The Queen's Weapons

by Anne Bishop

  “Not yet. I wanted to see you first, make sure you were all right.” He kissed her lips. A gentle kiss, for comfort.

  Surreal clung to him for a moment. “You need to see her.” A hesitation. “Will you stay with me tonight?”

  “Yes.” He gave her another kiss, one with a little more heat. A promise.

  Then he walked to his daughter’s suite to find out how much of a debt she had owed.

  * * *

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  When her father walked into her bedroom, Jaenelle Saetien almost tumbled out of bed in her haste to reach him. Her legs still wobbled, so she stopped halfway and waited for him.

  He stared at her face, at her eyes. Finally at the Purple Dusk.

  Then he crossed the room, pulled her into his arms, pressed his face against her head—and began to cry.

  It was the most terrible sound she’d ever heard because it was coming from him.

  “Papa,” she soothed, patting his back. “Don’t cry, Papa. Please don’t cry.”

  As his emotions swamped her, she began to cry, too, when she realized he wasn’t crying because of what she had lost; he was crying out of relief that she hadn’t been so corrupted by Delora and the coven of malice to have earned being executed.

  FORTY-EIGHT

  Are you sure about this?”

  “Everything has a price.”

  Personally, Karla thought Witch had paid more than enough, lifetimes of enough. And this price would shake the Realm.

  She knocked on the door, handed her card to the butler, who handed it to Lady Zhara’s Steward, who wasn’t able to hide his fear as he hurried to ascertain if the Queen of Amdarh would grant this audience—and would subject her granddaughter to this requested meeting.

  There was no real question about Zhara granting this audience or about Zoey being there—only a fool would defy a Gray-Jeweled Black Widow Queen—but Karla appreciated the Steward having enough balls to go through the formalities.

  Dhemlan was in turmoil since the girls who had fallen into that unnatural sleep rose from wherever they had been in the abyss. Delora and Hespera woke up, their Birthright Jewels looking like a thinned transparent eggshell filled with ash. That kind of destruction of a Jewel and its reservoir of power was something no one had seen before—and no one wanted to see again. The two girls had screamed for two days, occasionally babbling about pretty poison and feeling Krellis and Dhuran raping them over and over while they wore different bodies.

  On the third day, their hearts stopped beating; their lungs refused to take another breath. Their bodies became a different kind of shell while their Selves went to the final death and became whispers in the Darkness.

  Leena and Tacita had returned with their Jewels empty, their power broken back to basic Craft. They, too, whimpered about a pretty poison. On the same day that Delora and Hespera died, both girls slipped away from their family homes and wandered through the woods. Leena went to a nearby farm, and Tacita went to a cottage on the outskirts of the village. They’d been to those places before, watched Dhuran and Clayton break a girl from each of those families before giving the girls to some of the village rough boys, minor aristos who had ended up killing those girls for the fun of it.

  The rough boys had mysteriously disappeared a few days after the news about the execution of the young men who had done the coven of malice’s bidding. An elderly Warlord reported to his District Queen that he’d heard a tree crying and begging for forgiveness. But it hadn’t been the first time that this man had claimed to hear a peculiar sound. The Queen and the Black Widow who served in her First Circle heard nothing when they went to investigate, and her men could find no indication that the soil around the tree had been disturbed.

  Not that anyone would ever find those rough boys. The Sadist was a very good gravedigger, and he’d been busy cleaning up a few problems.

  Leena and Tacita had wandered until they found the exact spots where the girls had died. Found the plant with the bloodred, black-throated flowers. Before their families located them, the girls had eaten a few of the petals—and the witchblood slowly bloomed in their bellies, giving unrelenting pain that was finally relieved by death.

  What made the District Queens and Province Queens uneasy was the way Leena and Tacita kept asking if the debt was finally paid. Apparently it was, since both girls looked relieved when they took that final breath.

  Most of the accomplices who had assisted Delora and her friends had been broken back to basic Craft. Those who had retained their Birthright Jewels discovered the Jewels were weirdly diminished. Instead of holding a reservoir of power, the power seemed to drain . . . somewhere. No one had seen a Jewel behave this way, and queries sent to the Keep had received no reply. And knowing how often Daemon Sadi visited the Keep—and had done so for centuries—no one was willing to go to Ebon Askavi to make direct inquiries and cross paths with him.

  The only person who seemed to come away with negligible cost was Jaenelle Saetien SaDiablo. Some change in her Jewel, yes. The same unnatural sleep as the other girls, yes. But she hadn’t suffered in the same way, and some of the Queens suspected the girl deserved far more than she’d received. So did the families of the girls who had been harmed.

  Well, all that was about to change—and may the Darkness have mercy on Kaeleer.

  Karla followed the Steward to a sitting room. Not the formal sitting room where Amdarh’s Queen attended to some of the business of her court and not the sitting room where family and close friends gathered. This was a room in between, and Karla suspected it had been chosen for Zoey’s sake.

  The girl still looked ill, jumpy. Karla wasn’t surprised to find Zhara’s husband in the room. As Consort, he was the official witness. As husband and grandfather, he was a furious man barely controlling his anger.

  Karla didn’t bother with the niceties. She simply called in a folded document and held it out to Zhara. “This is for you. By tomorrow, the rest of the District and Province Queens in Dhemlan will have received a copy.”

  The document had no wax seal to hold it closed. Good paper, with a black border. Very little was printed on the paper. A list naming the girls who were, in one way or another, part of the coven of malice. Below the names were the words: To each was given what she gave. Each experienced the harm she caused. The debts have been paid in full.

  Below the words, pressed into black wax, was a seal that hadn’t been seen in centuries. An unmistakable command—and warning.

  Zhara dropped the document, sucked in a breath, and stared at Karla. “She’s . . . But . . . how? When?”

  “For centuries,” Karla replied. “Kaeleer needs Daemon Sadi, and she is the only one who could heal him and hold the leash. She found a way to be anchored to the Keep. But make no mistake, Zhara. She might stay at the Keep, but she has a very long reach, and when provoked, she is more . . . feral . . . than she used to be.”

  Zhara looked stunned. Then she whispered, “Song in the Darkness. But more than that? For some?”

  “For a few,” Karla agreed. She called in a velvet pouch and held it out to Zoey, who had been staring at the document. Mostly at the seal in the black wax. “These are for you.”

  Zoey took the pouch, opened it, and poured six gold coins into her hand. “These look like Titian’s good-luck charm.”

  “Marks of safe passage. Each of those represents a two-hour audience with the Queen. You may discuss anything you want with her, whether it’s about Craft or being a Queen or dealing with Warlord Princes or about the weight of scars. You should select a few dates for each audience, since the trip there and back, along with the audience, will take up a full day, and no one will be granted an audience when the High Lord is in residence. He requires solitary time with his Queen.”

  “I would be traveling . . . ?” Zoey said the words as if she were feeling each careful step on shaky ground.

 
“To Ebon Askavi.” Karla saw excitement leap into the girl’s eyes.

  “And I would have lessons with . . . ?”

  “The Queen of Ebon Askavi. Witch.”

  Watching Zoey stare at the coins, Karla felt the crackle of possibilities in the air. She turned her attention back to Zhara, whose face was wet with tears.

  “I’ll bid you good night,” Karla said.

  “I’ll walk you out.” Zhara called in a handkerchief and wiped her face. She waited until they were away from the sitting room. “The Lady doesn’t have to do this. Whatever she is now, it must be hard for her to deal with the living. Easier perhaps with the demon-dead who were old friends?”

  “When did Jaenelle Angelline back away from anything because it was hard?”

  “True. Still.” Zhara slowed her steps and gave her butler a tiny signal to retreat so that they would continue to speak privately.

  Karla didn’t point out that psychic communication was possible with the demon-dead. Zhara knew that, but was cautious enough not to attempt it. This time.

  “Zoey will appreciate the lessons,” Zhara said. “She still needs schooling and careful study of Craft and a number of other things in order to become a good Queen, but she’s afraid to go to another school. She believes Prince Sadi eliminated the current threat, but other girls might have managed to hide that same kind of malice and haven’t come to his attention yet.”

  Hell’s fire, Jaenelle. You were right about this too.

  “A traditional school, even a private school, isn’t the only place where a young Queen could receive an education,” Karla said casually. “It is possible for certain young witches and exceptional males to receive an exclusive education that would cover a broad range of subjects. You, meaning the Dhemlan Queens, would need to be careful about who you presented to receive this education, but if you kept the numbers to something reasonable for long-term guests in a private house, and if a Queen who had a girl in need of such an education were to present the idea, I think the patriarch of the house could be persuaded to accommodate you.”

  “Is that how you did it?” Zhara asked, keeping her voice just as casual.

  “Oh, Hell’s fire, no. We just piled in on Uncle Saetan and never gave him a chance to refuse. We were settled in with our trunks unpacked before he knew what hit him. That won’t work with Sadi, but I’m sure mentioning Zoey and Titian would undermine his resistance to the idea.”

  “There would be a problem with Zoey being there.”

  “The Lady knows that.” Karla stopped at the front door, her ice-blue eyes taking in the measure of this other Queen. “Did you really think the loss of some of her power was the only price Jaenelle Saetien would have to pay?”

  “The Prince’s daughter won’t be the only one who has to pay.”

  “No,” Karla said regretfully. “She won’t.”

  FORTY-NINE

  Daemon prowled the sitting room across from Witch’s suite at the Keep while his Queen and Karla stood side by side and watched him pace back and forth, back and forth.

  “Not a school, as such,” he growled. “Zhara was quite specific about that, although I don’t see how what she’s proposing is different from a school.”

  “What is Zhara asking you to do?” Witch asked.

  “Provide a place where the young Queens and Black Widows who are most at risk of being targeted by another coven of malice would receive an exclusive education, and where young men whose potential indicates they need a firm hand on the leash would receive the education and training they need.”

  “The Hall is a large place,” Witch ventured.

  “The first number that was suggested was thirty-six girls and twenty-four boys.” Daemon knew damn well the Hall could accommodate the number. That wasn’t the point. “I told Zhara she was out of her mind, that I was not going to spend decades trying to herd sixty adolescents with the boys thinking with their cocks and the girls thinking with whatever you think with during those years. I was not going to do that.”

  “He’s more excitable than Uncle Saetan was,” Karla said.

  “Well, he is much younger,” Witch replied.

  Silence.

  Then Karla asked sweetly, “So how many are moving in with you?”

  He glared at them as he glided past. They arranged their expressions to look dutifully sympathetic.

  That look must have had his father bouncing off the ceilings. Assuming they used it on Saetan. And if they didn’t, why use it on him?

  Damned annoying. All of it. Especially since he had the feeling that Zhara had received a little coaching on how to corner him and get an agreement.

  Karla cocked her head and lifted a hand to one ear, as if to help her hear something. “How many?”

  “Thirty-six in total,” Daemon grumbled. “Twenty-two girls and fourteen boys.” May the Darkness have mercy on him. “Plus the instructors I’ll have to hire, and the Scelties who have decided I need their help to herd the humans.”

  “Which you do,” Karla said.

  He paced. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. On his sixth pass, Witch said, “Have you discussed this with the staff? What did Beale say about this?”

  Daemon stopped pacing and stared at her. “Oh, Beale is thrilled.” Damn traitor. “Apparently, the Hall is considered one of the premier places where youngsters can receive training in domestic service. If your references say you were trained at SaDiablo Hall or worked at the family’s town house to polish the training received elsewhere, you can find work in any aristo household in Dhemlan—or any other part of the Realm. Which is why Beale and Helene have not reduced the staff working at the Hall despite only having three family members in residence. Regrettably, Surreal and I don’t provide enough for them to do in terms of personal service, so actual experience has been a bit . . . thin.” That also explained why he’d seen new people working in the family wing every month. The youngsters were rotated in order to have something to do. “With thirty-six students plus instructors—”

  “And Scelties,” Karla added.

  “—there will be plenty for maids and footmen to do. And Mrs. Beale! She informed me that the main kitchen is too far from where the young people will be residing and an auxiliary kitchen will need to be put in at once to her specifications. She will, of course, continue to make the meals for the family and those invited to dine at our table—she phrased it that way—but the youngsters can make do with hearty but simpler meals that the Dharo Boy and some of her other cooks-in-training can prepare after submitting those dishes for her approval.”

  “Who gets invited to your table?” Witch wondered.

  “They’ve got that worked out.” Daemon began pacing again. “Surreal and I will enjoy private dinners a couple of evenings each week. The rest of the time we’re in residence, we’ll share the table with any instructors who choose to join us, and a couple of times each week, some of the youngsters will join us to practice their social skills. And occasionally all of them will have their feet under the table.”

  Witch and Karla nodded. “That sounds reasonable,” Witch said.

  Daemon snorted. “Mikal has decided he’s going to work for me in a revolving position. He’s going to be the Scelties’ teacher—reading, sums, Protocol, whatever it is he’s doing. He’s also going to be helping Holt with the secretarial work, specifically working with Beale on the engagement calendar to know who is dining where and when and accommodating actual guests. And he’s going to work with Marcus, learning the first level of the business side of running estates or dealing with court finances, or husbanding the kind of family wealth that could buy entire villages and not feel pinched.” Even though there was a firm of financial advisors who oversaw the day-to-day management of the finances that involved Dhemlan, Marcus, as his personal man of business, was thrilled to have additional help from a young member of the SaDiablo fa
mily. “I haven’t been informed yet what salary I’m going to pay Mikal for the privilege of having him underfoot.”

  “Mikal’s been underfoot for decades,” Karla said, looking at Witch.

  “Yes, but Daemon is finally noticing that, so it feels new.”

  Daemon made a rude sound.

  The two Queens resumed their expressions of dutiful sympathy.

  “Don’t bother,” he grumbled.

  This wasn’t what he’d planned to talk about, but he’d been ambushed by Zhara first thing that morning with her request that he use part of the Hall to provide a protected place for a few adolescent Queens and other young Blood to receive a full and proper education. She’d been politely ruthless about mentioning, more than once, how Zoey kept asking to return to the Hall because it was a safe place.

  He didn’t know who had let the idea slip, but by the time he sat down for the midday meal, Beale, Helene, and Mrs. Beale had everything planned for how this would work. Mikal’s plan was independent of this schooling idea, but the boy had pointed out that he could explore several kinds of work and still be able to live with Tersa and the journeymaid Sceltie Black Widow, who had strong opinions, even for a Sceltie, and was devoted to looking after Tersa.

  Since Surreal had agreed to rent her house in Halaway to the Hourglass as a residence for the Black Widows who were adjusting to daily life after being lost in dreams and visions for so long, and since Zoey’s mother was one of the residents, having the girl living at the Hall and the mother living in the adjoining village would be a good way for them to connect again after so many years.

  “We have a present for you,” Witch said.

  Karla called in a small packing box secured with red ribbon that ended with an elaborate Craft-shaped bow. She held it out.

  He took the box and touched the bow to remove it.

  The damn bow leaped like a crazed little animal, hit the carpet, and hopped across the room before it was stopped by the door.