by Anne Bishop
*Thank you, Lady,* he said on an Ebon-gray thread.
He launched himself skyward and caught the Ebon-gray Wind. Then he deliberately flung himself off that Web and fell in the Darkness, just catching the edge of the next bolt of black lightning.
Using all his strength and skill, Lucivar rode the lightning to SaDiablo Hall.
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
Holt walked toward one of the Warlord intruders and the girl who was trying to free herself from the bastard’s tight hold on one arm while he rubbed the knuckles of her hand.
“If you loved me,” the boy began.
“Can I help?” Holt interrupted, not looking at the girl or breaking his stride.
The Warlord scowled at him. “Just go about your business.”
“I will.” Holt smiled as he took a last step, grabbed the Warlord’s shirt, and turned his fist so that the Jewel in his ring pressed against the bastard’s chest. Then he unleashed a jolt of power from his Opal Jewel. That small amount of power, used on someone who wore a Jewel lighter than the spell’s wielder, wouldn’t pulp the heart or sear the lungs, but it would seize all the muscles in a person’s chest and hurt so much, it brought a person to his knees.
Jaenelle Angelline had taught him that defensive spell, and he’d used it over the years when a visiting guest or servant at the Hall tried to cross a line that shouldn’t be crossed.
As the Warlord’s legs buckled, Holt used Craft to float him on air. Then he turned to the girl. One of Lady Zoela’s friends. “Come with me. I’ll get you to a safe place, and the housekeeper will look after you.”
He headed for the nearest servants’ staircase, summoning two footmen who would take over and escort the girl the rest of the way while he took the Warlord to the austere accommodations that were deep beneath the Hall.
It was winter and the corridors in the Hall tended to be chilly, despite the warming spells Prince Sadi replenished regularly. Since the girl was wearing long sleeves, he couldn’t tell if she carried any bruises from the Warlord’s rough handling. Helene would find out and make a careful record of every one.
The number and placement of the bruises would matter to Prince Sadi when it came time for this bastard’s execution.
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
It was like having excessively large mousers roaming the corridors as they hunted for vermin, Beale thought as the Sceltie trotted toward him, her teeth in the sleeve of the male’s coat as the dog used Craft to float the body.
Wouldn’t have been possible for something the Sceltie’s size to lug the deadweight of an adolescent male without knowing that bit of Craft. And that male was definitely dead. Judging by the way the head bounced and flopped, it had taken one swat from an angry cat to snap the neck.
Kaelas, the shadow cat in question, also moved toward him, with one of Lady Zoela’s friends clinging to him, a bruise already forming on her face from cheek to jaw. In fact, the girl was holding on so tight, if this had been the real cat, she would have been choking him.
“Can you help me?” she asked, her voice breathy.
He recognized the significance of that breathy voice. He wasn’t a coward, but he wanted to get her into someone else’s hands before the hysterical weeping began. “Yes,” he said. “We have a safe place for all of you.”
“Can he stay with me?” Her hands, buried in all that white fur, must have tightened a little more since the cat actually grunted in response.
“Of course,” Beale said. Then to the Sceltie, *Take the carrion downstairs. Holt will show you where we are keeping them for the High Lord.*
The Sceltie stopped, thought for a moment, then used Craft to pass through an interior wall, taking the body with her.
Except for one foot and a shoe.
Well, the dog was young, and passing through a solid wall was a practiced skill.
Setting aside his task of locking down various wings of the Hall, Beale escorted girl and cat to the guest rooms where Helene and the maids were waiting.
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
Zoey dropped her fork, startling the other girls at the table.
The senior footmen inside the dining room snapped to attention.
“What’s wrong?” Titian asked.
“I don’t feel good. I think there’s something in the food.”
“But it’s one of your favorite dishes. Maybe Mrs. Beale uses different spices?”
Zoey shook her head. Beads of sweat sprang up on her forehead. “Something bad in the food. Take that dish so no one discards it. Black Widows should test . . .”
Titian stared at her friend. Black Widows should test it? That meant . . .
Mother Night. Poisoned?
Zoey swallowed hard. She looked scared. “Titian, I’m sick.”
Titian put a shield around Zoey’s plate and vanished it. Then she rushed to the buffet table, put shields around the serving dishes that held every food Zoey had taken, and vanished those too.
“Lady Titian?” one of the footmen said.
The other girls were huddled around Zoey, who was panting and saying, “I can’t, I won’t, I need . . .” She started to cry.
Titian put her arms around Zoey and hauled her friend away from the table. “Zoey’s sick,” she told the footmen. “We need Beale. And we need a Healer. And maybe a Black Widow.”
“This way,” one footman said, escorting them out of the dining room.
The other senior footman turned toward the front of the Hall, then hesitated and said, “No way out.”
“What does that mean?” Titian asked, alarmed. “Zoey needs help right now.”
“We’ll find Beale,” the footman assured her. “He’ll find a way to get a message to someone in Halaway.”
The other footman eyed the two younger footmen, who looked nervous and guilty. “And I’ll find out how this happened.”
“Bedroom . . . too far,” Zoey whimpered. “Don’t want . . . bed. No bed.”
What had been put in the food to make her sweat like that—and make Zoey’s psychic scent have the tang it held when they were kissing but was twisted up somehow?
“Come on,” Titian said. “The sitting room is closer.”
*Daemonar? Where are you? We need help!*
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
“I don’t need protecting, Dharo Boy,” Mrs. Beale said as she put an extra shield around the larder and pantry. Her Yellow Jewel wouldn’t keep anyone out for long, but it would tell her there was an intruder trying to mess with her supplies.
“I know that,” he replied, keeping up with her. “But even a strong witch should have someone watching her back when there are enemies in the house.”
Huh. Couldn’t argue the point, but whoever would have thought that a descendant of Lord Dillon would be the one standing with her to defend guests in this house?
Sounds of a struggle. In her kitchen!
She strode into the big room and saw a boy pinned to her worktable. He struggled against the phantom restraints as the girl grabbed his hair and tried to pour something into his mouth.
“You’ll like it,” the girl said, smiling viciously.
“No! I don’t want . . .” He choked as some of the liquid went down his throat.
Nothing but fear in the boy’s psychic scent, and something ugly in the girl’s.
Mrs. Beale was a big woman, and it took only moments for her to cover the distance between the store rooms and the table.
The Dharo Boy made some sound of angry protest and leaped toward the table.
The girl looked up, her face twisted with malicious glee.
Mrs. Beale called in her meat cleaver.
Whack! Thwack!
She had the girl off the boy and shielded before the body voided one drop onto her clea
n kitchen floor.
The boy scrambled away from the body with its almost severed neck and spine. The Dharo Boy grabbed him and got him to the sink before he began to vomit.
The Dharo Boy looked at her, his face drained of all color. But he nodded, and that nod told her he was worthy of her time to train him—and worthy of serving in this house.
Maybe it was time for her to learn his name.
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
As Jaenelle Saetien left the sitting room, she saw Titian and the other girls clustered around Zoey.
She ran to meet them. “What happened?”
“Zoey’s sick,” Titian said fiercely. “Someone put something in the food to make Zoey sick.”
Someone meaning Delora or one of her friends.
“Don’t be—” The dismissive remark had become automatic when Zoey or Titian criticized Delora. Then Jaenelle Saetien remembered the look on Hespera’s face when the girl walked up to them.
A prank taken too far? Or something more serious, more sinister?
Hell’s fire, now she was suspicious of everything Delora or Hespera did.
You should be, some long-ignored part of her whispered.
“We’ll find Beale. He’ll summon the Healer in the village,” she said. “Let’s get Zoey to bed.”
“No!” Zoey cried. “No bed! No . . .” She collapsed, almost pulling Titian down with her.
“Zoey not feeling well?” Krellis asked as he, Delora, Hespera, and Dhuran strolled into the great hall, followed by most of the other boys and girls who obeyed every snap of Delora’s fingers. “I know what ails her, and I have just the thing that will fix her up, right and proper.”
Zoey gave Krellis a look of lust mixed with disgust and fear. “Stay away from me.”
“That won’t help.” Krellis gave her a sharp smile and took a step closer.
“Krellis,” Jaenelle Saetien said. “Leave her alone. She’s not well. She needs a Healer.”
“That’s not what she needs.”
“Hurry up,” Delora said.
Krellis pushed aside the other girls and made a grab for Zoey.
Jaenelle Saetien made a grab for Krellis and was shoved out of the way by Delora.
Titian called in a sparring stick and jabbed him in the gut. When he stumbled back, she formed a Summer-sky shield around herself and Zoey, then formed another one. With her hands tight on the sparring stick, she spread her wings partway, settled her feet in a fighting stance, and faced Krellis.
“Stay out of this,” Delora hissed at Jaenelle Saetien.
Finally having some idea of what this friendship was going to cost, Jaenelle Saetien bared her teeth and said, “Go to Hell.”
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
Hell’s fire, Daemonar thought as he stepped off the landing web and strode to the Hall’s front door, probing warily at the power he felt around the massive building. Black shields around the entire Hall? Not good.
He called in his Eyrien club. He’d rather lose that weapon than his war blade—or his hand—if Uncle Daemon had shaped an aggressive shield that would strike at any power that struck at it. A passive shield would be better, safer for sure, but would keep him out just as easily.
Wrapping himself in a tight Green shield, Daemonar used Craft to open the door just to see if he could. Then he used the club to push the door open a little more.
Nothing happened. Except he couldn’t withdraw the part of the club that had passed through the shield.
Shit. The shield wasn’t shaped to keep people out; it had been made to keep people—and everything else—in. It wasn’t a fancy shield, unless you considered the size of the building it covered, but anyone inside was nothing more than a mouse trapped in a maze.
The prudent thing to do was try to reach Uncle Daemon. If Sadi was inside, then he should contact Halaway’s Master of the Guard and leave a message for his father. If Sadi wasn’t there, then . . .
Titian screamed. In fear? In warning? He couldn’t tell—and it didn’t matter.
Daemonar shoved the door open, passed through the shield, and raised the club, prepared to beat the shit out of whoever was scaring his sister.
He saw Krellis, Dhuran, and a handful of other boys from the school.
“Now!” Krellis shouted.
Several blasts of power hit his Green shield before he took another step into the great hall. He struck back with a bolt of Green, blowing out the knees of one of the boys.
Screams from the girls and the sizzle of power against shields.
Deal with the fight in front of you, or you won’t get to the fight you need to reach.
Ignoring the strikes against his shield, he swung the club, taking out another of the boys by shattering the prick-ass’s hip.
A moment when everything seemed to stop. Then Krellis, Dhuran, and the remaining boys all sent blasts of power against his left side. He tried to counter, tried to bolster his shield, but he had committed to another strike against a boy standing on his right and couldn’t adjust fast enough. He felt a bone in his left forearm break, felt ribs break before he formed another shield.
Not just a fight with the odds against him. Whatever was happening here, Krellis wanted him dead. And that left him no choice.
Vanishing the Eyrien club, Daemonar called in his war blade—and stepped onto a killing field.
THIRTY-NINE
Go to Hell,” Jaenelle Saetien said.
“You’ll go with me,” Delora replied, “so you might as well have some fun.”
That was all the warning she had before Delora, Hespera, Leena, and Tacita unleashed their power against Titian’s Summer-sky shield.
Titian screamed out of fear or defiance as her first shield broke. She quickly shaped another one behind the shield that still held.
“We don’t want you, Fat Bat,” Hespera said. “Get out of the way, and we’ll let you go. This time.”
“But Zoey is a problem and will always be a problem,” Delora said. “Since Krellis can’t deal with her in his way, I’ll deal with her in mine. It makes no difference if she’s broken or dead; she’ll no longer be a rival.”
“The bat has arrived,” Dhuran said, staring at the front door. “Can’t mistake that psychic stink.”
“Then we’ll deal with him once and for all,” Krellis snarled. He pointed here and there, arranging the other boys to attack whoever opened the door.
“Stop this,” Jaenelle Saetien said as Delora and the other girls struck Titian’s shield again, breaking another one and weakening the one behind it.
“When I’m finished,” Delora replied.
Then Daemonar walked into the great hall—and Krellis and the other boys attacked, unleashing the power in their Jewels against Daemonar’s Green shield.
“No!” she screamed. Daemonar was fighting like a warrior dealing with untrained bullies instead of boys who wanted to kill him.
His Green shield broke, just for a moment, and strikes on his left side . . .
She saw the pain in his face—and she heard Titian scream as the last shield her cousin could shape with the Summer-sky’s reservoir of power broke, leaving Titian and Zoey vulnerable.
Then a midnight voice rose up from somewhere deep in the abyss.
Choose.
Daemonar called in his war blade and turned the great hall into a killing field.
Delora and Hespera gathered their power for the strike that would permanently damage or even kill Titian and Zoey.
Jaenelle Saetien stepped between her cousin and the girls she’d thought were friends and formed a defensive shield that flickered wildly with all the colors in her Twilight’s Dawn Jewel as Delora’s and Hespera’s power hit the shield.
Seeing Leena and Tacita sidling toward the other girls who were clustered near Zoey, Jaene
lle Saetien extended her shield to protect the rest of Zoey’s friends.
“Bitch,” Delora said, her fury fixed on Jaenelle Saetien. “I should have known you didn’t have the spine to be a true aristo.”
Then dark power flooded the Hall, and with it, a sexual heat that slammed into Jaenelle Saetien, shattering some protective barrier and producing a flash flood of excruciating arousal unlike anything she’d felt before—and never wanted to feel again.
Titian gasped. Zoey wailed. Daemonar, closest to the front door, almost fell to his knees before he regained some balance.
Jaenelle Saetien stood there, caught by the heat like everyone else, while hope warred with terror.
Her father—some part of her father—had returned.
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
Daemon stepped off the landing web and glided toward the open front door, his gold eyes glazed and sleepy, his lips curved in a sweetly murderous smile as the screams and sounds of fighting reached him.
His sexual heat, free of all restraint, rolled through the Hall, ensnaring everyone, making them all desperately pliable to whatever game he wanted to play—even if the game killed them.
His sexual heat wasn’t the only aspect that was free of all restraint.
As the Sadist stepped into the great hall, he cataloged the people, the power, the invaders who had soiled his home. With each step, the air around him grew colder. The pond of blood on the floor froze as he surveyed everyone within sight and let Black psychic threads locate everyone else.
The Green-Jeweled Warlord Prince. He knew that psychic scent, knew the Sadist was not permitted to touch the boy who met his eyes briefly before making a small bow to acknowledge dominance. He noted the face made older by pain and the way the boy held himself. Injured. Well, that would require some discipline, but not from him.
The other males who were still among the living were swiftly wrapped in phantom chains of Black power. So were the girls who were his enemies. The girls who stood behind a shield that flickered with the Rose through Green of Twilight’s Dawn? They would be gently confined until he was ready to step away from the killing edge and deal with them.