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The Queen's Weapons

Page 40

by Anne Bishop


  That would not do. It wouldn’t do at all. Where was the anger, the need to embrace what only Delora could offer? Who had reinforced that rube morality? Someone in that village, no doubt. Jaenelle Saetien should be avoiding her cousins—both of them—and the girls and boys who formed the core of Insipid Zoey’s friends. Instead, she was talking to them where everyone could see her—and might wonder if she’d changed allegiance.

  Well, there were ways to bring her to heel and make sure that a good bitch stayed a good bitch.

  “We have a problem,” Krellis said as he joined her.

  “More than one,” Delora replied, continuing to watch as Jaenelle Saetien, Insipid, and Fat Bat led the group toward the classrooms.

  “Prince Sadi and his bitch wife have been asking questions about girls who were broken on their Virgin Nights. They want a list of names from each Province Queen, which means the Province Queens are asking questions of the District Queens, and that means the District Queens are looking hard at everyone in their territories, especially the aristo families. And Sadi wants the name of every male responsible for breaking the power of a witch when the girl’s virginity was taken.”

  Delora turned to look at him. “You said you were all careful and only had fun with the girls I told you would cause us trouble later.”

  “We were careful, and we sometimes did nothing more than help some boy enjoy what he couldn’t have had otherwise—and witness the taking to encourage him to be accommodating when we wanted his assistance for some other entertainment.” Krellis stared at Jaenelle Saetien. “If Sadi and his whore put all the pieces together, they’ll find me and Dhuran and Clayton—and they’ll find you right at the heart of all those ‘accidental’ breakings.”

  “Well,” Delora said, “we’ll have to give him a reason to back off.”

  * * *

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  Daemonar wasn’t as good at reading people as his father or uncle, who could glance at a person and know what he was thinking, feeling, planning. But it didn’t take that much skill to recognize Prince Raine’s discomfort—or figure out the reason.

  He’d invited Raine to the Winsol party, in part because he liked the man and partly because Raine hadn’t planned to visit his family in Dharo until Winsol Eve. It was hard for a man to be alone during the Blood’s most important celebration, and since Raine lived at the school, Daemonar didn’t think the instructor had made many, if any, friends.

  And he’d wanted Uncle Daemon to become acquainted with a man Daemonar thought was being wasted trying to teach the prick-asses at the school.

  Until the party, he hadn’t known that Raine, who was in his mid-twenties, came from the same family as Rainier, the Dharo Warlord Prince who had served in Witch’s Second Circle. Curiosity about Rainier had been the spark that had had Raine applying for an instructor’s position at a school in Dhemlan, where he would live among people who came from one of the long-lived races, just as Rainier had.

  He had observed Raine’s shock and delight at learning that Rainier had taught Beron the dance moves the young actor still practiced and used on the stage. He’d watched Raine stumble over the easy way Beron and his theater friends chatted with Uncle Daemon, how the conversation bounced from one subject to the next, as if they weren’t talking to the most powerful man in the Realm.

  And he studied Raine’s discomfort now that the Winsol celebration was over and they had returned to school. He figured the reason for that discomfort was that Raine hadn’t served in a court or otherwise been exposed to the flow of power and titles that he saw as natural.

  “I invited you to the Winsol party as a friend,” Daemonar said, setting his books on the table.

  Raine turned away from the window. “I appreciate that, but . . .”

  Daemonar raised a hand to stop the words. “But now you’re concerned that you won’t be seen as an instructor with any authority.”

  “That sums it up.”

  He smiled. “At home, in our eyrie, my father is my father—most of the time. I address him as Father, and we argue about things as family, although his decisions are final—unless my mother overrules him. She doesn’t do it often, but when she does, he yields. The Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih rules the valley where I live. His second-in-command can argue with him in private. So can the most trusted Eyrien warriors who work for him. But his word is law, and those men are careful about how they phrase their disagreements. So am I. And then there is the Demon Prince who rules all of Askavi. His word is also law, but when he shows up in a city or village in Askavi, he is there to stand on a killing field as the Queen’s weapon. He is there for slaughter, and everyone knows it. Same man, different titles. You could call it different aspects of the same man, since Father can change to Demon Prince in a heartbeat when he senses a threat of any kind.”

  “Your point?” Raine asked. “Besides a very interesting lesson about your family.”

  “At the town house, you’re a friend. Here you’re my tutor. I don’t have any trouble making the distinction or understanding that different rules apply to each aspect. Courts work the same way. A fluid dance of power.” Daemonar waited a beat. “Rainier understood that.”

  Raine narrowed his eyes. “I can understand Beron knowing Rainier, but you . . . ?”

  It was as if the difference between the long-lived and short-lived races became real, and Raine finally realized the adolescents he was teaching had already lived centuries compared to his twenty-some years.

  “I don’t remember a lot about him,” Daemonar said, “but I know from family stories that he was one of my aunt Surreal’s closest friends.”

  “Perhaps we can meet up for dinner one night. I’d like to hear the stories.” Raine smiled. “Should we get on with this lesson?”

  “One more thing.” Daemonar didn’t return the smile. “If Prince Sadi asks anything of you, don’t ask questions and don’t argue. Just do it.”

  Raine’s smile faded. “Why would he ask anything of me?”

  “Your instincts are good, boyo. Your Dharo friend has potential.”

  Daemonar shrugged. “I don’t know. But if he does, consider it a command, not a request, regardless of how it’s phrased.”

  * * *

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  Would I want Shelby to learn anything from Dhuran or Clayton or Krellis? A Sceltie puppy will trust what humans tell him—until he stops trusting anything most humans tell him.

  Funny how asking that question kept changing things. Where she’d previously heard biting wit when those boys targeted another student, now she heard cruelty.

  “You seem different, Jaenelle Saetien,” Delora had said a couple of days after they’d come back to school. “Did you meet someone over Winsol, enjoy a little romance?”

  “Maybe she learned how to enjoy some petting,” Dhuran said, giving her a look that made her uneasy.

  “Don’t be crude,” Hespera scolded. Then she looked at Jaenelle Saetien from head to toe. “Although, if you want to keep his interest, you should pay more attention to your clothes, darling. You don’t want people to think you’re following your cousin’s example and have started tonguing other girls.”

  “Now you’re being crude,” Delora said. “Jaenelle Saetien just hasn’t had time to switch back to the city style of dressing. I imagine your father doesn’t allow you to look like a sophisticated woman when you’re home. Nothing he can do about your mother’s reputation, but he probably wants you to look like a little girl for as long as possible.”

  She’d worn this outfit on the last day of school before they all went home for Winsol, and Delora had said it was a sleek look for a powerful woman. Now it was childish and only something a rube would wear?

  She had a feeling she was being punished for failing to get Delora and Hespera invited to the party at the town house. But all those two had talked about since they’d returned to sc
hool was how many parties they had attended and how exhausting it was to be so much in demand, so it was just as well they hadn’t been invited to Fat Bat’s little party.

  Zoey didn’t like Delora. Not at all.

  Jaenelle Saetien might have put it down to jealousy because Zoey was a Queen who was barely noticed, while Delora had a way of dazzling students and instructors alike. But there was that word. Dorothea. It bothered her that her father had looked at one of her best friends and had been reminded of a witch who had tortured him. Had done more than torture him.

  She’d been rushing to her last morning class, had intended to meet up with Zoey and Titian for a few minutes beforehand since they were the only girls at the school who could appreciate the excitement and craziness that came with dealing with a kindred Sceltie, especially during puppyhood. She’d received a terse note from Mikal telling her to stop pestering him. Shelby was fine. Breen was fine. They were all working hard on understanding the rules for “pee here, don’t pee there.” Unless she wanted to come home and help him clean up the accidents, there was nothing to say, and when there was, he’d tell her.

  She’d written only five notes in the past few days, asking him for reports on Shelby’s progress. That could hardly be considered pestering.

  “Trouble at home or trouble in love?” Hespera said, suddenly coming up along one side of her.

  “Neither,” she replied, noticing how Delora now walked on her other side, with Leena, Amara, Borsala, and Tacita forming a little pack just behind them.

  “You looked . . . anxious,” Delora said. “We were concerned.”

  Friends cared about friends. Of course they were concerned. And yet she hadn’t told Delora about Shelby, hadn’t even mentioned the puppies, let alone acknowledged how much it mattered to her to have a Sceltie want to be her special friend.

  She hadn’t said anything because she was afraid they would make fun of her for caring about something so rube—and because of that word: Dorothea.

  “We wanted to warn you about him.” Delora made a subtle gesture to indicate one of the boys walking toward the classrooms.

  She recognized him as one of the young Warlords who attended the morning workouts with Daemonar. “Warn me about Nelson? Why?”

  “He’s a slut,” Hespera said. “And a mean one at that. Not only will he give anyone a ride, he tried to use some forceful persuasion on a couple of girls when they said they weren’t interested.”

  A boy who was a slut and also leaned toward rape? Was that possible?

  “Does Zoey know? He’s one of her friends.” Did Daemonar know? Probably not. He wouldn’t have anything to do with a slut. And definitely not a boy who danced on the line of being accused of rape.

  “We thought you should know so you can be careful when you’re around him,” Delora said.

  “Thanks.” Jaenelle Saetien gave Delora a strained smile. “There’s something I need to do. Do you want to meet up for lunch?”

  “Of course.”

  She hurried toward Zoey and Titian. She had to warn them that a boy they considered a friend might not be as honorable as they thought.

  * * *

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  “You think she’ll spread the rumor?” Hespera asked as they continued walking to their next boring class.

  “She’ll spread it. And being the daughter of the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan, her concern will carry more weight.”

  “Serves Nelson right for refusing to go down on his knees to make you happy.”

  Delora smiled. “Yes. It serves him right.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  Daemonar ignored the churning in his gut that had started when he’d come upon Jaenelle Saetien, Titian, and Zoey just in time to overhear Jaenelle Saetien sharing a rumor about Nelson and clearly intending to tell the other girls who were in Zoey and Titian’s group of friends. Promising himself that he’d release some of his anger by sending his uncle a blistering letter informing Prince Sadi of this serious hole in his cousin’s education, he had aimed enough of that anger at the girls to silence their nattering and get an I-will-hurt-you-if-you-break-this promise from each of them that nothing would be said to anyone else until that evening when they would all talk about what Jaenelle Saetien had heard.

  They’d all been shocked by the depth of his anger, which made him a little less pissed off with Uncle Daemon since his anger now stretched to include his father and Lady Zhara for also being negligent. Then a nugget of common sense helped him consider that the difference in his age and the girls’ could account for his deeper level of understanding about the consequences of that particular rumor. Telling a lie about something had always brought out the sharp side of Lucivar’s temper—and Daemon’s, too, for that matter—but telling a lie about someone . . . The price for that kind of lie was always steep—and not a price Lucivar or Daemon would have required a daughter to witness. And when he was the girls’ age, Lucivar hadn’t allowed him to stand witness either. But just a few years ago, he’d been permitted to stand witness and had watched the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih use an Eyrien club to break a man to pieces for spreading lies that had resulted in another man killing his wife.

  The execution had been brutal and merciless. Since there was no law against murder among the Blood, the man who had killed his wife received no official punishment, but less than a month later, he made arrangements for his children to visit his wife’s family and he disappeared. A few days after that, the High Lord informed the Demon Prince of a man, newly transformed to demon-dead, who had arrived in Hell searching for his wife, hoping that she, too, had made the transition and was somewhere in the Dark Realm.

  So he knew, as the girls did not, that Jaenelle Saetien could be in serious trouble.

  * * *

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  He wanted a place that was neutral ground, so Daemonar didn’t hesitate to pull rank on Prince Raine and get the instructor’s reluctant permission to use the room that served as Raine’s office and tutorial space. Lady Fharra wasn’t happy about Lord Weston and his men standing guard over Zoey even in the girls’ dormitory. She would have screamed the roof off the building if she’d known about Prince Chaosti and the fist of demon-dead Dea al Mon warriors who were guarding Zoey, Titian, and Jaenelle Saetien at night. And considering the subject they were here to discuss, it was better for a man of Daemonar’s age not to be seen in the girls’ dormitory.

  Raine had insisted on being present, and Daemonar had agreed—mostly because he wanted the Dharo Prince to see firsthand that courts, and families, had a dangerous side usually only seen by those involved—or those who were killed.

  Jaenelle Saetien, Zoey, and Titian had slipped out of their rooms, wrapped in sight shields to avoid detection. None of the girls was happy about seeing the men in the room, but Zoey looked more resigned than surprised to find Raine and Weston at this meeting. Judging by her squirming, Jaenelle Saetien hadn’t realized this would be more than a family discussion and that she would have to explain things to adults who had some authority.

  Everyone in the room except him looked stunned—and frightened—when Chaosti walked in and put a Gray shield around the room and a Gray lock on the door.

  “Prince Yaslana,” Chaosti said.

  Daemonar stood and gave the other Warlord Prince the small bow that indicated respect as well as acknowledged Chaosti’s darker Jewel. He introduced everyone else in the room, including Titian. He’d known the High Lord’s second-in-command his whole life, but he didn’t think his sister had ever met the Dea al Mon Warlord Prince. He was certain Jaenelle Saetien had not, although he knew Aunt Surreal had taken her to visit the Dea al Mon who came from the same clan as Surreal’s mother.

  Zoey’s reaction was the most interesting. After the initial shock, he could see her thinking hard about why this particular man was in the room—and what it might mean.

  He’d bet a hundred gol
d marks that she would write a report tonight and send it to Uncle Daemon by special messenger in the morning. He wasn’t willing to bet on how his uncle would reply.

  Chaosti tipped his head to the three witches, then focused those large forest-blue eyes on Jaenelle Saetien. “Now, little Sister, tell us about this boy you claim has not only abandoned his honor but has also threatened the well-being of young witches.”

  “It’s not true,” Zoey growled. She sat on the edge of her chair, her hands curled into fists.

  Chaosti simply looked at her. She met his look for ten heartbeats before she lowered her eyes and yielded.

  “Lady SaDiablo?” Chaosti said. “Tell us the names of the girls who have used this boy—and the names of the girls he attempted to violate.”

  “I don’t know,” Jaenelle Saetien said hurriedly, “but that’s not important. Everyone knows—”

  “The names are everything, little Sister.” Chaosti stared at her. “These are serious accusations. You told two others and would have told more if Prince Yaslana hadn’t insisted that you curb your tongue until we could meet tonight. If you were going to tell others, then you must know the names of the girls who used this boy and the names of the girls he tried to use.”

  “I—”

  “Jaenelle Saetien, this is an official inquiry being conducted by a Gray-Jeweled Warlord Prince,” Daemonar interrupted. “‘Forceful persuasion’ means attempted rape. This will be reported to the Queen of Amdarh and the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan. If any of what you told Zoey and Titian is true, Nelson will be castrated for the offense, if not executed outright. In telling other people what you heard, you were willing to smear Nelson’s honor and possibly be the voice that was instrumental in his forfeiting his life. You have to know the names, and you have to tell Prince Chaosti now.”

 

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