pricks right and proper.”

  “Did you ever doubt he was Lucivar’s son?” she asked.

  “Never. And today he proved it.”

  “Oh, dear.” She waited a beat. “Aren’t you going to tell me?”

  He thought for a moment. “No.”

  He could feel her sapphire-eyed stare focused on the back of his neck.

  He rolled over slowly enough for her shadow to float to one side and settle next to him. When he was modestly covered up to his chest, he touched the candle-light on the table next to the bed, adjusting the illumination to softly light the room.

  “Daemonar will tell you if he feels inclined,” Daemon said.

  She stared at him.

  “No. I’m not giving in. But if you want to be entertained, I can recite a very long nonsense poem that was written by a pack of Scelties.”

  Witch blinked. “Why would you memorize something like that?”

  “You say that like I had a choice.” He raised his hand and wiggled his fingers. “Fingers hold a pencil better than paws, and I got cornered into being the scribe on my last visit to the Sceltie school. Are you sure you don’t want to hear it?”

  “More than sure.”

  The Black power he needed to drain from his
Jewels in order to keep his mind and sanity intact, the sharp edge of temper, and the sexual heat were quietly absorbed by a power far darker and deeper than his own. Knowing he was loved and accepted by his Queen if by no one else, the Sadist extinguished the candle-light and slept.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Surreal rapped on the study door and walked in, her attention on the gloves she was pulling on. “Sadi, I’m heading out to . . .” She looked up and stopped talking, stopped moving—and wondered what had put that look of baffled concern on his face. “What’s wrong?”

  He held up a note. “Titian needs to see me at my earliest convenience, which is apparently this evening. She’s already informed the school that she’ll be having dinner here with us.”

  “With you,” Surreal corrected. “I’m heading out to check on the girl who gutted that prick-ass with her bare hands. I won’t be back until tomorrow at the earliest since I’ll stop by a couple of the family’s estates.” And there were some other things she wanted to check out before voicing her suspicions to the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan—or whatever side of Daemon’s temper responded to what she said.

  “You’re the one who is standing in for Lucivar when it comes to rules and decisions,” she added cheerfully—and then added silently, Thank the Darkness I’m not involved in that. Dealing with one adolescent girl is quite enough.

  “Daemonar is having dinner with Beron and a handful of friends from the theater company, so he won’t be here either,” Daemon said.

  “Maybe that’s why your earliest convenience is this evening. Titian must have dashed off that note and had it delivered as soon as she’d heard about her brother’s plans.”

  Daemon stared at her, then muttered, “Sweet Darkness.”

  Since his sexual heat was still down to a sensual warmth after his visit to the Keep, Surreal walked up to him and gave him a wifely kiss on the lips. “You can tell me all about it when I get back. Are you going to be here or at the Hall?”

  He gave her a dry smile. “That will depend on Titian.”