by Anne Bishop
“Why can’t you comfort him?”
“Because, sugar, I tend to agree with her—especially when boy stuff wiggles.”
He walked away, weaving a little. Within moments, Marian came up to her, the baby asleep on her shoulder.
“I want to know what you said to put that look on his face,” Marian said. “I think it will come in handy someday.”
“Oh, don’t worry. You have a daughter too. I’m sure you’ll see that look again.”
Marian laughed softly as she rubbed the baby’s back, but her eyes remained serious. “Are you concerned about today? About Jaenelle?”
“A little. I don’t care what Jewels she wears. Neither does Daemon. But I should have sensed something at this point, should have some idea of what Jewel Jaenelle will wear, and I don’t. Based on how quickly she picks up basic—and not-so-basic—Craft, she should be strong enough to need a reservoir for her power.”
“Daemon isn’t sensing anything either?”
Surreal shook her head. “I wear the Gray; Daemon wears the Black. If her power is so weak she comes away from the Ceremony without a Jewel ...”
“She’ll feel like an outsider within her own family,” Marian concluded. “Especially because Titian wears Birthright Summer-sky and Daemonar wears the Green.”
Surreal shivered at the thought. Wasn’t that how so many things had gone wrong with Jaenelle Angelline’s life? She had been the outsider in her family, with her special friends and abilities no one had wanted to understand until Saetan had recognized her as the daughter of his soul.
Well, Jaenelle Saetien was never going to feel like an outsider whether she wore a Jewel or not.
“You look so fierce,” Marian said. “Where did you go?”
“Nowhere. Too far.” She tried to smile. “Daemon is going through the steps with Jaenelle. Want to make a bet on who is lecturing who?”
“Do you remember—,” Daemon began.
“I remember!” Jaenelle huffed out a breath. “Papa! We’ve gone over this forever-many times!”
He went down on one knee to be closer to her. “I know, but—”
“Papa!” She cat-puffed and jumped back. “Don’t put your knee on the ground. You’ll get dirty! Stand up!”
He obeyed. She immediately closed in on him and began whacking at his knee to clean off flecks of dirt.
“We have to stay neat and tidy because this is an important day,” Jaenelle said.
“Yes, Lady.”
She gave him a narrow-eyed look to see if he was making fun of her. Then she got a look in her eyes that was much too old for her young years—and scared the shit out of him.
“You’re afraid, aren’t you?” she asked.
Terrified, actually. “A little.”
She grabbed his hand in both of hers and gave him a sweet smile. “Don’t worry, Papa. Everything will be fine. I already know what Jewel I’m supposed to pick. My friend told me.”
His stomach lurched. There had been no mention of the special friend over the past few weeks. “Witch-child, you can’t choose a Jewel just because you like its color.”
“Tch. I know that. I know all this stuff, Papa.” She looked past him. “I’m supposed to stand with the other children now, and you’re supposed to stand with Mama.”
She hauled him over to where Surreal stood with Marian, then ran off to join the other children who were going through the Ceremony.
Marian looked at him, then looked at Surreal and sighed. “I’ll pay you later.” She wandered off.
“Problem?” Surreal asked.
“Apparently, it’s now your responsibility to keep me neat and tidy,” he replied dryly. “And if you’re going to place bets about me, do I get a share of the winnings?”
She gave him a sharp smile. “No.”
His heart raced and the need to move was almost unbearable. But he stood still because he wasn’t willing to let anyone know how much effort it was taking to stay in control and appear no more anxious than any other father waiting to be told his fate with regard to his child.
Surreal slipped her arm through his. Then she looked at the children and sighed. “She’s at the end of the line.”
“Maybe we should have had a private Ceremony,” he muttered.
“You’re the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan. Even if she had been the only child acquiring a Birthright Jewel today, it wouldn’t have been a private Ceremony.”
A hard truth. If nothing else, all the Dhemlan Queens would have come to witness the second half of the Ceremony.
“We should move up with the families who are participating today,” he said. When she started to withdraw her arm, he pressed his hand over hers, holding her in place. “There’s no reason to be formal. Is there?”
She studied his face and shook her head. “No reason.”
Her mood seemed bittersweet, and he suspected he was the cause of whatever bitterness dimmed her pleasure in this special day. She had been his partner, his friend, his lover. They had laughed together and worried together and, sometimes, fought with each other.
He hadn’t been the husband she deserved. He had taken care of her body and enjoyed doing it, and he’d made an effort not to deliberately hurt her heart. He cared for her, deeply, but he’d never said the words that matter most to a woman.
And yet, she had stayed—and he wanted her to stay because he wanted to be with her, wanted to share his life with her.
Maybe, once this day was behind them, the tension that had been building between them would go away, along with the unspoken questions and doubts.
Maybe.
Or maybe, like the previous patriarch of the SaDiablo family, he would find himself surrounded by people he loved and yet always feel alone.
His heart ached with love and pride as he looked at the people who were his family. Sylvia’s boys, Beron and Mikal. Manny, who had taken care of him when he’d been a child. Tersa, his mother. Jillian. Marian and the children. Lucivar. And Surreal.
Giving his arm a squeeze, Surreal slipped away to talk to Manny. Lucivar shifted to fill the space.
“How did you survive this twice?” Daemon asked.
Lucivar shrugged. “Nothing I could do about it. A child will wear the Jewels a child will wear. I figure it’s my job to teach them to live up to their own potential instead of trying to match someone else—including me.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“If you don’t know the answer to that, old son, then you haven’t been paying attention to the woman you’ve lived with these past fifteen years,” Lucivar said quietly, turning enough to make the words private. “She loves you. You know that, don’t you? And she’s as committed to her daughter as you are.”
“I know.” Daemon sighed. “I know.” But was that commitment enough?
“Boys,” Tersa said.
He and Lucivar immediately looked toward the Sanctuary where the first girl was coming out with her new Jewel.
“Oh,” Marian said with warm pleasure. “She has a Summer-sky.”
The next child in line, a boy, went into the Sanctuary with his chosen witness while the girl stood beside her mother, who proceeded with the formal granting of paternity.
Another child went in, and another man was granted legal rights to the child he had made.
Daemon called in chairs for the women and spread a blanket for the children so that they could sit on the ground and play hawks and hares. Lucivar called in a jug of water and let Daemonar take a glass to Jaenelle while he poured water for the rest of them.
By the second hour, Manny was dozing in her chair, and Surreal had gone off with Marian, who needed to feed and change the baby.
“A dozen children is too many,” Daemon said, accepting the glass of wine Lucivar poured for him. “We should have been split up into smaller groups throughout the day, like they did in Ebon Rih when your children went through the Ceremony.” When Lucivar said nothing, he felt like a fool. “I should have insisted on this group
being split into smaller groups.”
“Maybe. Not that it would have made any difference. Not today. They are here to watch you and your daughter.”
“Isn’t that delightful?”
“Everything has a price.”
By the time they reached the third hour, children were getting whiny, adults were getting restless, and Daemon was ready to exile every Queen and aristo present. He’d had enough of the speculative looks and the whispers behind their hands. He also made note of the ones, like Lady Zhara, who had remained gracious and friendly during the long wait, and didn’t appear to be there for any other reason than to offer her good wishes.
Then, finally, Jaenelle was the only one waiting her turn.
He held out his hand, palm side down. Surreal placed her hand over his, standing on his left. They walked up to the Sanctuary, where the Priestess waited for them.
The Priestess looked at Jaenelle. “Who will stand as your witness?”
Daemon tensed and felt Surreal do the same. How was Jaenelle supposed to choose one parent over the other in public?
Before he could insist on both of them going in with her, Tersa walked up to them and held out her hand. “Come with me, little Sister.”
Jaenelle took her grandmother’s hand and followed the Priestess to the room where her Birthright strength would be acknowledged and made apparent by the Jewel that would be both warning and reservoir for the power she wielded.
Surreal’s hand trembled on his, but she gave no other sign of surprise or distress.
*Is that possible?* she asked. *Have you seen signs that Jaenelle might be a natural Black Widow?*
*She’s too young for there to be any sign that she belongs to that caste. I don’t think Tersa meant to indicate that Jaenelle was another Sister of the Hourglass.* But she could have meant exactly that. With Tersa, it was hard to tell. *Besides, Tersa stood as your witness too, didn’t she?*
*Yes, she did,* Surreal replied softly. *Yes, she did.*
Five minutes later, Tersa and Jaenelle walked out of the Sanctuary. Jaenelle held nothing in her hands, and there was no Jeweled pendant around her neck.
Daemon’s heart sank, but he smiled at his girl—and the happy smile she gave him in return almost broke him.
*Daemon . . . ,* Surreal said.
“My Jewel hasn’t arrived yet,” Jaenelle said. “My friend said it might come late because its presence would confuse the other children.”
“Finish the Ceremony,” Tersa said.
Daemon looked at the Priestess. “I don’t understand what—”
“Prince,” Tersa said. “You will have no answers until the last choice is made.”
He moved away from Surreal until he stood in the spot where the other men had stood.
“Come here, Jaenelle,” Surreal said. She placed her hands on the girl’s shoulders and looked at him.
“I, Surreal SaDiablo, acknowledge Prince Daemon Sadi as the father of Jaenelle Saetien SaDiablo. I grant him all paternal rights from this day forward.”
Surreal raised her hands. Jaenelle walked the distance between them and took the hand he held out to her. Even though his hand closed around the child’s, his eyes never left the woman’s.
*She’s yours now,* Surreal said on a psychic Gray thread.
*Thank you.*
*Let’s hear you say that the next time she asks an ‘interesting’ question.*
He huffed out a quiet laugh. *Smart-ass.*
That made her smile.
“Well,” Daemon said, as he led Jaenelle back to the rest of the family. “Let’s finish up here so we can go to the estate and have our party.”
“We can’t go yet,” Jaenelle protested. “We have to wait for my Jewel!”
“Witch-child . . .”
Jaenelle and Tersa turned at the same moment, looked in the same direction. Jaenelle pulled away from him and ran off. Before he could take off after her, Tersa froze him in place with three words.
“She has come.”
He stared at his mother, a Black Widow who walked the roads of the Twisted Kingdom. She had changed his life centuries ago with those same three words.
“Daemon.” Surreal looked stricken, but she squared her shoulders and said, “Go.”
Not sure how much pain he was leaving behind him, he ran after his daughter.
She was walking back to him when he caught up to her, her smile brilliant as she clutched a pendant, its gold chain spilling over her hands.
“Look at my Jewel, Papa! Isn’t it wonderful?”
He looked at the Jewel in her hands and sank to his knees.
“I told the Priestess that I would have a Rose and a Summer-sky and a Purple Dusk and an Opal and a Green as my Birthright, but she said I could only have one, and I knew that wasn’t right because the Lady had shown me this Jewel and said it used to be hers but now it would be mine. It even has a name! It’s called—”
“Twilight’s Dawn,” he whispered.
“Yes.” She beamed at him. “She said you would understand and teach me how to use it.”
His mind was spinning. His heart was in turmoil. “Who said this, witch-child?”
“My special friend. The Lady in the Misty Place. The one who’s called the Song in the Darkness.”
He swallowed a sob. Pain? Joy? He couldn’t tell. “Where . . . ?”
“She’s over there.” Jaenelle turned and pointed. “She’s waiting for you. She said I should wait for you here.” She rolled her eyes. “And that I should let you put a shield around me.”
“She always was a wise Lady.”
Jaenelle hesitated. “She said, when you were ready, you would tell me stories about her. About when she lived in the Realms. She said Uncle Lucivar and Mama could tell me stories too.”
“They can. They will.”
He stood up. After a moment’s hesitation, he put a Red shield around his darling witch-child, since Lucivar or Surreal could break it and get her out. Just in case he didn’t come back.
He walked over to the place where she had pointed. One moment he felt nothing. The next . . .
Not the Misty Place, but not the grounds of the Sanctuary either.
And there she was. Witch. The living myth. His love and his heart.
“Prince,” Witch said, smiling.
“Jaenelle,” he whispered, reaching for her.
His hand went through hers, but when she reached up and rested that same hand against his face, he felt the warmth of her, breathed in the familiar scent of her. She had chosen to show him the Self that lived in the Misty Place deep in the abyss, to show him the dream that had lived within the human flesh.
She was showing him his Queen rather than his former wife.
“How can you be here?”
“This is a shadow, an illusion.”
“I know, but . . .”
She looked at him with those haunted, ancient sapphire eyes. One hand still rested against his face; the other now rested against his chest, over his heart.
“Jaenelle Saetien . . .”
“Is the daughter of your blood, the daughter of your heart, and the daughter of your dreams. She is those things to Surreal as well. Two dreamers, Daemon, yearning for the same dream.”
His brain felt sluggish. He couldn’t get past that he was seeing her again, feeling her touch—but he had to try because his daughter waited for him.
His daughter. And Surreal’s.
“You know about me and Surreal?”
Her cat claws pricked his chest. “The Arachnian Queens tended the web until it was ready to be more than dreams, but I’m the one who first gave it shape because of what I saw in a tangled web years before I became a song in the Darkness. You could have married someone else, and you might have had children. But not this child, Daemon. Not this one. This one needed a mother who had known you before you came to Kaeleer, who had known me.”
“This one?” Words tumbled through his mind. Webs. Visions. Dreams.
He turned
his head and looked toward the spot where he’d left his little girl—and suddenly it made sense. “Jaenelle Saetien is . . . ?”
“Dreams made flesh.” Witch smiled. “Your dreams. Surreal’s dreams. And my dreams for both of you.”
Like Jaenelle Angelline, but not the same.
“Daemon.”
He turned back to her. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Don’t you? It’s simple, Prince. Listen to your heart. It’s healed. It’s whole. You loved me as a wife with all your heart for the whole of my life. You will love me as your Queen for the whole of your life. But there is someone else you love now, Daemon, and it’s time for you to share your heart with more than your daughter.”
He closed his eyes and said nothing.
“Stubborn snarly male. Do you need my permission to love the woman who is now your wife, to acknowledge what you feel for her?”
“I don’t love Surreal the way I loved you. I’ll never love anyone the way I loved you.”
“I know. But you do love her, Daemon.”
“Yes. I do.”
Her voice softened. “Then it’s time you told her.”
She stepped back, and the loss of her touch raked his heart.
He opened his eyes and studied her, drinking in her face. “Will I see you again?”
She hesitated, then said, “Your daughter will, when she needs to, but you need to let go of the past. However, you won’t be alone. No one understands what it’s like to stand so deep in the abyss. No one understands what it’s like to know there is no one who can touch the most private part of your Self. Saetan was the strongest protector the Realms had ever known, but he also made mistakes because even Andulvar’s presence at the depth of the Ebon-gray wasn’t enough to keep him from feeling isolated and alone. You’re not alone there, Daemon.”
“How can I not be . . .”
What had Jaenelle Saetien called the Lady in the Misty Place? The Song in the Darkness. He’d heard it when he stood in the abyss at the full depth of his power, when he knew, with absolute certainty, that he was alone. But that song had been there, a voice that wrapped around him down where it wasn’t possible for anyone else to be. He thought he imagined it being Jaenelle’s voice because he missed her so much, but she’d been with him all along.