by Anne Bishop
“I will share.”
He coaxed her to the town house. After one startled glance, Helton performed all his duties and more, providing the nutcakes and milk—and then contacting Beale on a psychic thread so that the Hall’s butler could inform Prince Sadi that his mother was in Amdarh.
Daemonar could have reached his uncle on a Green communication thread, and probably should have. But what he’d been told about Daemon’s life in Terreille made him certain that he didn’t want to be connected to that formidable mind in any way when Daemon Sadi heard the word “Draega.”
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
Surreal stared into Sadi’s glazed, sleepy eyes and felt more fury than fear.
“That’s what that obscenity said?” he asked too softly. “The descendants of Hayll’s Hundred Families would rule Dhemlan one day, and he was helping to bring that day about a little sooner?”
“That’s what the girl remembered. But she was drugged and terrified.”
“You think she made it up?”
“No.”
“Is the girl safe?”
“She’s safe.”
“And the witch who sought help for her friend?”
“All the other customers in that coffee shop may have guessed who sat at my table—and why—but if questioned by her family or the District Queen, no one can say they saw her talking to me.”
“Have the Queens in that Province been negligent?”
She shook her head. “I think the . . . prey . . . is carefully chosen. That girl. She would have been a strong witch. Now all that potential is gone. If she hadn’t had a friend with enough steel in her spine to bring the girl to the District Queen and approach me, we wouldn’t have known about drugs being used at parties to subdue at least some of the girls.”
“You found more like this?”
“I don’t think the staff at the sanctuary specifically asked the girls if they’d started feeling odd at a party before they were broken, but I’ll find out. Until now, there was no reason to connect those girls being broken with families that might want to embrace Hayll’s corruption and bring it here. Whoever is behind breaking these girls has been careful not to draw the attention of the Province Queens—or you—but when you start looking at the potential power that is being snuffed out in a handful of girls each year, it stops feeling like accidents of youthful lust and starts feeling calculated.” She gripped the arms of the chair hard enough to hurt the muscles in her hands. “We have to stop this, Sadi.”
“We will.” He smiled a cold, cruel smile. “Newcomers to the games are so predictable. They always think no one has seen their plots and ploys before. But if they want to play, with Dhemlan and its people as the prize, then I am willing to play.”
For the first time since she’d seen the truth about the man she had married, Surreal looked forward to the moment when the High Lord of Hell—and the Sadist—revealed himself in all his terrible glory.
TWENTY-FOUR
Ignoring the tray of food Helton had brought into the study, Daemon poured coffee into two mugs and handed one to Lucivar.
Yesterday he’d escorted Tersa back to Halaway, then checked on Manny and Mikal. Manny was still spry for a woman her age, but the toll of living as a servant in Hayll for all those centuries was starting to show. And Mikal wasn’t a boy anymore but a young man who should be thinking of living on his own. Oh, there were decades yet before he’d make the Offering to the Darkness, but he’d finished the formal education available at the Halaway school and needed to think beyond that—maybe beyond the village—to what sort of work he wanted to do.
Mikal was content where he was—at least for now. His brother, Beron, was immersed in the acting profession he loved. Jillian was writing another story about the Sceltie who had a pet weeble and a human companion, and hinting that she’d like to live in the village of Maghre on the Isle of Scelt for a year to observe instructors and students at the Sceltie school located there. Young Andulvar was still too young to cause any kind of trouble beyond what the adults expected from an Eyrien boy.
Which left the other three children in the family: Jaenelle Saetien, who was becoming more of a moody stranger every time he saw her; Titian, who might become the most challenging of their children as she followed her heart to unexpected choices; and Daemonar, who was intelligent and loyal and committed to serving a Queen few people knew existed—and was born to stand on killing fields. Like him. Like Lucivar.
The Queen’s triangle, weapons all.
“Was Tersa right?” Lucivar asked after Daemon recounted Daemonar’s meeting with Tersa. “Is Amdarh starting to feel like Draega?”
“No,” Daemon replied. But it could. That was her warning, because the first time she had asked me the question about the sides of a triangle we had been in a park in Draega.
“Not even a full generation later, and the taint is starting to show again? Hell’s fire, Bastard. The children like Orian, who were babes or toddlers at the time of the purge . . . This is all the breathing room we get? A few centuries? Our children fighting the same battles we fought?”
“Not the same battles. Your sons may have to fight to hold the Blood in Kaeleer to the Old Ways, but they aren’t slaves who are also fighting to survive.”
“They could have been,” Lucivar said grimly.
He couldn’t disagree with that. If Orian had acquired a Ring of Obedience and had targeted any boy except Daemonar, she might have gotten away with using it—until Lucivar found out what she’d done and killed her for it.
“We see the threat that could cast a shadow on our children, but for all the short-lived races, there have been generations who have been free of that taint,” Daemon said. He hoped that was true, but he was going to meet with the Queens in other Territories very soon to let them know what he and Lucivar were seeing in Dhemlan and Askavi. “Unfortunately, I’m getting the impression that the aristo Hayllian way of life has been romanticized to the point of seeming desirable, certainly gratifying for those who have power. Corruption without cost. Dorothea achieved that for centuries.”
Lucivar looked at him, memories creating deep shadows in those gold eyes. “If that corruption is in Kaeleer, there will be a cost. I’ll make sure of it. I will drown cities in corpses and blood if that’s what it takes.”
Daemon smiled. “So will I.” He stood. “Shall we slip away to the school before Helton comes in and gives us a nonverbal scold for not eating the food?”
Lucivar looked at the tray of food and sighed. “Why do you have so many bossy servants?”
Daemon shrugged. “Someone has to hire them.”
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
From her favorite place in the shadows, Delora watched the two men walk across the green. No, that wasn’t right. One of them walked; the other glided.
“Don’t they have something else to do?” Jaenelle Saetien sounded mortally embarrassed when she spotted her father and uncle on school grounds.
Good.
“They must have found out Titian is . . . you know,” Hespera said. “I can’t imagine that has been easy to swallow.”
Clayton and Dhuran sniggered. Krellis just smiled, which was somehow more condemning—and was the reason Delora liked him the best.
“And you never had any hint that Titian and Zoey . . . ?” Leena opened her mouth just enough to let the tip of her tongue lick her upper lip. “The three of you used to be so close.”
“They weren’t like that,” Jaenelle Saetien snapped. “Titian isn’t like that.”
Defensive. Wasn’t that lovely?
Amara gave Delora a nod as she joined the group. She’d taken a few of the second-tier girls who wanted to prove they should be among the chosen rather than the chosen’s prey and had created a surprise in the pottery shed.
“Come on,” Delora said. “We mustn’t be
late for class.”
“We mustn’t?” Krellis asked.
“Not today.”
She led her companions around the green, keeping to the shadows until they were behind the men who were almost at the other end of the green. Then her group stepped out, laughing and chatting, not so loudly to be obvious that they were calling attention to themselves, but not hiding either.
Delora snorted softly as the men focused on Zoey and Titian running toward them. Those two Warlord Princes were supposed to be such great warriors, but they hadn’t even noticed the group of students at their backs?
They’d gotten soft—and soft men tended to be careless about a great many things.
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
Having picked up Jaenelle Saetien’s psychic scent the moment he stepped onto the green, Lucivar tracked the group who were making an effort to remain unseen. Not too much of an effort, which made him suspect that most of the children, and at least some of the adults, had stopped noticing this group of males and females, giving them a kind of invisibility without needing to use a sight shield.
That told him none of those youngsters had enough experience with Warlord Princes to understand that Warlord Princes always knew who was around them, always assessed the strength of a potential enemy. Always knew what was needed to destroy that enemy.
Jaenelle Saetien would have known that, and that made him wonder, given the pissing contest she seemed to be having with Surreal lately, why she wasn’t taking the opportunity to introduce her friends to her father. Smarter to do it before introductions were required—unless there was a reason those friends didn’t want to come to Daemon’s notice.
Then again, Titian had held this particular secret close to the chest, so maybe girls this age needed to draw a line between their parents and their personal life and feelings. Maybe this show of independence was as much a rite of passage as Daemonar making the Blood Run—and potentially just as dangerous if the girl hit the emotional equivalent of bad air. He’d tolerate standing on the other side of the line—up to a point—but it was time to make it clear that he would have more tolerance for the things he knew about his daughter’s personal life than the things that were kept a secret.
As Titian and Zoey ran toward them, Lucivar created a Red perimeter shield halfway down the green, curving it round so that he would have warning if someone tried to attack from a blind spot.
*Problem?* Daemon asked on a spear thread.
*No.*
Pretty young girls who were changing into women, bright-eyed and a little breathless as they came to an abrupt stop in front of him and Daemon.
“Hello, Father,” Titian said, twisting her fingers together but looking him in the eyes.
Nerves and a little fear. And hope.
He brushed a streak of mud off her cheek. Or was that clay?
“Prince Sadi,” Zoey said. Then she nodded at Lucivar. “Sir.”
Lucivar gave her a slow look from head to toe. Bib overalls and a man’s shirt underneath. He said to Daemon, *I thought you took them to buy clothes.*
*That’s tomorrow’s outing.*
*Huh. So whose closet did the little Queen visit to snitch that shirt?*
*Since it wasn’t my closet, I do not care.*
“Lady Zoela.” Lucivar gave the young Queen a lazy, arrogant smile.
Titian, recognizing that smile, gulped audibly.
“Sir?” Zoey said.
“Since you and Titian are particular friends, the next time you’re invited to the town house to join the family for dinner, I don’t expect you to make up some piss-ass excuse. You want to spend time with my daughter? You deal with all of us.”
“Yes, sir.” Zoey sounded wary.
Good. Even a Queen should be wary of provoking a Warlord Prince like him. “And if you cross any of the lines Prince Sadi has drawn, you’d better hope he gets to you first, because if I get to you . . . Your ass, my hand. Understood?”
She beamed at him. “Yes, sir!”
*Why is she so happy about that?* he asked Daemon.
*Her father didn’t care enough about her to show up for her Birthright Ceremony. You, on the other hand, are going to hold her to the same rules that you set for Titian.*
*So we’re going to end up informally adopting stray witchlings like our father did?*
*She’s a Queen, Prick. Do you want anyone else to influence her?*
Good point.
“We want to show you what we’ve been working on in pottery class,” Zoey said. “I’m making a piece for my mother, and Titian is making one for Lady Marian.”
Titian studied him, still unsure. “Daemonar and Beron are escorting Zoey and me to an art exhibit at the end of the week.”
“That sounds like something you’ll enjoy.” Lucivar swallowed a laugh. Since Daemonar would rather be stabbed with a fork than go to an art exhibit, he hoped Titian recognized that her brother might not understand her choice—yet—but he had her back. “All right, witchling. Let’s see what kind of art the two of you have created.” He just hoped he could recognize what it was supposed to be and say something positive.
Titian and Zoey led the way, their hands meeting in fluttering touches.
*Did we give our permission because they wanted to do that?* he asked, a lift of his chin indicating the hands. *That?*
*Titian has always been the more cautious child—at least on the surface,* Daemon replied. *And that might be more during a private moment.*
*Tch. You had to spoil—*
As the girls walked into the pottery shed, their happiness changed to shock and an angry grief that had him striding forward a step ahead of Daemon.
“Someone destroyed our work,” Titian wailed. “Why would someone be so mean and destroy the gifts we were making?”
He had a good idea why someone would—and he was looking forward to inflicting some pain in return.
“Bitches,” Zoey muttered.
Lucivar felt a phantom hand on his chest, stopping him just inside the door as Daemon moved forward swiftly and grabbed the girls before they could touch the ruined pieces. Hustling them to the door, Daemon pushed the girls at Lucivar, forcing all of them outside.
“Bastard . . .”
Daemon looked at him with sleepy, glazed eyes before whispering, “Wood and stone remember.” Then Sadi stepped back into the pottery shed, closed the door, and locked it.
Black Widows could draw memories out of wood and stone, could replay something that had happened. And Daemon, a Black Widow who had been trained in the Hourglass’s Craft by his father and by Witch, would know how to draw out those memories and put faces on those responsible for hurting Titian and Zoey.
Lucivar led the girls away from the pottery shed.
Titian cried silently, which ripped his heart. Zoey blinked back tears but looked like she wanted to use a sparring stick on someone.
“What’s Prince Sadi doing?” Zoey asked.
“What needs to be done,” he replied. Someday she would understand what that meant, but he wasn’t going to explain it now. Besides, he was focused on letting his own power flow beneath all the minds in the school, picking up what wasn’t contained by inner barriers—like emotions.
Most of those emotions felt like the usual mix of daily life. But at the other end of the green, back among the shadows, he detected malice and glee. Satisfaction. Then there was Jaenelle Saetien, who was close enough to realize her cousin was upset but didn’t come over to offer help. Embarrassment. That was what he picked up from her. It grieved him that she would choose these new friends over family. The girl she had been never would have done that.
Daemonar, on the other hand, hurried to reach them. “What’s wrong?” He gave a hard look at the group at the other end of the green.
“Someone broke Titian’s and Zoey’s pott
ery,” Lucivar replied.
Daemonar snarled and took one step.
Keeping his hand at his side, Lucivar snapped his fingers once, a command for the boy to stay put. His father had controlled a room full of Warlord Princes rising to the killing edge with a single snap of his fingers. And like the others in that room, Lucivar had stopped and waited for the next command from the dominant male in the Dark Court.
Titian called in a handkerchief and wiped her eyes and nose. “It wasn’t just our work. I don’t know how many things were broken, but I saw it wasn’t just our work.”
“You can make the pieces again,” he said.
“They won’t be the same,” Zoey said, a deep sorrow coming through the words. She looked at the group watching from the other end of the green.
“No, the next pieces will be better because you learned from the first.” If he was going to take this young Queen under his wing at least part of the time, she was going to learn the same control that he demanded of his own children—and that meant knowing when to obey without question. “Stay out of this, Zoey. This is no longer your fight.”
Her hands curled into fists as she turned to face him. “It damn well is my fight.”
Titian gasped at her friend’s show of defiance.
Daemonar said, “Zoey.” A clear warning for her to back off.
Lucivar looked into her eyes and knew she wouldn’t back off because she was a Queen in every way—and because she didn’t understand why she needed to back off. “Not your fight anymore. You focus on remaking whatever you had made for your mother.” He gave her that lazy, arrogant smile. “Witchling, I will tell you this only once. The only way you are going to defy me and get into this particular fight is by going through me—and you aren’t strong enough to go through me.”
Zoey bared her teeth. “You’d protect them?”
“Not them. You. I’m going to keep you from getting in between them and the storm that’s coming.”
Zoey’s eyes widened. She allowed herself a swift glance at the pottery shed before focusing on him again. “Should we report this to Lady Fharra?”