by Anne Bishop
“I’m sure,” Daemon replied.
“A Healer confirmed it?”
Exasperated, Daemon raked his fingers through his hair. “How can a Healer confirm it? I damaged my heart and lungs centuries ago and—”
Lucivar grabbed his brother, swung him around, and slammed Daemon’s back against the wall.
“You’ve known for centuries?” he shouted. “Centuries? And you didn’t tell me?”
“What was I supposed to tell you?” Daemon shouted back. “That I might only live another five or six centuries instead of twenty? Hell’s fire, Lucivar. There’s nothing yet for a Healer to detect, let alone heal. Which isn’t possible, so stop snarling at me.”
“Then how do you know?”
“Jaenelle told me,” Daemon said quietly. “When she healed the damage I’d done by trying to suppress the sexual heat too much. She told me then.”
“And when did you find out that you were going to die young?” Lucivar gave Daemon a shake that thumped him against the wall again. “When?”
“I’m not going to die young. I’m past the age where someone could say I died young. I just won’t be old.” Daemon sighed. “I spun a tangled web after Daemonar conveyed Tersa’s warning to me. The web didn’t show me what I expected, but it made other things clear.”
Lucivar relaxed his hold but didn’t release Daemon.
“I won’t leave you, Prick. ‘Demon-dead’ just means we don’t meet in daylight. I’ll still take care of the family wealth, and we’ll still stand together and do whatever needs to be done for the family and for Kaeleer.”
Lucivar felt his own heart returning to a less frantic beat. “Death ends your marriage to Surreal.”
“It does.”
“And Jaenelle?” It took him a moment to understand the look in Daemon’s eyes. “There is a way for you and Witch to . . . ?”
“There’s a way,” Daemon confirmed. “But not until I’m no longer among the living.”
Lucivar closed his eyes and rested his forehead against Daemon’s. I won’t lose him. Not completely.
“I love you,” Daemon said softly.
“I love you too.” He put his arms around his brother and held on for a long moment. Then he eased back and gave Daemon a lazy, arrogant smile. “But if you’re going to be with my sister again, there is something you’re going to do.”
FIFTY
Jaenelle Saetien closed the book she’d been trying to read and dropped it on the sofa.
Two days ago, the shields that kept her confined to her room had been extended to allow her to walk around the interior courtyard. Since each of those courtyards provided a private outdoor space, this one was for the immediate family. Her father and . . .
“Well done! Fatal blow to the heart. How does it feel to make your first kill?”
. . . Lady Surreal had suites on the opposite side from hers, an arrangement that blended privacy and closeness. Uncle Lucivar and Aunt Marian had a suite on another side of the square, and Daemonar and Andulvar were on the opposite side from them.
Titian’s suite had been next to hers. It had been easy to slip into each other’s rooms and talk and giggle half the night until one of their fathers showed up and tapped on the balcony doors—the signal that it was time to get some sleep.
She’d written to Titian to apologize for what happened at the house party, but Papa had looked sad when the letter had been returned, unopened. He’d looked sad when he’d told her that Titian didn’t want to talk to her or receive any letters, didn’t want to see her for a while. He’d looked sad when he’d told her that Uncle Lucivar had banned her from all of Askavi for two years, which meant she couldn’t go to Ebon Rih to visit Daemonar either.
How could she have known there would be so many consequences to having a house party?
“Maybe it’s more accurate to say that, before your Birthright Ceremony, you were who I might have been if I’d had your childhood instead of mine.”
No, it hadn’t been the house party by itself. All of this was happening because she didn’t stand up for what she knew was right, didn’t honor the promises she’d made to her father and to Beale. Now the penalties for the bad choices she had made continued to pile up, even though everyone had been told the debt had been paid in full.
Kick a pebble, start an avalanche. Uncle Lucivar was fond of that saying. Now she finally understood what it meant.
A knock on the door before Mikal walked in.
Jaenelle Saetien smiled, grateful to have someone to talk to—and then worried about what sort of trouble Mikal might get into for being there.
“Do you have my father’s permission to be here?” she asked.
“Yeah, we do,” he replied, smiling as he opened his coat.
*Saeti!* Shelby squirmed in Mikal’s arms, trying to get down and reach her. *My Saeti!*
Mikal shrugged and set the puppy on the floor. Shelby raced over to her and tried to jump up on the sofa. She caught him before his failed jump ended with him hitting the table and getting hurt.
“Hello, Shelby,” she cooed. “How’s my boy?”
“He’s missed you,” Mikal said. “I brought Breen up to be with Uncle Daemon, and it was time for Shelby to be with you.” He smiled. “But Helene said that if you ignore him in the middle of the night when he has to go out, you have to clean up the mess.”
That explained why she’d been given access to the interior courtyard. She would need to take Shelby outside.
While Shelby settled himself in her lap, Mikal called in the puppy’s things—a bed, toys, and treats—and used Craft to set them against one wall. *Make sure you keep those treats shielded,* he warned.
*All right.* She didn’t want to admit that she was having trouble with Craft. Purple Dusk had been part of the power that had made up her Twilight’s Dawn Jewel, but plain Purple Dusk didn’t feel the same, and her ability to do even simple things didn’t always work anymore.
Since she was pretty sure Shelby hadn’t learned how to air walk yet, she’d just put the treats on a high shelf for now.
“I have to go,” Mikal said. “The Scelties are arriving in a couple of days, and I have to help Beale, Helene, and Uncle Daemon work out where their suite will be located.”
“They’re getting a suite?”
“Yep.” He grinned. “Complete with comfy furniture and a human bed for them to sleep on. I’m not sure what else was on their list of requirements, but since I’m going to be in charge of the Sceltie school here at the Hall, I’m about to find out.” The grin faded. “You need anything?”
She shook her head. “Thanks for asking.”
She thought he was going to say something else, but he smiled and walked out of the room.
A moment later, the Gray lock on the door was back in place.
Having something new to do, she was about to tell Shelby they were going outside to explore the courtyard, but the puppy was asleep in her lap.
Sighing, Jaenelle Saetien carefully retrieved her book and read until her little Brother woke up.
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
Momentarily speechless, Daemon stared at Jillian. Lucivar had told him the girl needed to see him but not why, so he’d been expecting her. But . . .
Jillian raised her eyebrows. “It’s hair. It’s short.”
It was still black. Thank the Darkness for that. But the spiky style was just like . . . “If you say ‘kiss kiss,’ I am tossing you out of my study.”
Jillian laughed. “Fair enough.” A flash of understanding in her eyes. “Is that why Lucivar and Daemonar got a bit exercised about my hair being short? Because it reminds them of Karla? That’s actually a compliment.”
“That depends on how you’re dealing with Karla.”
Her smile was a little bit wicked.
He would not whimper. �
�Something you wanted to discuss?”
Now she sat forward in her chair, looking a little nervous. “Surreal has that sanctuary for girls who have been broken, where they can be protected from anyone who might want to do them more harm and where they can learn how to use what power they have left—and how to do things physically that they used to do with Craft. I’m going to work there as an informal counselor, and also teach the girls how to fight and defend themselves. It’s important to know that losing one part of yourself doesn’t mean you have to lose everything. You’re different afterward, and you need to learn to be who you are now. You need to fight instead of accepting.”
She wasn’t talking about herself. A delicate psychic probe confirmed that her power wasn’t diminished in any way. But someone had given up. “Did the person who . . . surrendered . . . to the pain end up in the Dark Realm?” he asked gently.
“If she did?” Prickly response.
“I’ll find her and do what I can to help.”
She looked at him a long time, no longer the nervous young woman who walked into his study but a fighter. No wonder Surreal had hired her. She probably recognized a bit of herself at that age.
Jillian gave him three female names. And then she gave him four more—and his temper turned cold when he realized what those four male names meant. “Was that your first killing field?” he asked too softly.
She swallowed hard. “Yes.”
“Did you tell Lucivar?”
“No.”
“I’ll give you two days. If you don’t tell Lucivar, I will. You’re not a Warlord Prince, Jillian. You don’t walk off a killing field and just swallow the feelings. Even we don’t do that the first time. I’m one of four Warlord Princes you can talk to who will understand how it felt and why you chose to step onto that field. Talk to one of us.”
“Four?”
“Daemonar stepped onto his first killing field recently.”
“Mother Night,” she whispered.
“And may the Darkness be merciful.” She looked distressed, ready to bolt, so he changed the subject. “You’re going to work at the sanctuary and . . . ?”
Strong relief washed through the room. “I want to buy a house. It has enough room for me and the two Scelties who are going to live with me, and it has four bedrooms, so I can have guests.”
“What kind of guests?” he asked sweetly.
“Not the kind that would put that look in your eyes. I was thinking more of friends from Little Weeble who might want to venture beyond their village or having Andulvar stay over for a couple of days. It must be hard for him to be considered too young to have adventures away from home, and this way . . .”
“Still with family but able to feel independent?”
“Yes.” Her smile regained some of its brightness, but the nerves were back. “I talked to the owner’s man of business on my own when I first saw the place, but Lucivar came with me the second time, and he had all these men from the SaDiablo estate come and inspect the house, and they came up with this list of things that would need to be done even though the man of business said the house could be lived in now.”
Daemon kept his expression interested and encouraging—and said nothing about Lucivar being the one who held the deed to that particular SaDiablo estate. Jillian would figure that out soon enough when people from the estate began offering their time and skills to her because she was part of Lucivar’s family.
“Anyway,” Jillian continued, “I was going to try to take out a loan to pay for the house, but Lucivar said I should talk to you about having some of the interest released on the money he had set aside for me.”
She looked baffled that there was money she hadn’t known about, that Lucivar would have done that. Thinking of her as a daughter was one thing. Setting aside some of the family wealth said daughter in a different way. At least Jillian seemed to think so.
“Maybe the interest would offset the costs enough that I wouldn’t have to take out that much of a loan?” she said hopefully.
Probably just as well that Jillian didn’t know how much was in the account.
Daemon removed a sheet of paper from a tray on his desk and uncapped a pen. “Do you have any figures?”
Jillian called in a sheet of paper and used Craft to float it to the desk.
Daemon raised an eyebrow. “The man of business claimed the house was livable, and this is what the skilled craftsmen told you and Lucivar would be required to make it livable?”
“Livable by SaDiablo standards,” Jillian said. “The asking price was reduced by the cost of the repairs.”
Someone had thought they were dealing with a young woman excited about purchasing her first house and gullible enough to be persuaded to accept the asking price on a building that needed that much work. Someone had been smart enough to realize how pissed off Lucivar would be if—or when—he found out Jillian had been cheated. Which meant the girl really wasn’t paying more than house and land were worth.
“There’s no problem with providing you with the funds to pay for the house and the repairs,” Daemon said. “However, before you sign the contract and hand over so much as a silver mark, Lord Marcus will read over the contract and answer any questions you may have about the language of a formal agreement, and he and I will be there to witness the signing.” And that would guarantee that nothing was slipped into the agreement that would oblige Jillian to pay other costs.
“Okay,” she said hesitantly.
He began making a list of expenses. “That takes care of the purchase of the house and repairs. What about your living expenses? Will you be making enough at the sanctuary to pay most or all of your bills? What about the income from your book?”
She laughed so hard, she had to catch herself before she fell out of the chair. When he just watched her, waiting, she settled herself and cleared her throat. “The people who work for you aren’t fools, Prince. Yes, I stacked the odds in my favor by submitting my book to your publishing house . . .”
“And yet I still haven’t read your book.” His voice was less purr and more rumble of annoyance.
“Well, of course,” she replied as if it should be obvious. “There is some envy among other writers who haven’t been accepted, but I can look every single one of them in the eyes and say that you haven’t seen the book yet, so publishing it wasn’t your decision. Or done at your command.”
It still rankled that he hadn’t been allowed to help, at least not directly, but he understood her point. He’d just have to make sure she understood his point about this other bit of finance.
“And since your editor has to justify expenses to Lord Marcus and to you,” Jillian continued, “she didn’t offer one copper more than she would have offered any other writer for a first book. Which is one reason I needed to find work while I wrote the next book.”
It made sense. All of it. And that was the most annoying part of all.
He continued making a list of expenses. “You’ll have to pay the tithe each season like everyone else in the village.”
“Tithe?” Jillian’s voice faded a bit.
Obviously she hadn’t equated owning property with needing to pay the tithe owed to the District Queen. Just as obvious, the man of business had neglected to mention the tithe and what she would be expected to pay each season.
He was definitely reading over that contract before he allowed her to sign it.
“You’ll also need to figure on food for you and the Scelties, clothing, personal items,” he continued.
She hesitated. “I do have some savings.”
“Which you will not touch,” he said crisply. “At least, not for these expenses.”
He had a good idea of what the tithe would be and took a reasonable guess at what the rest would cost a young woman. He wrote in the numbers, tallied it per season, added a bit for unexpected expenses and hous
ehold goods she would need to purchase, then handed it to her—and watched the color drain from her face as she realized the difference between her wages and her expenses as a property owner.
Then she noticed the final figure and looked at him.
“I will not release any of the principal. What you will receive each quarter is no different from what you would have started to receive a few years from now. The amount I’ve listed will help you pay the village tithe and your living expenses. You will do me and Lucivar the favor of not skimping on essentials. We are the wealthiest family in the Realm, and there are some things that will be done to help you get settled in a new home.”
“Thank you.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “If I need advice about finances?”
“All you have to do is ask.” Daemon smiled. “Well, I should get to these reports before Holt comes in and scolds me.”
“There’s something else.” Not quite warrior, not quite young woman taking another leap into unknown territory.
He sat back.
“I heard about the . . . accommodation . . . you’re making to educate a select group of Queens and other youngsters.”
“Beale assures me I can hide in his butler’s pantry if I feel the need to whimper. And I’ve been given extra-stout locks for my study door.”
“Have you told Jaenelle Saetien that she has to leave the Hall as part of the price your family has to pay for her actions?”
He closed his eyes against the pain. “Not yet. Later today. The other children will be arriving in a couple of days, and she needs to be gone by then.”
“Where?” Jillian asked softly.
“I don’t know. She can’t stay at the town house. She’s been banned from entering Amdarh for two years. She’s also been banned from Askavi for two years. I guess she’ll stay at one of the family estates.”
“Send her to the sanctuary,” Jillian said. “Surreal will have to give her approval, of course, since she set up the place, but even though Jaenelle Saetien still wears a Jewel, I’m betting she has to learn Craft all over again, just like the other girls.”