The Queen's Weapons

by Anne Bishop

  Surreal laughed. “Oh, sugar, if you really believe the coven of malice wants to get along with a Queen like Zoey, then you have not been paying attention.” She gave Jaenelle Saetien a strange look. “But I’ve paid attention, and all of my knives are honed. Something for your little friends to think about before they start any trouble.”

  “They aren’t going to . . .”

  Surreal walked away, not even listening to her.

  Her parents were going to spoil this house party!

  She went into the bedroom to inspect the clothes that had been brought from her bedroom in the family wing. A couple of her favorite dresses, probably the ones she would have picked for the evening. But she hadn’t been able to choose, had she?

  One of Uncle Lucivar’s sayings suddenly popped into her head: kick a pebble, start an avalanche.

  If she’d been honest about the guest list, if she’d done the courteous thing and sent a message to her father about being delayed, would everything be different now?

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Responding to Beale’s flash of anger, Daemon rose to the killing edge as he strode toward the Hall’s open front door. A slower-burning anger came from Tarl, the head gardener, who stood in the doorway holding a short-handled scythe.

  Then Daemon focused on the young Warlord dressed in a messenger’s livery—and the Sadist instantly embraced cold rage.

  Everything about the boy felt wrong, but . . . wrong in a way that made him hesitate.

  *Saw him arrive, then keep low and quiet for a few minutes before coming to the door,* Tarl said on a psychic thread.

  *He said the message was for you, personal and urgent, then tried to hand it to me,* Beale told Daemon. *No stationmaster would send an untrained boy with an urgent message.*

  That was true. If there was no one else, the stationmaster would have brought the message himself instead of entrusting it to someone who would wait outside for several minutes before delivering an urgent message to the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan.

  Until that moment, he had hoped he’d been wrong about some part—any part—of this sordid game that Jaenelle Saetien had brought into his home along with her friends. Now he had to play his part in the game and hope the bloody and painful result would be worth the cost.

  He heard female chatter and giggles as Jaenelle Saetien’s friends came down the stairs to the informal sitting room. Since there was another staircase that provided a more direct route between the guest rooms assigned to the girls and the dining room, the only reason to be near the great hall was if someone knew something was about to happen.

  Perfect timing, Daemon thought as some of the girls entered the great hall from the informal sitting room while others crowded the doorway. He indicated that Beale should accept the message. Then he looked at Tarl. *As soon as our little friend is out of sight of our guests, take him to the stables and lock him in. Full shields so he can’t contact anyone. Can you handle that?*

  *I can and will,* Tarl replied.

  *When he bleats about needing to deliver other messages, which he will if he’s been coached properly, offer to send a message to the stationmaster explaining the delay. But he stays here, isolated, until I know who sent him.*

  Tarl stepped out of the way. The messenger bolted, his heels barely crossing the threshold before Beale closed the door, preventing anyone from seeing that the messenger never made it to the landing web to catch one of the Winds and escape.

  “What’s going on?” a girl asked loudly.

  “Let me through,” Surreal said, coming up behind the girls.

  Daemon saw two of the girls look back, roll their eyes, and make no effort to move. He almost smiled when Surreal used an arrow-shaped shield to shove the girls out of her way.

  Then he noticed his daughter, who looked horrified—not at the girls’ insolence in refusing to yield to a Gray-Jeweled witch in her own home, but at Surreal taking a direct approach to removing the obstacle. Remembering why he had to play his part, Daemon opened the sealed message.

  “Sadi?” One side of Surreal’s long skirt flashed open, revealing the sheathed knife strapped to her thigh.

  He handed her the message. She read it and stared at him.

  “The special school is under attack?” Fierce anger turned her face hard. “Those children have endured enough. If someone is trying to hurt anyone at the school, I will skin the bastards alive and feed them to the hounds of Hell.”

  He wondered if anyone realized Surreal could, and would, do exactly that—especially if he helped her.

  When she turned toward the door, Daemon caught her wrist. “You go on ahead and sound the battle cry. Have the District Queens call up every guard under their hands and tell them to be ready to fight. And tell them every girl in their villages is at risk until we say otherwise, and it is their duty to keep those girls safe, no matter who they have to kill. I’ll join you as soon as I take care of things here.” As he let her go, he added on a psychic thread, *I’ll check the school for half-Blood children. You check your sanctuary, just in case the message was real.*

  “Lord Holt, have the large Coach brought to the landing web,” Daemon said.

  “At once,” his secretary replied, stepping outside.

  Since it wasn’t necessary to leave the Hall in order to summon the Coach and driver, Daemon thought Holt’s exit was a bit theatrical, but it gave the Warlord an excuse to scan the grounds around the front of the Hall.

  That much done, he turned his attention to the girls.

  They were all there. Jaenelle Saetien stood in front of the group. Zoey and Titian stood to one side, arms linked. It only took moments for the young Queen to make eye contact with each of her friends, and those friends all moved a little closer together, separating themselves from Delora and her coven of malice.

  “Ladies, as you heard, there has been a reported attack on a special school that is run by the SaDiablo family. Lady Surreal and I have to investigate, which means I must return you to the school in Amdarh immediately. There’s no time for you to go back to your rooms. My staff will take care of packing your things and returning them to you. We leave now.”

  He watched Zoey nudge Titian, urging her toward the front door in order to obey him. He saw Delora give Jaenelle Saetien a nudge and a hard look. Did she really believe he wouldn’t notice?

  But his daughter leaped forward and said in a voice dangerously close to a whine, “Why can’t we stay here and have our party? We’ll be fine here.”

  “The girls can’t stay here without Lady Surreal or me in attendance.” The chill in his voice should have warned her, but that bitch gave her another nudge and was probably coaching her on a distaff thread in what to say to convince him.

  “It’s not like we’ll be alone,” Jaenelle Saetien wheedled. “Beale will be here, and he wears a Red Jewel.”

  Oh, yes, he does, and in this, it is the Jewel that counts, my darling. “You will follow any orders Lord Beale gives and accept any decisions he makes as if they were mine?” he asked.

  She looked relieved. “Yes.”

  He scanned the girls’ faces, noting the different expressions. Then he focused on his daughter as Holt returned.

  “Lady Jaenelle Saetien SaDiablo, do you swear to me, the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan, that you will abide by all orders given and decisions made by Lord Beale on my behalf? Do you swear on your Jewels that you will keep this promise, regardless of anyone else’s wishes?”

  She looked startled and uneasy to be required to make a formal promise, but said, “Yes, I swear.”

  “Lady Zoela, do you stand witness?”

  Zoey sucked in a breath. Then she nodded and said, “I stand witness.”

  “Lord Holt, do you stand witness?”

  “I stand witness,” Holt replied.

  Daemon kept his eyes on his daughter and said softly, “This isn
’t a game, and it isn’t a bluff.” He looked at Delora, then back at Jaenelle Saetien. “If there is any trouble here while I’m gone, you will not be the only one who will forfeit your power and your Jewel.”

  Before he walked out of the Hall, he touched Zoey’s first inner barrier with the lightest psychic thread he could manage at that moment, but it didn’t hide anything. He felt some regret that his touch revealed the full measure of who, and what, he was. *If you feel uneasy about anything or anyone, find Beale or Holt. They’ll protect you.*

  *I will.* She swallowed hard. *Good hunting, Prince.*

  He admired the courage it took to say those words to him at that moment.

  Leaving the Hall, Daemon glided toward the landing web that was circled by the gravel drive. Using Craft, he moved the large Coach to one side. Then he caught the Black Wind, and headed for the school for half-Blood children.

  * * *

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  Delora looked at Hespera, who shook her head to indicate she hadn’t been able to slip into the dining room yet and add a little surprise to a couple of dishes.

  Damn.

  “Why don’t we spend a few minutes in the sitting room?” she said brightly. “No one in real aristo houses goes directly from their rooms to dinner.”

  “But we were late getting here, and the food is ready,” Jaenelle Saetien said.

  “You said it was a buffet. If the cook is any good, the food will keep.”

  Jaenelle Saetien gave the butler a nervous glance but said, “I guess we could visit in the sitting room for a few minutes.”

  Delora felt a fizz of excitement as Hespera, covered by the movement of the other girls, wrapped herself in a sight shield and headed for the dining room, with Tacita, in plain sight, walking with her to act as a diversion. “A few minutes is all we’ll need.” For a lot of things, she added silently.

  * * *

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  *Prince Chaosti.*

  About to enter the girls’ dormitory to check on Arlene and Jhett, the Healer and Black Widow who hadn’t gone to the house party, Chaosti stepped back and waited for one of his demon-dead Warlords.

  The need to serve and protect doesn’t always end with the physical death, Chaosti thought. This fist of Dea al Mon men had been with him when he’d walked among the living. They were among the men who were still with him.

  “Report,” he said quietly when the Warlord reached him.

  “I found that Dharo Prince challenging the gatekeeper, demanding to know which boys had left the school. The gatekeeper denied that any of the boys had left, but friends of Lady Zoela told Prince Raine that the males who serve the coven of malice slipped away from the school and forced two of Zoela’s male friends to go with them.”

  “And the gatekeeper denied they had left school grounds?” Chaosti sent out Gray psychic threads, a web of power that would sweep under the power of the school’s residents. He couldn’t identify every individual, but he’d made a point of recognizing specific ones. And those males weren’t here. Which meant the gatekeeper had lied to Raine. “Inform the gatekeeper that he can tell you the truth or he can explain himself to the High Lord of Hell.”

  “Already did that—and kissed the bastard’s throat with my blade to make sure he understood. After that, he admitted that Krellis and the others who serve that bitch Delora, as well as two of Zoela’s friends, left the school and didn’t tell him where they were going. He’d been given a hefty sum of silver marks not to record their leaving so that everyone would think they were still at the school.”

  Which might have worked if he and his men hadn’t been here tonight—and if Raine hadn’t called attention to the gatekeeper letting those males slip away.

  “Tell Prince Raine to pack a bag, enough for a couple of days. Then go to Zoela’s male friends and help them pack. I’ll fetch Ladies Jhett and Arlene, and we’ll take all of them to the SaDiablo town house.”

  “Done,” the Warlord said. He hurried toward the boys’ dormitory, no doubt using a psychic thread to relay Chaosti’s orders to the Dharo Prince.

  Not bothering to sight-shield, Chaosti entered the girls’ dormitory. A sudden spike of fear and anger—and something male and rancid—struck his senses and ignited his temper. He raced down the corridor and bounded up the stairs to the second-floor bedrooms.

  His Gray power splintered the door of the Black Widow’s room. She and the Healer were there, their teeth bared in fury and their faces filled with the pain of their moontimes as they used short-handled clubs to hold off the two males whose psychic scents were rank with twisted lust.

  Chaosti called in his Dea al Mon fighting knives and shouted his battle cry as he strode into the room. The males spun around—and his knives, honed for killing fields, slid into their bodies and sliced through their hearts. He pulled out his knives, put shields around the bodies as they fell, then vanished the newly dead.

  He almost pitied them because they would have to stand before the High Lord of Hell’s cold and merciless rage.

  “Ladies.” He noted with approval that the girls hadn’t relaxed their fighting stance. “I am Prince Chaosti. I served in the Queen of Ebon Askavi’s First Circle, and I still serve in her name. I am known to the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan and have been assisting Lord Weston in guarding Lady Zoela.” Credentials were everything in a situation like this, and lying about these credentials went beyond suicidal.

  There were other things that needed to be done, but he waited.

  “Does Prince Daemonar know you?” Lady Jhett finally asked.

  He smiled. “In-close fighting with a short-handled club is something Daemonar learned from me.”

  Another excruciating moment while they considered his words. Then they nodded and lowered the clubs.

  “You must pack a bag with enough clothes and supplies for a couple of days,” he said. “I will escort you to the SaDiablo town house. You will be better protected there.”

  “Zoey,” Arlene said.

  “She’ll be protected,” he promised.

  He stepped into the corridor and watched Arlene hurry to her own room to pack. Then he sent out a call on a psychic spear thread. Daemon Sadi didn’t answer, so he sent out a summons to another of the Queen’s weapons.

  *Daemonar.*

  *Chaosti?*

  *Krellis and the other males who are known to serve Delora’s coven have disappeared, but two males who associate with them just attacked the Black Widow and Healer who stayed behind.*

  *Were the girls harmed?*

  *No. You taught them well, Brother.* He paused. *I can’t reach Daemon.*

  *I’ll go to the Hall. Beron is at the town house.*

  *I’ll bring the Ladies there, along with Prince Raine and the boys who may also be vulnerable to attack.*

  *Weston,* Daemonar said.

  *I’ll tell him, and he’ll inform Lady Zhara’s Master of the Guard.* And within minutes of that message, every guard who served Zhara and every Warlord Prince who lived in the city would be on the move, ready to fight.

  Everything had a price, and the price for whatever mischief the coven of malice was making tonight would be steep.

  * * *

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  “Prince Chaosti is bringing students from the school. They need protection,” Daemonar told Helton and Beron. “Prince Raine will also be staying here until things are settled. I’m going to the Hall to inform Prince Sadi that some of the boys have left the school without supplying a destination.” And if Uncle Daemon wasn’t there for some reason, he would be there to stand between his sister and the enemy.

  “Go,” Beron said. “We’ll take care of things here.”

  Daemonar took a moment to check his weapons—fighting knife, Eyrien club, and his Eyrien war blade. He vanished all of them, then ran out of the town house, launched himself skyward, caught
the nearest thread of a Green Web, and rode that Wind toward the Hall with all the skill he had.

  * * *

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  Titian watched the way Delora and Hespera moved around the sitting room, making cutting remarks about the furniture and carpets being old-fashioned or how some of the decorations were beyond quaint. Jaenelle Saetien looked so embarrassed, Titian felt sorry for her cousin and wanted to point out that Delora and Hespera were probably saying those things because they couldn’t recognize the quality of the Dharo carpets on the floor, and that beautiful crystal sculpture displayed on a hand-carved side table probably cost more than the income either of their families made in a year.

  There was age and power in this place—and the weight of memories of someone who had lived here and been beloved. And was still beloved.

  “We stay together,” Zoey said quietly. “We’ll ask Lord Beale to escort us to our rooms right after dinner. There is a common room in that square. We’ll stay there, together, until Prince Sadi returns.”

  “But I need to . . . ,” one of the girls began, then blushed.

  “It’s a buffet,” Titian said. “We can go in and eat now. There will be plenty of footmen on duty to escort people to the nearest water closet.”

  Zoey sucked in air between her teeth as Delora moved in a kind of slithering dance toward the sitting room’s large windows—and opened two of them, despite the cold winter air. Moments later, Krellis, Dhuran, Clayton, and several more of Delora’s male friends climbed into the room. Krellis’s eyes glittered as he looked at Delora and then focused on Zoey.

  “This is a girls-only party,” Jaenelle Saetien said, sounding alarmed. “You can’t be here.” She turned to Delora. “They can’t be here.”

  “Of course they can,” Delora purred. “They came all this way to have some fun with us.”