by Anne Bishop
“You won’t be alone,” she said again.
“For how long?”
Witch smiled. “Long enough.”
He thought about that web of power that spiraled from the Misty Place down into the Darkness. Enough power to keep her with him in this one way, to keep him balanced for a lifetime.
And because he had this assurance that she was still with him in some way, he began letting go of what could no longer be.
“May I tell Lucivar about any of this?”
“He’s your brother. You can tell him anything.” She took a step back and began to fade away. “It’s time for you to go.”
“Your will is my life.”
He closed his eyes. When he opened them, she was gone.
“Papa?”
And there was his other dream, waiting for him. She’d put the chain over her neck and was holding the Jewel, shifting it this way and that to look at the colors.
He walked over to her, sank to his knees, wrapped his arms around her, and pressed his face against her shoulder.
“Papa?” Jaenelle put her arms around him. “Why are you crying? Weren’t you happy to see the Lady?”
“Yes. Yes, I was. She gave me a gift. Such a wonderful gift. For your mother too.”
Fighting for control, he sat back on his heels, took out a handkerchief, and cleaned up.
Jaenelle Saetien studied him. “Maybe if we go to our house and have the party, you’ll feel better?”
Laughing, he vanished the handkerchief. “Maybe I will.”
He stood up, brushed off his knees before she could comment about the dirt, and held out his right hand.
“Papa! I’m supposed to stand on your left. Those are the rules.”
His Jaenelle Saetien was a stickler for Protocol. Much like his father had been.
“Indulge your papa. Just for today. We’ll go back to following the rules tomorrow.”
She looked skeptical, but she put her left hand over his right and let him escort her back to where the rest of the family waited.
Most of the families had left for their own celebrations, but the Queens and aristos who had come to witness the spectacle, as Lucivar called it, were still milling around when he walked by. So they saw Lucivar’s stunned look and the way Surreal pressed a hand against her chest and began to laugh and cry when she realized what Jewel her daughter wore.
He walked up to Surreal and said softly, “We need to talk.”
“You saw her?” she whispered. “You actually saw her?”
“Yes.”
Pain. Confusion. Unhappy acceptance.
“It will be all right,” he said. “I swear by all that I am, it will be all right.”
“Can we go now?” Daemonar asked. “I’m starving.”
“Shall we go?” he asked Surreal.
She nodded.
He dropped his hand from under Jaenelle’s, tacit permission for her to race after her cousins. Then he slipped an arm around Surreal’s waist and guided her to the Coach.
Surreal gulped a mouthful of sparkling wine as she watched the children run around. As soon as they reached the estate, Jillian had herded the younger children to their rooms to change out of their formal clothes.
Good thing, Surreal thought. She wasn’t sure what game they were playing, but it was a good bet that at least one of them was going to end up with scraped knees or a bloody nose.
“Enough!”
Unless Lucivar roared them into a decision to find a less rambunctious game.
Twilight’s Dawn. Jaenelle Saetien wore Twilight’s Dawn—a Jewel no one thought would be seen again.
“Are you brooding or just getting drunk?” Lucivar asked as he reached from behind her, took her glass, and drained it in one long swallow.
“I guess I’m not getting drunk,” she replied, looking at the empty glass. She followed the sound of laughter, and there was Daemon standing next to Tersa and Manny, looking as beautiful as the first time she saw him. “I don’t know what to do, Lucivar. I don’t know what he wants me to do now. She’s come back to him.”
He handed her the empty glass and gave her a lazy smile. “If you believe that, you’re drunker than you look.”
“Mean-hearted prick,” she muttered. But since she suspected he was right, at least about the being drunk part, she didn’t try to walk over to the terrace and refill her glass.
“Who’s a mean-hearted prick?” Daemon’s arm wrapped around her waist. “Do you want more wine?”
“I think I’ve already had a bit too much.”
He pressed his lips gently against her temple. “Me too. It’s been quite a day.”
The sexual heat that usually poured out of him was banked to a sensual warmth. She leaned into him, more comforted than aroused.
She wasn’t sure how long they stood there with the light fading around them and the autumn air turning cool. She would stand here with him forever if that was what he wanted.
“Surreal?” he said quietly.
“Hmm?”
He took the glass from her and vanished it. “You know that small table in the sitting room that you’re so fond of?”
“Uh-huh.”
“It now has a vase in it.”
“You mean on it.”
“No, in it.”
She was suddenly a lot more sober. “There isn’t one of them old enough or with sufficient training to try to pass one object through another.” And she had a bad feeling she knew exactly which child had tried it. “They shouldn’t be—”
He pressed a finger against her lips. She narrowed her eyes and raised his hand. “If I have to deal with this tonight when I’m on the shaky side of sober, you have to answer the next sex question.”
There was the expected glint of panic, but there was also laughter in his eyes. “Or the table could just disappear and we could scratch our heads and wonder where it went.”
Playful. She hadn’t expected that from him. Not tonight. “We could do that.”
He brushed a finger over her lips. “Surreal . . .”
I love you.
He didn’t say it. Not quite. But when he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, she felt the words.
And that night, when he made love to her and said her name, it sounded like a promise, like a lovely caress.
ALSO BY ANNE BISHOP
The Black Jewels Series
Daughter of the Blood
Heir to the Shadows
Queen of the Darkness
The Invisible Ring
Dreams Made Flesh
Tangled Webs
The Shadow Queen
Shalador’s Lady
The Ephemera Series
Sebastian
Belladonna
The Tir Alainn Trilogy
The Pillars of the World
Shadows and Light
The House of Gaian
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