by Anne Bishop
“Touching?”
“Yeah.” He kissed the top of her head and eased back. “I’ll have Beale bring up a meal for the two of you. And some food for Allis.”
“Zoey will be going home soon, won’t she?”
“Tomorrow or the day after.”
“Will we go home too? I want to go home, Papa.”
“We’ll go home. Daemonar too.” He wanted his children out of Dhemlan and away from the storm that was coming.
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
“You sure about this?” Surreal asked.
Daemonar nodded. “We’re heading home, and I don’t know when Titian and I will be back to visit. There are things I want to say.”
“Don’t expect her to listen.” She opened the bedroom door. “Five minutes, boyo.”
“Thanks, Aunt Surreal.”
Daemonar walked into Jaenelle Saetien’s bedroom and felt the Gray lock on the door reengage. Jaenelle Saetien sprang up from the reading chair, her face lighting up when she saw him.
“I came to say good-bye,” he said.
The pleasure at seeing him faded. “Good-bye?”
“We’re heading home. Don’t know when we’ll be back.” If ever.
That possibility troubled him. There were people at the Hall and in Halaway who meant a lot to him, and he didn’t want to stay away from them.
“My father hasn’t come to see me,” Jaenelle Saetien said.
Is he that angry? That was what Daemonar heard under the words that were spoken.
“He’s not here.” He studied his cousin. Did she really not understand, or did she hope if she kept downplaying her part in what had happened, her father would make all the unpleasantness go away and everything would go back to the way it had been?
“Where is he?” she asked.
“I don’t know.” Since he understood some things about Uncle Daemon, he had a good idea of where Sadi was—and why he was there.
“You’re still angry with me.” She sounded subdued.
“I am. I expect I will be for a while.”
“Why? All I did—”
“Was open your arms and let the enemy walk in,” he snapped.
She rallied enough to push back. “Well, you killed some of the guests!”
“Intruders. Enemies. And I didn’t kill enough of them!”
They glared at each other. She looked away first.
“I really believed Delora wanted to mend her differences with Zoey,” she finally said. “I made a mistake.”
“You did, and I hope you’re prepared for whatever price you have to pay.”
Awkward silence. He took a step back, more than ready to leave.
“You’re not going to forgive me, are you?”
He hesitated. “You’re my cousin, and I love you. So I guess I will. But not today. Not tomorrow. Maybe once these bones fully heal and Titian stops crying in her sleep, maybe then I can forgive you because, when it really counted, you remembered who you used to be and protected Titian and Zoey. If you hadn’t, Delora and Hespera would have killed them.”
The door opened. He walked out, flinching when Jaenelle Saetien started to cry.
He and Surreal walked to the great hall in silence. When he saw the grim expression on his father’s face, he wondered what else had happened.
“Titian?” he asked.
“She and Zoey are in the informal sitting room. We’ll take Zoey to Amdarh on our way home.”
Which would give the two girls a little more time together.
“Problem?” Surreal asked.
Lucivar handed her a stack of papers, professionally bound, but it looked like the printer had been in a hurry.
Or very, very frightened.
Lucivar handed him the second stack. “You are old enough, and you need to know.”
The heading on the top page read: The following individuals were executed in accordance with Blood law. The debts they owed were paid in full.
Mother Night! Daemonar thought as he began to read.
Krellis. Dhuran. Clayton. Every male connected with the coven of malice who had come to the Hall during the house party, along with a couple more names he knew from school.
That was chilling enough. What he was sure was going to shake Dhemlan, to say nothing of the rest of the Realm, was the signature.
Daemon Sadi. Warlord Prince of Dhemlan. High Lord of Hell.
The rest of the pages listed each boy, and the girls he had raped, the girls he had broken, the where and when and how and why and his accomplices, both male and female, as well as the drugs that had been used. It listed each girl’s Birthright Jewel—if she’d been old enough to have gone through the Birthright Ceremony. A few of the girls . . . So young!
“Well,” Surreal said, her voice shaking, “Sadi isn’t hiding his claws anymore, is he?”
“No,” Lucivar agreed. He gave Surreal a long look. “Having heard Saetan’s stories about how being the High Lord of Hell had made things difficult for Mephis and Peyton when they were growing up, Daemon gave you and Jaenelle Saetien as much time as he could before publicly acknowledging that title. More time than he should have, considering . . . this.” He tipped his head to indicate the great hall.
Daemonar thought for a minute, then silently agreed. Delora might have targeted the daughter of the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan, somehow ignoring the fury of a Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince, but would she have been foolish enough to target the daughter of the High Lord of Hell? Maybe.
“Will you be all right?” Lucivar asked, still watching Surreal.
She nodded.
Lucivar took the bound pages from Daemonar and vanished them. “Collect your sister and Zoey, boyo. It’s time to go.”
Daemonar did as he was told, getting the girls in the Coach while his father and aunt talked quietly.
Everything had a price, and the debts that would be owed because of that house party would be steep. But he had a feeling Uncle Daemon was going to be the one who paid the highest price of all.
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
Surreal hesitated at Jaenelle Saetien’s door.
A copy of the crimes printed and bound? Stood to reason more than two copies had been made. Which meant, by now, all of Dhemlan’s Province Queens and District Queens had a list of who belonged to Delora’s coven of malice, as well as who had acted as accomplices and secondary players. Most would be at the school and easy to find. As for the rest?
Had Lucivar and Daemonar read the last page, the list of girls targeted for elimination because Delora and Hespera had decided those girls would never be brought to heel and would interfere with their ambitions to be the dominant influence in Dhemlan—an influence that eventually could corrupt the Blood in Dhemlan until they resembled Hayll’s depraved society?
The Queens would be out for blood, and rightly so. Everyone who ruled in Dhemlan remembered the purge of Dorothea’s taint, remembered the power darker than the Black that had screamed through the Realms to stop a war that would have destroyed Kaeleer as well as Terreille.
She blew out a breath and walked in.
The girl had been crying. But she looked at Surreal with a mix of hope and defiance. “What now?”
Surreal dropped the bound pages on the table in front of the sofa. “Something for you to read while you wait for your father’s return.”
Jaenelle Saetien glanced at the top page, then gasped and stared. “High Lord of Hell?”
“I told you he was.”
“But . . . now everyone will know!”
“They will. And they will fear him.” They have reason to fear him.
A beat of silence. “Where is everyone?”
“The male intruders were taken to Hell and executed, as you will see in that report. Amara and Borsala were als
o taken to Hell. They were killed during the house party while attacking other guests. I imagine that, once they made the transition to demon-dead, they had a very unpleasant chat with the High Lord. Delora, Hespera, Leena, and Tacita are still here, confined in the lower cells. All the other girls, and the two boys who were also victims, have been escorted home.”
Holt and Tarl had escorted the messenger home, but Surreal didn’t think Jaenelle Saetien would care about an incidental player in this game—who might have suffered if he had refused to perform his role.
Another silence before Jaenelle Saetien asked, “What’s going to happen now?”
“That will depend on Dhemlan’s Queens.” She ignored the ache in her chest, an ache that had begun when she received Zhara’s warning of what was coming. “I’ve been told the Queens are going to make a formal demand to the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan that all the girls who belong to the coven of malice be executed. Unfortunately, sugar, because you were instrumental in putting a young Queen at risk, they consider you a part of that coven, which means Daemon will have to execute you too.”
Unable to stay in that room a moment longer, Surreal paused only long enough to make sure she’d secured the Gray lock on the door before she ran to her own suite and made it to the toilet before being sick. Then she lay on the bathroom floor and wept for herself and for Daemon and for the daughter they were going to lose—and she wept for the woman Jaenelle Saetien could have been.
FORTY-ONE
Hearing his daughter’s cries, Lucivar rushed into Titian’s room and held on when she flung herself into his arms.
“It’s all right, witchling. It’s all right,” he murmured.
“My shields broke, Papa. They broke! I wasn’t strong enough to protect Zoey, and they killed her.”
He shifted around until he could sit on the edge of the bed and hold her in his arms while he rocked her.
“Your shields held long enough.” He’d said the same words every night for the past week after she screamed herself out of the same nightmare. “You’re safe now, and Zoey is safe.”
“I want to learn to fight.” Fierce desperation.
“All right, baby. All right. I’ll teach you. Daemonar and I will teach you.”
Marian came in, tears running down her face. She handed him the small cup of tonic Nurian had made after the first night of broken sleep filled with nightmares.
He took the cup and held it to Titian’s lips. “Drink this. It will banish the bad dreams.”
She drank. When she drained the cup and he had her tucked back in bed, she said, “You’ll teach me?”
“I’ll teach you anything you want to know,” he promised. “We’ll start tomorrow.”
He escorted Marian back to their room and held her while she cried.
“Daemonar?” he asked when she sounded calmer.
“He’s with Andulvar.”
Of course he was. He wouldn’t leave his younger brother alone when Titian’s nightmares woke everyone in the eyrie.
“She’s strong,” Marian said. “She’ll heal.”
Lucivar smiled. “Yes, she will. She’s your daughter.”
“And yours.”
He kissed her gently. “I’ll come to bed in a few minutes.”
Her eyes asked a question she didn’t voice.
After she tucked into bed with a book, he walked to the front of the eyrie. Walked outside, ignoring the biting cold against his bare skin, and looked toward Ebon Askavi.
He’d felt the Black when Daemon arrived at the Keep, but there had been no request for a meeting, no contact of any kind. Now there was nothing, which meant Daemon was in the Queen’s private part of the Keep.
He knew what the Dhemlan Queens had demanded after they’d seen the list of girls whom the coven of malice had targeted. A whole generation of Queens, Black Widows, and Healers—the strongest in power and will—eliminated in order to clear the way for that bitch Delora? Not again. Not while he could stand and fight.
But, sweet Darkness, he didn’t know how Daemon would survive if he did what needed to be done.
FORTY-TWO
Daemon stared out the window of the Consort’s suite. He’d been staring out that window for the past two hours, turning everything over in his mind—and coming to the same bitter conclusion.
When he felt Witch’s presence, he said, “All the Queens in Dhemlan signed a demand that everyone in the coven of malice be executed. Physical death and final death. They want nothing left of the bitches who wanted to turn Dhemlan into another Hayll. They are willing to allow the girls who were accomplices to be broken back to basic Craft so that they will never have the power or influence to be a threat, but that is as far as they will yield.”
“They’ve included your daughter as part of the coven, rather than an accomplice?” Witch asked.
“Yes. If the Queens hadn’t seen the list of targets, they might have settled for Delora and Hespera being executed and the other girls being broken, as their victims had been broken—forfeiting their Jewels as well as the possibility of becoming pregnant more than once.” A broken witch had one chance to have a child of her own. Long, long ago, it had been a kind of defense against males who would have broken strong witches they couldn’t control in order to breed them and have offspring from the witches’ bloodlines that the males could control. Now it was part of the price that was paid. Only one chance, whether that chance ended in a miscarriage, a stillbirth, or a healthy baby.
“You are your father’s son and his true heir, Daemon. You weren’t going to lie to the Queens, and not telling them about the targets and all that had been at stake would have been a lie.” She said nothing else for a minute. Then, “If you keep your bargain with the Queens, as the ruler of Dhemlan must do, but don’t execute your daughter with the rest of the coven, what will happen?”
“She’ll have no life outside the walls of SaDiablo Hall,” he replied. “She’ll have no friends. She’ll be isolated from everyone because she’ll be trusted by no one. And if she manages to slip beyond the walls of the Hall, every Warlord Prince in Dhemlan will be waiting for the chance to kill her, the last member of the coven of malice.”
His darling girl, who had entertained his mind and delighted his heart. His little witch, who had loved the Scelties and had terrified him the first time she had ridden a horsey all by herself. His girl, who had been fearless when she engaged in adventures with her cousins.
And under the bitch she had become when she fell in with Delora, she was still his witch-child.
His throat worked. He tried to say the words that duty demanded, but instead he cried, “I can’t do it. She’s my little girl, my baby. I can’t be her executioner.”
Daemon turned away from the window and looked at the woman, the Queen, who meant more to him than anyone else ever could or would. Even his daughter. If Witch gave the command . . .
“Jaenelle,” he whispered. “Help me. Please.”
Those sapphire eyes stared right through him, and he felt the feather touch of a psychic thread rising out of the abyss beneath the level of the Black. He stood still, willing to give her anything she wanted from him.
“There is a way,” she finally said. “But it is brutal, and I can’t promise that she will survive. That will depend on how much of a debt she owes.”
“It gives her a chance.”
“A chance,” Witch agreed. “But there will be a price, Daemon. Even if she lives, you will most likely lose her.”
“I’ll pay whatever price needs to be paid.” His gold eyes met her sapphire ones. “What do you need from me?”
“The males who were part of this coven of malice. Where are they?”
“I executed them and made sure each of them paid what he owed.”
“Then you have their memories. You know what they said and what they did. I will need all of it.”
“I am the Queen, Prince. I am Witch. My justice will be brutal, but it also must be exact. Each must endure the harm he caused. For that, I need those memories.”
“Then I offer them, Lady.” He opened his inner barriers and sank to his knees, offering everything.
He felt her mind touch his, taking all the information he had extracted from Krellis, Dhuran, and the other boys. Intent on her task, she wasn’t as careful as she would have been with anyone else, and he saw a truth she’d kept hidden from him for all the centuries since she returned to the Keep in this form in order to help him heal his shattering mind.
So simple—and so obvious. And something they would deal with very soon.
“Now,” Witch said briskly as she retreated from his mind, “you will collect a thimbleful of blood from each member of the coven of malice, including any of the witches who died and made the transition to demon-dead, as well as all the girls who were listed as accomplices and are still confined at the school. Then you and some of Lady Zhara’s guards will escort each girl to the District Queen who rules the village where her family lives and, with the Queen and her First Circle standing witness, you will deliver the girl to her parents.”
Daemon rose and said dryly, “Delora and her closest friends have been in the cells beneath the Hall for the past week. Not the severest ones. The girls who are still living were moved to the cells that have a toilet and sink, as well as a narrow bed. They won’t look pristine.”
“But they will be alive. You’ve already informed the Queens of the girls who died at the house party when they attacked other guests?”
“I did.” He waited, but she said nothing more. “Once I deliver all the girls?”